#I know i just disappeared but i do that sorry

[pbaz7]

FINDING PEACE IN YOU: PART 2

paige x azzi

word count: 8k

A/N: I actually got a lot of positive feedback about the first chapter which I’m happy about because I’m enjoying the thought of writing them with a little more maturity. Let me know what you think please! I’d also love any REASONABLE suggestions. Last thing I edited a little differently this time so lmk if you see any mistakes lol

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It was Wednesday when Paige pulled up to Azzi’s office. The season was around the corner, so practice had been a bit exhausting, but Paige was happy to finally go on that second date. She locked her car before heading inside and taking the elevator up to Azzi’s clinic.

As Paige entered, she was met with a young lady sitting behind the desk. The young woman smiled brightly at her.

"How can I help you?"

Paige gave her a polite smile back. “Just here for Azzi…or Dr.Fudd actually I’m sorry.”

The young lady looked slightly confused, glancing at the schedule in front of her. “Do you have an appointment?”

Before Paige could answer, the door to the back office opened, and Azzi stepped out with Kyrie. When Azzi saw Paige, she smiled and raised her hand, motioning for Paige to wait.

"Hey, give me a second to grab my things," Azzi called out as she disappeared back behind the door.

Kyrie, noticing Paige, walked over and dapped her up. “How you doing, kid?”

“Man I’m good, just ready for the season,” Paige replied with a smile.

Kyrie nodded. “You started to work with Dr. Fudd?”

Paige smiled at that, shaking her head. “Nah not for real.”

Kyrie picked up on what Paige was saying and laughed. “Ahh I see you.”

Paige just chuckled. Kyrie nodded toward her office. “She’s a good one around here, don’t slip up.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah, she’s definitely keeping me on my toes.”

“Just don’t let her work you too hard before the season. We need another chip.” With that he clapped her on the shoulder. “Good luck, kid.”

Paige smiled, as Kyrie made his exit, heading out of the clinic.

A few moments later, the door to the back office opened, and Azzi stepped out, walking toward Paige with a warm smile on her face.

“Hi,” Azzi greeted.

Paige smirked playfully, raising an eyebrow. “Wassup?”

Azzi opened her mouth to respond with something smart, but she stopped herself, catching the playful tone in Paige’s voice. She was still in her clinic, so she refrained from saying anything too bold, opting instead to roll her eyes.

“You ready?” Azzi asked.

Paige gave a quick nod. “Yup.”

Azzi smiled at her again before turning to the girl behind the counter. “Goodnight, Kelly,” she called out.

“Night, Dr. Fudd,” Kelly replied with a friendly smile.

Azzi then turned back to Paige, their eyes meeting for a quick moment as the two of them walked out together, the door closing softly behind them.

Paige reached her car, opening the passenger door for Azzi before gently closing it. Azzi gave her a grateful smile and watched as Paige made her way to the driver's side. Paige slid into the seat, started the car, and pulled away from the curb, casting a brief glance over at Azzi.

“So, how was your day?” Paige asked, her hand casually gripping the wheel.

Azzi smiled, leaning back into her seat. “Good. Busy, but good.”

Paige eyed her curiously. “You tired?”

Azzi let out a little sigh, her shoulders dropping as she relaxed into the seat. “Exhausted.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

Azzi chuckled lightly. “I need to decompress first. Maybe later.”

Paige smiled at that, clearly understanding. “Fair enough.”

After a beat of silence, Azzi turned the question back on Paige. “How was practice today?”

Paige laughed, shaking her head. “I feel like Chris tried to kill us.”

Azzi laughed at this knowing Paige had a small tendency to be dramatic sometimes. “Really? What happened?”

Paige let out a deep sigh. “A lot of conditioning today. When we weren't running, it was just drilling plays in our heads, non-stop. Then we went straight to the weight room after.”

Azzi hummed thoughtfully, trying to picture it. “What kind of exercises did they have you doing?”

“Plyometrics, for the most part I think,” Paige replied, glancing over at Azzi briefly.

Azzi took that in, thinking about how intense that kind of training could be.

Paige shot her a quick look. “They doing me right, doc?”

Azzi grinned, laughing softly. “Just fine.”

Paige smiled at the praise before Azzi added, “But, you should probably put some heat on your knees tonight. Plyometrics can really wear them down.”

Paige chuckled. “Yes ma’am.

The comfortable silence stretched between them as Paige gave Azzi a moment to decompress after her long day at work. The hum of the city outside the car was a steady background noise, but Azzi didn’t seem to mind, relaxing into the seat.

After about 15 minutes Paige’s car slowed to a stop in front of a building, and Azzi's eyes flickered out the window, confused. She spotted a man in a suit walking toward the car, and she turned to Paige raising her eyebrow.

"Where are we?" Azzi asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

Paige just smiled, her eyes twinkling. "You'll see," she said, keeping the secret for a little longer. She then added, "Don’t move," before getting out of the car.

Azzi watched as Paige handed the man her keys. Paige then walked around to open Azzi's door, extending her hand to help her out. Azzi took it, allowing herself to be guided out of the car.

Paige pressed a gentle hand to the small of Azzi’d back leading her up a set of stairs.

When they reached the top, the door opened softly and a man smiled politely at them. He nodded in greeting before shutting the door behind them.

They walked into the building, and Paige led Azzi to a waiting elevator. The doors opened immediately, and they stepped inside. As the elevator began its ascent, the soft sound of live jazz music began to trickle through the air, instantly filling the quiet space between them.

Azzi's smile grew a little as the sound wrapped around her, setting the mood for the evening. She looked at Paige, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "A speakeasy?" she asked, her voice filled with intrigue.

Paige grinned. "Yeah, I've been here a few times. It’s pretty private. The music's good and the drinks are great."

Azzi nodded, clearly impressed. "I like the sound of that."

When the elevator doors slid open, the warm, rich tones of the jazz band flowed more freely, setting a relaxed yet intimate ambiance. The lighting was dim, but not too dark—it was just the right amount of cozy.

Paige led them toward a booth near the corner of the room. As they approached, Azzi couldn't help but notice the view—it was perfect, giving them a full view of the entire space while still feeling private and secluded. The low murmur of conversation and clinking of glasses mixed with the soothing jazz, making the atmosphere feel like a secret escape.

They settled into the booth, the cushioned seats welcoming them with a softness. Paige slid in first, then made room for Azzi to join her. As they both relaxed into their seats, Azzi couldn’t help but glance around, taking in the cozy, yet upscale vibe of the place.

Paige smiled, catching Azzi’s gaze. "I thought you might like it."

Azzi looked at her, a soft smile on her face. "I do. This is...perfect."

Paige smiled back at her, not saying anything for a moment as they simply shared a look. Paige held her gaze, her eyes soft, before she finally said, “Good.”

“How’d you find it?”

Paige leaned back slightly in her seat, folding her hands in front of her. “Arike told me about it, maybe like my second year on the team. She got all the best spots.”

Azzi hummed thoughtfully, nodding as she took in this new bit of information.

Before Azzi could respond, the waiter approached their table with a friendly smile.

Paige turned her attention to Azzi. “You prefer sweet, right?” she asked, as if it were a casual question, though she clearly already knew the answer.

Azzi nodded. Paige glanced at the menu for a brief moment before making a decision.

“I think she’ll like the frozen blue moscato margarita,” Paige said, looking at the waiter. “And can I just have a sazerac?”

The waiter smiled at Paige’s confidence. “Of course. I’ll get those right out.”

As the waiter walked away, Paige turned back toward Azzi, only to find her already watching her, her expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. Paige huffed out a small laugh, leaning back in her seat.

“What?” Paige asked, raising an eyebrow.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing slightly. “How’d you know I like sweet cocktails?”

Paige shrugged, her small smile crowing. “You mentioned it on the phone one day I think.”

Azzi quirked an eyebrow, as if considering whether or not to challenge Paige on the matter. Paige just shrugged again, nonchalantly. “What can I say? I pay attention.”

“Hm,” Azzi murmured, her lips curling up at the corners.

Paige shook her head with a laugh, not offering any immediate response. The two of them talked a little as they walked for their drinks, both of them deciding that they weren’t really in the mood for any food. A small time later the waiter set the glasses down in front of them. Azzi's margarita was a vibrant shade of blue, served with a rim of salt, while Paige's sazerac sat in front of her, the amber liquid catching the light.

Azzi took a sip and immediately her eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “Wow, this is amazing,” she said, her voice filled with genuine surprise.

Paige smirked. “I knew you’d like it.”

They both settled into a comfortable silence for a moment. Azzi’s eyes drifted toward the live band, the gentle rhythm of jazz filling the air around them. Paige, on the other hand, kept her gaze on Azzi, her eyes observant, like she was trying to figure something out.

Finally, Paige broke the silence, her voice casual but with a hint of curiosity. “How are you single?”

Azzi blinked, momentarily thrown off guard, before she met Paige’s eyes. “What?”

Paige repeated herself. “How are you single?”

Azzi laughed at the question. “Have you seen the dating scene in Dallas?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as if the answer was obvious.

Paige chuckled, the corner of her lips curling into a smirk. “Fair point. It’s not exactly the best place.”

Azzi laughed again, nodding as she took another sip of her margarita. “But honestly? It’s a combination of a lot.” She pauses a moment to think before saying, “Most people didn’t understand my schedule. They hear that I have a private clinic and think I can just show up to work whenever I want or not go in at all.”

Paige nodded, listening fully, her eyes never leaving Azzi’s as she leaned back in her seat, her arm casually thrown over the back of the booth. “That’s crazy. If anything I’d expect you to work more than the average 9-5 most days.”

Azzi’s expression softened slightly as she continued. “Yeah. I have to know these people’s bodies better than they do. That takes time. It’s not just a job I can pick up and drop whenever I feel like it. Taking on a new client is a huge commitment.”

Paige hummed in understanding, her gaze softening as she took in Azzi’s words. “I get that. It’s definitely a big part of who you are, so I’m sorry it’s been a struggle finding someone who understands that.”

Azzi nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “But, it’s not just the work. Money’s been a big thing too, unfortunately.” She paused for a beat, once again gathering her thoughts. “I don’t mind making more than who I’m seeing, but a lot of times, me making more led to them not wanting to make decisions or to not step on my toes. Which led to me being the more dominant one, and that’s just not my preference.”

Paige hummed thoughtfully, taking another sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving Azzi as she talked. “I feel you,” she said softly.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her gaze curious as she turned to Paige. “Do you?”

Paige gave a little shrug, a small smirk curling on her lips. “I mean, I’ve just noticed that you have more of a feminine energy so I’m not surprised at that being a deal breaker if you have to step outside of it.”

Azzi’s gaze softened as she took a moment before answering. “You make it happen naturally,” she said, honestly. “You have this natural masculine energy. And besides that, you naturally lead. It makes it easy to just be at ease and let you be in control. I don’t have to worry about anything.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, a slight grin tugging at her lips. “How so?”

Azzi glanced down at her drink for a moment, then back up at Paige with a slight tilt of her head. “Well, it’s not just the way you carry yourself, it’s the way you make decisions, the way you’re comfortable in your skin.” Azzi let out a soft sigh, her eyes softening. “It’s...kind of magnetic, actually.”

Paige smirked, as she licked her lips, clearly intrigued by Azzi's words. “I like that.”

Azzi’s eyes flashed with a mix of playfulness as she took a slow sip of her drink, savoring the taste before lowering the glass. Her voice became low and almost suggestive as she tilted her head, watching Paige carefully. “You like what?”

The way Azzi said it caught Paige off guard. It was different…flirtatious. A slight shift in the air, like the conversation had crossed an unspoken line. Paige froze for a second, blinking, a bit surprised.

Paige adjusted in the booth slightly, leaning in just a little closer as she met Azzi's gaze. Her voice dropped. “There’s a lot I like about you, Azzi.”

The way Paige said it made Azzi’s breath hitch in her chest. She knew Paige would match her energy but she wasn’t prepared when she felt her heart flutter in a way she hadn’t felt in...a long time.

Her eyes dropped as she reached for her drink again, trying to hide the small, shy smile that crept onto her lips.

Paige noticed. And it made her smile too— that soft, amused smile she always seemed to give Azzi when she caught her slipping.

“What?” Azzi asked, feeling Paige's eyes still on her.

Paige shook her head. “Nothing. You’re just cute when you act all shy like that.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she couldn't stop the smile that was still on her face. “I’m not shy.”

Paige smirked, leaning back against the booth, her arm stretched along the back as her eyes lazily traced over Azzi. “Mhm. Sure you’re not.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes slightly, biting back a smile as she tilted her head toward Paige. “Are you seeing anyone else?”

Paige’s smirk softened into a smile as she shook her head. “No.” Her gaze lingered on Azzi as she asked, “You?”

Azzi shook her head. “No.”

Paige hummed at her response, letting the moment settle between them.

Azzi watched her for a moment before asking, “Why not?”

Paige let out a soft chuckle, running her tongue over her bottom lip as she glanced down briefly. “Never really had plans to be in the dating scene in the first place.”

Azzi raised a brow. “So...what do you call this?”

Paige’s eyes flicked back up to meet hers, her smile growing a little wider. “We’re dating,” she said simply. “I’m just saying I’m not interested in dating anyone else.”

Azzi felt her chest tighten at the words, her eyes lingering on Paige a little longer than she meant to.

“Why is that?” Azzi asked softly.

Paige held her gaze for a moment before exhaling. “You want the laundry list... or the short text version?”

“Whichever you prefer,” Azzi replied simply.

Paige chuckled lightly, shaking her head. “I haven't dated in like... a year and a half, honestly.” She paused for a second, as she thought about how she was going to explain. “After I got sole custody of Lukas early on, I didn’t even think about dating for that first year. I tried again when he was probably around 18 months—mostly because my friends wouldn’t stop bugging me about it. And.. it was,” Paige let out a laugh, “I don’t even know.”

Azzi smiled, resting her chin on her hand as she leaned into the conversation. “What do you mean?”

Paige shook her head. “A lot of gold diggers... a lot of crazy folks.”

Azzi laughed at that, shaking her head. “Dallas is full of them.”

Paige smiled at her reaction but then exhaled, her tone softening. “But honestly...having Lukas just made it harder. I didn’t want to bring just anybody around him. And with my schedule...a lot of people thought they’d get whatever free time I had. They’d get offended when I wouldn’t let them meet him. Shit like that.”

Azzi nodded slowly, taking in her words. “That makes sense. You're protecting him.”

“Yeah,” Paige said simply. She leaned back a little, fingers running over the edge of her glass. “It’s not really just about finding someone I’m interested in or attracted to. I gotta be okay with them being around him.”

Azzi hummed at that, mulling over her response before shifting gears. “Second question.”

Paige smiled, tilting her head slightly. “Go ahead.”

Azzi took a small sip of her drink before setting it back down. “What have you been doing since then?”

Paige chuckled. “I think you know the answer to that Azzi.”

Azzi gave a small shrug. “I was taught to hear things straight from the horse’s mouth.”

Paige let out a laugh at Azzi’s persistence. “I’ve slept around here and there.” She paused, swirling the last bit of her drink in the glass. “Mostly during the season, when I’m traveling, in hotels, and Lukas isn’t with me.”

Azzi hummed at this, her expression unreadable.

“I can tell you have questions.”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, as she mulled over her words. “I just want to know the quantity.”

“I promise it’s not as much as you think.” She met Azzi’s gaze her lips still curved in amusement. “I’ve slept with maybe seven people in the last year.”

Azzi arched an eyebrow, nodding as she processed that answer. “Hm.”

Paige grinned. “That a good ‘hm’ or a bad ‘hm’?”

Azzi tilted her head side to side. “It’s more of a…‘that’s not the vibe you give off’ hm.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, her smile deepening. “And what vibe do I give off?”

Azzi, knowing they were both the type to prefer blunt honesty over sugar coating said, “That you used to sleep with a new girl every week.”

Paige didn’t even flinch. If anything, the accusation amused her. She exhaled a small laugh, tilting her glass slightly as she looked at Azzi. “I think that just means you think I’m charming. I actually think I remember you saying that last week.”

Azzi let out another soft hum, but this time, a smirk tugged at her lips. Her eyes held a glint as she took another sip of her drink before adding, “I’m surprised you haven’t made a move.”

Paige just grinned at that, her gaze steady on Azzi. Her voice was smooth as she said, “I’m respectful.”

Azzi rolled her eyes at Paige’s comment. “Alright, last question about other women I promise.”

Paige nodded, tilting her glass toward Azzi in a silent go-ahead.

Azzi studied her for a moment before asking, “Were you married to Lukas’s other mom?”

Paige let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “Funny enough, no.”

That caught Azzi a little off guard. “Really?”

“Yeah. She refused to sign a prenup.”

Azzi’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Oh.”

“Right,” Paige said knowingly, swirling the drink in her hand.

Azzi hesitated before asking, “So…how did Lukas come about?”

Paige leaned back, resting her arm along the back of the booth again. “I wanted a kid,” she said simply. “I was going through a lot and felt like something was missing in my life, and I’m a big family person.”

Azzi hesitated again, and before she could even voice her next question, Paige answered it for her. “We were planning on getting married before she gave birth, but she wouldn’t sign the prenup, which fucked shit up. She accused me of not trusting her and listening to my family over her and it pissed me off when I saw just how adamant she was about not signing it. Made me second guess a lot.” Paige exhaled, shaking her head slightly before continuing. “So maybe two months after she gave birth and realized she wasn’t gonna have full access to my money, the idea of having a newborn didn’t sound all that appealing I guess. One day my family and I went out with him, she said she was tired and wanted to stay back to rest. When I got back she was just gone and half my shit was gone with her. Few weeks later I got a letter in the mail saying she voluntarily relinquished her rights to Lukas and that was that.”

“Paige I—I’m so sorry.”

Paige just shrugged, seemingly completely unfazed by the whole thing now. “It is what it is.”

“Does he ask about her at all?”

Paige shook her head, her expression relaxed. “Nah. Like I said, she left when he was only a few months old.” She took another sip of her drink before setting it down with a soft laugh. “All that kid cares about is that his mom’s the best basketball player in the world in his mind and that everyone says we look just alike.” A fond smile crossed her lips as she added, “He points it out every time I call him funny looking.”

Azzi laughed, the warmth in her eyes clear as Paige talked. “He isn’t wrong.”

Paige groaned playfully. “Don’t tell him that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Azzi smiled at her, the sincerity in her voice evident as she said, “You’ve done a great job with him.”

The words caught Paige off guard, touching something deep within her chest. She glanced down for a moment, a small smile forming as she tried to hide the faint redness creeping onto her cheeks. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Azzi, noticing the slight flush, grinned as she angled her head to get a better look. Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “There’s no way you just blushed.”

Paige rolled her eyes, shaking her head, but the smile stayed on her lips. “Shut up.”

There’s a small silence before Paige looks up saying, “You?”

Azzi looks confused so Paige adds “What you been doing if not dating?”

Azzi’s laugh was soft as she leaned back slightly. “Nothing. I don’t just sleep with people if I don’t see it going somewhere..”

Paige wasn’t surprised. She had already gotten the sense that Azzi was intentional about most things in her life, and this area would be no different.

Azzi continued, wanting to give an explanation. “I think the kind of intimacy you have when it comes to sex and who you have it with has a lot of implications—for your psyche, your emotional state, just your overall well-being. So, I’m particular, to say the least.”

Paige nodded in understanding. “I get that.”

Azzi raised a brow. “You do?”

Paige hummed in confirmation, taking a sip of her drink.

Azzi studied her for a moment before pressing further. “So if I didn’t want to sleep with you for a few months, you’d be perfectly fine with that?”

Paige’s fingers twitched slightly against her glass, a reaction Azzi didn’t miss.

Still, Paige smirked, keeping her composure. “Yup. Sure would.”

Azzi leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper, her breath warm near Paige’s ear. “I have a hard time believing that.”

Paige’s jaw tightened just slightly, her smirk faltering for only a second before she recovered. She exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “You’re a tease,” she murmured.

Azzi didn’t move back. If anything, she leaned in just a fraction closer, the air between them thinning. “I seem like a tease?”

Paige didn’t turn to look at her. Instead, she kept her gaze forward, taking another long sip of her drink. “Mhm,” she hummed, casual, like this wasn’t affecting her in the slightest.

Azzi, of course, saw right through that.

With an almost lazy elegance, she reached out and brushed an invisible speck of lint from Paige’s sleeve, the touch light—barely there—but enough to make Paige’s fingers twitch again against her glass again. Azzi smiled to herself.

“I think you’re a little off there,” she murmured. Azzi let her fingers trail just a little longer than necessary before pulling back, picking up her drink again. “I’m not a tease, Paige.”

Paige let out a slow breath, finally turning to face her, one brow raised in skepticism. “No?”

Azzi tilted her head, eyes flickering to Paige’s lips before meeting her gaze again. “No,” she confirmed.

Paige smiled at Azzi and shook her head just a little as she finished off her drink. Then, rising gracefully from the booth, she extended her hand. “Let’s dance.”

Azzi accepted Paige’s hand, and with a gentle tug, Paige effortlessly pulled her up.

Azzi let herself be pulled up, the warmth of Paige’s hand firm against hers. The slight tug brought her just a little closer than expected, her body brushing against Paige’s for the briefest moment before they settled into place. Paige’s arm wrapped around her waist and Azzi let her own hand rest lightly on the back of Paige’s neck, fingers grazing the soft hair at her nape.

Their other hands remained joined, held slightly off to the side as they began to sway in time with the smooth jazz playing in the background.

Paige’s touch was steady, as she effortlessly led without force, and Azzi followed easily. It was natural—like they had danced together a hundred times before. Paige’s thumb brushed over the back of Azzi’s hand absentmindedly, and Azzi smiled, her eyes flicking up to meet Paige’s.

“You dance like you do everything else,” Azzi murmured, voice just loud enough for Paige to hear.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Azzi’s smile grew, her fingers trailing just slightly at the back of Paige’s neck. “Confident. In control.” She tilted her head slightly. “Intentional.”

Paige smirked at this. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Azzi leaned her head down to rest on Paige’s shoulder, and Paige could feel the small smile that Azzi tried to hide. “It’s not,” Azzi murmured, her fingers tracing absent patterns at the nape of Paige’s neck.

They swayed in comfortable silence, the soft jazz wrapping around them, the world outside their little bubble fading into the background.

Eventually, Azzi shifted slightly, tilting her head to rest fully against Paige’s shoulder, her breath warm against Paige’s collarbone. “This is nice,” she whispered.

Paige’s hold on her tightened slightly, her thumb brushing slow circles against Azzi’s back. “Yeah?” she murmured, glancing down at her.

Azzi hummed in confirmation, her eyes fluttering shut for just a moment as she let herself fall into a calm that she hadn’t felt all day.

Neither of them knew how long they stayed like that, just swaying to the music, lost in their respective thoughts. The warmth between them, the slow rhythm of their movements—it all felt so natural, so easy.

Eventually, Azzi shifted, pulling back slightly to look at Paige.

Paige met her gaze. “Wassup?”

Azzi hesitated for just a second, searching Paige’s face before speaking. “Do you wanna go back to mine?”

Paige’s lips curled into a soft smile. “I’d like that.”

Azzi nodded and without another word, Paige pulled a few bills from her wallet and tossed them on the table before reaching for Azzi’s hand and the two of them made their way toward the elevator.

Once the valet pulled up with Paige's car, like clockwork, Paige stepped forward and opened the passenger door for Azzi.

Azzi slid into the seat offering a quiet, “Thank you,” before settling in. Paige shut the door behind her before making her way to the driver’s side.

When she got in, she noticed Azzi messing with the cord. Paige raised an eyebrow as she fastened her seatbelt. “What are you doing?”

“I’m putting on music.”

Paige scoffed. “You’re putting on music? In my car?”

Azzi didn’t even look up from her phone. “Yes.”

Paige couldn't help but smile. “You know how I feel about music.”

“I’m aware.” Azzi continued scrolling through her playlist before finally selecting one.

Paige sighed, shaking her head as she pulled away from the curb. “Better not be trash.”

The drive to Azzi’s house was quiet, the only sounds filling the car being the music Azzi had chosen. Paige, surprisingly, didn’t complain about a single song, which Azzi took note of with a small, satisfied smile.

When they pulled up to Azzi’s house, rain was still coming down steadily. So Azzi tapped the button to open the garage, allowing Paige to pull in next to her car.

As soon as Paige shut off the engine and caught sight of Azzi’s car, her eyes widened. She turned to Azzi with a look of pure offense. “It’s a crime that you never drive this.”

Azzi let out a laugh, unbothered. “Maybe you can drive me around in it since you like it so much.”

Paige smirked at this, her gaze lingering on Azzi for just a second longer before she unbuckled her seatbelt. “I might just take you up on that.”

Azzi only shook her head before leading the way inside, Paige following closely behind.

As they walked into Azzi’s place, the soft click of the lights flicking on illuminated the interior. Paige took a moment to scan the large space, taking in the unfamiliar setting. She turned to Azzi, offering a smile. “It’s nice,” she said, genuinely impressed.

Azzi gave a small, nod. “Thanks,” she replied, walking toward the kitchen with ease, her movements fluid and comfortable in her space. She began browsing through the wine selection, taking a moment to consider. After a second, she picked one and turned it toward Paige, silently asking for her opinion.

Paige glanced at the label, her gaze briefly lingering on it before nodding. “Yeah, that looks good.”

Azzi then walked over to her cabinet, opening it to pull out two wine glasses. Paige, following closely behind, made her way into the living room with her. The air between them felt lighter now, less charged.

As they settled onto Azzi’s couch, Paige reached for the bottle, pouring wine into both of their glasses. Azzi, meanwhile, grabbed the remote, aimlessly flipping through options.

"So," Azzi started, glancing at Paige, "what are you watching these days?"

Paige let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "If it’s not basketball or some obnoxious toddler show like bluey, I don’t watch TV."

Azzi laughed and nodded in understanding before turning back to the screen. "Well, what do you wanna watch now?"

Paige leaned back into the couch. "Just put on whatever you’ve been watching."

Azzi hesitated before laughing softly. "I don’t really watch anything either."

Paige turned her head to look at her. "So we both just sit around with the TV on for no reason?"

Azzi lifting her wine glass. "Apparently." She took a small sip before adding, "So what now?"

Paige shrugged, stretching her arm over the back of the couch. The motion was casual, but Azzi still took note of how close Paige's hand was behind her. She glanced at it briefly before taking a long sip of her wine.

Azzi decided to bypass the TV altogether, using the Apple TV remote to play some music in the background instead. The soft hum of a familiar R&B track filled the room, settling into the space between them.

Paige took a sip of her wine before glancing at Azzi. "So you wanna tell me about work now?"

Azzi leaned back against the couch, tucking one leg beneath her as she swirled her glass. "It wasn’t bad. A couple of my regular clients are making progress, which is always nice to see. And I’m starting new programs for some of them, tailoring things a little differently this time."

Paige nodded, her attention locked on Azzi in that way that always made Azzi feel seen. "That’s wassup. Tell me about some of em?"

Azzi went on, explaining a bit about her clients—what they needed, what adjustments she was making. It wasn’t anything overly exciting, just the kind of day-to-day she never really thought twice about. But with Paige, it felt different. Maybe it was the way Paige unmistakably listened, fully engaged, or the way she chimed in at just the right moments, adding to the conversation instead of just filling space. Whatever it was, every time it happened it sent warmth spreading through Azzi, settling deep in her chest.

Paige was mid-question, asking Azzi about the mental aspect of recovery, when she noticed the way Azzi was looking at her. Her words trailed off as she caught the intensity in Azzi’s gaze, her brown eyes studying Paige like she was seeing something she hadn’t fully processed before.

Paige tilted her head slightly. "Wassup?"

Azzi swallowed, her fingers tightening slightly around her wine glass. "Nothing," she murmured.

Paige raised an eyebrow. "Nah, wassup?"

Azzi shook her head, a small, almost bashful smile tugging at her lips as she looked down for a second before meeting Paige’s eyes again. She exhaled, as if weighing whether to say it out loud.

"It’s just…" Azzi started, her voice quieter than before. "Intelligence. The way you actually listen, not just hear, but really listen—ask the right questions, care about what I do. It’s just…really attractive."

Paige blinked, caught off guard for a second, before a slow, smirk spread across her lips. "Yeah?"

Azzi huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head as she took another sip of her wine. "Yeah."

Paige studied her for a moment before she said, “I think everything you do is attractive.”

Azzi arched a brow. “Yeah?”

Paige hummed in confirmation, shifting just a little in her seat, her arm still stretched over the back of the couch. "The way you talk, the way you move, the way you stare at me like you're doing right now…”

“And here I was thinking you liked me for my mind.”

Paige grinned, tilting her head. “I do. But the rest of you is pretty distracting.”

Azzi bit her lip, pretending to consider this. “So what I’m hearing is I’m the whole package?”

Paige scoffed. “That’s what I been tryna to tell you for like two weeks.”

Azzi exhaled a quiet laugh. The music played on in the background, blending seamlessly into the moment as she let her body lean just slightly toward Paige, closing a bit of the space between them.

Their conversation had flowed effortlessly through the night, carrying them through topics ranging from lighthearted to deep. Now, with the empty wine bottle resting on the table, they had unconsciously shifted closer—Azzi’s legs still tucked beneath her, and Paige sat in a relaxed sprawl, her arm slung over the back of the couch behind Azzi.

Azzi absentmindedly played with the short hairs at the nape of Paige’s neck, and Paige, instead of pulling away, let her.

“I gotta ask,” Azzi said suddenly. “How do you function with your sleep schedule? Or, like…lack of one.”

Paige scoffed. “Whatchu you mean?”

“I mean, I’ll text you at 11 p.m. if I had a late day at the office and you’re awake. Then I’ll wake up at 5 a.m. for my workout, and you’re still awake.”

Paige smiled. “Maybe I just like to be available for you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at her lips. “Or maybe you’re just terrible at taking care of yourself.”

Paige feigning offense. “Wow. You really know how to flatter a girl.”

Azzi laughed. “I’m just saying. Do you ever sleep?”

“Of course,” Paige said smoothly. “Just…not at normal hours.”

Azzi squinted at her. “So, when exactly?”

Paige shrugged, looking unbothered. “Whenever I crash.”

Azzi sighed dramatically. “You’re a lost cause.”

Paige smirked. “Nah, maybe I just need a little guidance.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly. “What kind of guidance?”

Paige’s smirk deepened. “The kind that only a private sports physician can give me.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, immediately catching onto what Paige was doing. “Well, I do have a few associates I could refer you to if you’re interested .”

Paige shifted a little closer, her voice lower now. “M’not interested in hearing from them.”

Azzi’s eyes flickered to Paige’s lips before returning to her gaze. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Paige’s fingers lightly traced Azzis shoulder as she leaned in just a little more. “Cause I prefer a more…hands-on approach.”

Azzi let her fingers ghost along the back of Paige’s neck again. “Lucky for you, I specialize in hands-on treatment.”

Paige licked her lips, her gaze locked onto Azzi’s. “Yeah? How’s your patient satisfaction rating?”

Azzi smirked, matching Paige’s energy. “Off the charts.”

Paige’s whispered. “Guess I’ll have to see for myself.”

Azzi hummed. “You sure you can handle it?”

Paige inched even closer, their noses nearly brushing. “You’d be surprised at what I can handle.”

Azzi’s breath hitched slightly, her fingers pausing for a second before resuming their movements at the back of Paige’s neck. “I don’t know…I wouldn’t want you overexerting yourself.”

Paige let out a soft chuckle. “I think I’ll be just fine.”

Azzi’s voice was barely above a whisper now, her lips dangerously close to Paige’s. “Mmm. Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Paige swallowed, her voice barely audible as she whispered, “I’m tryna kiss you. That’s ok with you?”

Azzi instinctively licked her lips before whispering, “Go ahead.”

In the next second, Paige closed the distance, her lips pressing softly against Azzi’s. The kiss started slow. There was no rush, no urgency. Just the two of them, exploring the unfamiliar territory between them.

Azzi’s hand slid up to cup Paige’s jaw, her thumb brushing over her cheek as she leaned in further. Paige’s fingers ghosted over Azzi’s waist before settling there, pulling her just a little closer.

Paige’s grip on Azzi’s waist tightened just slightly as she pressed in, deepening the kiss. Azzi sighed softly against her lips, her fingers threading into the hair at the nape of Paige’s neck, anchoring her there.

The shift in intensity was gradual, a natural progression from gentle exploration to something more certain. Paige’s hand moved up, fingertips tracing the curve of Azzi’s spine before settling between her shoulder blades. Azzi melted into her touch, her own body instinctively responding as she leaned further into Paige, matching her pace.

The music playing in the background faded into nothing, their focus locked solely on each other. Paige tilted her head, deepening the kiss, savoring the warmth of Azzi’s lips. Azzi responded in kind, her breathing slightly heavier now.

Paige tried to tug Azzi toward her and barely had time to register the shift before she was being pulled down by Azzi, their lips never breaking apart. A quiet hum of surprise left her, quickly swallowed by Azzi as she tightened her arms around Paige’s shoulders, keeping her close.

With this new position, Paige braced herself with one hand against the couch while the other settled against Azzi’s waist again, her thumb brushing against the bare skin exposed between her shirt and pants. The kiss deepened naturally again, the slow exploration giving way to something more urgent.

Azzi sighed into Paige’s mouth, fingers threading deeper into her hair, nails scratching lightly against her scalp. The small sound sent a rush through Paige, her body instinctively pressing further into Azzi’s, closing any remaining space between them. The warmth of Azzi beneath her, the way she moved with her—it was intoxicating.

Neither of them realized how much time passed, lost in the intoxicating rhythm of each other. Their lips moved in sync, tongues, exploring—learning. Paige felt like she could kiss Azzi forever, and from the way Azzi kept pulling her closer, she figured the feeling was mutual.

Eventually, Paige’s lips began to wander, trailing soft, wet kisses down Azzi’s jaw and onto her neck. She felt the way Azzi’s breath hitched, how her fingers tightened their grip in Paige’s hair. Encouraged, Paige continued, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the warm skin, reveling in the little sighs Azzi let slip. She her lips and tongue map out every inch of Azzi’s neck, trailing lower to the parts of her chest that were exposed. She felt the way Azzi shivered beneath her, the way her breathing grew uneven with every kiss. Paige smirked against her skin, pressing one more lingering kiss just above her collarbone before her fingers toyed with the hem of Azzi’s shirt.

She tugged at it gently, a silent question passing between them. But instead of lifting her arms, Azzi grabbed Paige’s jaw and pulled her back up, reconnecting their lips. Paige got the message. She didn’t question it . Instead, she melted right back into the kiss, letting Azzi set the pace.

Azzi pulled back just slightly, her breath warm against Paige’s lips as she whispered, “Is just this okay with you?”

Paige gazed down at her, eyes soft. She smiled, brushing her thumb gently over Azzi’s cheek. “Of course,” she whispered, her voice filled with reassurance.

Azzi nodded before she guided Paige back down, their lips finding each other again, sinking back into the moment.

Once again, they stayed with their lips lost in one another, time slipping away as if it didn’t exist. Their breathing was heavy, blending into the soft music playing in the background, neither of them in a rush to pull away.

Eventually after who knows how long, Paige let out a light laugh against Azzi’s lips before resting her forehead against Azzi’s chest.

Azzi, still catching her own breath, looked down at her. “What?” she asked, amusement flickering in her tone.

Paige shook her head, her voice slightly muffled as she spoke. “I gotta stop or Imma die.”

Azzi let out a full laugh this time, her fingers absentmindedly playing with a few strands of Paige’s hair. “You’re dramatic.”

Paige finally lifted her head, her eyes still dark with lingering desire but now tinged with something softer. “M’for real,” she murmured.

Azzi rolled her eyes, still grinning. “Whatever you say.”

Paige let out a low chuckle, reaching up to gently push a stray strand of hair out of Azzi’s face. Her fingers lingered for a moment, tucking it behind Azzi’s ear before she murmured, “You’re gorgeous you know what?”

Azzi immediately looked away, mumbling, “Stop.”

Paige’s smile grew. “Why?”

Azzi exhaled, shaking her head before admitting, “Because every time you open your mouth, it gets harder to keep on my pants.”

Paige smirked, her fingers lightly tracing Azzi’s arm. “I tend to have that effect.”

Azzi let out a laugh, rolling her eyes as she playfully shoved Paige off of her. Paige let herself fall back against the couch with an exaggerated grunt, grinning up at Azzi as she stood.

“You’re ridiculous,” Azzi said, running a hand through her hair as she tried to shake off the heat Paige had stirred in her.

Paige propped herself up on her elbows, smirk still intact. “Ridiculously charming, ridiculously good-looking…list goes on.”

“Ridiculously cocky.”

Paige winked. “You like it.”

Azzi shook her head but couldn’t fight the smile on her lips. “I need a second,” she muttered, turning toward the kitchen.

Paige sat up fully, watching her go with amusement. “Need to cool off, huh?”

Azzi shot her a look over her shoulder. “No thanks to you.”

Paige bit her lip, laughing. “I meann, I could help with that if you let me.”

Azzi pointed at her. “Sit there. Be quiet. Don’t move.”

Paige held her hands up in surrender but still grinned. Two seconds later even though Azzi told her to stay still Paige gets up and follows Azzi into her kitchen

Azzi handed Paige a cup of water, watching as she took a sip before leaning against the counter. “I thought I told you not to move,” Azzi said, crossing her arms.

Paige shrugged, setting the cup down. “I’ve never been someone who listens.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to realize that.”

Paige smirked. “Besides, if I stayed put, I wouldn’t be able to keep bothering you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, so that’s the goal?”

Paige tilted her head side to side. “Eh one of em.”

Azzi filled a cup of water for herself and took a sip, watching as Paige’s smirk lingered. “You’re way too happy with yourself.”

Paige leaned in slightly. “Can you blame me?”

Azzi scoffed. “I really should.”

They stood there for a moment, the playful energy between them settling into something softer. Paige glanced at the time on the microwave and sighed. “I should probably get home.”

Azzi pressed her lips together, nodding. “Yeah…probably.”

But neither of them moved, both hesitating trying to stretch the night just a little longer.

Paige smirked as she tugged Azzi closer, their bodies pressing together as she leaned back against the counter and pulled her into a kiss. The kiss was slower this time, unrushed but still filled with the energy that had been building between them all night. Paige’s hands slid up the sides of Azzi’s shirt, her fingertips grazing the skin before she tilted her head and bit down lightly on Azzi’s bottom lip.

Azzi moaned softly at this, a sudden rush of heat pooling low in her stomach. But just as quickly as the feeling overwhelmed her, she snapped herself out of it, pulling back abruptly.

“Nope,” Azzi said, shaking her head as she stepped away. “Get out.”

Paige blinked, still leaning against the counter, her lips slightly parted. “What?”

Azzi pointed toward the door. “Out. Now.”

A slow grin spread across Paige’s face as she straightened up. “Did I just—”

“Out.” Azzi repeated, her voice firm, but the way she avoided Paige’s gaze only made her more amused.

Paige chuckled, grabbing her keys off the counter. “Alright, alright. I’m going.” She started toward the garage door but paused, glancing over her shoulder. “For the record, I still think you could show me around. You know lemme see your room and allat.”

Azzi scoffed, arms crossed as she leaned against the kitchen island. “I’m good.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. “You gonna at least come say bye?”

Azzi exhaled, resisting the urge to roll her eyes into the back of her head. Still, she pushed off the counter and walked over, allowing herself to be pulled into a hug. Paige’s arms wrapped around her tightly, lingering just enough to make Azzi’s feel warm before she pulled back slightly.

“Text me when you make it home,” Azzi murmured.

“I will,” Paige promised.

They shared a quiet look before murmuring soft goodnights. Paige finally stepped out, heading to her car as Azzi trailed behind, opening the garage for her. As Paige backed out she shot Azzi a wink before driving off.

Azzi shook her head, fighting a smile as she pressed the button to shut the garage.

She let out a slow breath as she closed the door, leaning against it for a moment before pushing off and making her way back into the kitchen. She braced her hands against the counter, her thoughts still swirling—Paige’s touch, her teasing smirk, the way her lips felt, the heat still lingering in Azzi’s stomach. Most of all how Paige made her feel. Like her presence was something Azzi had been missing her entire life.

With a sigh, she ran a hand down her face, shaking the thoughts away as best she could. She reached up, gathering her hair into a messy bun before turning off the music and lights. The house felt quieter now, too still compared to the energy Paige had left behind.

Exhaling, Azzi made her way upstairs, ready to put some space between herself and the thoughts Paige had stirred up—though she already knew they’d follow her to bed.

[alchemistc]

They still have a rifle trained on Evan.

He's a reckless idiot, chasing after a bunch of assholes with guns, ditching the rest of his crew with their fucking ladder because he'd heard a detail Tommy had been desperately hoping Mehta wouldn't release over comms, and now Tommy is going to be responsible for the death of more than just himself and these dickheads who think they're getting away with this.

He'll try to live, but he's calculated the odds - sorry, Mr. Solo, force of habit.

The one who'd knocked out his co-pilot and dragged her out three hours ago huffs a breath like the inconvenience of distraction annoys him.

Evan's hand is still poised on his radio at the edge of the rooftop - setting sun shading him in a brilliant orange glow, curls on display because he'd clearly ditched any equipment that would bog down the climb. A finger twitches. Static fills Tommy's comms.

His new co-pilot never put his headset on. It's just Tommy and Evan and the entire LAPD/LAFD on comms, and four equally reckless, armed men with their weapons at the ready.

Tommy doesn't even know their endgame. They'd been waiting on the hospital roof, and he's landed them three times and never seen them return with anything when the three not shoving a barrel in his gut disappear into a building.

"Go for Kinard," he says, ignoring the dig into his ribs; at the very least he'd warned them early on that he needed to appear ready and available to communicate if they wanted whatever it was they'd hijacked his bird for. It was a blatant lie, but the moment they'd first pointed a weapon at him he'd known it'd be his only chance at a possible goodbye.

He just hadn't realized it'd be this.

Not face to face, with the added terror of knowing he might lose Evan and never even know for sure.

Not like this, he thinks, and then reminds himself that he was the dumbass who fell for Evan Buckley knowing full well the kind of stunts he'd pull for someone he cared about.

But, hey. At least this is confirmation that his petty lash-out had just been a response to feeling hurt. Confirmation that he did care, in some way.

"Tommy, can you hear me?" Evan asks over comms, voice clear as a fucking bell - Mehta's been a tyrant about keeping this line clear. Could just be Mehta and a negotiator listening in. Could be the entirety of the fire and police departments of the city.

We're all gonna die anyway, Tommy thinks.

"Loud and clear, Firefighter Buckley."

His neighbor stares him down, barrel still at his rib cage. If he was a betting man, he'd say they'd never actually been taught not to hold a gun close enough to a hostage that they might be reckless enough to try to take it.

"I have a plan," Evan says, and with the distance between them and the sun at Evan's back he loses some details, but he knows that determined set to his shoulders.

"Negative, Firefighter Buckley."

Two of the men have lowered their weapons. Confused, maybe. Unsure what the hell this random guy thought he was doing clambering up a ladder and onto a rooftop occupied by a search and rescue chopper, a harried pilot looking death in the mouth, and four armed men.

The quiet one doesn't lower his weapon.

"Tommy -" Evan starts, and Tommy tries to split his focus. Four hostiles, upwards of ten quick-shot weapons, too many bullets to count. A strangely shaped chest settled in the roof between Two and Four: is that their end goal? Is this his last flight?

Fuck it.

"Evan," he cuts in, and even from this distance Tommy can see him go stock still. "Evan, whatever happens, I just want you to know -."

His co-pilot rips the headset off his ears.

Through the blind panic, Tommy catches sight of Evan ducking for cover behind an HVAC unit.

Shots - he loses count after seven, takes the butt of a gun to his cheekbone, listens to Three yelling about not knocking out their ticket out.

The odds are shit for Tommy either way, and One is distracted now, arguing with Three, weapon no longer aimed at the bulk of Tommy's organs. His belt is a quick release. His door is still open.

Dumb of them to let him do that every time they landed.

This building isn't half as tall as the surrounding ones. It's possible they've managed to get snipers up on some of the other rooftops. For once in his life he doesn't mind how glaringly bright his flight suit is, when he takes a final stock of his captors positions in their all black ensembles. Maybe. Maybe.

He wants to finish that sentence. Christ, he wants to give Evan a full novel of painful stark truths. Jesus. He's gonna die, either way, one day. Might as well try to make it fucking count for something.

The belt makes a shit ton of noise being unbuckled, but over the rushing vortex of the blades, the hum of the engine, the quickly devolving argument happening between the four men in black, he doesn't think anyone hears it.

Tommy rolls right out of his seat and makes a break for another HVAC unit.

He's out of sight before they realize he's missing, and from this angle, back to the humming fans, he can see Evan two units over.

Tommy finds a rock. Peeks just long enough to confirm the absolute shit show of the four men who've just now realized they're down a pilot. Tosses it just far enough to catch the protruding length of Evan Buckley's leg.

He's always appreciated those legs, but if they get out of this alive and this means what he thinks it means he'll spend some extra time reminding them how grateful he is of them.

Two of the men are beelining it for the door to the roof - the opposite direction from Tommy, but if they get there Evan will be in a direct line of sight.

When Tommy's rock hits, Evan glances up. Catches his eye. Starts crawling the fucking moment Tommy crooks two fingers and hell if that doesn't do something to both his heart and his dick. Jesus. He's so fucked.

If this doesn't mean what he thinks it means, Tommy's gonna wish he'd stayed in his seat long enough to kill the engines over the Pacific.

"This was not the plan," Evan hisses the moment he's perched behind Tommy's air conditioning unit.

"New plan, don't die," Tommy says, and Evan glares at him, full piss-and-vinegar scowl like he doesn't think Tommy's very funny. Howie would have laughed himself into discovery. Tommy risks another glance over the fans.

One, his forcefully appointed co-pilot, is trying to figure out the birds controls. Three is hefting the chest up into the back. Looks like Two and Four are about to be abandoned. If they could fly their own damn chopper what the hell was Tommy for?

"I'm in love with you," Tommy says. "And you scare the shit out of me."

Evan's eyes settle on him, pinks and purples reflecting off the lens, yellows and oranges burnishing his curls.

"This is how you choose to tell me?"

Tommy's grin is wry. "No time like the present, sweetheart. That, and the adrenaline is kicking my ass right now."

"If we make it out of here, I'm gonna kick your ass."

Evan's hand is right there, balanced on his knee, and Tommy - the plan he's been formulating out of thin air coalesces. It might actually fucking work, too.

Tommy reaches for it. Squeezes. "That a promise?"

Evan rolls his wrist, and palm to palm he squeezes back.

If he ever has the chance to look back on this, he's going to have some pointers on the script. He's always eaten up rom-com stakes in the middle of an action movie, but the dialogue could use some work.

He needs to keep Evan occupied at least until that bird is in the air.

"You think anyone had bets I'd say it over comms? LAFD has a whole bookie system devoted to your house, you know."

"Tommy."

"In about seventy seconds they're gonna realize I disabled a bunch of systems they can't enable back in the air, and we're gonna make a run for the ladder."

"Tommy," he says again, eyes bright, hand squeezing harder.

"Stay low, do not engage, if the guys who went down the stairwell come back you let me handle it."

"Tommy, shut up," Evan says, and ducks in to kiss him.

[enhaflixer]

ENHYPEN ASS vs. TITS - ENHA HARD HOURS MDNI 18+

cw: smut obvs like so much, but also riki's has a lil ass eating at the end so if ur not comfy w that don't read it, i personally think its hot sexy mwah mwah mwahiasd ydgwieudnoedoqwim asf so...

-

HEESEUNG — TITS MAN TO THE POINT OF SPIRITUALITY

He loves them. Loves them.

Big ones, small ones, soft, perky, natural, fake—he’s an equal opportunity worshipper. But yours? YOURS?

He treats them like holy ground. Kneels for them. Sleeps with his face in them. Whines when you wear a bra like it’s a personal attack.

“Why would you trap them like that?”

“They need support.”

“I support them. Every day. Emotionally. Spiritually.”

You’re doing dishes? He’s behind you, groping.

You’re getting dressed? He’s on the bed, hands behind his head, smiling like an idiot while watching them jiggle into your bra.

You take your shirt off? He sighs, like something’s been healed deep in his soul.

He’ll pull your top down mid-makeout just to cup them gently and go:

“Sorry, I needed that. I’m better now.”

In Bed? He’s feral.

Titty-fucking? Yes. Every time you offer. Sometimes when you don’t.

He’s panting the second you squeeze them around his cock, groaning “oh my god—your tits are so fucking perfect—” while leaking all over them. He’ll finish on your chest and just… stare.

Sometimes traces your nipples with his tongue and mutters praise like a man possessed:

“So soft. So pretty. Look at you. Let me suck on you, baby. Let me have you.”

He cums harder when he’s touching them. Moans louder. Cries a little if you let him fuck them and your mouth at the same time.

Soft Hours? Heeseung, Please.

When he’s falling asleep?

Face planted right between them.

Wakes up and kisses them before he kisses your mouth.

If you ever even joke about disliking them?

“Hey. Don’t do that. Not to my favorite girls.”

He holds them during cuddles. Talks to them sometimes. Probably has a little name for them. Definitely has a favorite boob.

If you ever walk in wearing a loose tank top, no bra, all soft and sleepy?

He goes feral.

Like, drop-the-controller-in-the-middle-of-a-game feral.

“No. Come here. No, I’m not joking. Get over here. You look like that and expect me to focus? Be serious.”

JAY — ASS MAN TO THE GRAVE.

This man is not okay about it.

He tries to play it cool. He tries to pretend he’s above it. But his eyes? They betray him every. single. time. You bend over in front of him once and he forgets his name, his birth date, his purpose in life.

“What did you say?”

“I said pass me the—”

“No, I’m sorry. I blacked out. Say it again but maybe… don’t arch like that this time?”

You walking around the house?

He’s watching.

Not even subtle. Doesn’t blink.

You turn around and catch him, and he just smirks like—

“I paid for dinner, I get to look.”

If you wear leggings or those tiny shorts he hates but secretly loves? He’s groaning the second you leave the room.

If you wear nothing? He’s hard before you even speak.

In public?

You’re his plus one at a fancy dinner. You lean forward to pick up your bag and his hand is immediately on the small of your back.

“Don’t bend over in that dress. Unless you want me to ruin it.”

He’ll whisper filthy things in your ear just because he knows your thighs will clench.

“Gonna have to remind you who that ass belongs to when we get home.”

You do not make it home.

In bed? Jay doesn’t play.

He lives for taking you from behind.

Spreads your cheeks just to stare. Smacks it once. Then twice. Then again—just because he can.

“Look at this fuckin’ view,” he groans. “Tell me who it’s for.”

He grabs handfuls of your ass while pounding into you, low moans spilling from his lips with every bounce.

“That’s it, baby. Make it clap for me.”

He’ll cum and stay inside, pressing his palm to the curve of your back like he’s still claiming it.

If you’re riding him in reverse? He’s DONE. Gripping your hips, whispering, “that’s it, baby, give me the show,” while he holds your ass open and watches himself disappear inside you over and over.

Soft Hours? He’s down bad.

He walks up behind you when you’re brushing your teeth, wraps his arms around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulder just to grind the smallest bit against your ass.

“Just letting you know I’m thinking of your ass.”

Worships it like it’s art. Might kiss it before kissing your lips. If you’re lying face-down on the couch, he’s kneeling beside you and purring.

“This is where I wanna live. Right here. I’ll build a house.”

Bonus Jay Dialogue:

“If I die and come back as anything, I want it to be your ass.”

“You’re unwell.”

“No, baby. I’m obsessed. There’s a difference.”

JAKE SIM AND THE TITTY ERA™

It starts as a joke.

You’re lying on the couch, wearing the tiniest tank top known to mankind—braless, of course. Jake’s head is resting on your chest, dead silent, completely still, until—

“Left one’s Luna,” he mumbles.

“I’m sorry??”

“And the right one’s Veronica. Luna’s a little softer. Veronica’s got attitude.”

You blink.

He looks up, dead serious.

“What? I see them more than I see half my friends. They deserve names.”

From that point on—it’s over for you.

Jake is no longer a man. He is a titty prophet. A chest scholar. A boob poet.

And he has zero shame.

When You’re Just Hanging Out

He’ll be cuddled up next to you, arm around your waist, hand casually resting on Luna like she’s his comfort plushie.

“Veronica’s in a mood today. She keeps poking out.”

“You’re insane.”

“You’re just jealous you don’t have Veronica and Luna.”

He will say good morning to them.

He will say good night to them.

He will literally bow to them when you take your shirt off.

When Things Get Heated

You’re on top of him, tits bouncing in his face, and he’s fully whimpering.

“Oh my god, look at them.”

“They’re literally just—”

“No. No they’re not. Don’t disrespect them in front of me.”

He talks directly to them while fucking you.

“That’s my girl. Look how good you look. You’re stealing the whole show.”

And then moans like he’s being blessed.

He sucks on one, then the other, then goes back and forth like he’s trying to make them jealous of each other.

Titty-fucking? Oh, baby.

It’s not a kink. It’s a calling.

He’s panting, groaning, fully worshipping the view with his cock between them and his fingers gripping your sides like he’s trying to survive it.

“Luna, you’re an angel. Veronica, stop staring at me like that—fuck—fuck.”

He finishes all over them, then kisses the tops like a gentleman.

When He’s Being Soft™

He lays his head between them to fall asleep.

Literally nuzzles like a baby.

If you move, he groans dramatically and pulls you back in.

“You’re squishing them.”

“Good. That’s where I wanna die.”

When you’re feeling insecure?

He gets angry.

“Don’t talk about them like that.”

“Jake, I’m just saying—”

“No. No self-slander. They’re iconic. They’re powerful. They’re literally the best part of my day.”

He’ll kiss your chest over and over until you melt.

Then look up with that soft, sleepy smile and go:

“Tell them I said thank you.”

SUNGHOON — TITS MAN. DEADPAN. UNWELL.

“I wasn’t staring.”

He says.

While blinking at your chest.

Not moving. Not breathing. Just… evaluating. Deep in thought. Like your tits are a visual exam and he’s making sure he gets every answer right.

The Outside: Composed. Cold. Deadpan.

You walk out of the bedroom in a braless tank top? He doesn’t say anything.

Just glances once. Looks away. Then glances again.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

Stares harder.

You lean forward on the counter. He zones out so hard he doesn’t hear what you said. Eyes locked. Hands twitching.

“Are you even listening?”

“I’m trying not to lose my fucking mind, actually.”

The Inside: Imploding. Exploding. Melting.

Sunghoon’s not dramatic. But your tits?

They undo him.

He acts like he doesn’t care, but you catch him gently adjusting his sweatpants every time they bounce under your shirt.

He tries to make it your problem.

“Why would you wear that?”

“I live here??”

“Okay but you know what that top does to me.”

When you finally take your bra off in front of him?

Silence.

Eyes wide.

Lips parted.

Then:

“…Yeah. Okay. I’m gonna need you to come here right now.”

In Bed? He’s Possessed.

He doesn’t even go for your mouth at first.

Just pulls your shirt up and moans the second he sees your chest.

Stares. Palms. Thumbs your nipples until they harden. Watches you squirm.

“Sensitive?”

“Yes—fuck, Hoon—”

“Good.”

He loves sucking. But not sloppy. Not rushed.

Slow. Purposeful. Alternates between kisses and tongue. Stares at your face while doing it. Groans when you moan.

“Keep making those sounds. It makes them feel appreciated.”

You ride him? His hands are locked behind his head, watching them bounce with that lazy, half-lidded gaze like he’s hypnotized.

“You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Making them bounce like that. You’re evil.”

Sunghoon’s Tits-Man Greatest Hits:

“You were talking and I heard nothing. They were bouncing and I panicked.”

“I’ve been really good today. Can I put my face in them?”

“They’re prettier than I deserve. But I’ll worship them like I do.”

“If they had their own fanclub, I’d be president, secretary, and treasurer.”

“I come for you. I stay for the tits.”

SUNOO — THE SNEAKIEST ASS MAN ALIVE

He is so unserious about it.

Pretends it’s not that deep.

But if you bend over in front of him, he gasps. Loudly. Like it’s the most disrespectful thing you’ve ever done.

“You can’t just do that while I’m eating!!”

“I dropped my phone!”

“I dropped my soul???”

Around the House? He’s Acting Up.

You’re in shorts? He’s watching.

You walk away? He hums under his breath like he’s rating it.

“Mhm. That’s a solid 9.6 today.”

If you so much as climb onto the bed in front of him, it’s over. He’s crawling after you. Hands out like a cartoon character.

He doesn’t even pretend he’s not obsessed. If you catch him staring?

“Yeah. And? I bought dinner. I get ass privileges.”

Loves pulling you into his lap just to squeeze. Always sits with you facing away so he can rest his head on your back and just hold. The ass. Casually.

“This is therapeutic for me.”

In Bed? He’s OUT OF CONTROL.

Sunoo doesn’t just love your ass.

He performs rituals on it.

Spanks it lovingly. Stares like it’s art. Spreads it slow and dramatic just to whisper:

“This is my happy place.”

Loves when you ride him in reverse so he can watch. Bites his lip, tilts his head, and says the nastiest shit in the softest voice.

“Bounce like that again, baby. Just like that. You’re showing off, aren’t you?”

He’s fully vocal. Gasps. Whines. Might literally sob if he finishes while holding onto your hips.

Loses all composure when he takes you from behind. Like—whimpering, full-body shaking, face buried in your neck groaning “you’re too good to me—”

Sunoo’s Ass-Man Greatest Hits:

 “This outfit is so disrespectful and I support it fully.”

 “No offense but if I die it better be face-down in that thing.”

 “You jiggle when you walk. That’s poetry, actually.”

 “It’s giving… distraction. It’s giving… girlfriend tax.”

 “Bend over one more time and I will moan. I’m warning you.”

JUNGWON — SWEET. TEASING. CRAZY-IN-THE-HEAD. ASS MAN TO HIS CORE.

He’ll help you clean the house, fold your laundry, and refill your water bottle like the perfect boyfriend he is…

…then immediately pull you into his lap while you’re still wearing your cute little shorts and whisper:

“Sit still, baby. Let me feel it again.”

Sweet on the surface… always.

He’ll come up behind you while you’re cooking, wrap his arms around your waist, and nuzzle your neck.

But it’s not romantic.

Because his hands are gripping your ass the whole time. He’s swaying his hips into you, barely hiding his hard-on, mumbling:

“You’re doing great. Just… keep standing like that for a few more minutes.”

But once his brain short-circuits? He’s GONE.

You bend over once—to pick up a sock, fix the blanket, anything—and his hands are on you.

Not playful.

POSSESSIVE.

Spreads you apart with both hands like he’s checking if you remembered who you belong to.

“Pussy's dripping already?” he murmurs, smirking. “Told you it missed me.”

Loves watching his cum leak out of you—loves it—mouth open, eyes wide, licking his lips like he’s about to dive back in.

“Look at her. it's still hungry, baby.”

He will eat you out from behind just to stay close to her.

Face deep. Hands gripping. Moaning like you’re his last meal.

He groans when you cum, tongue flat and wide and messy—then keeps licking just to overstimulate you, hands spreading you wider until you’re whining.

“Don’t run. You wanted me back here, didn’t you?”

“W-Won—”

“Nah. Be a good girl. Let me finish worshipping you.”

Jungwon’s Wild-Ass, Sweet-Boy Ass-Man Dialogue Greatest Hits:

 “Spread your cheeks for me. That’s it. God, look how pretty that is.”  “you’ve always been a lil slutty, haven't you? You’re leaking just from my tongue.”  “You said you wanted soft tonight, but your ass says otherwise.”  “I’m serious. If you keep arching like that, I’m not pulling out.”  “I’ll kiss your ass good night every day if you let me.”

RIKI — UNBOTHERED. UNHOLY. THE MOST CASUAL ASS OBSESSION ON EARTH.

He’s quiet. Chill. Always lounging.

But his eyes?

They never leave your ass.

You turn around and he’s already smirking, legs spread, head tilted back like—

“Damn. Look at her go.”

And by “her,” he means your ass. He says it with his chest.

So casual it’s actually terrifying.

You walk past in sweatpants?

He stares.

You bend over to grab something?

He groans.

You sit in his lap, all soft and cozy, and his hands immediately slide down to squeeze—hard.

“What?” he shrugs. “She said hi.”

He talks to her like she’s got a personality. Blames shit on her.

“I wasn’t trying to get hard. She was grinding.”

“I wasn’t staring. She winked first.”

And in bed? He’s… not normal.

He flips you over. Spreads your cheeks.

And just stares.

Doesn’t even blink.

Tilts his head. Brushes his thumb across your hole.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he says quietly. “She’s so needy. You feel that?”

He lives to fuck you from behind.

Hands on your hips, pulling you back onto him like a toy. Mutters things like:

“Look at her swallowing me. Damn.”

When he pulls out and watches his cum leak out?

He presses your cheeks together and moans.

Takes a picture. Doesn’t ask. Says:

“This one’s for her. She earned it.”

And he eats ass like he’s trying to win a gold medal.

Doesn’t warn you. Doesn’t stop.

He’ll lick everything with slow, lazy circles—palms keeping you wide open, breath warm, tongue deeper than it has any right to be.

He loves how sensitive you get.

He teases. He talks through it.

He chuckles when you shake.

“You always this shy, baby?”

“You’re licking my—”

“I know. She’s delicious.”

[powderpinkprincess]

Irresponsible [Lando Norris x reader]

description: Lando has an irrational fear of a cab driver kidnapping you once- Or something like that.

Lando usually didn’t mind when you went out without him. You had your own group of friends in Monaco, and as long as your best friend, Sasha was there, Lando didn’t worry much. He really liked her because she was nice and responsible even when she drank, keeping you away from trouble.

What he did mind, however, was you taking a cab home alone. It didn’t matter how safe Monaco was or how many times you had done it before - just the thought of you, possibly even drunk, sitting in the back of a stranger’s car made his stomach twist. What if the driver wasn’t who they seemed? What if something happened, and he wasn’t there? Lando knew it was probably just in his head, but that didn’t make it any easier. It was the one thing he hated about your nights out - waiting for that text saying you were home safe, hoping that nothing had gone wrong.

At least now that Lando finally had a whole week at home, he didn’t have to worry about that, and he could just pick you up himself. Besides training, he still had tons of work to do on his laptop, so he was busy, but he was available.

He didn’t mute his phone when he went to sleep as he usually did, so you could reach him whenever you wanted. However, when you left you noticed how exhausted he looked, so you didn’t want to bother him. At 2 a.m. you were more than ready to leave, and that was when you noticed your credit card was almost empty. You had two credit cards, one to use in your day-to-day life and another one for clubbing.

You didn’t want to wake Lando, but eventually you had to. He was fast asleep when his phone rang. He picked it up half asleep when he saw your number come up. Sitting up, he wiped his eyes and yawned. “Hey babe, is everything okay?”

 “Uhm, hi, sorry to wake you up,” you started.

 “No, no,” he said, slowly coming to his senses. “It's okay,” he added with a yawn. “What is it, love?”

 “Could you maybe send some money to my blue card?” you sighed. Lando knew exactly what you meant as he used the same method when going out. If the card got lost or stolen, it was a much better situation when it was not the majority of your money disappearing.

Lando stifled a sigh as he turned the light on. “Why, did you forget to transfer money again?” he asked while he opened the bank app on his phone. Lando was a bit annoyed at you for being careless with your stuff again, but he sent some money to you anyway.

 “I’m sorry,” you replied, noticing the tone of his voice immediately.

 “Don’t apologize, just try to pay attention the next time.” He suppressed another yawn. “Are you guys going to stay out?”

 “No, I was just about to call a cab,” you explained.

He was silent for a minute, then you could hear the soft ruffling of the sheets as he moved. “Why didn’t you call me before? I would have come to pick you up.”

 “Cause you needed rest,” you mumbled. You knew he didn’t like it when you took a cab, so you expected the question.

 “Well, I'm up now, so I don't think it matters anyway,” Lando said with a hint of sarcasm. “I would have come to pick you up at any time for you, love, you know that,” he added, trying to sound sincere. He didn't want to pick a fight now that he was awake, but it was a bit of a sensitive spot for him. Lando didn't like that you would just jump into a car with a stranger. He worried about your safety more than you realised.

 “I know,” you sighed.

There was a brief silence on the line. Lando knew you were being considerate by not calling him earlier, yet he couldn't help but feel a bit frustrated. He wanted to voice that but held back, knowing it would lead to a pointless argument. “Where are you, anyway?” he asked instead.

  “At Aurora. We're still inside at the smoking area cause it's quiet and warm here,” you added. “Why?”

 “Just wondering. Aurora is on the other side of the city, and at this time of night I'd rather not send you in a random cab,” Lando replied, his concern growing. “Are the girls with you?”

 “Yes, they are. But you really don't need to come,” you pushed.

Lando knew you were trying to not bother him, but he also knew that this was pointless to argue about. Besides, he would be restless if he just stayed home now that he was up. “I'm coming,” he said with a finality in his voice.

 “Baby…” you sighed.

Lando was already getting up and putting on some clothes. “Stop protesting, Y/N. Half of the cab drivers barely even speak English here,” he retorted. “You’ve been drinking, you’re wearing that small dress, and you’re- You’re not going to call a cab. Just stay inside. I’ll be there soon.”

For a moment, you didn’t know how to reply. You could hear the frustration in his voice, but it somehow warmed your heart. “I love you,” you spoke eventually.

 “Love you, too. See you at the club,” he added before he ended the call.

He didn’t know how to explain what he felt. It was just that- So many things in his life could be taken away within a second. And he barely had anything stable to hold onto, considering how much he had to travel. He knew what people and social media were capable of, and he was just so afraid of you getting hurt. You’ve been dating over three years now, so his followers knew who you were, and he was also aware that people didn’t always have good intentions.

Twenty minutes later he was parked outside the club. He called you, so you quickly grabbed your belongings, hugged the girls goodbye, and then hurried to his car. You sat in and closed the door behind yourself.

Lando winced at the sound. “Hey, careful.”

He had taught you not to smack the door of his car, but apparently you were too drunk to notice or remember.

 “Oh, sorry,” you bit on your lip when you realized what you had done.

You checked your phone to see the time, and that was when you saw the notification of your bank application. You frowned and checked your account. Lando sent you money despite that he decided to pick you up, but you only expected an amount that would cover a cab ride. You huffed when you saw the numbers.

 “Baby, I wanted to call a cab for a ride home, not to buy the driver with the car,” you glanced at your boyfriend, who had just started the engine.

 “Consider it as a precaution,” he replied, his eyes never leaving the road as he started driving. He was still a little frustrated. “Better safe than sorry. And you know I don’t like you being in cabs with strangers at night.”

 “I know, but this is extensive. Did you think I’d have to pay a ransom for myself or what?” you sighed. “You know I have my own money, right? Just not on this card.”

 “I know,” he said, with a hint of annoyance in his voice. “But sometimes you can be irresponsible when it comes to money, like leaving your card behind or not checking your balance,” he said, recalling past incidents.

You just hummed. That was right.

 “Besides, this most likely wouldn’t be enough for a ransom,” he added.

 “I was just joking,” you mumbled. He wasn’t in a funny mood tonight.

 “I know,” Lando sighed. He stepped on the break at a red light and looked at you. “Y/N, I don’t even know how to approach this anymore. I’m not saying that I would pick you up because I’m trying to be nice. I’m saying it because I’d much rather pick you up by myself than wait until some creep kidnaps you. I know, you’re a strong, independent woman, but can’t you just let me have it my way for once?”

Your eyes widened slightly at his words. “No one is going to kidnap me.”

 “Y/N,” he pressed. “Please. Seriously.”

You couldn’t force back a small smile. Even though he could annoy you to death by being overprotective sometimes, he was still very cute.

 “Okay,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders. Meanwhile, the light has turned green again.

 “Okay?” he glanced at you again quickly before looking back at the road.

 “Yeah. Okay.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed and he sent you a small smile back. Oh, how you loved him.

[starsjulia]

Best Birthday Ever // Leah Williamson

a/n : someone requested this but i can’t find it for the life of me… sorry!

warnings : leah and reader are caught in the act…

It was a beautiful, peaceful morning, birds chirping, the sun shining, the perfect day for your birthday celebrations.

Unfortunately, no one had informed Beth Mead that she was about to experience a horror worse than any she had faced on a football pitch.

Beth had arrived early, eager to surprise you for your birthday, thinking herself thoughtful and considerate. The plan was simple: let herself in (Leah never locked the door anyway), set up some decorations, and bask in the glory of being the best friend ever.

However, what she walked into was not a scene of domestic bliss.

No, what Beth Mead walked into was a nightmare.

A full-blown, trauma-inducing, therapy-requiring nightmare.

Because there, in the middle of the living room sofa, where guests would soon be expected to sit, was Leah Williamson. And she was on top of you.

In the act.

Beth’s entire body seized up. Her soul attempted to evacuate her body. Her mouth opened, but her brain refused to form words.

Meanwhile, you screamed like you were being set on fire.

Leah, on the other hand, simply turned her head, grinned, and greeted Beth as if she hadn’t just been caught mid-thrust.

“Oh, morning, Beth! You’re early.”

Beth finally found the ability to move and immediately hurled her house keys at Leah’s head.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL—LEAH?! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?!”

Leah dodged them effortlessly, still looking far too amused for someone in her position.

“I mean, I’d have thought that was pretty obvious, mate.”

You, meanwhile, were in hell.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God,” you whispered, slamming your hands over your face as if that would somehow make you disappear.

Beth was now backing out of the room, as if she had walked into the den of Satan himself. “I NEED A PRIEST. I NEED HOLY WATER. I NEED TO UNSEE EVERYTHING. OH MY GOD—YOU TWO ARE VILE.”

Leah, completely unashamed, simply shrugged, still finding the whole thing absolutely hilarious.

“Oh, come off it, Mead. Bit dramatic, isn’t it?”

Beth pointed an accusing finger. “Dramatic?! DRAMATIC?! I JUST WALKED INTO LIVE ACTION PORN IN ME BEST MATE’S HOUSE! YOU THINK I’M BEING DRAMATIC?!”

Leah burst out laughing again.

You were seconds away from physically dragging Leah into another dimension where you could live in peace, away from the shame of this moment.

“Leah, for the love of God, shut up.”

Beth was now full-body shaking. “I came here to decorate. For the birthday party. I WAS TRYING TO BE NICE.” She let out a breath. “AND YOU TWO—YOU TWO WERE DOING GOD KNOWS WHAT AT TEN IN THE BLOODY MORNING.”

Leah smirked. “Well, actually, it was more like half-nine, wasn’t it, babe?”

You threw a cushion at her face.

Beth, still vibrating with horror, took a deep breath and slowly backed toward the door.

“I’m leaving,” she announced.

Leah pouted. “You just got here.”

“I AM LEAVING. I AM GOING TO GO HOME, I AM GOING TO PRETEND THIS NEVER HAPPENED, AND I AM NEVER COMING TO THIS HOUSE WITHOUT KNOCKING EVER AGAIN.”

She pointed one last, trembling finger. “And you two? You are sick, perverted freaks, and I hope you know that.”

Then, without another word, she turned and walked out the door.

Leah?

Leah was howling with laughter.

You?

You were seconds away from death via sheer embarrassment.

“I am never looking her in the eyes again,” you mumbled into your hands.

⸻

A Few Hours Later

The trauma had not subsided.

Beth had returned (hesitantly, after triple-checking that the house was safe), and the rest of the team had arrived for the party.

Unfortunately, Beth Mead was not one to suffer in silence.

The second everyone was gathered around, drinks in hand, music playing, she stood up, cleared her throat, and raised her voice so everyone could hear.

“Right, I’d just like to take a moment to formally announce that I will no longer be accepting invitations to Leah and Y/N’s house unless I have legal documentation stating that they are both fully clothed at all times.”

The room erupted in confused laughter.

You froze.

Leah smirked, immediately knowing what was coming.

“Beth, don’t you—”

“Oh, I fucking will.” Beth turned to the crowd. “Do you lot know what I had the absolute displeasure of walking into this morning?”

You slammed your face into your hands.

“BETHANY, PLEASE.”

Beth ignored you, taking a dramatic pause before announcing, loudly and proudly:

“LEAH WILLIAMSON RAW-DOGGING ONE OF MY BEST MATES ON THE LIVING ROOM SOFA.”

Silence.

Absolute, stunned silence.

Then…

Chaos.

Viv fell off her chair.

Lotte screamed.

Katie had to physically hold onto the table to keep herself upright.

You?

You were considering moving to another country.

Meanwhile, Leah?

Leah was laughing her head off.

Beth took a triumphant sip of her beer.

“Happy birthday, Y/N. Hope it was worth scarring me for life.”

[gf2bellamy]

I don't really know who to ask about this but this is a bit of a venty ask (sorry for that btw) is that okay? Can I request Spencer x reader (idk if you write just fem reader or any other's but dealers choice) and reader is rambling about something and suddenly stops when they realize they were talking too much? Like they think that he's annoyed because their family made them think that talking too much was bad? Sorry if this doesn't make sense, I struggle verbalizing my thoughts. Have a good day/night, again sorry for the odd request

listening — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of ppl in reader's life having not wanted to listen a/n: hii !! its a short one but i hope you like this <3 and dont worry your request isnt odd at all !!!

“And then he just ran off, and it was insane,” you said, shaking your head as you recounted the story, your hands gesturing animatedly. “I mean, I tried to stop him, but at that point, it was like talking to a brick wall, so I—”

You stopped mid-sentence.

Your voice trailed off as your brain caught up with what you were doing.

You had been rambling.

Again.

The realization hit like a bucket of cold water, making your stomach twist uncomfortably. Your words had been spilling out so effortlessly, but now, as you glanced at Spencer—who was sitting at his desk, watching you with a small smile—you suddenly felt foolish.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, your posture shrinking as you shifted in your seat. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the old, familiar shame creeping in like an unwanted guest. “I’m talking too much.”

Spencer’s smile disappeared instantly. His brows furrowed, and he leaned forward slightly, concern flashing in his hazel eyes.

“No, you’re not,” he said quickly, his voice firm but gentle.

You shrugged, looking down at your hands in your lap, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “I just—I know I can go on and on sometimes. I don’t want to be annoying.”

Spencer’s frown deepened. Annoying? The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

His mind raced, piecing things together—your sudden drop in enthusiasm, the way your shoulders had curled inward as if trying to make yourself smaller, the hesitation in your voice.

He hated how instinctual it seemed for you to apologize for simply talking.And he hated even more the idea that someone had made you feel like you had to.

“Hey,” he said softly, waiting until you looked up at him before continuing. “You’re not annoying. And you’re definitely not talking too much.”

You searched his face, as if waiting for some indication that he was just saying that to be nice. But there was no hesitation in his expression, no forced reassurance—just sincerity.

He offered you a small, lopsided smile. “I like listening to you.”

Your breath caught slightly, your fingers stilling against your sleeve. “You do?”

Spencer nodded without missing a beat. “Of course I do.” He tilted his head, his eyes studying yours. “You get this look when you’re excited about something—your eyes light up, and your voice gets a little faster, and you use your hands a lot when you talk.”

Your face warmed. You hadn’t even realized you did that.

Spencer’s smile grew, as if he could read exactly what you were thinking. “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

For so long, you had been conditioned to think that talking too much was a flaw, that you had to monitor the volume and speed of your own voice just to be tolerated. But Spencer—he didn’t just tolerate it.

He loved it.

Your lips parted slightly, searching for something to say, but all you could do was blink at him, your heart stumbling over itself in your chest.

Spencer seemed to realize what he had just admitted, his own face dusting pink. He cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. “Uh, I mean—”

A small laugh bubbled out of you, and he stopped, watching you with a mix of curiosity and relief.

“You really don’t mind?” you asked again, still needing to be sure.

Spencer shook his head, his voice softer this time. “No. I really don’t.”

Something in your chest loosened.

For the first time in a long time, you felt safe in your own words.

And Spencer just sat there, smiling, happy to listen.

[vinnyvamppp]

Can I request for Ladybug! Reader? I saw a TikTok video where Marinette was telling some heroes she could just Miraculous ladybug everything back to normal and they want to hire her because of that.

So imagine this but with Invincible, Reader's like his next door neighbor - yes she witnessed him learning how to land and she got pissed at that cuz IT WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

I like the idea of her revealing her identity to Mark so she can join him in missions whenever, so anytime he destroyed half of a city she just Miraculous ladybug everything and goes "YOUR WELCOME ASSHOLEEE!!"

And maybe during the Invincible war, she lucky charms a whip while fighting a variant (either Mohawk Mark or No goggles Mark cuz they freaky like that) and she goes wtf am I supposed to do with this?

(sorry I'm rambling a lot I just like the potential of this concept)

Friendly Neighborhood Inconvenience

NOTE: THIS IDEA WAS SOOOO FUN, Its 1 am for me and I've been giggling away while typing. I've taken a different approach to my usually long writing to make this more conversationally driven. I'm not straying too much so the vision is accurate. Up and away! Synopsis: Mark Grayson, is your biggest inconvenience and friend... whom you also live next to. Super-powered besties...? :) Warnings: None, my first non-smut-related blog yes yes! Just two idiots with powers. Mark Grayson x Ladybug!Reader Word Count: 1,000

You knew Mark Grayson was going to be a problem the moment he crashed into your backyard.

Not metaphorically. Not in a "he’s my annoying next-door neighbor" way. No, Mark Grayson—your classmate, occasional physics partner, and guy who still owed you ten bucks from a group project—literally smashed into the ground outside your window at 2 AM. 

You had been peacefully sleeping, dreaming of things far, far away from the absolute disaster that was your life, when a loud THUD shook your house. The crashes you had been imagining in your dreams began to manifest outside of your home. Were you under attack? Has the house shifted? Did your insomnia finally catch up to you? You jolted awake, heart racing, and sprinting as you immediately threw open your window to find Mark groaning in a crater. Oh…

"...Are you serious right now?"

He looked up, squinting, disoriented. "Huh—? Oh. Uh. Hey, neighbor."

"You woke me up," you deadpanned.

"Sorry," he wheezed, struggling to stand. His hands planting themselves against his knees.

"Mark. Why are you in my backyard." Your fingers gestured to the now three unevenly placed craters, one having a busted water pipe.

At that, he winced. "I was... learning how to land."

"You… know how to fly?” Correction: Barely. “...In the middle of the night?"

"Y-Yeah?"

You sighed so hard it could’ve put out a candle. "Grayson, I swear to God, if you ever—"

His attention suddenly turned towards his bedroom, the voice of his mothers concerned cries calling out for him jolted him into focus. And then he zoomed away, barely getting his balance, leaving you seething in your pajamas.

Yeah. Mark Grayson was going to be a problem. One you couldn’t avoid. Mark thought he was so slick. Just how did he manage his grades being so reckless? He’d show up to school exhausted, disappear at the most inconvenient times, and had that whole "Oops, did I break another building? Teehee!" energy about him. You knew. Oh, you knew.

Because the second you saw him with a black eye in the hallway after a “plumbing accident,” you put two and two together. You’d seen Invincible on the news. You’d seen him stumble into your backyard like an idiot. Not to mention the various times he’d confidently strut into his home WEARING HIS COSTUME. Though, you always assumed he was just into comic con and somewhat of a superhero nerd.

So when the time finally came to throw off the mask, you did it spectacularly.

Mark stood in your living room, eyes wide, staring at you in full Ladybug attire. "Wait—YOU’RE LADYBUG?!"

You smirked, spinning your yo-yo. "Surpriiiise~!"

"But—how—why—?!"

"Bro, did you really think you were the only one sneaking around at night?!"

Mark ran a hand through his hair, still struggling to process. "You fix everything after my fights?"

"Ding ding ding!" You clapped your hands. "Every time you break a city block, I put it back together. Every. Single. Time."

His jaw dropped. "Oh my God."

"Oh your God is right. Do you know how hard it is to undo your messes?! Half the time, I don’t even know what I’m fixing! You knock over a skyscraper, I gotta wing it! And every fight wrecks at least ten buildings!"

Mark laughed, but there was guilt in his eyes. "...So, uh. Guess this means you can help out more?"

You crossed your arms. "Help? Babe, I’ve been your cleanup crew this entire time. You should be helping me."

And thus, the most chaotic partnership in hero history was born. Cecil had been hounding you anyway, so this panned out in your favor. Being close and personal to his hero-ly escapades made the clean up easier to maintain… for your sanity of course. You had been through some rough days. Fought some wild villains. But nothing could have prepared you for an entire army of Invincibles tearing through the planet. Honestly, you were terrified; and left ragged, but keeping your wits about you would be the best bet you had for survival. 

You were dodging a punch from one of them, Mohawk Mark, which was an awful fashion choice, by the way—when your Lucky Charm activated. Perhaps it was something helpful like a pair of shears to correct his funky haircut. A bright light flashed, and in your hand, you felt—

A whip.

You blinked.

"...What the hell am I supposed to do with this?!"

Mohawk Mark lunged at you with a cheeky grin, enthralled more than anything. “Didn’t know you were into that, could use another one of you.” He teased.

"Shit—!"

You improvised. And like a thirsty mutt, he hounded you like a new obsession. Who knew men with harems could be so freaky? Later, when the war was over, when the dust settled and the leveled cities were—miraculously— nearly restored, you stood next to Mark, arms crossed, glaring at him.

"Go ahead," he muttered.

"You know what I’m gonna say," you grinned, nudging him slightly.

He sighed.

"Go on," you sing-songed.

"…Thanks."

"And—?"

"...Sorry for all the messes."

You smirked, patting his shoulder. "See? That wasn’t so hard. Now go buy me dinner, asshole."

Mark groaned. "You're never gonna let this go, huh?

"Not in a million years." Secretly, he would be happy too, but the poor boy was embarrassed from being proven wrong that his lips sealed shut. As Mark begrudgingly led the way to the nearest burger joint, you grinned, spinning your yo-yo around your finger. The city skyline gleamed, perfectly restored, thanks to you. The world was safe again—also thanks to you. And despite the chaos, the near-death experiences, and the fact that you were probably stuck dealing with Mark’s messes forever… you wouldn’t have it any other way. Ugh, I just love writing in-character stories. I HOPE THIS LIVED UP TO YOUR REQUESTS EXPECTATIONS LMAO.

[binisainz]

does this feeling go both ways ? ⸻ lando norris x reader ⋮ part three .

“kit-kat.” the nickname is so familiar, so easy, and it makes your stomach flip in a way that is so utterly humiliating that you have to set down your chopsticks before you snap them clean in half. “that’s the dumbest thing i’ve ever heard you say.” you bristle. defensively, out of habit, you go: “oh, fuck off.” or, the amylaurie au.

part  one,  two,  three,  four. word  count.   5.2k a  study  on.   non-linear  storytelling,  words  lifted  straight  from  the  little  women  (2019)  script,  gifted  kid  burnout,  stem  girlie!reader,  mechanic!reader,  childhood  friends  to  strangers  to  friends  to  lovers,  angst  with  a  happy  ending  (!!),  rooting  so,  so  hard  for  the  anti-hero. author's  note.   LANDO  NORRIS  P2  !!!  i  already  told  myself  i  was  going  to  post  a  chapter  today  immaterial  of  the  results  but  we  got  a  1-2  on  mclaren  baby  !!  makes  me  want  to  write  a  piastri  series  so  bad  …  but  i  digress  !!  u  might  wonder  why  do  i  wanna  know  is  constantly  in  the  mixtape,  and  that's  because  that's  where  the  title  comes  from  !  +  sorry  folks  this  chapter  is  all  angst  .  i  would  like  to  say  that  this  touches  reaaalll  heavy  on  the  burnout  part  of  gifted  kid  burnout.  i'm  shaking  y/n  by  her  shoulders  going  it's  so  hard  to  root  for  you  right  now  please  just  get  out  of  ur  own  head  !!   but  whatever  !  i  promise  u  all  a  happy  ending  (and  then  some  …  hehe  u  shall  see  soon.) mixtape.   do  i  wanna  know  cover  by  hozier,  anti-hero  by  taylor  swift,  quarter  life  crisis  by  taylor  bickett,  leonard  cohen  by  boygenius,  i'm  worried  it  will  always  be  you  by  katie  gregson-macleod,  backburner  by  niki.

NOW, 2024.

it starts with a text. and then another. and then another.

lando keeps his word. and maybe he shouldn’t, maybe it would’ve been easier if he hadn’t. if he had let that conversation in the park be the last of it, let your history fade into the sort of polite nothingness that most childhood friendships do. but no. he texts, sometimes even calls— stupid shit, mostly. memes, half-assed updates about whatever press work he’s stuck doing, complaints about travel schedules, about media duties.

he asks about your classes, about the internship, about whether or not you’ve had a proper meal today. you roll your eyes every time, but you still answer, still make time between your last assignments and your shifts at the mclaren office.

it’s pre-season, so maybe that’s why. maybe he’s just bored, filling the gaps of his time with your presence, the same way someone mindlessly taps a pen against the edge of a desk.  it’s just because he has time, because he’s in between media duties and training sessions, because he’s restless, because you’re the easiest option. once the season starts, he’ll forget. he won’t mean to, but he will. the texts will slow, the calls will stop, and you’ll be left replaying voice notes just to hear him say your name. it’s fine. whatever. it’s not like you need him to stay.

but then, one night, your phone vibrates against the stack of notes you’ve been trying— and failing— to organize, and it’s him.

from: lando n can i come over

you blink. stare at your phone. type out a response, then delete it. then type out another one. then delete that too. finally, you settle on:

to: lando n what do u mean ‘come over’

three dots appear, disappear, reappear.

from: lando n look out your window from: lando n i actually DO hope this is ur flat because i’d be really embarrassed if i was standing outside some rando’s window

you push your chair back so fast it scrapes against the floor, legs catching on the warped wood. when you yank open the window, he’s there, standing on the pavement, takeaway bag in one hand, phone in the other. he looks up, grins. lifts the bag like an offering.

“what the fuck?” you say, but you gesture toward the door anyway.

he’s on the other side of the door when you open it, grinning wildly, all teeth, and holds up the bag of food like an offering. “thought you’d be hungry.”

you let him in because— well. because you do. because he’s already here, because it’s easier than standing in the doorway arguing, because you don’t actually want him to leave. “you need to stop bribing me with food,” you say, shutting the door behind him.

“why would i stop if it keeps working?”

he says it so easily, like it’s a joke, like it’s just that simple. like you’re someone he wants to keep around. you snatch the takeaway bag out of his hand and ignore the way your stomach flips.

your flat isn’t much. just a studio, one barely-big-enough rectangle with a kitchenette, a couch, a too-small dining table buried under half-finished projects and old racing magazines that date as early as july, 2014. 

you never bothered decorating. never saw the point. mclaren was supposed to be temporary, and it’s not like you expect to be called back after graduation. you’re just here to do your time, finish the internship, figure out what’s next. even thinking about asking lando to put in a good word for you feels ridiculous— because he would, because he’s like that, and because it would just prove what you already know: you’re not good enough to make it on your own.

lando doesn’t seem to care about any of that, though. he drops onto the floor beside your coffee table without hesitation, already pulling open containers, and you follow, sitting cross-legged beside him, feeling too aware of yourself, of the space you take up. it’s stupid, feeling embarrassed when he’s the one who showed up at your place unannounced, but still. it’s kind of the principle of the matter.

you don’t know how the conversation gets there. or maybe you do, maybe it was inevitable, because he’s lando and you’re you and there are things you don’t say but still feel so achingly obvious.

but it starts with the season. his, not yours.

“so,” you say, through a mouthful of rice, “do you actually think the car’s going to be better this year, or is this just the yearly pre-season delusion?”

lando makes a wounded sound, clutching at his chest. “kit-kat, you hurt me.”

“don’t dodge the question.”

he sighs, leaning back on his palms. “i mean… yeah. i think so. hope so. but it’s always a gamble, isn’t it? you never really know until you’re actually out there.”

you hum. “and what if it’s shit?”

he grins. “then it’s shit. but at least i’ll look good driving it.”

you roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitches. “that’s the most lando norris thing you’ve ever said.”

he nudges your knee with his own. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

it’s not. you don’t say that, but it’s not.

you’re halfway through your spring roll when he turns the question on you.

“what about you?”

you blink. “what about me?”

“what’s next?” he asks, and there’s something too earnest in his tone, “after you graduate. what are you going to do?”

the question is simple. so simple. “i don’t know,” you say, too nonchalantly, shoving another bite into your mouth. “probably go home.”

lando frowns. “you’re not staying with mclaren?”

you snort. “why would they keep me?”

“because you’re good?” he says, matter-of-factly.

you don’t know why it grates on you, why it makes something bitter rise in your throat. maybe because you don’t believe it, not really. maybe because he does.

“i’m a failure.” you don’t mean to say it, but it slips out anyway, quiet and raw and ugly. you don’t look at him, just stare at the mess of containers on the coffee table. “josie is off in new york making an actual difference, and i’m a failure.”

lando flinches, just a little, at josie’s name. barely noticeable, but you catch it anyway. you wish you hadn’t said anything.

“that’s a pretty big statement to make at twenty-one,” he says instead, setting down his chopsticks. “and while interning for mclaren.”

you let out a humorless laugh. “well, oxford took all the vanity out of me, and the mclaren program made me realize i’d never be a genius.” the words come out before you can stop them, before you can filter them into something less pathetic. but it’s late, and you’re exhausted, and maybe you don’t care as much as you should. “so i’m giving up on all my foolish hopes.”

lando just looks at you, head tilted, brows drawn together like you’ve said something particularly insane. “seems like a waste of your talent and energy.”

you snort. “but talent isn’t genius. and no amount of energy can make it so.” you push a stray grain of rice around with your chopsticks. “i want to be great, or nothing. and if i can’t have that, why should i even try?”

there’s a silence. a heavy one. he looks at you, properly looks at you, and you wonder if he’s seeing right through all the ways you’ve tried to make yourself small.

and then— “kit-kat.” the nickname is so familiar, so easy, and it makes your stomach flip in a way that is so utterly humiliating that you have to set down your chopsticks before you snap them clean in half. “that’s the dumbest thing i’ve ever heard you say.”

you bristle. defensively, out of habit, you go: “oh, fuck off.”

but he doesn’t. he keeps looking at you, keeps holding your gaze like he actually gives a shit about what you just said, and it throws you off balance more than anything.

“i mean it,” he says, voice even. “you always used to go on and on about how things worked— cars, engines, whatever— and you knew everything about them. like, to a terrifying degree. that doesn’t just go away. you’re good at what you do.”

you press your lips together, suddenly feeling small in a way you don’t like. “you haven’t seen me in years. you don’t know that.”

“doesn’t matter.” he shrugs. “i still believe it.”

you don’t know what to do with that. with the way he says it so simply, like it’s fact. like his belief in you is solid, unshakable, something you couldn’t undo even if you tried. it’s the kind of certainty that used to come so easily to you— when you were younger, when everything was laid out in neat little steps, when you could open up a manual and follow it piece by piece and end up with something that made sense. there was an answer for everything back then, a method to follow, a way to be right. you had been good, then. not just good— great. brilliant, even. just like lando had called you.

but somewhere along the way, something shifted. the equations got messier, the answers became less certain. talent wasn’t enough anymore. you were supposed to push further, aim higher, but every time you did, it felt like you were grasping at something just out of reach. and then, eventually, you stopped reaching. because it was exhausting, because the effort felt pointless, because maybe— maybe— you had never actually been that great to begin with. maybe they had all just been wrong about you.

that’s what oxford did to you. tore you down, stripped you of whatever confidence you used to have, made you look at yourself in the mirror and see someone painfully, infuriatingly average staring back. and mclaren— oh god, mclaren only made it worse. because now, you weren’t just average. you were below average. surrounded by people who were actually brilliant, people who could take apart an engine and put it back together with their eyes closed, who could run calculations in their heads before you could even pull out a pen.

so no, you don’t believe him when he says you’re good. because you know better now. you know that being good isn’t enough. great or nothing, right?

and that’s the worst part, isn’t it? because he believes it. and the fact that he does makes something ache deep in your chest.. it would be easier if he just let it go, if he let you disappear into your own insignificance the way you’ve been trying to for years. but no— he sits here, in your tiny flat, looking at you like you’re still that eight-year-old kid who used to explain aerodynamics to him using the pieces of a half-disassembled toaster.

like he still thinks you’re brilliant.

you shift, uncomfortable, needing to change the subject before you start to believe him. “you’re actually an idiot if you drove a sports car all the way here.”

he scoffs, rolling his eyes, but there’s something in the curve of his mouth that gives him away— amusement, maybe, like he knows exactly what you’re doing, how you’re dodging the weight of his words, but he lets you get away with it anyway.  “oh, shut up. it’s in the parking lot if you wanna go look at it.”

you roll your eyes but get up anyway, making your way to the window near your bed. he follows, falling into step beside you, close enough that his shoulder almost brushes against yours.

when you peer down, the lamborghini miura p400 sticks out like a sore thumb, sleek and ridiculous and so incredibly orange among the rows of sensible, ordinary cars. you almost laugh. of course he fucking would. “jesus christ,” you mutter. “you actually drove all the way to woking in that?” you ask, more for something to say than anything else.

“course i did.” his voice is laced with amusement, and you don’t even have to look to know he’s still grinning. “what else was i gonna take? the bus?”

you shake your head, and when you turn back around, lando’s already making himself comfortable on your double bed, arms stretched behind his head, ankles crossed. like he belongs here. like this is easy.

“no outside clothes allowed.” you say, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind, because your brain is scrambling, because your face is growing hotter and hotter.

he barely lifts his head, just smirks at you, all lazy and self-satisfied. “i’m sure you can make an exception for me.”

your stomach twists, and you whip a pillow at his face without thinking. he dodges, laughing, and you roll your eyes so hard it nearly hurts. he’s still sprawled out on your bed, utterly at ease in a way that makes your skin prickle, like he belongs here, like he’s not intruding at all. like you’re the one who should feel out of place.

you don’t know why you let him in. you don’t know why you keep letting him in.

there’s a beat of silence. you hear him shifting behind you, the rustle of fabric, the creak of your mattress as he moves. then, his voice, casual, teasing: “you gonna stand there all night, or are you actually gonna sit down?” again, you think, with a twinge of fond annoyance, like he owns the place.

you glance back at him, scowling. “you’re taking up all the space.”

he lifts his hands in mock surrender, smirking. “fine, i’ll move.” except he doesn’t. if anything, he spreads out even more, one arm behind his head, the other now draped lazily over his stomach.

you exhale sharply, pressing your fingers to your temple. you should kick him out. you should tell him to go. but your bed looks warm, and the weight of the evening is pressing down on you, and the thought of sitting alone in your too-quiet flat, left alone with your thoughts, makes your stomach twist.

so you sit at the edge of the bed first, testing the waters. he doesn’t say anything, just watches you, the amusement in his expression tempered with something softer, something unreadable.

your legs feel stiff, so you stretch them out, curling your toes against the fabric of your blanket. then, carefully, cautiously, you shift backward, lying down with a sharp exhale, as if the movement itself is something to be endured. you stay on your back, arms folded loosely over your stomach, your entire body tense like you’re expecting him to comment on it.

he doesn’t.

instead, the silence stretches, comfortable, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside. you focus on the overhead light, how it flickers slightly, how the buzz of it fills the quiet.

lando looks at you. you can see in your periphery, his eyes flickering over your face, your expression, and for a second, it feels like he sees too much.

“hi.” he says, softly.

your chest feels tight, breath catching, forcing yourself to turn, to look at him, really look at him.

you swallow, heart in your throat. “hi,” you whisper back.

THEN,  2017.

the wind is soft, curling through the new grass, the spring sky is a half-hearted shade of blue, still too stubborn to let go of the winter season. you’re on the swingset, not swinging, just letting yourself rock slightly, toes digging into the dirt. it’s still too cold to really enjoy it, but you like being outside. you like the quiet.

inside, you can hear them. not the words, exactly, just the shape of the argument. the sharp-edged rhythm of josie’s voice, the shorter, clipped replies from lando. it’s almost funny. in a not-funny way. lando doesn’t argue. he complains, sure, he whines, but he doesn’t fight back like this. not usually.

you don’t need to hear what’s being said to know how it ends, so you don’t listen.

instead, you focus on the wildflowers pushing up from the ground, the ones by the gate, sprouting in uneven clusters like they couldn’t quite agree on where to grow. people think flowers are delicate, soft, but they’re not, you know they’re not. they’re engineered for survival, roots gripping tight, petals opening and closing like moving parts in a machine. people think they just bloom because it’s spring, because the sun is out, because it’s pretty. but it’s all a process, isn’t it? cause and effect, survival instincts older than anyone could trace.

you wonder if you should be learning something from them.

because you know you’re smart. not in a vanity kind of way— just in a fact kind of way. you always have been. tests have always been easy, classes have always been something to ace without thinking too much about it. it’s never been a question. but it turns out there are things in life that don’t follow the exact science, things that aren’t a matter of logic or problem-solving. like the way people can leave. like the way they can decide, one day, that they don’t want you in their life anymore. like the way you can like someone, really like someone, and it won’t change a single thing.

the door slams.

the sound pulls you from your thoughts, but you don’t look up right away. you already know who it is.

lando moves like he doesn’t want to be seen, shoving his hands into his pockets as he steps off the porch. his head is down, his shoulders tense. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was just another restless boy with nowhere to go. but you do know better.

he doesn’t say anything. neither do you.

instead, you watch him from the corner of your eye as he walks across the lawn, kicking at a stray pebble like it personally wronged him. you don’t need to ask what happened. you don’t need to hear it. josie made her decision.

and it’s stupid, it’s so incredibly stupid, but all you can think, for one terrible, selfish second, is: i wouldn’t have done that if you asked me.

but he didn’t. and he won’t.

you grip the rusted chains of the swingset a little tighter, feeling the rough metal bite into your palms. it’s grounding, in a way— simple, tangible, something you can hold. something that makes sense. not like this. not like him.

because here's the thing: you understand machines better than you understand people.

machines are easy. they break for a reason. they wear down from friction, from heat, from stress applied in the wrong places. there’s always an answer, always something you can point to— a clogged filter, a part too old and rusted to function anymore. but people— people are different. unpredictable. people leave for no reason at all. they look you in the eye, say things you want to believe, and then walk away before you can decide if you should.

machines, you can fix.

lando, you don’t know how to help.

you stand from the swing, stretching out the stiffness in your legs. this is probably the last time you’ll see him in a while. maybe ever.

it’s an in-between. the moment before something ends, the breath before something is lost.

he’ll leave, because that’s what he does. you’ll stay, because that’s what you do. another in-between.

he lifts a hand in a half-hearted wave, barely looking back.

you wave back, even though he doesn’t see it, doesn't see you, then turn and walk inside.

NOW, 2024.

the bed is too small for two people. the company housing you’ve been stuck in for months now is cheap, everything here barely above the standard, bare minimum functional. the mattress is thin, the pillows aren’t much better, and the heater has been broken for the past few days, kicking in and out like it can’t make up its mind.

but you’re warm, and you’re not sure if it’s because the heater decided to cooperate for once or because lando is here, lying next to you, his arm tucked under his head, his curls pressed awkwardly against the pillow.

the mechanic in you wants to test the hypothesis— press your cold toes against his shin, see if he jolts away or if the heat lingers, trace a hand against his wrist, against the veins that press up faintly against his skin, check his pulse, compare it to the way your own heart is beating too fast for a moment like this.

but you don’t. because you’re sososososososoooooo normal. and sane. and completely, absolutely unaffected by him being here.

lando says something, something stupid and sarcastic, and you huff out a laugh, shaking your head against the pillow. it feels almost normal, almost like before, like you’re fifteen again and he’s still the boy with the stupid grin and the easy charm, and you’re sitting next to him, rolling your eyes, pretending you’re not laughing at his dumb jokes when you always are.

“what?” he asks, the corner of his mouth twitching, and you shake your head again, pressing your face into the pillow for a second before looking at him.

“you’re so fucking annoying,” you tell him, and he gasps dramatically.

“me? me?” he says, putting a hand over his chest like he’s offended. “this is how you treat me? after all these years?”

“you always do this,” you grumble, not meeting his eye.

“do what?”

“make me laugh when i don’t want to.”

he grins, fully now, something boyish and triumphant. you hate him. except you don’t. you never could.

you want to ask him again. if he drove here from glastonbury. because even now, even after years of knowing better, some stupid part of you still associates him with that town, that he still belongs to sleepy english countryside roads and not monaco, that he still exists in the same orbit as you and not constantly thousands of miles away. he hasn’t lived there in years, you know that, has spent most of his time in monaco, in hotels, in paddocks and airplanes and places you’ve only ever seen in pictures. he hasn’t been the boy with the curls and the stormy eyes you once knew for a long time.

but right now, he looks like him.

“i’m flying to bahrain tomorrow,” he says, offhanded, like it’s not important. like he’s not leaving again.

and you know you shouldn’t ask. you know you shouldn’t. but you do anyway, because you’re tired, and you’re frustrated, and he’s here, in this stupidly cramped company housing, the night before one of the most important nights of the season, and you just don’t get it. “then why are you here?”

and he looks at you.

and it’s— god.

it’s the softest you’ve ever seen him, like the edges of him have blurred, like he’s looking at you and actually seeing you, like you are something he has just now realized he wants to reach for. his expression is open in a way it almost never is, something that makes your chest feel tight, something that makes your stomach twist.

“why?” he says, and then he smiles, something small, something stupid, something devastating. “you know why.”

your heart stutters.

he says it like it’s simple. like it’s a fact. like the answer has been in front of you this entire time and you were just too blind to see it.

but that’s the problem. you do see it. you see it too clearly, and it’s terrifying.

your breath catches. your fingers curl into the sheets. something in your chest tightens, seizes, and you don’t even realize you’ve frozen up until he tilts his head slightly, brow furrowing in frustration.

“no,” you say, pushing yourself up off of mattress, voice sharp. “no, lando, don’t— don’t do this.”

he sits up too, mouth curving into a frown, reaching for you, but you pull back, swing your legs over the side of the bed, standing too fast.

“you’re being mean,” you say, and your voice cracks on it, and you hate it.

“you don’t—” you inhale sharply, pressing the heel of your palm to your forehead, pacing the few steps the room allows. your heart is beating too fast, your hands shaking, your chest tight with something too big to hold in. “i have been second to my sister my entire life, and i will not be the person you settle for just because you cannot have her. not when—” your breath hitches, your throat closing up. “not when i spent my whole life loving you.”

there’s a part of you— a small, sick, selfish part— that wants to take it back. that wants to let him stay. that wants to be the afterthought, the backburner, the waiting room. that wants to sit in the wreckage of this moment and pretend it’s fine, fine, fine.

"get out," you seethe, but it doesn’t feel like enough. it doesn’t feel like it holds all of what you mean, what you want to say. because what you actually want to say is: how dare you. how dare you come here, how dare you look at me like that, how dare you make me think i can want something i cannot have.

“don’t do this,” he says, rough and quiet, and it’s not a demand, not even an argument. it’s something closer to a plea. and fuck him for that. fuck him for making it sound like you’re the one ruining things. like you’re the one breaking his heart.

the laugh that escapes your lips is humorless, bitter. “you don’t get to ask me that,” you say, and you’re trembling now. you shake your head, blinking rapidly, like it might stop the way your vision is starting to blur. "you don't get to do this. you don’t get to— to show up after years and say that and expect me to—"

you stop yourself before you can finish the thought. before you can make it worse.

lando's jaw clenches, and he steps forward, just slightly, like he wants to reach for you, like he wants to fix it.

but he can’t.

you step back, out of reach, your throat burning.

“just go,” you say, and it’s barely above a whisper.

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his curls, tugging at them in frustration. “you’re not being fair.”

"fair?" you echo, and something inside you snaps. "you want to talk about fair, lando? fair is not spending my entire life in the fucking background, waiting for you to— to see me. fair is not you showing up after all this time and making me feel like this, like i'm just—like i’m just—”

you bite down on the words, pressing your lips together so hard it hurts.

"i do," he says, “see you.” and his voice is softer now, careful in a way that makes you want to claw at your own skin. "you make yourself small," he murmurs, searching your face, "but i see past that."

you freeze.

it's unfair, the way he says it. unfair, the way he looks at you— like he means it, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like it isn’t utterly ridiculous. like you’re someone worth seeing at all.

because he can't be serious. not really.

because if he sees you, then what the hell is he still doing here?

you stare at him, stomach twisting. the longer this stretches, the more impossible it feels. the longer he stands there, in your tiny, freezing room, after driving all the way here, after finding you, after telling you all these things you never let yourself want to hear— the more it feels like a joke.

your jaw tightens, and you force out a breath, shaking your head. “you’re so full of shit.”

lando exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "you think i'm lying?"

you don’t answer.

because of course you do. of course, you think he's lying, because what other explanation could there be? people don’t just show up like this, not for you. people don’t just say things like this, not to you.

lando is— lando is bright lights and roaring crowds and champagne on podiums and gold stars you stopped earning a long time ago. he is big and brilliant and out in the world, his name on headlines, his face on screens, and you are this. you are small and tired and standing in a too-cold room in a life that is barely yours, trying to pretend like the walls aren’t closing in.

so why the hell is he here?

you cross your arms, trying to hold yourself together. “you’re telling me—” you say, slow and deliberate, “that you drove all the way here, to my shitty flat, the night before you’re supposed to fly to bahrain— just to tell me that you ‘see me?’”

lando looks at you, and it’s almost frustrating how unaffected he seems. "yes."

a bitter laugh slips out before you can stop it. "right." because that makes sense. because that's fucking believable.

lando's expression tightens, his patience beginning to wear thin. "why is that so hard for you to believe?"

why? that's the million-pound question, isn't it?

why? because you are not brilliant anymore, if you ever were. because you are a little fish in an impossibly large pond, and the tide has long since pulled you under. because people like him don’t choose people like you. because if you believe him— if you really believe him— then you’ll have to face the fact that you’ve spent years telling yourself a lie.

you let out a sharp breath. "because you don’t mean it."

lando flinches like you've struck him. “you think i came here to lie to you?”

you have to believe that. you have to.

because if you don’t— if you believe him, if you let yourself think, even for a second, that he might really be here, that he might really want you— then you won’t survive it when he eventually realizes he was wrong.

“i think,” you say, voice colder now, “that you’re here because i’m convenient. because i’m familiar. because i’m the easiest thing in your life right now, and you needed something easy. right before the season starts.”

lando’s eyes darken, something like hurt flickering across his face before he masks it. “that’s not fair.” he repeats.

“isn’t it?” you shoot back. “you live in fucking monaco. you race cars for a living. you could have anything, anyone, and you came here? to me?” you scoff. "be fucking for real, lando."

his jaw clenches. “i came here because i wanted to.”

“and that’s what doesn’t make sense.”

he stares at you, eyes searching, as if looking long enough might make you understand.

but you do understand. and that’s the problem.

because a part of you— some small, traitorous part, buried deep beneath all the years and tests and report cards of self-doubt and exhaustion— knows he means it. knows that he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t. knows that he sees something in you that you can’t see in yourself.

but you refuse to let it take root. refuse to let yourself believe in something that will only crumble in your hands.

so you shake your head, step back, put as much space between you as you can. “just go, lando.”

his brows knit together, like he wants to argue, like he wants to fight back, but he doesn’t.

he just looks at you, long and quiet, something unreadable in his expression. and then he nods. and he leaves.

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (15/???)

I'm late, but I'm sure! Sorry guys! My routine is crazy, really. I'm still trying to adapt. But I think I needed this as much as you did!

Cliffhanger, huh?? You didn't see anything yet muhahahaha 😈

Enjoy <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

Summary: After Billy's speech, you end up finding out what was wrong and you have to fix it or not.

The Truth

You were frozen. Your eyes, slightly widened, and your exasperated breathing locked onto theirs as they searched yours like you were a case to be studied.

Source?

What the hell was this, anyway?

You ran your tongue over your lips nervously, debating whether you should ask the question burning on the tip of your tongue. After releasing the breath trapped in your chest, you spoke:

"The what…" You started, your lungs tight. "What is a source?"

The word echoed in your mind, an irritating hum clouding your thoughts.

"Someone from whom everything originates?" Yelena said, trying to sound obvious, only to receive a reprimanding look from Alice.

The young woman stepped closer to you, feeling your growing desperation drowning you. "So, do you remember the legend?" she began, her tone cautious as if you were fragile glass about to shatter. "A mystical being, vast, powerful, that drains energy—life itself."

She finished with careful precision, and you let out a disbelieving laugh.

"Oh, come on, Alice?! What kind of stupid joke is this?" You laughed, but the lump in your throat still scraped at you. "That was our dumb school project, Alice! It has nothing to do with—" you narrowed your eyes, fighting back the tears threatening to spill.

"I lied!" Alice’s voice broke, sharp and desperate, making everyone in the circle flinch. "I lied, okay? It's real. And Rio Vidal is that ." Her voice cracked at the end.

The ground disappeared beneath you.

Rio.

Your Mama.

No. No, that couldn’t be.

"This is bullshit." The words were thick in your throat. You wouldn’t believe this. "Oh, let me guess—Agatha is the woman who saved Rio from herself and was turned into some horrid monster?!" Your sarcastic tone made Alice clench her jaw.

"A witch. Agatha Harkness is a witch," Billy interjected.

"And how the hell do you know that?!" Anger flared in you—pure, burning rage. They were talking about your mothers.

You wanted to kill them.

Sew their mouths shut so they could never speak these atrocities again.

So they could never hurt you like this again.

"It's what they say." He shrugged, completely unfazed. He didn’t care. And that only made you angrier.

"And who the fuck are ‘they’?" You took a dangerous step forward, breathing hard through your nose.

Billy kept twirling a card between his fingers, annoyingly calm. His eyes were sharp, like a cat toying with its prey. "Have you never felt it? The constant exhaustion. The need to always be near them. The way your body feels… drained whenever you're away?"

Your stomach churned.

You had felt it. You always had.

Because there had always been something. Something you could never name, but that slithered under your skin every time you were apart from them.

A weariness that wasn’t just physical. A hunger that wasn’t for food. An emptiness that only faded when Rio touched your face or Agatha whispered soft words into your ear.

The lump in your throat tightened.

"This doesn’t make sense," your voice came out weaker now, less certain. "Are you trying to say that—"

"That they’re more than you think," Billy finished, tossing the card onto the table.

You looked down at the deck, the symbols shimmering as if laughing at you.

"So what?" Your own voice surprised you. The rage had faded, replaced by something more fragile, more dangerous. "If Rio is this… If Agatha is this… then what does that make me?"

Fuck this!

They were yours, and you would defend them with everything you had.

Alice hesitated.

She finally moved, placing a trembling, cold hand over yours. "We’re not telling you this to scare you."

"Then what the fuck is the point?" Your voice was sharp, but your heart pounded wildly.

Jennifer let out a low, nervous chuckle. "We want to help you."

"Help me?" You laughed.

You didn’t want their help. You wanted them.

"With the truth."

The words hung heavy in the air.

Billy flipped the card toward you. The image depicted a pure, shining spring of water, but around it, dark shadows drank from it, draining its glow until the source became shallow, dull.

"Sources don’t last forever, you know..." he said, his voice disturbingly gentle. "Eventually, they dry up."

It felt like the air was stolen from your lungs.

Your chest clenched. Your mind refused to accept it, but your body betrayed you—your skin prickled, your stomach burned.

"You’re saying that I…"

"That you’re being used," Jennifer finished bluntly.

The world stopped.

No.

No, that couldn’t be true.

But the gears in your mind began turning.

The exhaustion. The heat. The overwhelming need to be near them. Agatha holding you in her lap as if cradling you after a nightmare. Rio always knowing when you were about to break.

Dread clenched your chest like a fist.

"No." You shook your head. "This is insane. You don’t even know what you’re talking about!"

Billy leaned back, crossing his arms. "We can prove it."

Alice bit her lip, hesitating.

Tears stung your eyes as you stood up abruptly. Alice followed, grabbing your hands in a futile attempt to calm you. "Breathe," she said, her fox-like eyes watching you closely.

"I know it sounds crazy. But this… This force exists, and now it’s in you."

You tried to yank your hands away, but Alice held on. Not forcefully, but with a gentle insistence, as if she feared you’d disappear if she let go.

"This doesn’t make sense." Your voice cracked. You swallowed against the bile rising in your throat. "I’m nothing. I’m not special. I don’t even know what you’re talking about!"

"But they do."

Billy spoke quietly, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "All four of them. Agatha, Rio, Calderu… Wanda."

Her name hit you like a slap.

"I—" You stepped back, only to feel the edge of the table press against your back.

Alice loosened her grip slightly. "Breathe."

But you couldn’t.

They knew.

They had always known.

The things that once made sense—the overwhelming affection, the intense looks, the way it felt like you were being absorbed by them—now felt wrong. Stained.

You shook your head, struggling to inhale. "This… This can’t be real."

"Then why are you reacting like this?" Yelena asked, raising a brow.

Alice stepped closer, eyes locked onto yours as if watching a wild animal about to bolt.

"Because, on some level," she whispered, "you already knew."

The silence in the room thickened, heavy and suffocating. You could feel the weight of their gazes pressing into you, burning your skin, as if they were waiting—no, hoping—you would understand.

But you didn’t want to.

The air felt too thin. Your lungs refused to work, as if something dense and invisible wrapped around your throat. Your heartbeat was erratic, too fast, too wild.

"This doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t. It doesn’t." Your voice was a whisper, broken and pained, a desperate mantra that still echoed through the stifling room. You looked around, waiting for someone to laugh, to say this was some cruel joke.

But no one laughed.

Billy just watched you, arms crossed over his chest. Jennifer averted her gaze to the table, her fingers tapping anxiously against the carved wood. Yelena sighed, like she had seen this moment unfold before.

But it was Alice who stepped closer again, her fox-like eyes locked onto yours, filled with something you couldn’t name.

“Breathe,” she whispered again.

But you couldn’t.

You swallowed hard, your knees threatening to buckle, and everything seemed to snap inside you. Like your mind was trying to connect the dots. Like something was whispering in your ear, but you couldn’t understand it.

Agatha. Rio. Calderu. Wanda.

The four of them.

Always close. Always present. Always touching, watching, calling your name like a prayer.

Always taking care of you.

Protecting?

Or feeding?

After all, that’s all you were, right?

Your stomach twisted, and you had to grip the edge of the table. Your vision blurred for a moment.

They knew.

They always knew.

The wave of emotions was too much, too raw, and the words slipped out before you could stop them:

“How is this possible?” Your voice shook, and you hated it. “Why me?”

Alice sighed, as if she had been expecting that question. The others remained silent, but you could feel the electricity in the air, the dense tension between them.

Billy was the first to break it.

“The pure, untainted energy of a good heart is one of the most valuable resources in existence,” he said, spinning a card between his fingers. “It’s more than enough to make hidden beings desire it.”

You frowned, not understanding.

“Why?”

Alice squeezed your hands. Her gaze was intense, sharp, like she was measuring how deep she could go before you broke.

“Because it invigorates them,” she explained. “It strengthens, sustains, rejuvenates. You’ve heard stories of how ancient gods were nourished by the worship of their followers? How their temples were centers of energy, rituals, sacrifices?”

You nodded slowly, your own breath coming unevenly.

“It’s possible through sex too,” Jennifer said, her voice light but cutting.

Your insides turned to ice.

“You—” You stopped, your throat dry.

Billy leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “There are many kinds of hunger, and this is the most primal. The oldest. The most powerful.”

You shook your head. No. This was madness.

“But…” Alice hesitated, touching your face, forcing you to meet her eyes. “What worries me isn’t what they do with your energy. It’s how long you can last before it consumes you.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. Every word they spoke made your mind spin, like it was trying to piece together a puzzle you never realized you were assembling.

“And…” You tried to speak, the words stuck in your throat, cutting like glass. “How do I get rid of it?” Your own voice came out unsteady, almost a painful whisper.

You couldn’t believe you were even asking, feeling the weight of the words on your tongue.

You felt like you were betraying them.

Billy and Yelena exchanged glances. Jennifer looked away, suddenly focused on spinning a ring on her finger. Alice, however, didn’t.

“That depends,” Billy finally said.

“On what?” Your impatience coiled tight in your throat.

“On how deep the connection is,” Alice murmured, still holding the small glass vial between her fingers. “If it’s just a superficial bond… it’s simple. Getting rid of it wouldn’t be difficult.”

You swallowed hard. Something in the way she said that made your skin prickle.

“But if it’s deeper…” Jennifer finally spoke, her voice low and measured. “If they’ve already rooted themselves in you… then there’s no easy way.”

“Rooted?” you whispered, the word foreign in your mouth.

Billy leaned in, pushing the vial toward you.

“If you want the truth, drink this before you sleep.” He held your gaze. “And pay attention to the sounds around you.”

The object felt ten times heavier in your palm. You stared at the dark liquid, a shiver running down your spine.

“What will happen if I drink it?”

Alice hesitated.

“You’ll notice things you normally wouldn’t,” she finally said. “And hear… what has always been there.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. You wanted answers. You needed answers.

But were you ready to hear them?

The way home was a blur of lights and shadows. The cold wind bit at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the ice spreading in your chest, suffocating, cruel.

Your mommies. Your women. The only ones who ever loved you, the only ones who ever protected you.

And what if it was never real?

You felt each heartbeat like a sharp blade. Every memory—Agatha holding your face with firm, warm hands, Rio pulling you into a lazy hug on the couch—felt like poison now. You wanted to push them away. You wanted to rip them out of you, but they were buried too deep.

You almost laughed, a dry, humorless sound.

Rooted. Just like Jennifer said.

They were inside you. Feeding on you.

The glass vial burned against your skin in your pocket. Your hands trembled.

When you arrived home, everything felt even stranger. There was no usual comforting silence. No familiar scent of Agatha’s woodsy perfume or the expensive candles burning around the house.

There was something else.

A voice.

Familiar.

Rio.

Your stomach dropped. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not this soon.

She was still supposed to be in Paris, preparing for the exhibition. You checked the time on your phone. Not even close to 9 PM. What was happening?

Well, did you miss me?

Walk on water just to kiss me

Oh, come and get me

Drag me out, destroy me

I've been expecting you, I'm ready

Deliver me that bad news baby

Your feet hesitated as you approached the living room, trying to make as little noise as possible. But it was pointless.

“My baby!” Her voice, warm and naturally mischievous, hit you. And it hurt so much. It hurt to imagine she was deceiving you.

Using you.

You forced a surprised smile, but you felt the burn behind your eyes, the frustration-laced tears that weren’t allowed to fall.

“Mama,” the word came out strangled from you. “What are you doing here?”

Rio gave you a lazy smile, the kind that always made you feel safe.

Your heart clenched with confusion. She stood up in one fluid movement, walking toward you as if there wasn’t an ocean of doubt and betrayal between you. Her strong arms wrapped around you in a warm, perfumed embrace.

The familiarity of her touch nearly made you crumble.

“Well, Mommy had an unexpected issue here, so of course, I had to come. I left Vision in charge. I didn’t really want to go anyway.”

You pulled back slightly to look at Agatha, who was sitting on the couch, a glass of wine in hand. She sighed, watching you with forced patience.

“An issue?” Your eyes narrowed slightly.

“Nothing you need to worry about, darling.”

The words should have been comforting. But you felt the weight of them, the unspoken truth behind them.

Am I your dream girl?

You think of me in bed

But you could never hold me

You like me better in your head

Make me evil, then I'm an angel instead

At least you'll sanctify me when I'm dead

You sat down beside Rio, feeling her warmth against you. She seemed relaxed, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the hem of your sweatshirt. Before, you would’ve adored this gesture. Now, it felt like a magician’s trick—something beautiful and deceiving, meant to distract you from what really mattered.

The wine on the table reflected the soft glow of the fireplace, the clink of ice against Agatha’s glass the only thing filling the momentary silence.

You had to act normal.

You had to deceive the deceivers.

They couldn’t know what you knew.

The knot in your throat doubled in size, but you swallowed it down along with your suspicion. You forced a small smile and stood up.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you said, making yourself sound casual.

Rio runs her fingers lightly along your arm, her lazy blue eyes meeting yours as she nods. Agatha merely tilts her head, watching you like a puzzle she’s trying to solve.

You step away, feeling your back burn under their gazes.

With every step toward the bathroom, your heart pounds harder.

You needed to get out. Needed to think. Needed to understand what was happening before they realized something inside you had already shifted.

Hot water cascaded down your skin, washing away the weight of the day—but not the weight of your thoughts.

You braced your hands against the damp tiles, inhaling deeply, trying to ignore the small bottle sitting on the sink. The dark glass seemed to pulse toward you, demanding a decision.

Should you drink it? Unravel the truth once and for all?

Dream girl evil, dream girl evil

Dream girl evil, dream girl evil

Your heartbeat thundered in your chest. If Alice and the others were right, drinking it would shatter the illusion. It would be like opening your eyes for the first time—but were you ready for that? Could you bear the truth that came with it?

You swallowed hard, fingers closing around the bottle. The dark liquid inside swirled like ink, thick and opaque. Slowly, you twisted the cap… but your hands trembled. The temptation to take a sip was there—but so was the fear.

What if this was a mistake? What if it was just another trick to pull you away from the only people who had ever truly mattered?

You exhaled sharply, snapping the lid shut and shoving the bottle into the bathroom cabinet.

Not now.

Stepping out of the shower, you wrapped yourself in a towel and glanced at your reflection in the foggy mirror. Your eyes looked different. You couldn’t tell if it was just exhaustion or something deeper—something already changing inside you.

Drying your hair quickly, you left the bathroom and stopped in the hallway. In the silence of the house, you found yourself standing between two doors.

Your room or theirs?

Your grip tightened on the towel, chest rising and falling with hesitant breaths. Your room meant safety, distance. But theirs…

You could almost smell Agatha’s familiar perfume, feel the warmth of Rio’s arms—the place where you had always felt safest. The weight of that longing made you waver for a moment.

Should you keep your distance?

Did I disappoint you?

Did mommy make you sad?

Do I just remind you

Of every girl that made you mad?

Make me perfect, make me your fantasy

You know I deserve it

Well, take it out on me

Or should you go to them, curl into the space that had always been yours, and pretend nothing had changed?

You pushed open their door and found everything... normal.

Too normal.

Am I your dream girl?

You think of me in bed

But you could never hold me

You like me better in your head

Make me evil, then I'm an angel instead

At least you'll sanctify me when I'm dead

Rio sat in the corner chair, the cold glow of the iPad illuminating her face as she scrolled through the screen, seemingly absorbed.

Agatha stood at the vanity, massaging floral-scented lotion into her arms with slow, meticulous movements. The sweet, woody aroma filled the room—a scent that once brought you comfort but now felt suffocating.

They looked up at the same time when you entered.

“Finally,” Rio murmured, eyes still on the screen. “You were taking your time, baby.”

“I think I relaxed a little too much,” you replied, aiming for casual as you walked toward the bed and sat down.

Agatha smiled at your reflection in the mirror, rubbing lotion along her neck. “Did you relax… or did you need some time alone, sweetheart?”

Your stomach twisted.

“How was Alice?” Rio asked, closing her iPad and crossing her legs.

You shrugged. “Fine.”

Silence.

Agatha turned to face you directly, one brow arched. “Fine?”

Rio smirked, the corner of her lips curling like she was enjoying this.

“You know,” Agatha continued, stepping slowly toward the bed. “Calderu mentioned she’s quite the troublemaker.”

You forced a neutral expression. “Is that so?”

“It is,” Rio answered before Agatha could. She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. “Great ideas, but sometimes too much creativity… affects her in ways it shouldn’t.”

Agatha sat at the edge of the bed beside you, her perfume weaving around you like a web.

“She might start seeing ghosts, for example.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You forced a laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rio stood, walking toward you at an unhurried pace. “It means some people are easily influenced. They pick up bad ideas. Start believing things they shouldn’t.”

Agatha’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable. “Oh. And I bet she’s filled that silly little head of yours with the most filthy nonsense.”

Dream girl evil, dream girl evil

Dream girl evil, dream girl evil

It happened too fast.

The grip.

Her fingers found your throat—firm, demanding.

You gasped, not from the force of it, but from the shock.

“And I think we deserve to know the truth, don’t we, sweetheart?” Agatha murmured, leaning in close until your faces were nearly touching.

Watch me shimmer (shimmer)

A projection of your mother (mother)

But don't come crying (crying)

I am nobody's moral center

Rio moved behind you, her hands sliding over your shoulders—cold, chilling.

“Let’s have a real conversation, baby…” Rio whispered against your ear, her warm breath drawing a shaky sigh from you. “Just the three of us.”

Agatha’s fingers tightened around your neck, the floral-scented lotion making the grip feel almost intimate, at odds with its brutality.

It cannot hold, it cannot hold

It cannot hold, it cannot hold

The room—your safier sanctuary—was now a cage.

And you… you were trapped inside it.

~*~

Another cliffhanger chapter cuz I know my babies love that.

Tell me about your theories!!

Mommies always know.

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @whitelotus00 @dandelions4us @creaturesaphique @warpdrive-witch @sweetmidnights

[robinminustherichard]

Clearly the solution is to get Tommy and Buck somewhere where Tommy can't run...

BuckTommy fix it with the help of dispatch & Lucy Donato.

"This is Donato."

"Firefighter Donato, this is 9-1-1 Dispatcher Josh Russo with Maddie Han. You are on shift at Harbor Station currently, correct?"

"Uh....yes? Do you--why are you calling my cellphone? What's happening?"

"Firefighter Donato there is an incoming party to Harbor Station that needs to be taken to a specific location with a member of your station."

"What?"

"Lucy...Buck is on his way to Harbor to win Tommy back, and you and I both know it's not going to go well unless Tommy can't run this time. I need you to get Buck and Tommy into a room with a lock and use said lock." A woman's voice, Maddie, cuts in.

Lucy blinks before looking at Tommy where he's staring blankly at a mug of coffee and has sighed no less than ten times in the last hour. She slowly swings a leg around and walks away from Tommy.

"Yeah okay, dispatch. I can do that. In fact, I am honored to help with this...special task."

"Great. You've got an estimated five-to-seven minutes until arrival."

Lucy eyes the supply closet that has a faulty lock on it, the one where you have to be careful not to let the door close behind you.

"On it. I'll uh. Update you accordingly."

"Thank you, Donato. God speed."

Lucy hangs up and slips into the closet, eying the wooden shelves on the wall. Taking a moment to realize how insane this is, she grabs a shelf and yanks it--allowing it and all of the cleaning supplies to come tumbling down.

"Ah, fuck!" She yells, to really sell it. She hears footsteps approaching.

"Donato? You alright?" Tommy calls, appearing around the door and looking at her and then the mess on the floor.

"Damn shelf came down." Lucy says, throwing her hands up. "Help me get it back on the wall?"

"Yeah," Tommy says, assessing the brackets and nodding. I'll go grab the drill and some screws, probably just some issues with the old mounting hardware."

Tommy disappears momentarily and Lucy pops her head out to look out through the hanger doors and sees Buckley pull up. Luckily, he seems to stay in the truck long enough for Tommy to come back and start fiddling with the drill.

"That's so weird that it just came down. What were you do--" Tommy starts, but cuts off when Lucy darts out of the door and closes it firmly behind her. "What-Donato? What are you doing?!"

"Everything will make sense soon!" She calls, and then jogs to where she sees Buckley making his way inside. "Buckley!"

Buck seems surprised to see her, distracted and looking around. "Uh, Lucy, hey! H-how are you?"

"Oh, you don't care about that," Lucy says, grabbing his arm and dragging him behind her towards the closet, "You're here to see Kinard right? Right. This way."

"Uh, well, yes but--" he tries to say, but Lucy is determined. They make it to the closet and Luck holds Buckely's wrist in one hand and the door knob in the other.

"Great! He's in here." She says, ripping open the door to a furious and then surprised Tommy, who let's out a strangled "Evan!-" when he sees him. "You two should chat. And not leave this closet until you do. I have instructions from the city to ensure it happens."

Lucy turns and shoves Buckley into the closet, his momentum sending him straight into Tommy with an oof.

"Donato, wait--" Tommy says, trying to steady Buckley and make it to the door at the same time.

"Sorry Kinard! Orders from dispatch."

"That's doesn't make any sense!"

"Uh, h-hi Tommy." Buckley's voice cuts through, and it gives Tommy pause.

"Hi, Evan."

"Can we, can we talk? Please?"

"Well," Tommy says, classic bitchy tone in full force, "I don't think I have a choice."

Buckley laughs, and Lucy's eyebrows raise. If anyone can handle Kinard when he's like that, they definitely belong together.

Lucy wiggles the door knob to make sure it's locked before calling back to dispatch.

"Hello, this is firefighter Lucy Donato, I need to speak with Dispatcher Josh Russo..."

[cfyslvr]

brat tamers. guys that absolutely love seeing their pretty little girl acting all bratty when she's under them. he loves making you feel like you have some kind of control over him with your bratty behavior. he knows you do it on purpose because you love getting on his nerves just so he could put you back into your place. he grabs the back of your knees, bringing your legs up to your chest, holding you in an almost painful mating press as he slams his dick inside of you. one of his hands wraps around your throat, squeezing it just enough to make it harder for you to breathe. you're crying and nearly screaming his name, but he knows you love it.

"please.. p-please, no more! I-I can't take it anymore!" you cry, your eyes rolling back and your tongue slipping out as he pulls orgasm after orgams out of you even after you're far too overstimulated to think straight.

"can't take anymore, huh? aww, you poor thing, probably should've thought of that before you decided to act like a little brat." he teases, shoving his dick deliciously deeper into your dripping cunt.

"don't even try to pretend, you know you love this." and you do. that's why you keep acting like a brat even after promising you won't do it again.

although, let's be honest, he knows you'll do it again, and he loves that about you.

[ taiju shiba, ran haitani, rindou haitani, bonten!mikey, izana kurokawa, baji keisuke, hanma shuji, kokonoi hajime, nahoya kawata, wakasa imaushi + ur favs! ]

a/n :: omg I'm alive !! I'm so sorry for disappearing for- idek how long ㅠㅠ i js know it's been over a month now. I was thinking about writing another fic or more headcanons but I didn't really have motivation to write longer works so I just stuck with this lol, also this is probably one of my first times writing smut (if you don't include the chifuyu smut headcanons) and I honestly can't tell if it's good or absolutely crap soo- 🥲 bear with me I'm trying

[kjhbsies]

Too much?

Smallville Clark Kent x reader

synopsis: Clark was too busy saving Smallville, and Y/n just wanted a little attention. But when he told her to stop being clingy, She took it to heart— pulling away completely.

wordcount: 1,771

note: 16+ angst to fluff

divider from @enchanthings

masterlist

"Am I okay?" Y/n echoed, tears welling in her eyes as she stepped forward. "You seriously had the audacity to ask me that?"

Clark blinked, completely thrown off guard. "What—?"

"Our date, Clark. You stood me up. Again."

His stomach dropped. And Clark opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Y/n wasn't finished.

"I waited for you for hours at the diner. I called. I texted. And nothing! No explanation, no anything. Just me looking like an idiot in front of everyone while my boyfriend completely blew me off."

Clark swallowed, "Y/n, I—"

"I'm so sick of this, Clark. This is the third time this has happened. And I know— God, I know you're busy. That people need you. But what about me? I'm your girlfriend."

Clark's jaw clenched. He had been through hell tonight, barely keeping Smallville safe, and how he was being berated for doing the right thing?

"Y/n, you know that's not fair." He shot back, voice sharper than intended. "I can't ignore people just because of a date."

Y/n scoffed. "Wow. That's just... great."

Clark exhaled sharply, patience wearing thin. "I'm not saying that, but you're acting—"

"Like what?" She challenged, tilting her head.

Clark hesitated, but the words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Clingy. I just—" He groaned, running a hand down his face. "I need space, Y/n."

Silence.

And then, something in her head shifted.

Y/n quickly wiped the tears off her face. The anger in her eyes didn't die out, but something colder settled in. Y/n inhaled a sharp breath and took a small step back.

Clark immediately regretted it.

"Y/n, I—"

"Got it. I'm sorry." She said, voice almost detached.

Clark felt like the ground beneath him had just shifted. "Wait, I—"

But she didn't let him finish. She quickly turned to her heel and walked as fast away as she could.

And Clark did nothing but watch her disappear from his sight.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, Clark actually got some rest. Deep, uninterrupted sleep. His body had needed it. His mind had been craving it. But the moment he opened his eyes, the argument last night was the first thing that crossed his mind.

Clark exhaled slowly, sitting up on the worn-out couch in the loft, running a frustrated hand on his hair. The barn was eerily quiet in the morning light, but his thoughts weren't.

He told himself over and over that it was probably for the best that Y/n was leaving him alone. That's what he wanted, right? He had been overwhelmed by Smallville's never-ending chaos, by his responsibilities, by the weight of everything he was trying to juggle. He just needed time to breathe, to think, to clear out his mind. And Y/n, for the first time, was giving it to him.

So why does it feel so wrong?

He shook the thought away, forcing himself to focus on the present. He had farm chores to do, and things he needed to take care of. He'd see Y/n later. He'd apologize after everything was settled down.

Except... he never got the chance. Because Y/n was nowhere.

She had stayed at Chloe's house for tonight. The next morning, she was out with her parents for the entire day. The day after that? She was doing something, somewhere, but Clark had no idea what. And the next day, and the next.

And suddenly, Clark had realized— he had no clue what she was doing at any moment.

For as long as he could remember, Y/n had always been there. She was in his messages before he could open his phone. She was calling him just to tell him something entirely random, or waiting for him at the Torch, or showing up at the loft with snacks. She was always present. But now? Nothing.

Clark had caught himself glancing at his phone every few minutes, waiting for a text that didn't come. His inbox was empty of her usual good morning and good night messages. No texts about her breakfast. No updates about her cat. No sudden burst of excitement at whatever TV show she was obsessing over.

Clark had shook it off, telling himself that it was fine. This is what he asked for and he should be grateful for it.

But the lack of her presence left a void in his heart. He missed her voice. He missed the way she would randomly call him in the middle of the day, just to tell him the most insignificant details of her afternoon. He missed her rants about school, her dramatic complaints about the people that pisses her off, and the way she would text him just because she thought about him.

Clark found himself staring at his phone, scrolling through their old messages, re-reading conversations he had taken for granted. He hovered over her contact, debating whether he should call first.

But he didn't.

Clark didn't remember running to Y/n's house. He didn't even realize that his feet had taken him there until he was standing beneath her bedroom window, hands shaking, heart pounding violently against his chest.

He had fought off yet another creature, saving Smallville again, but for once, Clark didn't feel like a hero.

For the past week, Clark had endured every kind of physical battle ever imagined— facing off against meteor freaks, barely dodging blows that could've shattered his bones, and throwing himself into danger with no hesitation. But none of those compared to losing Y/n. Nothing could've even come close to that.

His hands gripped the windowsills, knuckles turning white. He had climbed through this window a hundred times, sneaking into her room when he wanted to escape and when he wanted to see her. It had always felt so easy, so natural. But tonight, his knees felt weak.

Still, he climbed inside, landing on the floor, breath uneven as his eyes found her. She was curled up in her bed, her hair splayed over the pillows as she was reading one of the books Chloe had recommended. The soft glow of the lamp illuminated her features and Clark thought she was beautiful. Heavenly.

Y/n looked at him with a cold stare, sitting upright before setting the book down on her nightstand. She didn't say anything. She didn't rush into his arms. She didn't scold him for going through her windows like he always did.

"Why are you here?"

Clark took a step forward, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. "I wanted to talk."

Silence.

She just stared at him, head tilting to scan his face.

His heart clenched, his breath catching in his throat as his knees hit the edge of her bed. "Please," He begged, voice raw, and with pure desperation. "Please talk to me."

Y/n exhaled sharply, trying to toughen up as she could feel her resolve cracking. "What do you want me to say, Clark?"

"I— I miss you."

"You miss me?" She echoed, scoffing. "That's funny because a week ago, you called me clingy."

Clark's jaw clenched, regret tightening in his chest. "I was stupid. I thought— I thought I needed time to figure things out."

"For what, Clark? To decide if I was too much for you? That my love was overwhelming just because I wanted attention for my boyfriend who I haven't spent time much with for weeks?"

Clark opened his mouth, but the words died out his throat. Because deep down, he knew she was right.

Y/n looked away, angrily blinking away her tears. "I gave you space," She continued, voice quieter now. "I pulled away. I stopped texting, stopped calling, stopped clinging to you like you hated so much. Did it make you feel good now?"

"No," Clark immediately answered. "I hated it. I thought space was all I wanted. I thought it would make things easier. But it didn't." He took a hesitant step forward, reaching out, fingers trembling. "I missed you. I missed your texts. I missed your calls. I missed hearing about your day, about your cat, about your gossip with Chloe. I missed you— all of you."

"I thought you wanted to break up," Y/n admitted. "And I was ready to give it to you if it would make you feel any better—"

"No, no, no," Clark interrupted, immediately dropping to his knees beside her bed. He reached for her hand, grasping it gently as if she would slip away at any second. "Don't say that, baby, please."

Y/n stiffened. "Clark..."

"No," He pleaded, shaking his head. "Don't say it. Don't—" His breath hitched, squeezing her hands tighter. "Don't say we should end this. Don't say we should part ways. I can't—" His voice cracked, and suddenly, his vision blurred with tears. "I can't lose you."

"You hurt me, Clark."

"I know, baby, I know. And I'll spend forever making it up to you if you'll let me."

"I don't know if I can go back to how things were."

Clark exhaled shakily, hands reaching up to cup her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek with such tenderness that Y/n shuddered under his touch. "Then let's start over. Let me love you better."

Y/n let out a choked laugh, shaking her head. "You're such a sap, Kent."

Clark smiled through the tears, relief flooding his chest. "Only for you."

A long beat of silence stretched between them, heavy with emotions too big to be put into words. And then, Clark leaned in, his lips brushing against hers— gentle at first, testing, waiting.

Y/n melted into the kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him close.

Clark let out a desperate sound, his body pressing closer as if trying to mold himself into her as if trying to make up for every second they had been apart.

The kiss deepened— slow, intoxicating, filled with longing. Clark’s hands trembled as they slid down her back, holding her so close it almost hurt.

“I love you,” Clark whispered, lips hovering over hers.

"You better.”

And then she pulled him down again, her lips claiming his, her body pressing into him, her hands gripping him like he was the one who had been missing her all along.

Clark let out a breathless laugh between kisses, his heart feeling whole again for the first time in days.

Maybe he had been strong enough to fight monsters, to save a town, to lift things heavier than any man could imagine.

But when it came to Y/N?

She was the only one who could bring him to his knees.

©kjhbsies

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

a beautiful little lie. [chapter 2] l Harry Castillo

Summary:  you are the personal assistant of Harry Castillo, a wealthy entrepreneur who asks you to go with him to his friend's wedding. there you meet your ex-boyfriend and things get out of hand

Warnings: fluff, a little bit of angst, friends to lovers (maybe?), some wine, almost kiss, mentioning ex-boyfriend, Reader feels insecure

A/N: I'm giving you this chapter. Be gentle with me, please. I don't have much to say, except that I'd like to thank every single person who left a sign under the first chapter. I was afraid to write this, but with you it's somehow easier. Thank you,

your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

[my masterlist] [Harry Castillo masterlist] [a beautiful little lie- series masterlist]

"Harry asked about you." Susan leaned out from behind the monitor and looked at you over her glasses. "You're fifteen minutes late."

"I know!" you groaned, throwing your bag on the desk. "The whole street was jammed. I was texting him."

"I know, he told me. But he asked anyway." she smiled, reaching for the cup of coffee you brought her. "Thank you, honey. You know, that guy would die without you. Me too."

“He'll be fine. He's Harry Castillo, he'll always be fine.” You replied, trying to calm your breathing and smoothing your skirt with your hand. “How do I look?”

“Like you ran three blocks to get here.”

“I did!” you laughed, glancing toward the glass doors leading to Harry’s office. “Okay, wish us luck.”

You entered Mr. Castillo's large office and immediately noticed him talking on the phone, leaning against one of the windows. He nodded to you in greeting without interrupting the conversation, then pointed to the folder lying on his desk. You quickly put it in your bag.

“I could send a car for you,” he said, pocketing his phone, frowning. “Did you run here?”

“A lot of people run in the morning. Are we ready? Mr. McCullen should be in his office in an hour.”

Harry took his jacket off the chair and put it on. You quickly walked over to him and straightened his tie. "I'm ready now."

The offer had landed on Castillo's desk out of the blue, but it was so good it piqued his interest. Mr. McCullen's company was about to be sold, and Harry was considering buying it. You didn't have much time to prepare, since your sources told you there were a lot of companies interested. 

However, everything was going to go your way that day. You had arrived at the company building early, so you quickly mumbled, "I have to go to the bathroom," and disappeared down one of the hallways leading from the conference room.

You were already washing your hands when you heard a quiet sob in one of the toilets. You anxiously wiped your hands on a paper towel and cleared your throat. "Excuse me? Is everything okay?"

The sobbing came from the last stall, where you noticed a pair of shapely legs in red heels. "Ummm... Do you need anything? A tampon or a tissue?"

The stall door opened and a young girl with swollen eyes stepped out. She sniffled and blew her nose into the toilet paper she was holding. “You can’t help me…” she said in a hoarse voice. “Until you find me a new job.”

"Oh! You know... You shouldn't worry so much about work, it's just..." you started, but the girl rolled her eyes. You clearly didn't understand her at all.

“I should care, because I’m about to lose my job!” she groaned. “I’m only working for this company until the boss closes this stupid deal, and then he’s moving to Los Angeles. That idiot got himself into so much debt…” she shook her head. A cold chill ran down your arms.

"What are you talking about?" you asked. "Not Mr. McCullen, right?"

She leaned against the counter and wiped her red nose, then crossed her arms over her chest. “His company is a bottomless pit. He’s desperate to sell it, and the guy buying it is a fucking idiot. He doesn’t even know what he’s signing up for.”

It was your second run of the day, your footsteps echoing through the empty hallway as you made your way to the conference room, but then your heart stopped. Harry was already sitting inside with two other men.

Everyone was chatting happily, or so it seemed to you, because the men were sitting with their backs to you, and all you could see was your boss's face.

"You can't go in there now." the female voice rang out as you grabbed the door handle.

“I’m Mr. Castillo’s assistant,” you said firmly, but the woman sitting behind the desk just tilted her head, unimpressed, looking you up and down appraisingly.

"I don't care. I said you can't go in there."

You huffed angrily and reached into your bag. You clenched your hand around your phone and a moment later you were dialing Harry's number. He must have felt the vibration of his phone in his pocket because he looked up and saw you behind the glass wall. He shook his head slightly.

“Shit!” you hissed. You had to think of something. You pulled out your folder and grabbed the first sheet of paper, then pulled out a pen.

Harry's brown eyes widened when he saw the piece of paper in your hands that said "BULLSHIT! DEBTS!"

one year earlier

You glanced around the hallway and took a deep breath, clutching your briefcase like it was a lifeline. The pretty brunette sitting across from you smiled, but you were so nervous you could barely lift the corners of your mouth.

How were you supposed to compete with them? Each of the five women waiting with you outside the glass doors to Mr. Castillo's office was simply beautiful and certainly had excellent references. And you? Your inner critic certainly had her hands full.

An hour passed, a very long hour. You were alone now, and the woman sitting behind the monitor glanced at you from time to time.

"He won't eat you alive, sweetie." she finally said.

"Huh?" you looked up, looking at her with fear. "You think so?"

"I've been working for him for a few years now. Just be yourself, girl."

You looked down at your nervously twisted fingers. It wasn't good advice.

Finally the girl came out of the office and you were invited in. The office was spacious and brightly lit by the rays of the setting sun. Behind the solid desk you saw a man, he was already over forty years old, broad shoulders, a prominent nose and a charming smile. He looked up from the paper and you saw beautiful brown eyes.

Your name flowed from his lips. "Please take a seat, it won't take long."

You sat on the edge of the chair feeling like your soul had already left your body. Mr. Castillo was looking at what must have been your job application.

"You don't have much experience." he said, there was no disapproval in it, more curiosity. "Why did you decide to apply?"

You barely recognized your voice when you spoke. "Can I be honest?"

Mr. Castillo made a gesture with his hand as if he was encouraging you to do so.

"I need a job. I know I don't have much experience as an assistant, not as much as previous candidates, I'm sure, but it's either that or going back to customer service."

"Mhm." he mumbled, rubbing his chin with his finger.

“Mr. Castillo.” Brown eyes focused on you again. “You’re looking for an assistant. I spent over an hour outside your office and saw other candidates. They’re beautiful women with references, and I understand that I can’t compete with them, but… I’m hardworking, loyal, and a quick learner. If you give me a chance, I assure you that I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you’re not disappointed.”

“I like your energy,” Castillo murmured, leaning back in his leather chair.

“Yeah? It’s more like desperation.”

He chuckled, and you finally smiled back. You stared at each other for a few seconds until Castillo finally closed the folder in front of him and reached for his phone, signaling that the conversation was over.

"Thank you for giving me your time." he said politely. "We'll call you back."

You nodded, mumbling a quiet, “Thank you and goodbye,” before quickly leaving the office, your legs feeling like jelly. The walk to the elevator wasn’t memorable, nor was the entire ride down.

You knew you had fucked up this interview. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you wanted to wait until you were outside the building to cry. As you stood on the sidewalk, you took a deep breath and a sob tore itself from your throat. You felt pathetic, small, and weak. What were you even thinking, coming here, standing in front of this office? Fuck. You idiot.

The phone in your pocket vibrated and you rolled your eyes reaching for it, you couldn't even cry in peace anymore.

"Yes?" you said, not caring how you sounded.

“Hello, this is Harry Castillo. We spoke a few minutes ago.” A pleasant male voice spoke on the other end, and you felt your heart skip a beat. “Would you be interested in starting work on Monday?”

“Mrs. Diane Kruger-Waltz will be here next week. She would like to meet with you.”

Harry handed you a glass of wine and sat down on the couch next to you with a quiet sigh. “Okay, let me know when she’s available. We’ll work it out.”

You took a sip and set the glass down on the small coffee table, then quickly typed something on your computer. It was a pleasant, albeit rainy evening. After returning from Mr. McCullen's, Harry met with his accountants, who confirmed the information you had received in the ladies' room. 

You both breathed a sigh of relief, this deal would cost the company millions and you didn't even want to think about what the consequences would be.

To celebrate this small success, if you could call it that, Castillo made a call to one of the best restaurants and ordered a takeaway. They didn't do that, but they made an exception for their regular customer. And then both of you, avoiding the slowly intensifying rain, hid on the couch in his spacious living room.

"Done." You announced, closing your laptop and putting it aside. "You should get your suit from the cleaners tomorrow morning. The sponsors' party starts at six in the afternoon, so you should be able to make it."

"I'll pick you up twenty minutes early, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be ready."

You sighed quietly and rubbed your forehead with your hand. It had been a long and hectic day. No wonder Harry had changed into sweatpants in search of comfort in his own apartment. Your clothes suddenly seemed extremely uncomfortable to you.

"What's going on?" he asked, feeling and seeing you shift nervously.

"Nothing. It's just... I'm tired, you know, every seam in my clothes irritates me." You mumbled.

"I already told you to keep something more comfortable at my place." you rolled your eyes and Harry chuckled "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not keeping my clothes in the boss's apartment." you replied, taking a sip of cold wine "That's unprofessional."

"Now this," he pointed at himself and you sitting on his couch, "that's professional, right?"

"Oh, never mind." you snorted but couldn't hide your smile and after a moment Harry also chuckled.

He liked spending time with you. There was something about it that made him feel free, like he could take off his tie and just be himself. Yes, he was a mature man, he knew his worth, but with you, a lot of things just seemed easier. Like he didn't have to pretend to follow rules and regulations. He didn't have that with other employees, only with you.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You already did." you replied, and seeing his face you lightly nudged him in the shoulder "Sure, ask."

"What was between you and Daniel? Of course, if you don't want to, you don't have to answer, but I was wondering... You seemed really upset after you met him."

You were silent for a moment and Harry thought that he might have crossed some line. Maybe the question was too intimate, too personal. But finally he heard your voice.

"We met through mutual friends. He started as a lawyer, quickly climbing the career ladder. I did my own thing, you know, but I wasn't as flashy as he was. We were together for two years, I think..." you closed your eyes, wrinkling your nose slightly as if you wanted to remember something, Harry was silent, watching you

"I was really in love. I supported him in everything he did, I practiced what he was supposed to say with him, ironed his shirts and stuff like that. I totally gave myself to him... At one of the parties he met Beth. I wasn't there because I had to be at work, the boss wouldn't let me off. Beth is different from me, better than me, you saw it yourself."

You smiled, looking at Harry, but the corners of his mouth barely twitched. He was staring at you attentively, listening carefully to every word. You lowered your gaze. 

"Daniel started dating her. He didn't even tell Beth he was in a relationship... I found out by accident. It was like a slap in the face. We started arguing and he blamed everything on me... I believed him. I believed every word he said. I was in a bad place at the time." 

You fell silent again for a moment, those memories must still be hurting you. A little hesitantly, but Harry reached out and squeezed your forearm in a supportive gesture. You smiled slightly.

"Huh! We broke up, of course. Daniel got together with Beth, officially. She was and still is a beautiful woman by his side, now carrying their child. It took me longer to get myself together and now I'm here. I'm drinking wine with my boss and telling him the pathetic story of my relationship."

You wanted to laugh, but just like that time at the wedding, the laughter died in your throat. Harry leaned slightly towards you, his voice calm and soothing.

"Daniel told you that you were a lot to handle?"

You nodded and quickly put your hand to your cheek, trying to wipe away a tear unnoticed.

"I'm sorry." Harry said quickly, placing a hand on your shoulder and caressing you "I didn't mean to..."

"No, it's okay!" you replied quickly, although your voice trembled "I'm telling it for the first time in so long, huh, I thought I was over it. But it hurt a little when I saw him, with her, so happy."

"Yeah, I understand that."

You finally looked at him, smiling even though your eyes were slightly red from the tears that had gathered in them. Your hand found his, squeezing it lightly.

"It's okay, really. Don't worry. I'm even glad you asked. I haven't talked about it with anyone. It's good to get it off my chest."

"I still feel guilty." Harry mumbled.

"Unnecessarily, really." You drank the wine to the end and put the glass on the table. "It's a bit embarrassing, sorry."

"You don't have to apologize for anything. To be fair, Daniel should apologize to you. He shouldn't have done that, he should have been honest with you from the beginning."

You waved your hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter anymore, Harry. I'm in a different place now. I have a cool job, my boss is okay too. I manage somehow."

You both laughed quietly until silence reigned again. And then Harry decided to say what had been on his mind for some time. Maybe it wasn't the right time, but when would there ever be one? He was still holding your hand, you were sitting so close, and he felt like he had to get it out.

"You're not a lot to handle." You looked up at him, surprised. "To tell you the truth, I think it was my lucky day when you showed up in my office for the first time. Remember?"

"This is embarrassing too, Harry. Let's not go back to this." You said, the corners of your mouth twitching even though your eyes were still scared. You waited to hear what he was getting at and you felt fear welling up inside you.

"It wasn't your fault. And you're not a lot to handle. Don't even believe it. You're worth so much more..."

You stared at him as if enchanted. Harry had such wonderful eyes, you noticed it from the first day, and since then you reminded yourself of it every now and then. And in that moment you saw almost everything in them - care, sincerity, sympathy.

"Don't say that, or I'll fall in love with you." You joked, but he didn't laugh.

"Would that be so bad?"

Something tightened your throat when you saw him leaning closer to you. He was too close, your lips inches apart, his scent filling your nostrils. "I have to go." You blurted out quickly and jumped up, freeing your hand from his.

"I..." Harry began uncertainly, but you had already grabbed your laptop and quickly shoved it into your bag "Listen, I didn't want to..."

"It's totally okay!" you said a little too quickly and too nervously, throwing your bag over your shoulder and slipping your shoes on "I really have to go now."

Harry wanted to say something else, but his head was completely empty. So he just watched as you gathered your things, threw a quick "See you!" and headed for the exit, closing the door quietly behind you.

Harry fell onto the sofa and rubbed his face with his hands, letting out a quiet groan.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

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[glossykissies]

Ooo how about frank disappearing for a little while bc he’s doing his punisher thing and he usually calls bunny to check in but this time he wasn’t able to so they’ve just had no contact and he comes back and she’s mad at him just all pouty and teary and refuses to kiss him )):

frank had been gone for a while now— and you were starting to come to terms with the fact that maybe, just maybe they got him this time. whatever bad business he’d got himself messed up in had finally caught up to him. for the past few nights, you’d fallen asleep crying into his pillow instead of your pink satin one. for a while you had forgotten that frank wasn’t invincible. ˚⋆🐇｡⋆𖦹.🐰

when you’d heard your apartment door open and close at 9PM — you’d assumed that whoever managed to get frank, was now after you. just to rub salt in a dead man’s wound. you’re in the kitchen at the time, staring blankly at the microwave as it heats up some left overs. another habit that wasn’t you, but you’d only picked up since falling into this depression. it shook you out of your haze, heart pounding. this was it.

when you creep round the corner into the hallway, you’re wielding a frying pan as your weapon between shaking fingers. it clangs loudly on the floor when you drop it, seeing none other than frank standing there.

“hey.” he blinks. he hated to see you like this. you were usually so excited to see him that you’d have slid into the hallway against your better judgement to throw yourself onto him. you look scared now, small. trembling in that satin robe that he usually loved to see you in.

“frankie?” you squeak.

“yeah baby it’s me.” he takes a step forward and opens his arms to you and your body starts moving toward him before you could think, total instinct taking over. you skid to a stop right infront of him, remembering how you felt, bursting into tears. “i know. i know sweetheart m’sorry— i’m bad yeah—” frank goes to swaddle you but he’s cut off by your hands, hitting at his chest, pushing him back as you cry.

“why’d you go? why didn’t you say you just— you were gone for so long— don’t ever — don’t you ever do that again! i can’t believe you!” you yell through tears as you hit him, franks face falling and neutralising itself as he swallows his pride and hurt. he lets you have your tantrum before catching your hands, pulling you into his chest.

“just breathe, yeah? just breathe.” he orders, grounding you by holding his large, hard body against you. you hear his heart hammering in his chest. you see your body glitter on his sleeve. he’s alive. he’s here and he’s real.

“frank.” you crumple, weak and devastated as you softly grab a handful of his shirt, trying to be as close as humanely possible.

“i’m so sorry. what i did it… it ain’t right. was tryna protect you n’i couldn’t do that ‘til i killed every last one of ‘em. s’just us now baby. yeah?” he pulls back, eyes watery and heavy with emotion as he cups your soft cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours. “just us forever.”

all you could do was believe him, even though you knew he’d find trouble again.

[kittygowrite]

Bad jokes

Warnings: fluff? Bad jokes, Gn!reader, maybe a very slight Ghost x Reader?

An: this was supposed to be a super short drabble… I blacked out and now we have this lol. It was bouncing around my head like a ping-pong ball. Really abrupt ending but idk how to finish it 😔 (I didn’t edit it, written on my phone at literally 1am, sorry for any mistakes)

Word Count: 400+

Ghost, once you get to know him, is one of the funniest men you’ll ever meet.

He has a very particular sense of humor, but his timing is always perfect and his delivery is unmatched. Soap never fully gotten on the dad joke train, Price has grown used to sighing and shaking his head to hide the slight smile, and Gaz just rolls his eyes with a halfhearted chuckle.

So imagine Ghost getting to drop his arsenal of horrible puns onto the new recruit who’s stuck around long enough to get comfortable with the 141 guys?

He would scare the shit out of you, appearing right as you're about to knock on Price’s office door to hand in a report.

“What form is required for all members of the military?” The deep timber of his voice has you jumping and spinning to him, eyes wide. Was this some pop quiz? A test to see if you remember from basic training? You’re wracking your memory for what the hell he could be talking about.

“A uniform.” It stops you, frozen in place, still staring at the Lieutenant.

Did he seriously just make a joke?

As quickly as he had appeared, Ghost turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall, leaving you blinking and watching the space he had just vacated. It was the first of many horrible jokes to come. But he wasn’t the only one with a bad joke up their sleeve.

It had been a relatively quiet mission, Soap talking everyone’s ears off about some new explosive he learned about. He’s in the middle of explaining the different chemical compounds when you shift slightly to bump Ghost with your shoulder from where he’s leaning against a crate next to you.

“Hey, lieutenant… How do the elements stay in touch?” You ask softly, watching him from the corner of your eye. Despite the balaclava, you can see the slight quirk of his eyebrow and the subtle narrowing of his eyes as he thinks. After a pause he gives a soft grunt, signaling you to go on.

”They get together periodically…” you eye him carefully, testing, gauging how he reacts to his own style of jokes being thrown back at him. It was small at first. The slow blink as the information registers, then the corners of his eyes pinching.

And all at once, laughing cracks through the air. Deep and rumbling, so warm and full. It has the rest of the team turning to look at the pair of you, stares narrowing on Ghost who’s covering his face with a gloved hand as he laughs.

You’re left frozen once again, unsure how to react. It was a sound you’d never heard before but after a moment it had you puffing with pride. You had made ghost laugh. That was something.

An: its literally 1am im half awake… please laugh at the element joke… (as far as i know) i came up with that one and please i want to be funny ;-;

Tags: @pythonmoth @hattiefunny @daydreamerwoah @sweetheart4you

[sacr1ficialang3l]

Somewhere in the thoroughfare˚୨୧⋆｡ 

OLDER!DEAN WINCHESTER X YOUNGER!READER

SUMMARY: Dean and reader embark on a journey to see the west. They drive for hours upon hours, but reader knows the perfect way to distract Dean for a while. 2.9k

WARNINGS: smut (MDNI). oral m receiving. getting a blow job while driving. do not try this at home kids. age gap.

NOTES: Daddy is back! It took me a long time because I haven't been very inspired lately, sorry I disappeared for a bit. I am still not an expert in writing smut, I will learn one day I promise. Anyway, another one of my little self-indulgent fantasies for you all. As always, English is not my first language. Enjoy<3

Summer this year was hot and sticky, all humid air and warm sunlight.

It had been miraculously quiet in the supernatural world for the past few weeks, and Dean decided it was the perfect time to take his pretty girl for vacation. He had noticed that you were a little down lately, a little less smiley and your eyes a little less sparkly. You were good at hiding it, but Dean knew that the hunting life was hard on you sometimes. He had gotten used to it after so many years, barely feeling the ache in his bones and the weight on his shoulders anymore, but when he held you in his arms while you cried your pretty eyes out one night, he decided you two needed a break.

He got his credit card ready, picturing five-star hotels and bustling city nights. He was even willing to board a plane just for you. Anything for his sweet girl. So one night, when he was letting you talk about your favorite pop artists—

"So, this Taylor Swift album–"

"Oh, please. Don’t torture me like this, princess. I swear music died in the '90s."

"Shut up and listen, old man. Let me introduce you to peak lyricism."

He interrupts you and explains his plan, asking you to choose any destination.

Imagine his surprise when instead of asking for anything he thought, you chose a road trip.

“Really, sweetheart? All we do is be on the road.”

“I know, but never without the burden of hunting. I wanna drive around with you, no guns or monsters, just us and your other baby.”

“Aren’t you tired of it? Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled not to get into a plane, but this is for you. We can go anywhere you want, baby.”

“I could never get tired of it. In your car, with all of your dumb luck, is the only place I’ll ever wanna be.”

Dean stares at you for a long moment, eyes a little clouded with something intense, something that makes your insides burn.

“How can you be so perfect?” that makes you giggle, biting your lip and looking up at your boyfriend. “So, where are we going, love?”

“I don’t really care as long as you're with me.”

“Come on. There must be somewhere you wanna go, anywhere.”

“What about Oregon? Oh, but I would also love to drive down Big Sur with you. But what about–”

You were interrupted by Dean’s gruff laughter.

“I think I get the point. We have no time limit, I know how we can visit all the places you want.”

Dean grabbed your waist and pulled you on top of him, letting his hands –so callused from his pistol– brush down your lower back as he pulled you as close as possible.

“Come see the west with me, sweetheart.”

You are somewhere in north Oregon, almost in Washington. You had tried to convince Dean to take you to Forks, but the moment the word Twilight came out of your mouth he refused. (He ends up driving you there a week later, begrudgingly letting you take the aux and play Paramore the whole time you are in there.)

It is one week into your vacation, and the summer heat has only gotten worse. You and Dean are driving down a lonely road towards a little cabin you rented—it was in the middle of the woods and looked extremely homey. You were thrilled when you found it, even though explaining to Dean how Airbnb worked was an ordeal, considering he had only ever stayed in shitty motels without ever making a reservation or entering credit cards in some website.— You are planning to stay there for at least a week before resuming your journey to California.

So right now, you two are surrounded only by the trees, the setting sun, and the extremely hot air. The wind through the window is thick and muggy, clinging to your skin as you rest across the front seat of the Impala. Your socked feet dig into Dean’s thigh, and your head dangles out the window, hair catching the breeze, whipping gently around your face. Your eyes are closed while you tap your hand against your bare leg along with the beat of one of Dean’s rock songs, enjoying the way one of his hands is wrapped around your ankle.

You still find it astonishing that even in this weather, Dean is wearing his usual jeans and black shirt. At least you had convinced him to drop the flannel. You are the complete opposite, dressed in short shorts that barely hit your upper thigh and a white tank top with no bra on. You told him it was because wearing one made you sweat more when he asked, but the truth is that you liked the way Dean stared at the outline of your nipple piercings through the thin material of your almost translucent top, eyes hungry and feral.

You tilt your head up to look at your boyfriend when he starts singing along, his voice barely audible over the wind on your ears. There he is, knowing every lyric of a song released many years before you were born, his crow's feet even more pronounced as a relaxed smile settled on his face, the rough skin of his fingers brushing up and down your calf.

He catches you looking at him, and he gives you one of his signature smug grins.

“See something you like, sweetheart?”

“Oh, definitely.” You say flirtily, pulling your head back inside of the car and half-closing your window to eliminate some of the whistling.

Dean chuckles, and once again, you’re struck by how incredibly handsome he is. His elbow rests casually on the edge of his open window as he grips the steering wheel with ease. The setting sun casts a warm glow over him, making his green eyes practically glow. The veins on his forearms stand out, and the black shirt clings tightly to his chest and biceps.

At the end of the day, you are just a girl, so you lean forward and sink your teeth into the strong muscle of his arm. God, it was so big, almost as big as your head. Dean hisses a bit at the pain but doesn’t pull away, too used to your shenanigans.

“Is this what vampire movies did to your generation?” He grumbles when you let go of his flesh, but his expression softens when he hears you giggle while you admire your work.

There’s a deep set of teeth marks on his bicep—a perfect imprint of your canines. He pretended to be annoyed when you bit him, but he actually relished in bearing your mark. Because he is as yours as you are his.

“Nope, you’re just biteable.”

That makes him snort and shake his head fondly. You look at him again, now closer, and you have to bite your lip at how hot your boyfriend is. This older, experienced, kind, sweet man… all for you. You are so lucky.

A great idea strikes you. You check the GPS on your phone, (Dean refused to use it, saying that he knew how to find his way everywhere with just a map) According to it, you’ve got at least another hour on this empty road. Perfect.

You shuffle around in the bench seat of the Impala until the point of your feet are pressed against the car door, knees bent comfortably as you let your head fall down into Dean’s lap. He is a little startled at first, sending you a confused look. But you simply beam at him sweetly, staring into his eyes from between his torso and the steering wheel. He laughs, brushing some hair out of your face with his free hand.

You wait for a few minutes before putting your plan into action. The moment Dean’s eyes are extra focused on the road, his fingers drumming along to some song you think is by Led Zeppelin (you are learning, for him), you tilt your head to the side and press your cheek against his crotch.

Dean’s movements halt for a second, and he sends you a warning look.

“What do you think you're doing, sweetheart?”

You say nothing, giggling softly and nuzzling against his clothed dick again. The fabric of the denim was rough, and it burned your skin just right. You start to feel how Dean slowly starts to harden under you, and you start to leave soft kisses all over his upper thighs and over the growing bulge.

“Baby, I am serious.” He calls out your name when you don’t stop. “I am driving, for god's sake.”

You catch the edge of the waistline of his jeans in between your teeth, pulling at it softly before you look up at Dean, all doe eyes and fluttering lashes.

“You’ve been driving for hours. Let me give you a little thank-you, baby.”

Dean groans, both his hands now in the steering wheel, like he was scared to lose control. He licks his lips, thinking for a moment with an almost pained expression.

“You’re so… I’m gonna lose my damn mind.” He murmurs, more to himself than to you. “I won’t stop you, but just know that if we crash against some fucking tree it will be your fault.”

You giggle and proceed to unbutton his jeans and pull down the zipper. You lick a long strip across his now completely hard cock over his boxers. It makes Dean’s breath hitch, and his hips twitch subtly under you. You keep mouthing at the bulge over the thin fabric of the underwear until it is completely soaked with spit.

“Come on, darling.” Dean grunts. “Don’t be a tease.”

You use your hands to pull his erection out of his underwear. It is a little cramped and less than ideal in the small space you have, but you manage to pull his pants down enough so that his cock stands proudly in front of you, long and hard and wet with your spit.

You shift in the seat of the impala once again until you are laying on your stomach, feet kicking in the air playfully as if you were doing the most innocent of things instead of about to blow your boyfriend while he drove.

You brush your tongue against the throbbing tip of Dean’s dick, collecting the precum already there into your mouth. You hear Dean groan distantly, but your head was getting a little hazy already. You loved sucking Dean’s cock. He fit so right in your mouth, the weight and taste of him in your tongue so perfect that you felt dizzy with it. You could spend hours with him nuzzled against your throat, suckling and swallowing around him.

You give kitten licks to the whole length, getting him sloppy and ready. The moment the tip slides in between your lips, Dean lets out the first low moan. It was heavy and husky, and you absolutely loved it. You take him deeper into your mouth, starting to bop your head up and down.

“Fuck, yes. So good, so– ah, so fucking good for me, baby.”

You can feel his eyes on you, and you lean away slightly, his cock sliding out of your mouth with a wet pop.

“Eyes on the road, Dean.” There is a string of saliva connecting your lips and Dean’s dick, and the image makes him curse, his jaw clenching as his eyes flick back up.

You take him inside your mouth again, deeper this time. You breathe in through your nose before you sink in further, until he hits the back of your throat. It makes Dean grunt loudly, but it quickly turns into an extended moan as the warm walls of your throat contract around him.

“Mmnh— you feel so good, baby. You were made for this. Such a tight, warm little mouth just for me. Such, ah, such a good girl, taking my cock so deep. Fuck.”

Dean’s knuckles are white where he is holding the wheel for dear life. You hum at the praises, and Dean lets out a choked whine at the vibrations that throbbed through his length, cock twitching and more precum dribbling out of his tip.

You feel your mind spin a little at Dean’s words and the sweet feeling of him so deeply settled into your mouth. You brush your tongue against the underside of his cock, and it is messy. You’re almost desperate with it, drool dribbling past your lips and down Dean’s balls. He hiss at the feeling and throws his head back for just one second before his eyes return to the road.

“You love cock so much, don’t you?” He growls, strangled. “So fucking sloppy and messy. My pretty girl all needy for me.”

You whimper around him at his words, and you start to suck with renewed vigour. Slurping around Dean’s length and letting out pleased noises every time he hit the back of your throat. He keeps murmuring filthy words at you, fighting the way his hips desperately wanted to thrust into your mouth.

Seriously, you are lucky he has so much self control and doesn’t end up flipping the car.

“Yeah, just like that, sweetheart. I’m– a-ah, I'm close. Make me come in your mouth, baby.”

You pull back a bit, wanting Dean to come on your tongue— you want to taste it, savor the way it coats your tongue with a flavor that you can only describe as Dean. You use your fist to jerk whatever is left out of your mouth, and when your tongue presses into his slit, his cock pulses and he comes.

Dean’s groan is guttural and desperate, fighting to keep his eyes open and his hands firmly on the wheel. Thick ropes of cum fall onto your tongue, and you let out a contented little hum. You lap it all up, eyes rolling back in satisfaction. You swallow around his cock, prolonging his orgasm and making him twitch one last time. Even after he stops coming, you keep suckling around the head of his cock. Dean hisses in overstimulation.

“That’s enough, princess.” He pants, pulling you away by the hair. The combination of the pain and the lack of dick makes you whine. “Stop, or I am seriously crashing the car.”

You lick your lips as you try to catch your breath. You somehow look even worse than Dean did, eyes teary and lips puffy. There was spit dripping down your chin and your breathing was ragged. Your cheek is red and itchy where it rubbed against his jeans, but you love the feeling.

You blink at Dean twice, the fog in your mind slowly dissipating and a proud little grin taking over your face instead.

“I love the way you taste.” You murmur dreamily, and it makes Dean glare at you as he groans.

“You need to stop saying things like that before I pull over and fucking ravish you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” You wink at him, moving until you are sitting correctly on the car seat.

Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes, but there is a pleased smile on his face. He looks somehow even sexier now, the post-orgasm glow turning his eyes shinier and adding an edge to his grin.

Fuck, you still couldn’t believe all that was yours.

You sigh, opening the glove box and pulling out some tissues. Dean has already put himself back into his pants, so you wipe the last traces of spit off your face. Your throat feels a little raw, so you turn and bend over the backrest of the front seat to reach the cooler Dean keeps in the back.

“Fuck, you’re a hazard while driving.”

You grab a water bottle when you feel him slap your ass. The sharp sting spreads through you, heat prickling every nerve. You sit back down with a huff, turning to him with an incredulous expression.

“What?”

Dean shrugs, trying —and failing— to look innocent, his smirk betraying him.

“Come on. You can’t bend over like that and not expect it. I’m only human after all, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, but an endeared smile takes over your face.

“Why do I keep you around again?”

A day later, you are sitting outside of the rented cabin with Dean next to you, surrounded by nothing but nature. You made him a simple flower crow with some daisies and baby’s breath you’d found in a clearing nearby. It took plenty of begging, pouting, and soft kisses to convince him to wear it, but once it was on, he hadn’t taken it off.

The days pass in a blur of quiet moments—early mornings spent sipping coffee on the cabin’s porch, evenings filled with whiskey, laughter and many more of those old-man stories you loved so much. And of course, a lot more sex.

Weeks later, after countless motel rooms and small-town diners, you find yourselves standing on the coast. you are near the beach, where the salty breeze mingled with the sound of crashing waves, and the sun hangs warm and golden overhead. Dean stands behind you, strong arms wrapped around your waist, pressing you back against his chest, chin resting against the top of your head.

And right there, in that perfect moment, when Dean turns you around softly and presses his lips to yours, you know exactly why you keep him around.

Because there’s no one else out there for you. Dean Winchester—old enough to be your father, a big bad hunter carrying more baggage than most could bear, with a neon sign flashing 'trouble' on his forehead—is the love of your life.

NOTES: I am trying my best with the smut pls be nice. Another ode to sucking dick by me (I am a virgin if it wasn't clear by now).

TAGS: @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess <3

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