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robbysreaders · 3 days ago

Note

Sorry I don’t make the rules, we need more ex x baby daddy!Jack!

Especially their wedding, breeding kink Jack, more babies, the whole thing.

Hehe pls & thanks

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader word count: 3.6k notes: part 4 of ex!reader and babydaddy!jack way hornier than the rest of writing but tbh like .5 chili peppers haha and thank you for this req in my inbox!!!! i love these two and i'm working my way through some ideas that have been shared with me but i just started a new job so they will probably be over the next few weeks!

Something unlocks after you get engaged.

It’s not dramatic, not fireworks. Just this quiet, grounded certainty that settles between you. This is it. This is real. There’s a ring on your finger, a boy in the other room who looks like both of you, and Jack—Jack, who once felt like an impossible choice, now feels like home.

And you continue to see a side of him you’re not entirely used to.

He's still Jack—still grumbles about budget cuts and leaves coffee mugs in strange places—but he’s also… attentive. Almost absurdly so. Sweet in a way that feels like he’s been saving it all up. And maybe a little unhinged in the best, horniest way. He touches you constantly. Always finds a way to press a kiss to your temple, your shoulder, your stomach. Like he still can’t believe he gets to.

“I locked you down,” he mutters one morning, arms snug around your waist as you brush your teeth. “You, Beau, and a damn ring. The trifecta.”

“You make it sound like a hostage situation,” you laugh, spitting into the sink.

Jack grins against your neck. “Maybe I should squirrel you away to the courthouse before you change your mind.”

“Oh, we were dangerously close to that, don’t kid yourself,” you say, rinsing. “But I wanted the view.”

And the view was worth it.

Lake Como in late May. A small villa perched on a hillside, all warm stone and blooming vines. The ceremony was intimate—friends, family, a very small and slightly chaotic PTMC contingent somehow made the trip. Robby cried, and Dana pretended not to. Your sister wrangled Beau through the flower-petal aisle like she’d been training for it her whole life.

You danced under string lights. Said “I do” to a man who still sometimes forgets to fold towels correctly but looks at you like you hung the stars.

And somehow—shockingly—you agreed to let your sister take Beau back with her, so you and Jack could have a true honeymoon.

Just you. Just him.

The first night, you’re on the balcony in a linen robe and nothing else, wine glass in hand, the lake glowing below you.

Jack comes up behind you—barefoot, shirtless, lazy smile on his face—and wraps his arms around your waist like he can’t help himself.

“I love this,” you murmur. “I love you. I want to stay here forever.”

“I know,” he says, kissing that spot just beneath your ear. Then, after a beat, “But… is it just me, or does it feel like missing a limb without Beau? …no pun intended.”

You laugh and spin in his arms, wrapping your hands around his neck. “God, I love you. This is why I married you. You’re in my brain.”

“I’m just saying,” he grins, brushing your hair back. “Maybe we wouldn’t miss him so much if you were already carrying another little Abbot with you.”

You raise a brow. “Wow. Wasting no time, huh?”

“I’ve been waiting six years Mrs. Abbot. You can’t be surprised.”

“Careful,” you say, teasing, “you sound like you get off to me being barefoot and pregnant.”

Jack hums, low and amused. “I mean… if the shoe fits.”

You groan, half-exasperated, half turned on. “God, you’re such a menace.”

“An insatiable menace,” he says, sliding his hands beneath your robe. “Who happens to be very good at making you come. Efficient, even. Fill you so good we’d get twins. Two for one.”

“Okay, Doctor Abbot,” you laugh, swatting at his chest. “Did you hit your head or is this just post-wedding delirium?”

He grumbles into your neck.

You swat his chest. “You know, for a doctor, you know nothing about conception.”

“I know the basics,” he says, hand smoothing over your hip, “and that I’m pretty damn good at it.”

“God, you are so full of yourself. Should’ve never married a jock.”

He smirks. “Did someone say cock?” His hips roll against yours, slow and deliberate, pressing a point.

You groan, laughing into his mouth as he kisses you. “You’re ridiculous. And I thought you’d go for the “and you’ll be so full of me’ route”

“What can I say, I’m maturing,” he mumbles, deepening the kiss, his hands roaming now. “You’re lucky you married me. Any other man would’ve passed out from post-wedding exhaustion.”

“Instead I got the energizer bunny in scrubs.”

He scoops you up with ease—one arm under your thighs, the other around your back—and carries you inside like it’s your first night all over again. He drops you onto the bed gently, then follows, kissing a path down your stomach.

“Jack,” you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair.

“I’m just doing a thorough exam,” he says into your skin. “You’ve under my care, it would be negligent not to check on you after such a major life event like getting married.”

“You’re annoying,” you say, breath hitching.

“You love it.”

You do.

You love all of it. The warmth, the ease, the hunger in him that never faded, just changed shape over time. You let him take his time—relearn your body like it’s the first time all over again. You lose yourself in him, in the soft press of lips to skin, the whispered confessions that slip out only when his guard is down.

Laughing, gasping, kissing like it’s the only language you know. After, you lay tangled together, sweat-damp and boneless.

He traces circles on your back, eyes half-lidded. “Seriously. Twins.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“I’m just saying, it’s efficient.”

“Beau is six and I’m still tired.”

Jack chuckles. “Fine. No pressure. Just practice. Lots of practice.”

You roll over, facing him. “You happy?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “More than I knew I could be.”

The room is quiet. Outside, the lake glimmers in moonlight.

“I was scared, you know,” you whisper.

Jack glances down at you. “When?”

“All of it. Letting you back in. Saying yes. I kept thinking, what if we just mess it up again?”

He brushes a hand along your jaw. “We probably will. Sometimes. But I’m not going anywhere. And I won’t let you carry the weight alone.”

Your eyes sting. “That’s what scared me before. Feeling like I was alone in it.”

“I know,” he says softly. “I felt it too. But I didn’t know how to fix it then. I was still trying to outrun things.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m tired of running.”

You press a kiss to his chest. “So no running. No hiding.”

“No hiding,” he repeats.

There’s a long silence, filled only by the soft hum of the night and your breathing slowing in sync.

Then Jack says, so quietly you almost miss it: “I want a big life with you.”

You look up. “You already have one.”

He smiles. “I know. But I want more of it. All the messy, beautiful pieces. Soccer games and parent-teacher conferences. Slow Sundays. Another baby. or two. or ten. Just—more.”

Your throat tightens. “God, you’re such a sap now.”

“Shut up,” he mutters, pulling you in closer.

You grin into his skin. “Don’t worry. I’m into it.”

And he’s into you—clearly—because within minutes, he’s proving again just how committed he is to “practice.”

That night, you fall asleep in his arms, lulled by the gentle lapping of water against the shore and the quiet certainty that this time, you didn’t choose wrong.

His arm is slung heavy around your waist, one leg wedged between yours. His hand is resting possessively on your hip, thumb tucked just under the curve of your stomach like it belongs there. You don’t move. You just lay there, soaking in the stillness.

The lake outside is calm. There’s birdsong, a faint breeze, and nothing else.

You sigh into the silence.

“Mmm,” Jack mumbles, tightening his grip. “Alive?”

“Barely.”

“You wore me out,” he says, voice hoarse and self-satisfied.

“You begged for it.”

“I did,” he agrees. Then, after a beat: “I’d do it again.”

You smile, pressing your nose to his chest. “We’ve officially entered the honeymoon stage.”

“We skipped it the first time. I’m cashing in.”

You shift slightly, pressing your cold toes to his shin. He flinches.

“Jesus.”

“Sorry,” you murmur. “Poor circulation. Still your wife though.”

“Unfortunately.”

You laugh, then kiss his shoulder. “What time is it?”

“No idea. But I think I’ve achieved full body paralysis.”

“Same.”

There’s a long, quiet pause. Then Jack says, “We should go swimming.”

You blink. “Right now?”

“Yeah. Why not? Lake’s right there. We’re in Italy. No Beau to referee. Might be our last chance before life crashes back in.”

“Very romantic. Also, I don’t even know where I packed my swimsuit.”

“Who said anything about swimsuits?”

You arch a brow. “You want to skinny-dip? In the daytime?”

He shrugs, rolling onto his back. “I’m just saying, we’re legally married. What are they gonna do, arrest us for being in love?”

“Jack.”

“Live a little, Mrs. Abbot.”

You stare at him. “You’re serious.”

“I’m proposing an impulsive memory. Don’t make me swim alone like some pervert.”

You groan dramatically, grabbing a sheet as you roll out of bed. “Fine. But if I get arrested in a foreign country for public indecency, you better bail me out.”

He grins. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

You wrap yourself in the linen sheet toga-style and pad barefoot out onto the balcony. The stairs down to the private dock are warm beneath your feet, sun already high and bright.

Jack follows behind, also barely dressed, with two towels slung over his shoulder and that cocky post-wedding glow.

The water is cool but not cold. Crisp. Clean. You wade in first, shrieking at the initial shock until Jack yanks you forward and pulls you under with him.

When you surface, sputtering, hair slicked back and gasping from laughter, he’s looking at you like he can’t believe this is his life.

“You’re unreal,” he says, reverent.

You splash water in his face. “I married you, didn’t I?”

“Best scam I’ve ever pulled.”

You drift closer, legs brushing. His hand cups the back of your neck. You kiss, slow and deep and lazy, and when he pulls back, you can see the smile in his eyes.

The lake stretches out behind him. A postcard come to life.

You stay in the lake until your fingers are pruned and your stomach’s growling. Breakfast is pastries you picked up from a little corner bakery, still flakey and warm. Jack makes espresso in the tiny kitchen, whistling off-key. It’s stupidly domestic. And perfect.

You sit on the floor of the villa, legs tangled, plates on your laps. He steals a bite of your sfogliatella without asking.

“Do you think we should call Beau today?” you ask, chewing.

Jack nods, swallowing his own bite. “Yeah. Just to check in. Not now though. He’ll be with your sister at the zoo or the pool or learning how to disassemble small electronics, depending on her mood.”

You laugh. “She does run a very strange babysitting operation.”

“She’s a miracle worker. Honestly, I’m still shocked she agreed to take him.”

“She told me every married couple deserves three uninterrupted days after the ‘I do.’ Then handed me a jumbo box of condoms and said not to come home pregnant unless it was intentional.”

Jack chokes on his coffee. “Jesus Christ.”

You shrug, smug. “Just saying—her words, not mine.”

He leans back against the couch, eyeing you. “And is it?”

You glance at him.

“Intentional.”

The air shifts.

You don’t answer right away. Just push your plate aside and crawl into his lap. He adjusts instantly, arms wrapping around you, palms dragging up your thighs.

“I think… I’m not not open to it,” you say slowly. “Before, it felt impossible. Everything felt so fragile. But now? I look at you and Beau, and it’s like—yeah. I want more of this. More of us.”

He swallows, throat bobbing. “You’re sure?”

You smile. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever been sure about.”

His mouth finds yours, urgent now, full of promise. You kiss like it’s a decision, a vow, a whole damn future.

And when he finally pulls back, he’s flushed and breathless.

“I love you so much it’s physically uncomfortable.”

You laugh against his jaw. “Sucks to be you, I guess.”

He grins. “Yeah. Tragic.”

That afternoon, you nap in the sun. The villa has a hammock strung between two cypress trees and Jack insists on sharing it, even though he’s too long and your legs keep tangling and one of you always ends up with an elbow in the ribs.

“I hope Beau’s having a good day,” you murmur, eyes closed, head on his chest.

Jack’s hand is tracing idle circles on your bare arm. “I’m sure he is. You think he’ll remember the wedding?”

“Some pieces,” you say. “The dancing. The cake. Robby giving him ten euros to yell ‘just kiss already!’ before we even got to the vows.”

“God,” he sigh. “What a circus.”

You hum in agreement.

Then, “Do you think we’re doing okay? With him? With this?”

Jack shifts beneath you. “Honestly? I think we’re doing great. Not perfect. But real. He’s kind. Confident. Feels safe. That’s what matters.”

You nod slowly. “I used to worry so much about what we were showing him, you know? The split. The mess.”

“He saw love,” Jack says simply. “Even when it was hard. Especially then.”

You press your face to his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him—sun, sweat, skin.

“I’m glad we waited to do this right,” you whisper. “I don’t think I could’ve survived a version of us where we never figured it out.”

Jack’s voice is thick. “Me either.”

That night, you dress up.

No real reason. Just a silky dress you’ve been saving, heels a little higher than you usually wear. Jack puts on real pants—well, linen slacks—and a button-down that’s already half undone by the time he finishes wrestling with the cuffs.

He sees you and stops short.

“Jesus.”

“Too much?”

“Not enough.”

Dinner is just a short walk into the village—twinkly lights and hand-pulled pasta and a carafe of wine that disappears too quickly. You talk about everything and nothing. The neighbors at home. Future holidays. How much more you can fit in your suitcase without paying extra baggage fees.

“You’re going to check my carry-on and judge me, aren’t you?” you accuse.

“Only because you brought six pairs of shoes and wore the same ones every day.”

“They’re options, Jack.”

He leans over the table, resting his chin on his hand. “God, I love you.”

You stop. Just for a second. Let it wash over you.

“I love you too.”

Later, you walk back slow. His hand finds yours. Your shoulders brush.

Back at the villa, Jack peels the dress off you like he’s unwrapping a gift. Kisses every inch of bare skin he uncovers. You let him take his time.

You make love slow. No rush. No hunger. Just reverence. It feels different this time—heavier, softer, but still electric.

You don’t remember falling asleep—just the weight of Jack’s body against yours, the slow press of his kisses, the steady rhythm of your breath returning to normal in the quiet afterglow.

What wakes you is the light. It spills through the shutters, golden and soft, casting lazy stripes across the sheets.

Jack’s already awake, propped up on one elbow, watching you like you’re some kind of sunrise. His hair’s a mess, lips kiss-bitten, and he has the nerve to look smug about it.

“Morning, Mrs. Abbot,” he says, voice rough with sleep.

“God,” you groan, burying your face in the pillow. “You’re going to say that all the time, aren’t you?”

“Yup,” he grins. “Until it’s on your driver’s license.”

You roll onto your back, stretch slowly. His eyes follow the movement like he’s hungry again.

“You’re staring,” you say.

“You’re glowing.”

“I’m sweating.”

“Still counts.”

You nudge him with your foot. He catches it, presses a kiss to your ankle, and suddenly you feel a whole lot warmer.

“You hungry?” he asks.

“Starving.”

“I’ll make breakfast.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You brought me to Italy just to feed me scrambled eggs?”

Jack swings his legs off the bed and stands—naked, unabashed. “I’m a man of many talents. But fine. Pancakes?”

“In Italy?”

He shrugs. “International pancakes.”

You laugh as he heads toward the kitchen, grabbing a pair of boxers on the way. He whistles while he moves, some Sinatra song you vaguely recognize, and your heart tugs in your chest like it still can’t quite believe this is real.

You pull on one of his shirts and pad barefoot after him. The villa is quiet, the lake just barely visible through the open patio doors, glittering in the morning sun.

Jack’s already got flour out. There’s a pan warming on the stove. You wrap your arms around him from behind, rest your cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Don’t burn them.”

“You wound me.”

“I’ve seen you try to flip a pancake. You get too cocky.”

“That’s because you heckle me,” he says, flipping the first one with unnecessary flair. “Watch and learn, Mrs. Abbot.”

You roll your eyes but sit at the table, watching him with something dangerously close to adoration. There’s something ridiculous about how seriously he takes this—like he’s proving something. Like if he makes these pancakes just right, he’ll have earned it all over again.

He sets a plate in front of you with a flourish. “Bon appétit.”

You take a bite, eyes widening. “Okay. Okay, maybe you have improved.”

Jack smirks, sitting across from you, fork already in hand. “I’ve been practicing.”

“For this moment?”

“For this life.”

The words hit you low and deep, like a drum. You look at him—really look—and see it there: the steadiness. The certainty. He’s still Jack, but he’s… more. Softer around the edges. Not smaller, just less armored.

You reach for his hand across the table.

“I still can’t believe we’re here.”

“Me neither.”

“I don’t think I let myself imagine it,” you admit. “Not after everything.”

Jack’s expression sobers. He sets his fork down. “Can I tell you something?”

You nod.

“That night. The one when you said you needed space. I thought… I thought that was it. I thought I’d ruined my life beyond fixing.”

You squeeze his fingers.

“I let it happen,” he continues quietly. “I was so afraid of screwing it up that I stood back and watched it fall apart. It’s like—if I didn’t fight for it, I couldn’t be blamed for losing it.”

Your throat tightens. “Jack…”

He shakes his head. “But I realized it wasn’t fair. To you. Or to Beau. Or to myself, honestly. But I didn’t know how to be better then. I didn’t even know what better looked like.”

“You do now,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he says. “Because of you.”

There’s a silence that stretches, heavy but full. Then you stand, walk around the table, and sink into his lap. He holds you like he’s anchoring himself.

“You did all the hard work, I just pushed you to do it. We’re allowed to be happy now,” you murmur into his neck.

Jack’s arms tighten. “Yeah. I don’t think I ever thanked you”

“I can think of a few ways to start showing your gratefulness”

The rest of the day unfolds like a dream.

You spend the afternoon wandering through the nearby village—stone streets, small shops, gelato for lunch. Jack insists on carrying your bag. You make fun of his touristy camera strap, and he makes fun of your obsession with ceramic bowls.

You take a million photos together, and he looks so happy—so open—that you save one immediately as your phone background.

When you get back, you read on the balcony while he naps on the couch, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes like a romance novel hero. You don’t even wake him when he starts to snore.

By evening, you’re tangled again in bed, warm skin against warm skin, and Jack is tracing his name on your thigh with his fingertip.

“You know what I was thinking?” he says, voice low.

“Mm?”

“That I want to take you everywhere. That we should do a honeymoon part two, with Beau. Paris. Or Morocco. Or Tokyo. Somewhere Beau can try weird candy and yell at me in public without getting in trouble.”

You laugh. “He already does that.”

“True. But we could do it under the guise of cultural education.”

You turn to face him. “You really want to travel?”

“I want to do anything that keeps us feeling like this,” he says. “Like we’re not just surviving.”

You study him. The honesty. The hope.

“Then let’s make it a plan,” you say. “Once a year. Somewhere new.”

Jack’s smile softens. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Deal. Annual Abbot Adventures.”

“Trademark pending.”

“You, me, a six-year-old with a suitcase full of Legos. What could go wrong?”

You laugh, leaning in to kiss him. “Everything.”

“Exactly,” he grins. “Perfect family vacation.”

Later, after you’ve both showered, after he’s poured you a glass of wine and rubbed your feet and claimed it was “medically necessary to assess swelling from travel,” you’re curled together in bed with the windows open to the night air.

Jack’s arm is around you, fingers resting on your stomach again. Always that same spot. Like he’s waiting. Or willing.

You place your hand over his.

“You really want another?” you ask, voice soft.

“I want whatever you want,” he says.

You don’t respond right away, “You’d be a great girl dad.”

He snorts. “God help me if she’s anything like you.”

“Smart, stubborn, charming?”

“Dangerous,” he says. “too smart, perfect.”

You smile. “You’re already soft. You’d fold the second she looked at you.”

“Don’t tell Beau.”

You laugh, and the sound is easy. Real. Everything feels easy tonight.

And it hits you again—like it’s the first time.

You’re married. To him.

#jack abbot #jack abbott #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #the pitt drabble #the pitt imagine #dr. abbot #dr. abbot x reader #dr. abbott #dr. jack abbot #dr. jack abbott #dr. jack abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x you #p attempts to start writing #ex!reader and babydaddy!jack

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suliigwp · 1 day ago

Note

Helloooooooo, how are you?? Love your work!!

So I got this idea for Oscar, where they have been dating for years now and everyone always teased him about when he’s popping the question. The fans pick up to it and reader finds it super funny so she posts a video with Oscar like full on sleeping on her chest with the song paper rings but like the soft part at the end. Fans go crazy and his mum Nicole actually urges him to pop the question. What do you think?? You can always change the plot a bit, it’s just an idea, hope you have a great week!!

-(cal me) rudolf or 🐢 anon (if it’s free)

Paper Rings

Oscar Piastri x Reader

SULI:Hii thank you so much for the request! Yes 🐢 anon is free— welcome to the family! I loved writing this, so sweet and ugh I just love this man— hope you enjoy! This ended up wayyyyy longer than what I imagined I would write (this is my fav gif of Oscar I had to use it)

Also this is not proofread so forgive any mistakes lmao

Warnings: talk of dangers of f1

Oscar and Y/N had been together since high school. Their story wasn’t one of wild romance or instant fireworks, but a slow-burning, steady kind of love that grew from shy smiles in crowded hallways and whispered secrets beneath the bleachers. They had been the kind of couple everyone expected to last forever — the golden pair who fit so perfectly it was like they’d been made for each other from the start. And for years, they had been inseparable.

Despite the many years and countless memories they shared, there was one thing everyone around them kept teasing Oscar about — when was he finally going to pop the question?

It started with their close friends and family. At the racing team’s gatherings, Oscar’s teammates couldn’t help but poke fun. Lando would smirk and nudge him during strategy talks, “Mate, been years. When’s the ring going on her finger?” Carlos, never one to miss a chance to tease, joked about how Oscar’s mum was already asking if he needed help picking out the perfect ring. Even Y/N’s best friends would text him with sly messages about the “big question” everyone was waiting for.

Oscar laughed along with it, but deep down, the teasing pressed on him in ways no one could see.

The fans were no different. Social media buzzed with excitement and speculation, creating a frenzy over the couple that had grown up before their eyes. Screenshots of their old photos surfaced alongside edits set to romantic songs, and forums debated which race weekend would finally see Oscar get down on one knee. The pressure wasn’t just from the people closest to him — it was everywhere, loud and relentless.

But what no one really understood was what was holding Oscar back.

It wasn’t a lack of love. Oscar loved Y/N with every fiber of his being. He’d dreamed of forever with her since they were teenagers, and his heart raced faster than any car on the track every time he thought about their future. But there was something else — a weight he carried quietly.

Since those early days, his life had been a constant race, both on and off the track. The world of Formula 1 was unforgiving, full of unpredictability and risks that could change everything in an instant. He wanted more than anything to be the man she deserved — stable, strong, able to give her a future without fear or doubt. But how do you promise forever when tomorrow is so uncertain? When every race could bring glory or heartbreak?

The truth was, Oscar was terrified of failing her. Of not being enough.

Late at night, he would lie awake, clutching the small ring box hidden beneath his pillow — polished and perfect, a silent promise waiting to be made. But every time he imagined getting down on one knee, doubt crept in, filling his chest with cold hesitation.

His mum, Nicole, saw through the cracks, even when he tried to hide them. On video calls, her voice was gentle but firm, “Oscar, darling, you’ve been dating Y/N since you were kids. Isn’t it time you made it official?” She teased and encouraged, reminding him how much they all loved Y/N and wanted to see them take the next step. Oscar would laugh nervously, promising he was thinking about it. But he wasn’t ready to say more.

Y/N, too, sensed the tension beneath his smiles. She wasn’t in a rush, never had been. Their love wasn’t about grand gestures or deadlines. It lived in quiet moments — Oscar’s hand slipping into hers during long waits at airports, her sketching his tired face after races, the way they’d curl up together on their couch, wrapped in blankets and the comfort of simply being with each other.

But she knew. She knew he was scared. Not of her, but of the weight of forever.

It was late — the kind of still night when the rest of the world felt like it had slowed down just for them. Oscar was completely exhausted, his body finally surrendering after a long day of training and travel. He’d collapsed onto the couch beside her, and before she could even say a word, he had rested his head gently on her chest, eyes closing as his breathing deepened into slow, even rhythms.

Y/N sat perfectly still, careful not to disturb him. She looked down at him with a tenderness that made her chest ache in the best way. His hair was soft and messy from the day, falling loosely over his forehead and around his ears, and she couldn’t resist the impulse to reach out.

Her fingers moved slowly, as if not wanting to break the spell, threading gently through the dark curls above his temple. The warmth of his skin beneath her palm made her heart flutter — quiet and steady, like the steady beat beneath it.

Oscar shifted just slightly, his breath hitching for a moment before he relaxed again. Encouraged by the calmness of the moment, Y/N let her hand trace a gentle path from his hair down to the curve of his cheek, brushing softly against the smooth skin there.

Almost immediately, Oscar nuzzled closer, pressing his face deeper into her palm and the warmth of her touch. It was such a small gesture, but it spoke volumes — a silent conversation of comfort and trust that had grown between them over the years.

She smiled softly, the kind of smile that didn’t need words, just the pure knowing that this moment — this quiet, unguarded closeness — was everything.

She took out her phone and started recording.

The soft, fading notes of Paper Rings drifted in the background, delicate and warm, wrapping around them like a gentle promise.

Y/N shifted slightly, careful not to wake him, and continued to stroke his hair, her heart full in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

There was no rush, no grand declaration needed right then. Just this — Oscar asleep in her arms, safe and at peace, and the world reduced to the simple rhythm of their shared breath.

Morning light filtered gently through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. The world outside was waking up slowly, but inside, time seemed to have paused just a little longer.

Y/N lay still, feeling the steady rise and fall of Oscar’s chest against her side. His head was still resting on her, the faint warmth of his skin seeping into hers. For a moment, she just let herself soak in the quiet — the kind of quiet that feels like home.

Her fingers were still tangled in his hair, now softer in the early light, and when he shifted just enough to nuzzle into her again, a sleepy smile tugged at her lips. He wasn’t fully awake yet — just caught in that beautiful space between dreams and reality.

Careful not to disturb him, Y/N reached for her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen as she scrolled through the overnight notifications. The video from last night had exploded in views — thousands upon thousands of hearts, comments filled with love and excitement, and ring emojis flooding the feed.

Her phone buzzed relentlessly, texts lighting up the screen. Friends teasing, fans gushing, and then — a message from Nicole, Oscar’s mum, flashing bright and urgent: “When’s my boy gonna put that ring on your finger?!”

Y/N laughed quietly to herself, the sound soft but filled with warmth. She brushed a stray lock of hair from Oscar’s forehead.

Oscar’s eyes fluttered open slowly, the morning light warm and soft against his face. For a moment, he didn’t move — just took in the weight of Y/N’s body beneath his head, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat grounding him in a way nothing else could.

His fingers twitched, still tangled lightly in her hair as he blinked up at the ceiling, feeling the peaceful calm of the moment wrap around him like a blanket.

Then, ever so gently, he shifted—nuzzling deeper into her, burying his face just a little more against her skin, as if trying to hold onto that feeling of safety and quiet a little longer.

A soft smile pulled at the corner of his lips as he whispered, barely louder than a breath, “Morning.”

He opened his eyes fully then and glanced down, catching sight of Y/N’s smile. His heart swelled — that little smile she wore, the way her eyes lit up even first thing in the morning, it made everything feel like home.

Oscar let his hand cup her cheek softly, thumb brushing over her skin in the gentlest of touches, before he spoke again, voice still thick with sleep, “I’m never waking up from this.”

The moment Oscar and Y/N’s little video went viral, it was like a switch flipped. Suddenly, no one—friends, family, even fans—could stop teasing him about the one thing everyone had been quietly (or not so quietly) waiting for: when was he finally going to propose?

It started small. At training sessions, his teammates would nudge him with raised eyebrows. Lando, always the cheeky one, smirked and said, “Mate, it’s been years. You planning on popping the question before you retire, or should we start a countdown clock?”

Oscar just laughed, brushing it off, but the grin never quite reached his eyes. Y/N caught it too—the way he’d glance at her sometimes when the teasing started, half-amused, half-worried.

At the paddock, journalists began picking up on the hints, asking the question slyly during interviews. “So, Oscar, fans are dying to know—when’s the big moment?” they’d press, flashing that knowing smile.

And then came the texts and calls from family. His mum, Nicole, was the worst. She didn’t hold back. “Honestly, Oscar, what are you waiting for? You have a beautiful girlfriend, you love her—do the right thing, darling.”

Oscar would groan every time. “Mum, I’m not ignoring you, I just want it to be perfect.”

“But you’ve been saying that for three years!” she shot back, totally unfazed.

Y/N watched it all from the sidelines, amused and affectionate. The whole world seemed to be in on this joke except Oscar himself.

One night, at a small gathering with their closest friends, the teasing hit peak levels.

“Come on, Oscar,” Hattie teased, eyes twinkling mischievously. “You’re not getting any younger, and neither are we. You planning on letting Y/N keep stealing your hoodies forever or are you gonna make it official?”

Lando chimed in, “Yeah, I’m starting to think you’re scared of the big question. What’s holding you back?”

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, trying to laugh it off. “I’m just making sure it’s the right moment, alright?”

Y/N leaned over and whispered, “Or maybe you’re just nervous.”

That made the room burst into laughter, and Oscar’s cheeks flushed.

Despite the teasing, Y/N knew what was really going on. It wasn’t fear or doubt holding him back—it was the weight of the promise he wanted to make. The years they’d spent together, the ups and downs, the quiet moments and the big ones.

Still, every joke, every question, every nudge only made the anticipation grow, and somewhere deep inside, Y/N knew their perfect moment was coming—she just didn’t know when.

...

The house was quiet that afternoon, sunlight slanting through the curtains in golden strips. The buzz of the earlier crowd—friends coming and going, family lingering over coffee and conversation—had finally faded, leaving just Oscar and his mum in the kitchen.

He was standing by the sink, rolling a glass of water between his palms, while Nicole sat at the kitchen table, watching him with that look only a mother could give. Patient. Knowing. Unapologetically nosy.

“I’m surprised you stayed behind,” Oscar said, glancing at her. “Thought you’d be the first to head back to the hotel.”

Nicole shrugged, sipping from her cup. “Wanted to see you. Just you. Just my son.”

He gave her a small smile, one she didn’t miss was a little tight around the edges. She set her cup down.

“Oscar.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve been quiet.”

He exhaled through his nose. “Just tired.”

She let that settle for a moment before asking, gently, “Is it about the proposal?”

Oscar didn’t answer right away. He didn’t have to—his silence said enough.

Nicole stood and crossed the kitchen, resting a hand lightly on his back. “Can we sit for a minute?”

They moved to the small couch in the sunroom, where the late afternoon light painted everything in a soft, fading warmth. Oscar leaned forward, elbows on his knees, glass still in his hands.

“I know everyone’s been teasing you,” she said carefully. “I’ve done it too.”

He chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. You and literally everyone I know.”

Nicole tilted her head. “And I know you, sweetheart. When something means a lot to you, you overthink it.”

Oscar was quiet, his thumb moving over the rim of his glass.

“I want to do it right,” he said softly. “Y/N... she’s everything. We’ve been together since we were kids. She knows me better than anyone. She’s been patient through it all—through the races, the travel, the constant being away. I come home exhausted, sometimes barely there at all, and she never makes me feel guilty for it.”

Nicole listened, eyes soft, waiting.

He sighed, deeper this time. “And I think that’s part of what scares me.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“I’m always gone,” he continued, his voice low. “Race to race, country to country, time zones and airports and hotel rooms. And when I’m not away, I’m still not really... here. My head’s always somewhere else—on the next turn, the next performance, the next interview.”

His throat tightened. “It’s not fair to her. It hasn’t been for years. I’m in this career that asks for everything—my time, my focus, even my body. It’s dangerous, Mum. I know I don’t talk about it, but it is. One crash, one wrong move, and everything could change. Or end.”

Nicole reached for his hand, wrapping hers around his.

“She never complains,” he said, a little brokenly. “She just waits. Supports. Smiles and makes it easier. And I just keep taking and taking, and what if marrying her—what if making her my wife—means she gives up even more of herself?”

Nicole’s heart ached at the way he said it, like he was carrying guilt for simply being loved too well.

“Oscar,” she said gently, “you don’t protect someone by keeping them at arm’s length.”

He looked at her, eyes glinting with emotion.

“She already chose you,” Nicole continued. “Every day. Every race. Every long-distance call, every night she watched you on a screen instead of next to her. That’s not changing if she’s your girlfriend or your wife. She knows what she signed up for—and she signed up for you.”

“But what if something happens?”

“Then she’ll grieve with your name on her heart,” Nicole said, voice strong despite the crack in it. “Just like you would for her. That’s what love is. Not running from the risk—choosing each other anyway.”

Oscar swallowed hard.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” she added, “or wait for the perfect moment. You just have to be honest. And if what’s holding you back is fear—then let her be the one to hold you through it. Like she always has.”

Silence stretched for a beat.

And then Oscar leaned back on the couch, eyes burning, head gently tilted toward his mum’s shoulder.

“I’m just scared.”

“I know,” she whispered, resting her cheek against his hair. “That means you care.”

...

Oscar hadn’t told anyone about the ring.

Not at first. Not even when he bought it two years ago, alone in Monaco during a break between back-to-back races, standing in a quiet little boutique with too much white and too many mirrors. He remembered the way the glass counter reflected the tiny gold band, delicate and simple, with a solitaire diamond — exactly how you would’ve wanted it. He remembered the way his thumb had hovered just slightly before he nodded at the jeweler, heart racing harder than it ever did in a car going 300km/h.

He hadn’t told anyone because the moment had been his. Just his.

Because even though the teasing had started back then — from his mum, from his friends, from half the bloody paddock — something in him wasn’t ready yet. Not because of you. Never because of you.

Because of his job. His life. The travel, the danger, the days he spent exhausted and strung out from back-to-back flights. Because being a racing driver meant sometimes being absent, and you had never asked for anything more than his presence, even when he could barely give you that.

And part of him — some quiet, scared part of him — had convinced himself that maybe you deserved better than a boy who left more often than he came home.

So the ring stayed in a drawer. Wrapped in its velvet box, tucked away in a zippered pouch behind spare cables and old credentials. He’d check on it sometimes — carefully, reverently — opening the lid and staring at the soft glint in the light. Sometimes, after particularly long races or lonely nights, he’d whisper things to it.

“She’s still it. Still everything.”

But he never moved.

Not until a month ago.

It started with that video — the one you posted without thinking. Oscar dead asleep, face smooshed against your chest, hand curled around your wrist like he’d found the only thing worth holding in the world.

He’d woken up to chaos.

Hundreds of thousands of likes. Comments. Reposts. TikToks dissecting the lighting. Tweets demanding a proposal. Memes of him asleep with “husband material” scrawled over his forehead.

You were so sweet about it, always scrolling past quickly when you were scrolling on your phone together about him proposing, to not give him any pressure.

And that was what made it impossible to wait anymore.

So, for the first time in two years, he pulled the ring out — hands slightly trembling, breath caught in his throat.

And then he did something he never thought he’d do.

He showed your best friend.

You weren’t home — you were out running errands, and he’d texted her on a whim, asking if she could stop by, not giving any context. She arrived with suspicious eyes and a grin, teasing him instantly.

“She’s not pregnant, is she?”

“What—no! Jesus—just come in.”

She barely had time to take her shoes off before he was pulling the little velvet box from behind the fruit bowl, practically hiding it in his palm like it was some illicit secret.

And when he opened it —

She gasped.

Hand to her mouth, eyes already shining.

“Oh my god.”

Oscar’s jaw tensed, nerves kicking in hard and fast. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

“She’s going to sob,” she whispered, voice thick. “Are you kidding me? You’ve had this for how long?”

“A while.”

Then, softer: “I just didn’t know if I deserved her yet.”

That was all it took.

Suddenly, your best friend was crying. Not loud, but that quiet, overwhelmed kind — blinking fast and biting back a full sob. Oscar froze, unsure.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” she said quickly, stepping forward and pulling him into a hug. “No. You idiot. She’s going to marry you in ten seconds if you ask.”

He held onto her, feeling something heavy shake loose in his chest.

“She waited for you,” she murmured into his shoulder. “She always would have.”

Oscar didn’t cry. Not then. But something welled in his throat as he looked down at the little box in his hand — the one that had sat in the dark for too long.

Now it was time to let it see light.

He was ready. Finally.

To ask.

To hope.

To begin.

...

Oscar sat on the couch with his laptop open, not racing footage or telemetry data for once, but a blank Notes page titled in all caps:

THE PLAN.

It felt so serious typed out like that. He almost laughed — almost. But his heart was beating a bit too fast for that.

Because it was real now. He was going to ask you to marry him.

And if there was one thing he wasn’t going to do, it was wing it.

He rubbed at his jaw, glanced at the velvet box beside him, and typed the first bullet.

1. Location.

He wanted it to be somewhere meaningful. Not over-the-top. Not something grand or wildly public. It had to feel like you. Like the two of you, in your quiet little world where love lived in the silences and shared glances.

Your high school back garden where you had your first kiss? No, too far.

The rooftop where you watched fireworks two years ago on New Year’s Eve? Maybe.

But then he paused. Thought harder.

He ended up circling back to the simplest answer.

Home.

Your shared apartment. The one filled with plants you insisted weren’t dying (even when they definitely were), the kitchen that still had “his and hers” mugs from high school, the faint dent in the hallway wall from when he crashed into it during a Mario Kart race.

Home, where he had found the softest version of himself because you’d made space for it.

He typed:

→ Living room. Candles. Dim lighting. Quiet. Just us.

2. Time.

She’s always busiest on Thursdays. I’ll do it on a Sunday evening, when she’s sleepy and soft and doesn’t expect anything. Maybe after a movie, or her favourite dinner.

His fingers hesitated before typing:

→ Sunday. 8PM. Movie first — something she loves. Then dinner. Then quiet.

3. Distraction plan.

He needed help setting up. Someone to make sure the candles weren’t setting off the smoke alarm, that the lights were dimmed, the playlist queued.

He’d already talked to your best friend. After the ring reveal, she’d sworn a blood oath of secrecy and offered to help with anything. He sent her a text while typing the next point:

→ Best friend will take her out earlier in the day. Mani-pedi + coffee excuse. Gives me time to set up.

4. Ring placement.

Not in his pocket. Too risky. He had a history of losing things in couch cushions.

He considered the idea of hiding it in something — a dessert, a coffee cup — but then physically recoiled.

No.

You’d murder him if he accidentally made you swallow the engagement ring. Rightfully.

Instead, he decided:

→ Box in drawer by the record player. I’ll go get it when it’s time.

5. Speech.

He hadn’t written it yet. But he knew the beats.

Talk about the first time he saw her — not the version everyone knew, not the cutesy “we were high school sweethearts” part — but the real moment.

The time she stayed after his karting practice with a juice box in her hand and said, “You looked miserable. Thought you might need sugar.”

The moment he knew: this girl was going to wreck him.

How she’d been the only thing constant, solid, and warm through years of jetlag, failure, podiums, and pressure.

How scared he’d been to ask — not because of her, but because of everything he wasn’t sure he could promise.

And how now… he was finally ready.

→ Just speak from the heart. Don’t fumble. Unless she laughs — then laugh too.

6. Playlist.

Because he knew her. Because he loved her.

Because if he didn’t pick the right songs, she’d tease him forever.

He opened Spotify and started a new list: “for us.”

First on the queue? “Paper Rings (Acoustic),” because she still hadn’t realized how much that one post meant to him.

Then a few of the songs they’d fallen asleep to on long flights. A bit of Hozier. A soft Japanese track she’d taught him how to pronounce.

→ “for us” playlist. Final check. No ads. No shuffle. Don’t mess this up.

7. Contingency plan.

Because Oscar Piastri was nothing if not prepared.

What if she cried too hard to answer?

What if he dropped the ring?

What if she thought it was a prank?

He typed quickly:

→ Hug her. Don’t rush. Let her answer on her own time. Don’t panic.

And then, finally:

8. The after.

He wasn’t going to post right away. He wanted it just for them — just for one night. Maybe they’d tell your best friend first. His mum next. Then the rest could come.

But he did have a folder of photos ready. All of them candid. All of them glowing. Like the one where she kissed his cheek while he was still brushing his teeth. Or the blurry one of her asleep on his chest with the sunlight painting her face gold.

→ Just us, first. Always.

Oscar leaned back.

Looked at the list.

And exhaled.

He was going to ask you to be his forever.

And for the first time in years, there wasn’t a single doubt in his heart.

But there had always been one thing lingering at the edge of it all — one thing he couldn’t skip, couldn’t avoid.

Asking your dad.

You and Oscar had been together since you were sixteen — practically grew up alongside each other. Your parents had seen every version of him: the awkward teenage boy with racing posters in his backpack, the one who nervously shook your dad’s hand at the front door in a too-big suit on your Year 12 formal night. The kid who once broke your mum’s favourite vase and nearly passed out apologizing.

They’d watched him grow.

Which somehow made this even more terrifying.

So when he texted your dad and asked if they could get coffee — “just the two of us, if that’s alright?” — Oscar already felt his palms getting clammy. Your dad replied almost instantly: “Of course. I’ve been waiting.”

That didn’t help.

The café was quiet, tucked into a leafy corner of your neighbourhood. A place your dad liked — Oscar knew because he’d driven past it on slow Sunday mornings with you in the passenger seat, talking about nothing.

He got there early. Sat at a corner table and fiddled with the coffee cup sleeve until it nearly tore.

And then your dad walked in, wearing the same calm, unreadable expression he always had. Friendly, but firm. Warm, but never too easy to crack. The kind of man who didn’t say much unless it meant something. Just like you.

“Hey, Oscar,” he said with a nod, sitting down across from him.

“Hi, sir,” Oscar replied, voice a little tight.

Your dad looked at him for a long second, then smiled, just a little. “Relax. You’re not here for a job interview.”

Oscar laughed — nervously — but still.

They chatted first. About racing. About travel. About the state of his car lately and how your dad had been watching from the sidelines and still yelling at the screen when strategy made no sense. It was easy. Familiar.

Until the conversation lulled.

And Oscar knew.

This was it.

He sat up a little straighter, clearing his throat.

“I… I wanted to ask you something,” he started, rubbing his palms against his jeans beneath the table. “Something important.”

Your dad leaned back slightly. Watching. Listening.

“I’ve loved Y/n since we were kids. And I know that sounds too young to be sure, but I’ve known every version of her — every birthday, every laugh, every bad day where she still managed to smile — and I’ve never once doubted her. Not once.”

He swallowed.

“And I know this job… it’s a lot. It takes me away. It’s dangerous. It’s unpredictable. But she’s never made me feel like it was too much. She’s stayed. She’s supported me. She’s been my home through all of it.”

Oscar paused. His voice softened.

“And I want to marry her. If… if you’re okay with that.”

The words hung in the air. He could hear the tiny café speaker humming something low and jazzy in the background. He hated how loud his heartbeat sounded in his own ears.

Your dad didn’t speak right away.

He looked down at his coffee. Then back at Oscar.

Then he nodded.

And said, “I’d be honoured to call you my son.”

Oscar blinked. “Really?”

“I’ve watched you love her for years,” he said, his voice steady but warm. “And I’ve never worried. Not once. That means something.”

And for the first time since Oscar sat down, he breathed — really breathed.

Your dad smiled and added, “Now, if you hurt her, I will kill you.”

Oscar’s laugh cracked through the nerves, shaky and full of affection. “That’s… fair.”

They clinked their coffee cups like glasses. Two men who had never needed many words — only trust. And now, they had it.

Later that night, Oscar drove home with both hands on the wheel and that velvet box sitting in the glove compartment like it had been waiting too.

He was ready now.

Really ready.

And you had no idea what was coming.

Say the word, bestie, and I’ll write your best friend seeing the ring again, and the moment Oscar stands in the living room, hand shaking, heart thundering, ready to ask.

...

The sun poured in soft and gold through the windows, spilling across your sheets like something out of a dream. You were still curled beneath the duvet, face warm against your pillow, when a knock came at your bedroom door — three soft taps and then a cheeky voice you knew too well.

“Get up, princess. We’ve got a date with some hair masks and overpriced lattes.”

You groaned, smiling into the pillow. “Do I have to?”

Your best friend poked her head in, already dressed in a flowy linen dress, sunnies on her head, and a grin that looked suspiciously like she was up to something.

“Yes, you have to,” she said. “I booked us the works — nails, hair, brows. I’m talking pampered-to-the-heavens kind of day.”

You blinked sleepily, pushing your hair out of your face. “Why?”

“Because,” she said, sauntering in and yanking your blanket off dramatically, “you’ve been an exhausted little marshmallow lately, and I need my best girl back. This is long overdue.”

You laughed, kicking your legs in protest before finally sitting up, stretching your arms over your head. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I’m lucky you haven’t figured out this is all an elaborate ploy to get you glowing for a very specific reason.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She smiled too hard and practically dragged you into the bathroom.

The salon smelled like citrus and jasmine and felt like stepping into heaven. Everything was light and airy and crisp — soft music playing, staff already greeting you with cucumber water and complimenting your skin.

Your best friend leaned into the receptionist’s desk and said, “She’s the bride.”

You blinked. “The what?”

“I said ‘divine.’ She’s divine,” she corrected smoothly, elbowing you with a wink.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re acting so weird today.”

“I’m acting fabulous, babe. Relax and let me spoil you.”

And you did. The two of you sat side by side, heads tipped back over sinks as warm water ran through your hair and a stylist massaged your scalp with something that smelled like vanilla and orange blossoms. Your eyes fluttered shut. You let yourself drift.

Your best friend took secret photos of you with a soft smile on her face, heart clenching just a little because you have no idea. You have no idea that the love of your life has been texting her every twenty minutes asking “is she happy? is she relaxing? does she suspect anything?”

You were glowing.

After your nails were done (a pale blush pink she subtly nudged you into choosing), and your hair was blown out in soft waves, you sat in front of the mirror, blinking at your reflection.

“God,” you said, softly. “I feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m floating.”

Your best friend came up behind you, resting her hands on your shoulders.

“You look like magic.”

You turned to look at her, eyes soft. “Thanks for today.”

She swallowed, heart skipping. “You deserve the world.”

And when you leaned in to hug her, warm and sleepy and full of love, she had to blink away tears.

Because you still had no idea.

And Oscar Piastri was about to give you everything.

...

Oscar had been pacing.

Not nervously — not exactly. Just that kind of buzzed, excited pacing that meant his heart wouldn’t quite stay calm. His socks were half sliding on the wooden floors as he moved around the flat, adjusting and readjusting the little details.

The living room looked like a scene out of a love song.

Candles — the expensive kind he knew you liked, the ones that smelled like fig and honey — were flickering gently across every surface. Your favorite flowers — not red roses, but the weird little white ones you always called “the ugly pretty ones” — were everywhere, tucked into vases and glasses and little jars like a secret garden had exploded in their apartment. The playlist had been curated to within an inch of its life, starting with the soft stuff you always hummed to in the car and slowly building toward the songs that felt like him and you — lazy days and road trips and the night you moved in together.

In the middle of the drawer beneath the record player. Waiting for the right time.

He hadn’t even opened it today — he didn’t need to. He knew exactly what it looked like. Simple, clean. The band was warm gold, nothing flashy, but the diamond was clear and bright. The kind of ring that didn’t try too hard. The kind that felt like you.

It sat there quietly, like it knew its moment was coming.

Oscar stepped back, hands on his hips, staring at the table like it might suddenly ask for his blessing.

“You ready, mate?” he muttered to himself, voice soft and full of something breathless.

Then came the knock on the door.

His breath caught.

He checked the time. Perfect. You were early.

He made it halfway down the hall before stopping, raking a hand through his hair. He turned around, sprinted back, and grabbed the tiny bouquet of baby’s breath he’d forgotten to put by the door — the one he wanted to give you the moment you walked in, for no reason at all. Just because.

Another knock. This one softer. Familiar.

His heart was pounding.

He opened the door.

And there you were.

Hair done, face glowing, a soft pink gloss on your lips and that look in your eyes — the one that always landed right in his chest. Your tote bag hung off one shoulder. You still had the little paper wristband from the salon tucked on your wrist like you forgot it was there. You were a little windblown from the walk up the stairs.

He couldn’t breathe.

You blinked at him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said, voice cracking a little.

Your eyes narrowed. “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not—” He cleared his throat. “I just missed you.”

You softened. “It’s only been a few hours.”

He stepped aside, holding out the little bouquet.

“For you.”

You blinked, smiling at the crinkled paper wrapping. “What’s this for?”

“Nothing. You just look really beautiful.”

You raised a brow. “Oscar Piastri, are you trying to distract me?”

He laughed, nervous and giddy and warm all over. “A little bit.”

You leaned in to kiss his cheek — something so casual and familiar it made his chest ache — and stepped inside.

You didn’t notice the candles at first.

Didn’t notice the playlist, or the flowers.

But he watched as it all slowly hit you.

Your steps slowed. Your eyes flicked around. Your mouth opened slightly.

“…What is this?”

He closed the door behind you and didn’t answer yet. He gave you time to take it in — to see the apartment the way he saw you. Soft and glowing and full of meaning.

He stepped up beside you, heart wild in his chest.

Your fingers tightened around the bouquet.

“Oscar?” you said again, barely above a whisper.

The air felt too heavy. Like your lungs had forgotten how to stretch all the way. Like the walls had inched closer without warning.

He looked at you gently, but you couldn’t hold his gaze for more than a second. Your eyes flitted around the room — the golden light, the candles, the record spinning something soft and slow in the corner, the colors that didn’t belong to an ordinary night.

You took one step inside, then stopped. The silence stretched too far.

“Oscar,” you said again, quieter this time, “what is this?”

You weren’t angry. You weren’t even crying yet. You were just still. Too still. Like your body was trying not to feel it.

Oscar’s voice came soft. “It’s okay.”

You shook your head, almost imperceptibly. “I wasn’t— I didn’t know—”

He stepped closer, slowly, carefully, like he didn’t want to startle you. His hand reached for yours, fingers warm and familiar. “Hey. You’re okay. I promise. Just breathe, sweetheart.”

You tried. You really did. But your chest barely moved.

You blinked again, fast. “Why does it feel like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like something’s… about to change.”

His smile was soft, almost sad. “Because it is.”

You finally looked at him. Really looked. Your eyes were wide, your lips slightly parted, your hands shaking around the stems of the flowers.

He laughed quietly, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. “God, you’re so quiet right now. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You didn’t answer. Just stared.

He took a breath.

And then, still holding your hand, he began.

“There’s a ring in the drawer — wrapped up, hidden, waiting for the perfect day. But then last weekyou walked through the door in that new green dress and I saw you, so happy, and something inside me just said, Why are you waiting?”

You made a small sound, like a breath that didn’t land all the way.

He kept going.

“I’ve watched you walk into so many rooms, and every single time, I’ve fallen in love with you all over again. And I think—” his voice caught a little, “—I think part of me’s been falling since the first time you looked at me like I wasn’t something to be afraid of.”

Your other hand had risen to your chest now, fingers pressed lightly against your collarbone.

Oscar stepped closer, his words steady even as his eyes grew glassy.

“You always say you’re too much. Too sharp, too complicated, too careful. But do you want to know what I see?”

You nodded, barely.

“I see a girl who laughs with her whole chest when she forgets to be scared. Who stays up late sending pictures of weird clouds. Who holds my hand like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered and still pretends she’s not the softest person in the room.”

A quiet laugh escaped you — wet, stunned — and you shook your head slightly, as if trying to keep yourself upright.

Oscar held your hand a little tighter, his thumb tracing small circles over your skin.

He exhaled slowly, voice a little steadier now. “You know, my job… it’s not easy. It’s demanding in ways I can’t always explain — the travel, the pressure, the constant chase for perfection. Some days I feel like I’m barely holding myself together, and other days I blink and another month’s passed.”

He paused, his voice going quiet again.

“But even in all of that — even when I’m jet-lagged or exhausted or reading strategy notes at 2 a.m. — I still find myself thinking about you. Wondering if you slept okay. If you ate. If something made you laugh.”

You looked down, your breath catching.

“I know I’m not always going to be around in the way you deserve. And I hate that. But I promise you… I’ll try. I’ll try with everything I have to be present, to be there in the moments that matter. I’ll call. I’ll write. I’ll show up — even if it’s in the smallest ways. Because loving you isn't something I want to fit in between races. It's something I want to build everything else around.”

He smiled, soft and sure.

“You’re not a break from my world. You are my world.”

He took a breath.

And that’s when he broke.

Not panicked. Not messy. But decisive.

Like he’d just made a choice in real time.

He turned.

Walked straight down the hallway.

Your heart tripped into your throat. “Oscar—wait, where are you going? What are you—”

But your voice died as soon as you saw it.

The little velvet box in his hand.

He returned slowly, chest rising and falling like he’d been holding this moment in for too long — too many days, too many almosts.

And when he met your eyes again, everything inside you lit up and collapsed at the same time.

“No,” you breathed. “No, you’re not—you’re not doing this—”

“I am,” he said, voice soft but steady. “I really am.”

Your hands were trembling now, bouquet forgotten and held too loosely, fingers clenched and released over and over again like your body was trying to keep pace with your heart.

“But—but you said not yet,” you whispered.

He looked down at the box in his hands. Then back up at you.

He opened it.

And your knees almost buckled.

The ring caught the candlelight in a quiet shimmer — not flashy, not huge, but perfect. Intimate. Him.

You couldn’t move.

You couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” Oscar said, eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve been holding onto this ring for three years. Always thinking there’d be a better time, a better way. But nothing feels more right than right now. You, standing here, losing your mind because I lit a candle and played our song.”

He laughed, but it was breathless. Full of adrenaline. Full of you.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you so much it hurts. And I want to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

You blinked rapidly, tears clinging to your lashes, one already streaking down your cheek.

“Oscar,” you whispered, but it came out like a plea.

He stepped forward. Got down on one knee.

Your breath caught, completely and entirely gone.

“Will you marry me?”

There were no theatrics.

No grand speeches.

Just him — knees to the floor, hands shaking, heart in his throat, ring in a box that had been waiting far too long.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until your hands covered your mouth and a little laugh bubbled out through the shock.

He smiled up at you — really smiled — like every part of him was in this.

“Yes,” you choked out. “Oh my god, yes.”

The moment hit like a wave.

You dropped to your knees in front of him, hands on his face, kissing him before he could even slide the ring onto your finger. You were crying and laughing and holding onto him like gravity stopped working.

“I thought I was going to pass out,” you whispered against his mouth, shaking.

He laughed into the kiss, forehead resting against yours. “Same.”

And when he finally did slide the ring on — slow, reverent, like it meant everything (because it did) — your hand trembled in his.

“Perfect,” he murmured, kissing your knuckles. “Finally.”

The music kept playing in the background.

But the room had never been so quiet.

Because nothing needed to be said.

Not anymore.

...

Liked by hattiepiastri, lando, f1, mclaren and 7.7M others.

oscarpiastri: perfect.

lando: HOLY SHIT CONGRATS

danielricciardoso: THIS is what all those mysterious “plans” were?? crying, shaking, throwing champagne 🥂

yourbestfriend: IM SORRY YOU DIDN’T EVEN TELL ME FIRST?? I FIND OUT WITH THE REST OF THE WORLD?? 😭😭😭 I HATE YOU (I LOVE YOU CONGRATS)

mclaren: Our team’s real winning moment 🧡

oscarpiastriupdates: I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT 😭 the candles, the playlist, the strawberries... WE CLOCKED IT MONTHS AGO

username1: not him captioning it like that and making me cry on a THURSDAY

username2: this is why I can’t have nice things. men like him are taken.

username3: the softest launch. the deadliest impact. RIP me.

username4: no press release, no video, just “perfect” and a RING??? be serious oscar we’re fragile

username5: tell me she said yes and then immediately started crying and making it his problem

username6: the “perfect” wasn’t about the photo. it was about her 😭😭😭

Taglist, comment to be added; @angstynasty @cryinghotmess @mits-vi @dramaticpiratellamas @mimisweetz @mrssaturday @chiara8104 @moonlight-girls-posts @linnygirl09 @rue-t @danielricroll @the-vex-archives @trees-are-books @blodwyn4u @yoruse @ccrickett-t @l-a-u-r-aaa @multifans-things @woderfulkawaii @azrinableuet @mayax2o07 @everyday-is-sunday365 @devilacot @faithxyu

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w0nderland42 · 24 hours ago

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this post is closing in on 10k and it’s really quite enlightening reading through the notes.

the most frequent reactions are from people from Not America agreeing that the cultural force of american pride has detracted in some tangible way from their knowledge or recognition of their own history. there’s so many links and references in the notes now, for so many different places. i had a scroll through some of them, that i could find versions of in english. the world has such a rich queer history, and i am inspired by all of the people saying they’re going to go and research more of their own histories. there have been resources shared from all six permanently inhabited continents (none from antartica, yet…), including a lot (relative to the usual zero) from the regions most frequently glossed over in our global queer histories; africa, the middle east, southeast asia, the pacific, and south america. every single person who’s shared a queer historical figure’s name, or a book or other source, or a historical event from their country or culture is doing an important thing by helping to dismantle the US pride hegemony.

the next most frequent reactions are from americans pissing on the poor, and claiming that either it’s not their fault individually because [nebulous reason missing the point] and/or that i’m racist (someone even said fascist lmao?) because the two people i mentioned were Black and latin american… it’s not the fault of those two women nor myself that americans have chosen their faces and names to put at the front of their imperialist pride. cultural imperialism doesn’t have to LOOK racist! you can be unintentionally culturally imperialist and look woke! a lot of the people who do this are queer and liberal or even leftist. the problem is forcing american queer history on the rest of us. shoutout to the Black and latine people in the notes who’ve rightfully pointed out that that’s a bullshit rebuttal. I’ve also noted the autocorrect typo on Marsha’s name, and fixed it, thanks for the heads up.

sort of the point of cultural imperialism is that the people doing it don’t notice it on an individual level. of course you don’t feel like you’re responsible! of course you struggle to see it when the rest of us point it out! that’s by design! if the rest of the world is saying something is a real experience that they’ve had, and you say “well i don’t see it / i’m not responsible for it,” that is blatant denial of a very real issue.

finally, for the love of god, stop using they/them for me, a trans woman who exclusively uses she/her. my pronouns are front and centre on my blog! funny how the people calling me racist and transmisogynistic for Using Examples are also frequently degendering me in the process, huh?

anyway, this vent was never intended to go viral, i posted it on a quiet afternoon after a conversation with a friend about our queer history here. i’m glad it has, though, because glossing over the americans swinging and missing, the breadth of history and knowledge being shared in the notes is a wonderful thing.

i get that americans love their cultural imperialism, but it really does piss me off that june is “international” pride month just because something happened in the united states.

in aotearoa, june isn’t our pride, it’s theirs. marsha p johnson and sylvia rivera are their historical figures, not ours. the phrase that “you owe your rights to Black trans women” is true there, but here we owe our rights to (mostly) Māori historical figures. i have the freedoms i do because of the legacy of an entirely different set of people operating in an entirely different context at entirely different times.

But because of american cultural imperialism, most queer people in Aotearoa don’t even know our own queer history. Carmen Rupe, Ngahuia Te Awekotuku, the Dorian Society, Gillian Laundon, Georgina Beyer, and the Wolfenden Association are some of our queer history. We should know their names! we should know what they did for us! but because of the power of the american imperial machine, we don’t.

our national pride month should be july, the month that the Homosexual Law Reform Act passed in 1989. our two largest cities hold their pride festivals in february and march, respectively. american queer history has very little (or nothing, depending on who you ask) to do with our queer history. anecdotally, from my own queries, queer youth in aotearoa know more about american queer history than our own.

anyway, happy pride, americans. i’m truly sorry that most of you don’t see the negative impact your nation’s culture has on the rest of the world. and to the rest of the world reading this, try searching for your own country and culture’s queer history, don’t accept the american narratives as your own. we deserve our own histories divorced from the cultural hegemony of the USA.

#americans shut up and listen challenge #imperial core tumblr users once again pissing on the poor #us defaultism

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somemismatchedsocks · 2 days ago

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DO YOU HATE PAYING MONEY TO WATCH SONIC???? I GOTCHU BRO!

I just spent the last week on my crusty (but trusty) $50 gently used Chromebook and a USB that dates like 2010 to make a Google drive of all the Sonic Cinematic Universe Movies AND the Knuckles Show !!!!

Enjoy!! Captions are pending, they might start going up maybe by tomorrow morning. They are auto generated, so please excuse the mistakes. I don't really have the time to manually go through it all. (I mean if someone actually ends up writing a transcript, I will take it-) Also, this is the highest quality I could manage without setting my chromebook on fire because I still need it for work and stuff lol

Anyways, hope this helps someone out there (me) who likes watching the same thing over and over again (me) and is really into Sonic (me) and don't want to pay (me).

don’t gatekeep the fun, share with your friends and family!!! 💙💙💙💙💙

EDIT: i'm looking for someone to proofread the captions once they're finished. The ones rn are auto generated for convenience but i'm typing them up by hand rn. Also, If anyone actually is up for writing the captions, feel free to! I could use the help. But basically for proof-readers, i'll send you the script. It looks something like this:

and you just have to watch the movie and side by side compare.

Thanks!!!!!!

#socksdraws #its not draws but what the fuck #sth #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #tails the fox #knuckles the echidna #tom wachowski #maddie wachowski #sonic cinematic universe #scu

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letsdosciencetoit · 2 days ago

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WIP Wednesday - 5 + 1 BuckTommy - Part 2

Five times the 118 finds out that Tommy is married, and 1 time they find out Buck is, too.

Part 1

2. Maddie

Post partum after baby Robert has been both easier and more challenging than before.

It’s easier now because covid is a distant memory, there’s no city wide black out, they have a house, and they have a well-established network of family and friends who might as well be family stopping by and helping out. She knows what she’s doing, and what to expect to an extent, too.

It’s harder, too, though. When Robert cries, she can’t drop everything to help him, because she has Jee to consider, too. Jee is 4, and craves her independence, but also needs help and is prone to meltdowns that seem to be without provocation.

As hard as it was on Chimney, Buck leaving the 118 has been a godsend to her. He’s on a different shift than Chimney now, so he’s able to come by when Chimney is working and help her with Robert and Jee.

Buck is more than happy to take baby Robert off her hand so she can spend some one-on-one time with Jee. He’s happy to help get Robert down to sleep so that he and Jee can bake cookies in the kitchen. Buck always seems so happy and full of energy when he comes to visit, but when the kids don’t occupy him, he’s more quite than she’s used to.

She used to be able to read Buck better than she can now. Something shifted when she implied he had feelings for Eddie. She’s aware she maybe overstepped, but before she could consider apologizing she’d lost her voice, then Bobby died, and then Robert was born, and she just hasn’t been able to check in the way she wanted to.

Buck has Robert and Jee at the park while Chimney is playing basketball with the other first responders. Maddie takes the opportunity to have a shower, unload the dishwasher, and then puts her feet up to catch up on a little sleep.

She wakes an hour later to Jee climbing into bed with her. She opens her arms and pulls Jee to her. “Where are Robert and Uncle Buck?” she asks, her voice a little gravely.

“Unky Buck is making sure Bobert goes for a nap,” Jee offers, and Maddie knows she’s going to be so sad when Jee finally starts saying their names properly.

“Do you want to have a nap with me, Jee?” Maddie asks, brushing Jee’s hair out of her face.

“No mommy. I want to watch Bluey,” Jee declares, like Maddie was crazy for thinking otherwise.

Maddie gives her daughter another squeeze, and moves to push herself up off the bed. “Okay sweetheart. Lets get you a snack, and we’ll get Bluey on the TV for you.”

When they come out of the room, Buck is backing out of Robert’s room, pulling the door shut with a quiet click of the latch. He grins softly at Maddie, and she has no doubt that Buck loves her kids as if they were his own.

“Out like a light,” Buck offers. “He was absolutely in love with watching the leaves on the trees. The fresh air and stimulation did him some good.”

“Jee looks like she had a good time, too.” Maddie smiles back. “Thanks for this. Do you want to stick around until Chimney’s back? He’s going to pick up Thai for dinner. I can ask him to grab something for you too.”

Buck gives her a rueful smile and a small shake of his head. “No, thanks Maddie. I’ve got to grab some groceries. I’m planning on cooking dinner at home tonight. Tell Chimney I say hi, though.”

***9-1-1***

Chimney gets home about 45 minutes after Buck has left. He’s practically vibrating as he walks through the door, and Maddie has come to realize this means he’s learned something he doesn’t want to know and he needs to share the burden. She keeps quiet, knowing he’s going to spill as soon as he gets his bag put away.

“Tommy’s married!” he blurts as he comes back into the kitchen. Jee is thankfully distracted and painting. She periodically still asks about “Unky Tommy,” and Maddie doesn’t want to have to explain to her again why they don’t see him any more.

“I’m sorry,” Maddie responds. “Tommy’s married? To who?”

Chimney shook his head. “I was a little blindsided, I didn’t think to ask. All I know is they got married a month ago, and he looks so disgustingly in love. Do we need to tell Buck? We can’t tell Buck, can we? We just got our fridge space back.”

Maddie pauses, and thinks it over for a second. “Buck finally seems to be in a good space with his new station. I don’t think we need to mention anything to him. It’s not like the two of them really cross paths these days.”

Chimney deflates. “I want to be happy for Tommy. He seems really happy. I just wish it wasn’t at Buck’s expense.”

Part 3

#bucktommy #9-1-1 #9-1-1 fanfiction #evan buckley #tommy kinard #chimney han #maddie han #wip #5 + 1 fic

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hyruling · 1 day ago

Note

omggggggg 58 + 60 for the intimacy prompts mwah mwah mwah 🥰🥰🥰

60. sitting in their lap

—

“Dude. I know you heard me call seat check.”

Chim shrugs, tucked into Buck’s spot between Eddie and Maddie on the couch, smugly eating the popcorn that Buck and Eddie had been sharing before he got up to pee. “I heard no such thing.”

“You’re blocking the TV,” Ravi complains, but Buck ignores him.

“Come on, you all heard me. I was only gone for like, three minutes.”

“Wife privilege trumps seat check rules,” Chim argues, tossing popcorn in his mouth with a shit eating grin. He wraps his free arm around Maddie, who’s focused on the movie and studiously ignoring them both.

“That’s not a thing—”

“It is when it’s our first night out of the house since the baby was born,” Chim argues. “Or I could use the captain card if you prefer.”

“Abuse of power,” Ravi mutters, and Buck points to him excitedly.

“Yes, exactly, thank you Ravi!”

“I think you should use it though,” Ravi continues to Chim, and Buck gapes while Chim does a stupid fist pump. “We’re missing the climax of the movie dude. Just sit on the floor.”

“Easy for you to say from your high horse in the comfy armchair. The floor is hard on my leg,” Buck says. It’s only half true, but he’ll use whatever excuse he can to win one over on his brother in law.

“You sit on the floor all the time,” Hen interjects from her spot on the loveseat, curled up cozily with Karen, also ignoring them.

“Irrelevant,” Buck says with a dismissive gesture. “The point is, I called seat check, and what kind of society are we if we can’t even respect the sanctity of—”

And Eddie, who until now had been silently observing with an amused grin, rolls his eyes and sighs, “Dios, come here.”

He wraps a big hand around Buck’s wrist and tugs until he has nowhere to go but Eddie’s lap. Buck falls limply down, trying not to crush him at the last second by throwing an arm across the back of the couch. Eddie situates him across his legs, his back against the armrest next to Eddie, and if he weren’t struck so dumb by the whole thing he would put his feet in Chim’s face just to be annoying.

“Happy now?” Eddie mutters in his ear.

“Uh,” Buck says intelligently.

Eddie’s hand settles on his knee, the other resting behind Buck’s back along the armrest. Everyone’s eyes are on them when Buck looks up, but Eddie’s are on the screen. His cheeks are a little pink, but otherwise he appears normal.

“Wow,” Chim says after a minute. “An instant Buck-Off button.”

“Shhh,” Eddie hushes him before Buck has a chance. “Some of us are watching the movie.”

Chim shakes his head with a short laugh and finally turns his attention back to the screen, and the rest of the room follows suit.

Buck is, ostensibly, also watching the movie, but he has no idea what’s happening. Gun to his head he couldn’t name a single actor in it, despite having watched the last hour and a half before Eddie rewired his synapses. All he can focus on is Eddie, the feel of his chest rising and falling against his arm, his thumb rubbing unconscious little circles against Buck’s elbow, the heavy weight of his hand on his knee.

“You okay?” Eddie whispers after who knows how long, quiet in Buck’s ear.

Buck turns. Eddie’s eyes are dark in the dim room, his face much closer than Buck anticipated. He nods and tries to get a grip, though Eddie must be able to feel the way his heart is beating with the arm tucked around his back.

“Yeah, I’m great,” he answers softly.

“Sure? I can sit on the floor, if you’d rather not—”

Buck is shaking his head before he can finish the sentence. “No, no, this is — yeah, this is perfect.”

Perfect? He cringes internally, but Eddie isn’t fazed in the slightest. In fact he smiles, soft and pleased and all for Buck, and his heart rate kicks up another notch.

They finish the movie twenty minutes later. Buck’s had to pee for a good fifteen of that, but he refused to get up — he doesn’t have the kind of luck that will afford him a second chance at this. He doesn’t even get up when everyone else stands to stretch and refill their drinks, perfectly content to stay where he is for as long as Eddie will allow it.

Similarly, Eddie doesn’t push him off the second it becomes acceptable to do so. In fact he encourages Buck to stretch his legs out on the couch with a silent pat on his thigh.

“Am I crushing you?” Buck asks when they’re the only ones still in the room.

Eddie shakes his head and gives his knee a squeeze. “Nah. You’re kind of like a weighted blanket.”

Buck flushes and looks away. Feels ridiculous, like he’s fifteen again and being flirted with by Cassie McDaniel in homeroom — except they’re in their thirties, and Eddie isn’t flirting. He’s just being Eddie. The New Eddie, as Buck has coined it in his head; the one that came back from El Paso with a twinkle in his eye that Buck can’t quite parse. He’s the same old Eddie but lighter, somehow — more free with his touches and casual affection in a way that Buck very much enjoys, despite the way it’s slowly driving him insane.

Like now, for instance.

“Your ass is kinda bony though.”

Buck scoffs, affronted, and Eddie laughs. His hand tightens on Buck’s knee when he tries to shift his weight off Eddie’s thighs. “Didn’t say you needed to move.”

“Well I’d hate for my bony ass to dig into your perfect thighs.”

“Perfect, huh?” Eddie teases, and there’s that fucking twinkle again.

“Mediocre. Above average. I know you skip leg day at least once a week.”

“How many times can we have this argument?”

“It’s not an argument, it’s a healthy discussion.”

“Core strength is more important than having huge biceps, and as a firefighter, you should understand that—”

“Well those huge biceps have saved a lot of people, didn’t hear them complaining.”

“I’m definitely not complaining either, but my point is—”

“Are you two gonna cuddle on my couch all night?”

They look up to see Hen standing over them, hands on her hips and brow raised suspiciously.

“Maybe,” Eddie says before Buck can come up with anything. “You got something to say about it?”

“Only that you have your own house to be weird in,” she says with an eye roll. “And that Buck promised to help clean after the fiasco with the fondue last month.”

“Shit, I did,” Buck says, gingerly getting up so he doesn’t hurt Eddie with his bony ass. Eddie squeezes his hip as he goes though and nearly sends him sprawling. He just blinks innocently up at Buck when he whirls on him, self-satisfied little smile on his face that Buck wants to—

Nope. Not going there. He trails off after Hen and decidedly does not think about it.

He doesn’t think about it when Eddie comes in to help clean, hip checking him at the sink. Or when they say their goodbyes to everyone at the door, and Eddie presses little smacking kisses to Karen and Hen and Maddie’s cheeks that he pretends he’s not wildly jealous of. Or when Eddie leads him to the truck with a hand on his lower back, and keeps it there until Buck rounds the hood to the drivers seat. He doesn’t think about it on the drive home, Eddie quiet in that way he gets sometimes after one too many drinks, and he definitely doesn’t stare at Eddie’s ‘perfect’ thighs when he changes into his sleep shorts and sinks onto the couch next to Buck.

“That was fun,” Eddie says, relaxing until his head rests on the back of the couch.

“Yeah. Super fun.”

It’s quiet again, only sound coming from the TV playing on low. Buck keeps his eyes glued to it, though he’s not taking in a single thing Mrs. Brady is saying.

“You’re thinking pretty loud over there bud,” Eddie says during a commercial break.

Buck chances a look at him, and it’s a mistake. He looks so soft, relaxed against the cushions, wearing a baggy tank and shorts that ride up well above what Buck would consider an appropriate length. Buck looks quickly away.

“Hey. I didn’t make you uncomfortable earlier, did I?” Eddie asks.

“No,” Buck answers, and forces himself to make eye contact. Eddie looks a little unsure, and Buck quickly shakes his head. “No, I told you it was fine, I promise, I just. I’m tired, I guess. Karen’s sangria always sneaks up on me.”

Eddie nods. “Yeah I know. Wanna share the bed tonight?”

Buck flushes, and this time it’s definitely not dark enough for Eddie not to notice. It shouldn’t be a big deal — they’ve shared the bed a few times since Eddie and Chris came home, usually after a particularly grueling shift where their exhaustion ran too deep to tolerate the couch, and it’s been fine.

Only the last time it happened, he woke up to Eddie curled around his back, hand curled possessively in the front pocket of his hoodie. And in his half-conscious state Buck had thought, this is how I want to wake up everyday. He’s avoided sharing ever since.

“Nah, couch—couch is fine,” Buck stutters.

“Buck. Come on, talk to me, what’s got you so freaked?”

“I’m not freaked,” Buck lies, and turns back to the TV. “I’m not. Just. Brain is too loud tonight, I guess.”

He sees Eddie nod in his peripheral. “Well, I wasn’t kidding earlier you know.”

“About what?”

“You feeling like a weighted blanket,” Eddie clarifies.

Buck’s head snaps to the left. Eddie looks serious as a heart attack — which, incidentally, Buck may be currently having.

“So…”

“So,” Eddie echoes.

He inches closer until their thighs are touching. Buck watches in a weird sort of trance as Eddie twists and swings a leg over, hovering above Buck’s thighs. “This okay?”

Buck unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth and says, “Yeah—yes. Yeah.”

Eddie smiles and sits fully, and then they’re just staring at each other. Buck keeps his hands firmly to himself, while Eddie’s rest comfortably on Buck’s shoulders.

“See what I mean?”

Buck blinks, remembers the weird metaphor they’re operating under. “Um, sort of. You’re only—I-I mean there’s only weight on my legs.”

“Good point.”

Slowly, as if he’s anticipating Buck to call their game of chicken and push him off, Eddie leans forward and wraps his arms around Buck’s shoulders, pressing their chests together. Buck feels his chin dig sharp into his shoulder before he adjusts and lays his cheek against his collarbone.

“How’s that?” Eddie asks, slightly muffled.

Buck inhales, feels Eddie move with him on the exhale, and it’s — well, Eddie wasn’t lying. Eddie lets his full weight press against Buck and it's comforting, to say the least. Electrifying, because it’s Eddie, and yet as the minutes pass he can feel his heart rate slow, his breathing ease. He feels their chests rise and fall together, Eddie’s warm weight settling him in a way nothing has in a long time — maybe ever. His mind goes pleasantly blank, even when one of Eddie’s hands starts to comb through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“It’s nice,” Buck answers belatedly, and Eddie chuckles at the sleepy timbre of his voice. “I see what you mean.”

“Right?” Eddie says, scratching gently at his scalp, and it feels so good he melts even deeper into the couch cushions. “You can touch me too, you know.”

“Oh,” Buck mutters, and picks his hands up from where they’d been resting awkwardly next to Eddie’s thighs. He wraps them tentatively around Eddie’s back; Eddie makes a contented humming sound in response.

They stay that way for a long time, until the late night rerun ends and another episode begins. Buck’s hands drift after awhile, smoothing up and down Eddie’s back slowly, thumbs rubbing circles against his scapula and vertebrae.

“Hey Eddie.”

He’s half asleep, and Eddie is so big and warm in his arms, and it makes him reckless. Eddie’s ear is so close to Buck’s mouth he can whisper what he hasn’t dared speak out loud.

“Yeah Buck?” Eddie says just as softly.

“I need to tell you something. No – don’t, don’t get up.” He wraps a hand around the back of Eddie’s neck to keep him still.

Eddie huffs but stays put. “You’re not about to tell me you’re moving, are you?”

There’s such an air of dread and petulance in his tone that Buck laughs.

“No. Didn’t, uh, know you had such strong feelings about that.”

“Well. I do.”

“It’s not that,” Buck says, and Eddie exhales against his neck. “But you might, uh—you might want me to when I—”

“No I won’t,” Eddie interrupts, leaving no room for argument. “Tell me.”

Buck swallows, hard enough that Eddie must hear it. But he waits patiently, one of his thumbs tracing figure eights on the back of Buck’s neck, and for some reason that is what finally breaks through his thinly guarded veneer.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

The figure eight stutters to a stop, but Eddie doesn’t move an inch. If anything, he covers Buck with his weight even more, somehow, and Buck feels his nose brush his clavicle.

“And you think I want you to move out because of that?”

“I—well, maybe, I don’t want to make you feel—I don’t know. Actually, can we pretend I didn’t say anything?”

“No,” Eddie says. And then nothing else.

“I—Eddie you gotta—you gotta say something. Tell me to fuck off, or that it’ll never happen but you value our friendship anyway, o-or that nothing will change between us—”

“Hmm, no. None of those sound like me.”

“You literally said that last one. Basically verbatim, less than a year ago.”

“Yeah, but I was lying then. I don’t want to lie to you again.”

“Eddie, come on, what does that me—”

But in one swift move Eddie sits up, catches Buck’s face between his hands, and kisses him.

It’s a short kiss, a dry brush of slightly chapped lips, but it manages to alter his entire worldview in the five or so seconds it last before Eddie pulls away. Buck gets a brief glimpse of his pink cheeks before he tucks his head back against Buck’s shoulder.

“There you go sweetheart,” Eddie mumbles, voice drawling the way it does when he’s tired. “My knees have about another five minutes of this before I need to get up, let's not waste them.”

“Okay,” Buck says in a ragged voice that doesn’t quite sound like his. A voice belonging to a mouth that has kissed Eddie Diaz, and therefore irrevocably changed.

True to his word, Eddie continues to crush him into the couch for another five minutes, until his racing heart slows again and their eyes are half-lidded and drowsy when Eddie sits up.

“That was nice,” he says with a smile.

“Y-yeah, it was,” Buck agrees, squeezing Eddie’s thighs. “Same time tomorrow?”

Eddie huffs out a little laugh, and though Buck was half joking, Eddie nods and presses his forehead against Buck’s shoulder. Buck drops a kiss to the crown of his head before he can quite stop himself, and Eddie makes that same happy humming sound Buck wants to chase for the rest of his life.

“Yeah. I’ll see you there.”

—

#my fic #buddie fic #911 abc #drabbles #this is 2k though oh my god. lol #and it was gonna be longer but then i changed my mind bc i hit major writers block so. here she is ❣️#if it’s bad do not inbox me i already know etc. i can’t look at this anymore #anyway thank you kat and anon!! 💋 anon your ask killed me btw #btw chim was sitting on maddie’s lap before this all started. just so we’re clear #spaceshipkat

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dissociativewriter · 3 days ago

Text

Unnatural Affinity- Part 9

Isekai!Reader x Love and Deepspace

wc: 2.7k

cw: angst, references to/talk of non suicidal self harm, comfort, fluff, hurt/comfort i guess, questioning of worth, feeling unreal

Synopsis: When Sylus takes you back to the base, you have a few revealing discussions.

author’s note: this part gives some well deserved fluff! and also some angst because yes. (is the chemistry too much?) in other news, someone called me disso in a comment and i think its so cute. should that be my official nickname for this account? <3

taglist: @animegamerfox @ixloom819 @magennta09 @an-ever-angry-bi @corvid007 @vigtore @ph1lo-s0ph1a @ameili @babyx91 @sadsaidthesadthing @bidisasterforevermore @liz9898 @iconoclastoc @elegantdeerlady @lifumi @auraficial @plzdonutpercieveme @dolledbunnytail @junebuggz @mangooes @anatherone @skulzooka @yuhuahuaaa @nm4565natty @feikyuu @lunia-likes-pomegranet @xfangirl-trashx @glitterykingdomangel @eialovescats @mimiu3usoft @alyssac9 @000rpheus @novaisbebita @coffeedragonhobbyist @udejoenrlddo @lanxianschoenheit @paper--angel @xyzbeloved @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @myheartfollower @nightmarewasteland @feralwolfkat @junni-berry @chiikasevennn @lethalasylum @loudpiratepirate @sweetnightowl @rafaissance @white-wolves-and-golden-sunrises @iunse @asilaydead

Series Masterlist

The scent of leather and metal surrounded your senses. You peeked your head out of the passenger window, watching as Caleb’s apartment faded into the distance. Slightly lifting off the seat, you wonder just what would happen when they got back that night.

You were brought back down by a firm hand on your forearm. “Keep all of your body inside the moving car, yeah?” Sylus eyed you from the driver’s seat. “And fasten your seatbelt,” he sighed.

You obliged, watching Sylus as he drove with one casual hand on the wheel. The other was strewn seemingly carelessly between the two of you, almost like a hesitant invitation.

At this point you’d been in the car for nearly ten minutes, and only a handful of words were shared between you both. You’d complimented his car, he thanked you with a smug comment, and then… silence.

You both had to talk with the other, both had things to hide. So it seemed you were at a standstill. You wanted to talk, wanted to say something, but what? Offer an explanation as to why he had to break you out of Caleb’s apartment? That wasn’t something you could answer right now, not when you didn’t know the reason either.

And what else did that leave you to talk about? The weather? It wasn’t like you could explain the existence of an entirely different world where he was only a character in a game.

And you were starting to feel more and more like you were just another NPC.

“When we get to the N109 Zone,” Sylus began, taking a deep breath. His fingers flexed against the steering wheel. “It’d be best if you do as I say. I don’t want to hinder you, but a lot can happen there. It’s not safe for anyone, and I don’t want to see you sustain any more injuries while you’re under my care.”

You watched his face, watched the way silver brows drew together. You observed his downturned lips, the tension in his jaw. “Are you… nervous?” you asked.

Sylus let out a light chuckle, feeling more like a deflection than a genuine reaction. He gave you a sidelong glance. “Are you always this good at reading people?” he murmured.

You shrugged, and he took another breath.

“I suppose I’m nervous, as you say, for two reasons. First, the general danger that I would put you in by bringing you into the N109 Zone. I’m not too terribly worried about that, though. I know you’re smart enough to take care of yourself, and if anything doesn’t go your way, well… I know I can be there to help.”

The hand between you both fidgeted, shifting ever-so-slightly closer to you. “What I’m really nervous about, is how you’ll feel staying with me. I don’t want you to feel unsafe or uncomfortable around me. It’s not my intention to keep you away from anything you desire, or to put you in any unsavory situations. After what you just got out of, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to be with—“

“Sylus.” You put your hand over his, stopping him in his tracks. “I know you’d never do what… what they did. I’m really thankful that you got me out of there.” You smiled. “You didn’t have to save me, and you didn’t have to take me with you. But you did. That’s enough for me to feel safe around you.”

His breath hitched as he looked back at you. “It’s the least I could do, little dove.”

Sylus pulled into the garage outside of Onychinus’s base, filled with dozens of sleek bikes and cars. “Luke and Kieran are excited to meet you,” he said as he parked. “They actually wanted to meet you when you were here last week, but never got the chance. They’ll understand if you don’t want to be introduced right now, though. You can take all the time you need.” He offered you a small smile.

“I’d love to meet them!” You grinned. After all, who didn’t love the twins?

Sylus came around to your side of the car, opening your door and offering you his hand. As he helped you out, you asked, “By the way, what did you do in Caleb’s apartment while I was grabbing some of my things?”

He gave a careless shrug. “Just straightened up.” At your curious glance, he continued. “I made sure there was nothing to show that I’d been there. I repaired the doors and windows I’d broken, cleaned any footprints, cleaned any sign.”

“Why?” You stared, just a few paces behind him, surprised when he stopped to look back at you.

A wolfish grin made its way onto his lips. “Things will be much more… entertaining the longer they are kept in the dark.”

You nodded, looking away before you could notice the concern in his eyes as the grin faded.

The Onychinus Base had a strong metallic scent, mixing with gunpowder, whiskey, and something older.

Sylus wordlessly took your hand, leading you through what you thought were far too many hallways. He stopped, leading you into a bathroom.

He picked you up, setting you down on the counter before rummaging through the cabinets. As he dropped the first aid kit next to your legs, his gaze lingered on your thighs. You shifted, subconsciously pulling your shorts to cover more.

His hand rose, shaking slightly, before running featherlight over one of the scars. He swallowed. “Did you do this?” Sylus looked at you again, crimson eyes consuming you. You turned your head, dodging his gaze before his hand rested on your cheek, bringing you back to him. “Please, tell me,” he said, voice becoming raw. “Are you hurting yourself?”

Your vision blurred, and even unfocused you could still see those piercing, pleading crimson eyes. “I haven’t in a while,” you admitted, voice small. You hadn’t since you came to this world, you thought, but how to tell him that?

Sylus’s hand just barely shook against your cheek. “But you did,” he said slowly. “You did before.” His eyes dropped to your thighs again, tracing over the various cuts and scars. “Why?”

Your breath shook, shallow and hesitant. Just what were you supposed to tell him? And why did he care so much? No matter how safe he made you feel, you just keep thinking: He’s not yours.

He’s Em’s. He’s her dragon, he’s half her soul. He’s bound to her, so who are you to come between that? This wasn’t right, this was very wrong, you weren’t supposed to be here, this wasn’t real, you weren’t real, you were just—

“Hey.” Sylus’s voice broke through again. “You don’t have to tell me. I know it’s hard, and I know we’re not that close. Just…” his voice trailed off. “I want you to stop, okay? I see you getting lost in your thoughts, I see the way they lie to you.” Sylus took your face in both his hands, cradled like it was the most precious thing he’d ever touched, like he almost didn’t believe he had the right to. “No matter how alone your brain says you are, I want you to know you’re never alone. Even if you have no one, you’ll always have me.”

A tear escaped your eyes, and Sylus carefully wiped it away with his thumb. Looking up at him with a watery gaze, you took a deep breath. “For so long, I never felt real,” you whispered. “Like this wasn’t really life, it couldn’t be life. There had to be more, right?” Sylus nodded along, his hands firmly on your cheeks as if they were the only thing keeping you together right now. “I’d get so lost in my thoughts, like I was living more in my head then in the real world. The cuts…” you voice cracked. “The pain, that burn, it grounded me. It brought me back, made me realize this was life. Whether I like it or not.”

Sylus pulled you in, pressing your head against his chest as his strong arms surrounded you. “You are real,” he murmured. “I am real. This is real.” With your head on his chest, you listened intently to his heartbeat. “Anytime you feel like you aren’t real, or the life you’re living isn’t what it should be, come find me instead of a blade, okay?” His arms tightened against you, heartbeat speeding up. “I will do anything in my power to give you the life you want, the life you dream of.”

Sobs and shudders wracked your body, and for the second time that day you sobbed into Sylus’s chest. Whispered thank you’s were met with soft shush’s and a soothing hand against your back.

Your breathing evened out, and you groaned, laughing slightly. “I can’t believe that most of the time we’ve spent together has been spent with me crying.” You shoved his shoulders, though he barely moved.

“I’m sorry, dove,” he chuckled fondly. “I’ll be sure that our future time together will have more laughter than tears.”

With bandages expertly wrapped on your knuckles, a blanket around your shoulder, and a warm mug in your hands, you sat comfortably in one of Sylus’s oversized armchairs.

“You need rest right now,” Sylus began seriously. “But I also need answers.”

You nodded despite the dread growing in the pit of your stomach.

Sylus took a deep breath, trying to find where to start. “Do you know what my Evol is?”

“Energy manipulation, right?” You looked at him curiously.

He nodded. “It gives me a wide range of abilities. Between that and the Aether core in my eye,” his eyes narrowed slightly, “there’s not much I can’t do.”

Your breath hitched. Did he always talk about the Aether core so openly?

And just what was he getting at?

“I can see people’s deepest desires,” he said, as if answering your question. “When you first came to the base with Em, I looked into your mind.” Your eyes widened, and you sat up slightly. “Not entirely,” he said quickly. “A quick glance. Nothing that would affect you, and not enough to truly give me answers. That’s where you come in.”

“What exactly did you see?” you asked, voice stiff.

“Glimpses. Of what seemed to be another life.” Sylus leaned in, examining you closely. “People say you’ve always been in Em’s life, but no one can seem to remember what came before. All people can remember about you happened in the last month.”

You set the mug down on the table next to you, trying to level your rapid breath. Did he find out?

“On top of that, you know things. More than you should.” His tone lowered, almost darkened. “Why is that?”

You shrunk into the chair. “I don’t—”

“You’re not from here, are you? You’re from another world entirely.” With watchful crimson eyes trained on you, you realized there was no point in denying it anymore.

“No.” A broken whisper. “I don’t know how I got here, and now I’m messing everything up…”

“You’re not,” Sylus broke in, voice firm. He knelt down in front of you, taking your hand in his. “You’re not messing anything up.”

You looked down at him, relieved to see the softness that returned to his eyes. “I’m scared, Sylus.”

“I know, little dove,” he murmured. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

As you recounted that fateful day nearly a month ago, the late start, the lunch with a friend, the sudden change to Destiny Cafe, Sylus’s brow furrowed deeper and deeper.

“What do you mean when you say this was a game in your world?”

“Exactly what I said. It was this game, a romance thing,” you explained. “There was the main character, you could name her and change her appearance so she looked like you. And then there were five Love Interests you could pursue outside of the main story.”

“Love Interests?” Sylus urged you on.

“Yeah. Um…” Were you really about to explain this to Sylus? How in your world he was only a figure that people fawned over instead of an actual being? “There was Xavier, the MC’s hunter friend. Zayne, her primary care physician and a childhood friend. Rafayel, an artist that hired her as a bodyguard. Caleb, childhood friend turned Colonel. And…” You looked at him, but quickly looked away, finding yourself unable to stare into those crimson eyes. “And there was Sylus, leader of Onychinus.”

There were a few beats of silence. “Me?” he whispered. “In your other life, you knew me as just an option in a romance game?” He couldn’t seem to decide whether he should be feeling rage, shock, or disappointment. They all combined into one disbelieving scoff and a mutual agreement: a want for justice.

“There were also past lives for each Love Interest.” You shrunk again under his gaze. You continued nonetheless, feeling that he deserved to know this as well. You listed off the alternate lives of the other four, trying hard to remember each name. Once you got to Sylus you hesitated. It seemed like knowing was such a vulnerability, did you really have the right to tell him? You took a shaky breath. “For you, it was Abysm Sovereign, or your dragon form, Stayrus.”

Pure shock filled Sylus’s eyes at the recognition, the most genuine expression you’d seen. This was unfiltered, not the trained, easygoing smirk he typically wore.

“So… it was all fake?” Emotion filled his eyes, a depth to them you hadn’t ever seen before.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I always just thought it was a plot in a game that made me feel less alone. But now, I’m here.” You motioned at the room, at Sylus. “It feels so real, you feel so real. I can’t believe it’s ‘just a game’ anymore.”

Sylus nodded, silent for a moment. “This… you’re going to have to give me a moment,” he said.

You nodded. “You can take all the time you need.” You offered a small smile.

Sylus ran a hand over his face, then through his hair, before looking back to you. “What about Em?” he asked hoarsely.

“She was the Main Character,” you said.

He nodded, as if that made sense. “Just a blank canvas instead of a person,” he muttered.

Suddenly, he stood, squaring his shoulders, his usual demeanor slowly returning. “You said there were four others?”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “I— I think they deserve to know, too. This isn’t something to hide from them. I want to talk to them.”

“I should have expected that,” he laughed lightly. “Alright. You may talk with the other three alone, but I want to be there when you talk with the Colonel.”

You tilted your head. “Why? You’ll only put him on edge.”

“It seems that the Colonel follows Em around like a lost puppy,” he said, unimpressed. “He might try to take you again when he sees you, if that’s what Em wants. I’d like to ensure you’re safety by being by your side.”

“Alright,” you conceded. You perked up again, something resembling mischief reflecting in you eyes. “By the way,” Sylus looked down at you, “you don’t call Em kitten anymore, huh? I thought you’d refer to her as your kitten or something, like you do,” you laughed.

Sylus was quiet for a minute, making the laughter die in your throat. He shook his head. “She’s not the same. She doesn’t seem very feisty yet still harmless anymore.”

There was something in those crimson eyes, something burning bright behind them. Sylus’s jaw was clenched, his entire body language tense.

You rose to your feet, putting a hand on his forearm. He visibly relaxed under your touch, the fire in his eyes softening into a molten red. “Are you going to be okay? This was a lot today.”

“I should be asking you that, little dove.” He put his hand on your head, just barely ruffling your hair. “I’ll be okay,” he said softly. “Having you here is enough. My life may have been just a game, but the life I have with you isn’t. That’s more than enough for me, little dove.”

comments and reblogs appreciated and asks open!

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sungbeam · 18 hours ago

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his girls

jeong yunho x f!reader

in which yunho's the happiest he's ever been.

1.5k words, nc-17, fluff, light swearing, est relationship au, ur married and have a baby, kissing, skinship/intimacy, One very lightly implied suggestive line, mentions of wine, wooyoung w baby TT, like not proofread

a/n: if u look closely, those ARE two diff photos okay 😭 also, this au was born from a dream i had abt seonghwa 😌 (seonghwa, close ur eyes. hongjoong, also close ur eyes—)

It feels almost like eight years ago all over again when Yunho pulls into the driveway. It's late, the crickets have long since begun to chirp their songs, and the lights in the front of the house glow like warm halos.

The only differences are that the house is no longer the one you shared with six other girls in college, but the house you and he bought four years ago; and he's not dropping you off and being forced to part with you—he’s got your hand wrapped in his, forevermore.

Yunho opens his mouth in a big yawn as he kills the engine to the SUV. The headlights that gleam against the garage door flicker to darkness, leaving only the orangey light from the street lamps painting the walkway. The soft song on the radio fades into silence, and he turns his head to look at you in the passenger's seat, head rolled to the side, eyes closed.

A smile, achingly fond, pulls at his lips. He wonders how deeply you're asleep, if he'll carry you inside, over the threshold all over again, his bride.

But he would be remiss to deprive you of being able to walk in and see your baby girl before you turn in for the night.

The hand that is wrapped in his is brought up to his lips, mouth brushing against knuckles, his free hand smoothing up your wrist to feel the metal warming your ring finger. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs lowly.

You hum, facial muscles twitching, as your consciousness slowly begins to wake up.

His lips pull into a grin now. “What were you saying about not being tired?” he teased.

You inhale sharply and sit up; the memories of yours and Yunho's first night out after the baby rushing back. “Fuck,” you rasp, clearing the hoarseness in your throat away. When you turn your sleep-softened eyes to him, he feels his entire body melt. “I'm sorry, Yun. No planetarium tonight, huh?”

“No, but that's okay,” he says with sincerity. Earlier, he had asked a question and glanced over to find you fast asleep. The past year and a half have been the hardest on you and your body, so he's been wanting to take you out for a nice night for a long time. Only, he should have expected that you would be too exhausted to be out later than nine—the wine at dinner likely didn't help much. “We can go some other time.”

He reaches over to brush the hair out of your eyes as you blink away the remnants of sleep.

“I liked tonight,” you muse aloud and reach to unbuckle your seatbelt. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he chuckles, kissing your knuckles again. His mouth slowly makes its way around the curve of your wrist, lips pressing against your pulse. “I just… wanted you to have a night to relax.”

You twist around in your seat and lean over to cup his face and bring him even closer to you. “I did—have a relaxing night, I mean.”

When you kiss him, he exhales against you. He can feel his brows furrow as he presses into you deeper, his hand burying in your hair to pull you closer, hold you to him. He knows you'll pull away first; you both have a human being to care for now, for goodness sake—he only wishes he could freeze time for a moment longer.

He loves his daughter, the beautiful little girl waiting inside the house for you both, but he loves his time with you, too.

“Doesn't this feel like college again?” you giggle while pulling away.

Yunho's mouth chases you across the center console and steals another kiss. “Mhm,” he murmurs, “we can make it an even more authentic experience by—”

“You're a dog, Jeong Yunho,” you reprimand jokingly.

He grins, licking the taste of your lip gloss off his lips. “Too bad you can't return me without the receipt!” he snickers, the sound only getting louder when you smack your hand against his chest. He catches you by the wrist, sliding his fingers through yours.

You sigh as he leans over and kisses your cheek. “Okay, c'mon, big guy. Let's relieve Wooyoung of his babysitting duties.”

“He'd steal our baby if he could,” Yunho scoffs, shaking his head. Wooyoung had been all too eager to watch over baby June, practically shoving you and Yunho out the door earlier this evening. Who needs to hire a babysitter when you have friends?

The sound of the car doors opening and shutting echo through the quiet neighborhood. The houses on your row are filled with other families, ranging in experience from decades of marriage to newly weds. Yunho can recall the exact moment the two of you decided on this place as your forever home, and staring up at it now with the keys to the front door swinging around his finger, puts a skip in his step.

He rounds the car with a slight jog to catch up to you, snatching your hand and twirling you out of nowhere.

Your squeal lights up the night, and he guides you into an impromptu dip, before pulling you back upright. “You're crazy,” you say to him, breathless.

He smiles as he leans down and slots his nose against yours. “Good thing you love crazy, right?” he replies, voice going low.

He gets butterflies every time he kisses you, and this time—the thousandth time today—is no different.

“You must love me or something,” you jest as you loop your arms around his neck.

“Or something,” he laughs. “Have I ever told you that you're my everything?”

There's a sweet darkness that blooms over your cheeks and he has to use every ounce of willpower not to steal your breath away again. He only smiles, a gesture bursting with love and adoration, and feels the warmth of your cheekbone beneath his knuckle. “Ditto,” you say quietly, returning his smile. “You're awfully lovey dovey tonight, Yun.”

“Maybe it's just 'cause you make me feel like a teenager in love,” he sighs melodramatically. His hands drop down to your waist, and then the two of you are walking up the steps to the front door.

The porch light above your heads hums with soft light, and Yunho turns the key into the lock. Briefly, he thinks of the number of times he will be doing this: coming home from work every day to his girls, shouldering through the door with groceries, opening it for baby June to run through after school, seeing you off in the mornings before work.

His girls. Right.

It rushes through his head like a tidal wave cresting over him, but the smile on his face never leaves and he can't wait to feel the water engulf him.

It's not fear of what's to come, but absolute giddiness.

When the front door opens, warmth pours out onto the porch steps and he can already hear Wooyoung's groan of disappointment. From Yunho's vantage point, he can make out the shape of one large, adult-sized male lying on the floor of the living room beside a much smaller bean of a human being.

“Already?” Wooyoung bemoans as he peers up at the two of you, bottom lip jutting out.

A delighted giggle gurgles out of the little one next to him. All eyes turn to baby June, who's limbs flail in the air as she lights up at the sight of her parents.

“Sorry Woo,” Yunho chuckles, not really sincere, as you scurry over to pick up your daughter. His entire body floods with something fuzzy and soft. He becomes mush at the sight of you cooing at June, his heart tender. “This one fell asleep in the car.”

Wooyoung clambers to his feet and Yunho glances down at the pink apron that is tied around his waist.

“Don't judge me,” his friend squawks.

Yunho raises his hands in surrender. “I didn't say anything!” Now that he thinks about it, there's definitely something warm and sweet in the air… like cookies… Wait, June can't even eat cookies yet— “Wooyoung, what did you make, dude?”

Wooyoung purses his lips, tucking his hands behind his back. “I got hungry. And y'know, your other half likes my cookies, so…”

“You can do anything in my kitchen as long as you clean up and you don't let Yunho in,” you pipe up, gently cradling June as the baby clings to your shoulder with sleep in her eyes.

Like mama, like daughter—Yunho could die of cuteness. His mouth curls into a deep frown-like smile. These are his girls. His girls.

“Oh my god, he's so down bad that he didn't even hear your insult.”

Yunho waddles over to wrap his arms around his girls. Down bad? This isn't news. “Wooyoung, get out before you never get to babysit again.”

Wooyoung shoots him a grin and salutes. “You got it, Boss!”

When he's made a swift exit from the room, Yunho leans his cheek against the top of your head with a happy little sigh. Maybe yours and his evening out is cut short, but being here? This is pretty damn perfect, too.

a/n: pls reblog if u enjoyed !

atz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @luumiinaa @lotties-readings @winwintea @tinkerbell460 @meosjinnn @hyunjaespresent-deobi @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @floatingpluto @gyulfriend @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @eunseok-s @justanotherkpopstanlol @kangfication @pxppxrminty @fluorescentloves @haechansbbg @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @mars101 @synthwxve @empire-x @thecarnivaloflies @thatonedemigodfromseoul @jinternationalplayboy @cromernet

#cromernet #ateez x reader #jeong yunho x reader #yunho x reader #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #ateez drabbles #yunho fluff #yunho oneshot #yunho scenarios #yunho drabble #yunho imagines #ateez fanfic

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ghostinboys · 1 day ago

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— joel miller loved that you were taking pictures during your trip to his hometown. it assured him that this wasn't boring for you and that you actually enjoyed the scenery and the tour of their family's farm. he was extra thrilled when you said you would want to stay for the night in his childhood home, no one really lived there anymore other than tommy (he had commitments in jacksonville, hence the vacancy).

— before bed he had started a fire on the hearth, sharing a finger of whiskey while playfully taking photos of him. "that camera's go'n break if you keep takin' pictures of me," his accent stronger by each shot. you said something about how pretty he was and how you couldn't stop it even if you wanted to. "well somebody's go'n have to take some of your pretty face, darlin'"

smut undercut

— he takes the camera from you and takes a few shots, you timidly hide your face, laughing at how cute he was at trying to find 'the perfect shot'. maybe it was the whiskey, but the two of you found yourselves in each other's arms, lips locked, tongues laced in each others warmth, intoxicated by the coziness and the heat.

— "look at this pretty face," he murmured while taking pictures of your naked body, his mouth had done its work of leaving marks—showing whoever will see these images that he was the one responsible for marking you. "all f'me," he grunts as he enters you.

— you took pictures of him while straddling his thick thighs, tensed and hardened by a day's work, he smelled of alcohol and musk, his skin golden and his facial hair unkempt— he looked so beautiful.

— he took pride in pleasuring you, that despite his age he could still spend hours drawing out loud and obscene cries from your lips. "you take me so well, baby" his muscular arms flexing and while he held your waist, he took the camera and took pictures of you with closed eyes, moaning and whimpering from his cock. he took pictures of the his thick cock ceaselessly fucking your hole. "look how pretty your hole is takin' me, like it was fuckin' meant for my cock,"

— the old creaking of his wooden bed frame concludes with a shared grunt. the two of you in each other's arms covered in sweat, tears, and come. he takes the camera for the last time and points it on the both of you, "this way we ain't forgetting this perfect night," sharing one last languid kiss before the sun rises.

end.

a/n: apologies for the lack of updates :< I hope this blurb can suffice as a sorry hihi like / follow/ reblog please if you enjoyed ! also request if you want anything similar, thank you <3 tag list: @hellsburners @boypied

#x male reader #x male reader smut #male reader smut #gay #gay smut #gay fics #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x male reader smut #joel miller x male reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x male reader #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us smut

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daisybvck · 2 days ago

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Let’s have a baby!

Pairing: no outbreak!Joel miller x reader

Summary: You and your husband Joel decide to have a baby

Warning: fluff, smut 18+, breeding, domesticity, praise, oral sex (fem receiving), begging. NO SARAH (I love her but she’s not in this)

word count: 5.3k+

Joel lets himself into your shared home almost silently, not wanting to ruin his surprise appearance.

After weeks of working relentlessly after-hours, he'd finally made it back home to you at a normal time, keeping you in the dark about it. He had sent you a quick text earlier, saying he wouldn't be home 'til late again as he usually would when working overtime. Though you never complained or expressed your aggravation to him, he just knew how much you were missing him lately. It was the subtle way your smile would drop for only a second after he'd kiss you goodbye in the mornings before heading out, or how you would sometimes ask him when his next day off would be.

Lately, Joel’s been coming home to the sight of you curled up so sweetly on the couch with the blanket the two of you often shared while lounging around. You obviously had tried to stay up, tried to fight off the sleep to be able to greet him, but your attempts never succeeded. His heart hurts a little when he thinks of you sitting around aimlessly waiting just for him to come home night after night. That alone was the main reason he absolutely fucking hates working overtime. The lack of time spent with his loving wife had started to take a toll on him as well as he'd been catching himself slipping at work while thinking of what you could possibly be up to at that very moment and how he just couldn't wait for his schedule to calm down so he could get back to you at a decent hour for once. And now that day has finally come.

As soon as he walks through the door, he picks up on the amazing smell of something cooking. His stomach growls a little, suddenly reminding him that he hadn't eaten since this morning, as he worked through lunch just to get back extra early. He can't help but smile to himself as he silently walks towards the kitchen, you are always finding ways to spoil him and he couldn't be more thankful to have you in his life. He's never had someone care for him the way that you do, no one who's delighted at his simple presence like you. But, he also has realized that before you, he never had caught his heart skipping a beat at the sight of a single person. He had never thought that he was capable of not only being loved but of loving itself. He never imagined a life full of sweet kisses and nights curled up on the couch, giggling about the shitty movie playing on the screen. but he never wants to go back to being alone, back to a life without you.

Joel lets himself just spy on you for a few seconds.

You were at the stove, humming softly to yourself as you stirred whatever was in the pot. Finally deciding to make his presence known, he makes his way over to you, no longer caring about making any noise, and wraps his strong, muscular arms around your waist as he hugs you from behind. He’s body gone softer over thee years, his belly pushing into you softly. A warm laugh leaves his lips as his sudden appearance started you, causing you to gasp.

"Joel? You're home so early!" you turn to face your smirking husband, prepared to ask him a million questions about his early arrival, but he doesn't even let you get the opportunity to ask them as he places his lips on yours.

You close your eyes, immediately kissing him back. You throw your arms around his neck as he deepens the kiss. His hands wrap even tighter around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him, as he just craves to have you near. His lips on yours are a familiar feeling, but you still manage to melt into him each and every time he kisses you. You find yourself a little disappointed as he suddenly pulls away.

"Got off work early today, just wanted to surprise you," Joel smiles, bringing a hand up from your waist to brush a piece of your hair behind your ear.

There was nothing but love and adoration in the man's eyes as he looked at you. For only a brief moment, you see the face of the man you fell in love with all those years back. He's had your heart since the moment you met then and it's his to keep forever.

"And what a lovely surprise," you press a soft kiss to his cheek, "I've missed you a lot lately."

"I've missed you too," he presses his forehead against yours in a loving gesture, "So much."

As if on cue, your mind suddenly reminds you of the food that is likely about to burn on the stove behind you,

"Shit!" you curse, frantically turning around to tend to the dinner you had prepared, which earned yet another chuckle from Joel.

"Go change or something while I take care of this," you wave him off as you focus on trying not to ruin dinner,

"You're distracting me."

He quickly presses another gentle kiss to your cheek, letting out a playful "mhmm," before he starts pressing kisses along your jaw, much softer than before. His lips travel down your neck as you lean more to the side, allowing him better access to your neck. Such a teasing touch that makes you feel as if standing is a chore as your knees grow weak. You let out a soft moan as he sucks gently on your skin. Every part of your body felt as if it were aflame; you were on fire just for him. Your head lays on his shoulder, forgetting the task at hand yet again as your eyes are closed, basking in Joel’s overwhelming presence before it is quickly stripped away. Your eyes immediately flutter open at the lack of his warmth, confused as to where it went.

"Alright, I'll shower real quick," he winks, knowing how flustered he's left you. He loved how within a mere few seconds he can make you completely unable to focus on anything but him.

You huff in annoyance as you desperately try to just simply get your shit together to finish up dinner. Despite forgetting about the food more than once thanks to a certain someone, nothing had actually ended up being burnt to a crisp as you had thought. You let out a sigh of relief, calming yourself down. By the time you’re finally starting to make both your and his plates, Joel returns to the kitchen. Despite being with him for several years at this point, you were practically gawking at him as he walked into the room. He looked more appetizing than the food before you. The way his normally neat curls still a little wet and disheveled and it was undeniably hot in every single way. He had traded in his typical work attire, a shirt, and worn jeans, for a plain white shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

You're practically the only one who's ever seen him in such a relaxed state, as he usually strives to be put together all of the time. It's such a silly thing to be amused by, but the fact that you're the only one who gets to see him like this makes your heart flutter every time you think about it. While he always looks handsome, you think that you prefer him like this. Maybe it's the way you imagine that all his worries strip away with the long hours or perhaps it's the fact that you have come to the conclusion that as soon as the tools go away he's all yours. He no longer belongs to his excruciating job, his worries, his stress; simply to you.

You pull yourself out of your daze in order to walk over to the dining table where Joel had already taken a seat and sit your guys' plates down. Up until this moment, both of you had yet to realize how truly hungry you were.

Joel, who usually takes his time to truly savor his meal, has nearly scarfed down half his plate in a matter of what seemed like a few seconds, and you could say the same about yourself. Despite the ravenous nature of you two, you both still managed to have your typical dinner discussion. You asked about his day at work, which he told you that consisted of the usual and that he lucked out today because he simply didn't have to deal with any of Tommy’s nonsense. You tell him of your day and he listens intently as you proceed to tell him about your day of running errands.

"So I went to the store to get everything for dinner and I saw this sweet little girl who couldn't have been older than like five. She looked so sad, Joel. It was clear she was lost," you frown as you recall the way her eyes were slightly puffy and red as she anxiously scanned the aisle looking for someone who wasn't there, "I just had to help her, my heart just hurt looking at her sweet, little face. Luckily we found her mom, but god, she was so cute. I held her little hand in mine and walked with her until we found her mom."

You continue to ramble on about just how cute the child was, but it falls on deaf ears as Joel has found himself unable to focus on your words any longer. His mind was all over the place as he pictured you walking with the kid, little hand in your larger one as you walked around the store. He finds it so easy to picture it, yet he realizes he's envisioning you with a child that has his eyes and your hair color, a perfect combination of both of you. His heart begins to race as he realizes that he craves a family with you, that he needs to get you pregnant.

You're still talking, unknowingly to yourself, while his mind races about what it would be like to hold a baby created not only by him but the two of you together; a perfect combination of you both. How he craves to know what it feels like to have a tiny hand holding onto his much larger fingers and he feels like he could melt into a puddle onto the floor beneath him as he thinks of you with a baby cradled securely in your arms as you hum a soft lullaby, soothing the child with ease. Sure, he had thought about having babies with you one day, it had been discussed. Hell, even Tommy has asked him more than once if there will ever be "little Miller’s" running around soon. But for the very first time, Joel can picture it so vividly in his mind; he finally wants to have a baby with you right now. It's no longer a thought he saves for the future; no longer a simple wish for a later time.

His attention is brought back to you sitting before him gently waving your hand in front of his face, "Baby?," you giggle as you shake your head at the man, "Are you even listening to me right now?"

"(Y/N)," you perk up at hearing your name roll off his tongue while he smiles softly. his dark brown eyes stare into yours as he pushes his chair back, patting his thigh,

"C'mere."

You practically run from your spot across the table from him, trading in your chair for a seat upon his lap. A smile on your lips as you straddle his waist, throwing your arms around his neck. You feel a large hand press against the small of your back, pulling you close as possible. Your chest pressed against his, his touch alone making you feel dizzy. Joel’s other hand comes up to lovingly cup your cheek. You unconsciously lean into his touch as his thumb begins to stroke your face, his eyes so filled with a look that was undoubtedly full of love as he gazes upon your features. The moment feels so intimate; so many things being said all at once by everything but words. His gentle touch says "You're my everything," his hand pulling you closer whispers "I need you," and the way he looks at you as if you were the most magnificent being he's ever seen absolutely screams "I love you."

"So, wanna tell me what you were thinking about now” One of your hands wanders into his locks as the other moves to his shoulder. He visibly relaxes as you play with his hair.

He blinks a few times, debating how exactly he wants to go about the subject of starting a family. Is it really the time to be discussing this? How would you respond?

"I was thinking about...us," his voice is soft as he speaks.

He swallows as he tries to even think of the right way to put it into words.

"Yeah? What about us?" you giggle as you raise an eyebrow, "That's a little vague there." You take note of his unusual demeanor, but you simply chalk it up to stress from the past couple of weeks. Joel might be great at keeping his emotions to himself, but you've learned to read him like your favorite book.

His heart is racing in his chest as he finally blurts out "! want a baby, (Y/N). What do you think about that?" Okay, so that wasn't how he planned on going about it.

But now that he's put it out there he can't stop the words flying out of his mouth. He's unable to think straight at this point as he rambles on and on. "I can start working less hours, you know. I'm sorry to just spring that on you out there, we don't-" He then was silenced by your lips pressing sweetly against his. In a matter of a few seconds, he closes his eyes, kissing you back just as gently. You love the way your hands roam your back with the softest of touches until you pull away.

"Let's do it. Let's have a baby," His eyes search for any sign of doubt in your answer, but alas he fails to find such. This is real; you want to have a baby just as badly as he does. To think that you were likely struck by the same sweet, domestic dream of starting a family that he had just now seems unbelievably perfect. He smiles so sweetly at your response that you think your heart could burst at the sight. His hand cradles your face with utmost care as he presses his lips on yours gently. The two of you have shared countless sweet kisses, but the absolute love and passion in the way your lips are moving together cannot even be compared to those of the past.

Pure excitement rushes through the both of you at the thought of a little bundle of joy in your lives.

You pull away, taking in the look of what you only can describe as joy upon your husband's face. His eyes search yours for any hint of worry or doubt in yours, but he is unable to find such, only seeing the way your eyes are lit up. "Yeah? You really want this?" he asks, wanting to make sure this entire moment was not a mere figment of his imagination.

You nod your head, reassuring him that this was real. "I want this. Want this more than anything with you," you say with a smile as your hands fiddle with the bottom of his t-shirt.

"I love you so much," he still can't comprehend the fact that he had the privilege of not only calling you his wife but of getting to start a family with you.

"And I love you too. So Joel.." You say with your voice lowering an octave. With a roll of your hips against his crotch, you lean down to whisper right in his ear. "You gonna put a baby in me or what?"

You wish you could take a picture of the way he's looking at you right now. Your words lit a fire in him, driving him absolutely wild. "Fuck yeah I am," he says, and just by the tone of his voice, you knew that he was dead serious.

His lips crash onto yours, much different than any time before this one. His typical smooth, seemingly calculated actions are long gone as he has not a single thought in his head other than giving you exactly what you want, a baby. Joel’s hands wander down to your ass, pulling your hips harshly against his own as he's desperate to feel you against him. The rough and rapid movement of your mouths contrasts the sweet and delicate moment you two had shared merely moments before. His grip on you was firm, making you feel as if every single inch of your body was lit aflame by his mere touch. You let out a pitiful sounding whine when he pulls away.

"Fuck yeah I am," he says, voice raspy as he speaks,

"Gonna fill you up so good, gonna make you a mommy." His lips find their way back to yours, moving in perfect time. He swallows each and every one of the pretty little moans you let out as you grind against his bulge.

There's just something about the thought of you, belly all round with his baby, that has brought some primal urge in him to fuck you until your sweet, sweet pussy is filled to the brim with his load. It's brought out a possessive side of him that neither you nor him have ever seen.

Maybe it's the fact that you, his darling wife, wants his baby. you're all his. His pants tighten at the thought of everyone seeing you pregnant, knowing you're all his and everyone seeing you pregnant, knowing you're all his an that he's all yours.

Soft, wet kisses are littered all over the tender skin of your neck after his hand pushes away any hair blocking his way. The way Joel has every inch of your body committed to memory is evident as his tongue lightly traces over that one spot that drives you wild. A moan escapes you as he continues to ravish your neck, You can't take this anymore, you need him inside you right now.

It takes everything in your being to bring your hands to tug his hair to bring his face out from the crook of your neck to meet your gaze. "Joel. Bedroom. Now."

You can't find even a hint of hesitation to follow your order as he stands from the chair. His arms lift you up whilst holding your ass to support you, and yours are thrown around his neck. The walk from the kitchen to the bedroom resulted in you losing your shirt as it was messily thrown somewhere in between heated kisses. He gropes your ass for what seems to be the thousandth time tonight, tongues moving together in what you'd describe as the most perfect way as he does so. The two of you finally make it to the bed and he lays you down.

Your wandering hands travel down to the hem of his shirt, tugging at it to silently beg him to strip it off. As always, he complies.

No matter how many times he's fucked you senseless, you still feel your face heat up as his eyes look you up and down. He climbs on top of you, nestling himself between your legs. He props his strong arms propping him up on his elbows so that he isn't pressing his full weight on you as he kisses you much softer than he had previously before.

"Wanna give you a baby so bad, (Y/N)." your body shudders at the words, the effect Joel has over you is utterly intoxicating. He shifts his weight into just one of his arms to remove your bra. He can't help but moan at the sight of your gorgeous tits on display for him. His mind wanders to how they'll soon be filled with milk as his mouth latches on your sensitive nipple, sucking gently before pulling away, returning to your other breast to do the exact same. His cock aches in his pants, begging to be inside you at that simple thought. He lets out a groan as he continues his actions and you feel the slick pooling in between your thighs in response.

Anything he says and anything he does has you unable to think, mind clouded by Joel.

A string of saliva connects his mouth to your chest when he finally pulls away, a hazy stare on his face as he looks up at you. He uses the back of his hand to wipe away the wetness on his face and you think you've never seen a sight as lovely as this. After countless nights spent tangled up in the sheets with your husband, you think you've never seen him exactly like this. Something in him had snapped tonight, and you can't bring yourself to say that you didn't enjoy it.

There was something downright pitiful in the way you say "Kiss me. Please," before cupping his beautiful face in your hands, pulling his face back up to yours. His face is now right in front of you, your nose brushing. His kiss swollen lips are just right there, almost taunting you with their proximity.

"God, you're killing me," he sighs breathily before he leans in, finally giving you what you wanted. However, the moment was short-lived as his lips left yours to press soft, wet kisses along your jaw. You mewl underneath and he thinks he could cum in his pants from the noises you make alone. You shiver as his kisses keep trailing down from your jaw to your neck then to your chest and finally he's kissing the right above where you crave him most. Sweet brown eyes keep eye contact with you as he pulls down your shorts in one motion. If you were in your right mind maybe you would be embarrassed at the way your panties were soaked through with your slick. But you're not even able to think about that right now as he kisses your cunt through the fabric, sighing afterward.

Everything inside of him is screaming to lick you clean right there, but he finds restraint. He wants you to beg for it, tease you until you just can't take it anymore.

Joel thinks he could never, ever get enough of the way you get so whiny for him when you're needy.

You squirm waiting for him to just do something. "Be a good girl and stay still for me, yeah?" he says with a quick kiss to your clothed cunt. You instantly nod and spread your legs as much as possible for him. He turns his head to the side to nibble at the skin on your thigh.

His tongue wetting it with the utmost care and affection, and you can barely stop yourself from just taking a handful of his hair and pushing his face to where you needed him most. What a fucking tease.

"Come on, I need to know how bad you want it. You're being awfully quiet."

You throw your head back, frustrated at his teasing. He brings his thumb up against your clit, rubbing it so softly through your panties before trying again. "Be a good girl and tell me what you want." You're turned to absolute mush as you melt, moaning at the slight relief his hand was providing you, but it's not enough.

"Joel, baby, please. Want it so bad. Want your mouth on me. Your mouth, want it." You don't have it in you to speak in full sentences as you keep babbling nonsense upon nonsense. The noise that you let out as he speeds up his movements was something he could only describe as downright sinful.

"You're just too fucking pretty like this. Don't know if I wanna make you come yet, I like this a little too much," he says sweetly, but you huff before spitting out anything and everything to try and convince him to just fuck you with his mouth already. It was almost pure agony waiting for him to finally cave into your needs.

"Please" Tears well up in your eyes as you look down at him, lip quivering a little. He can't bring himself to continue this little game he's got going on when you look at him like that. Who was he to deny you of such?

"I just can't say no to you. Especially when you're asking me so nicely," He says with a wicked smile, and he's finally stripping off your underwear, turning you into a puddle as he tugs the material down your legs. Your legs tremble, eagerly awaiting what's to come next. He admires the sight of your chest rising and falling as you pant. Your clench around absolutely nothing as you're leti just waiting for him to just do something. "So needy for me, darling. Look at you, so wet." His poor baby just needs his cock, but he thinks his tongue will do just fine for the moment. As you're about to start babbling pleas yet again, he's diving straight in between your thighs.

Your hand immediately goes to grasp and pull at his hair as you moan so pretty for him.

His warm tongue drags along your throbbing bud, just how he knows you like it. Now, this is the Joel you know, unlike him just minutes ago, his actions are entirely calculated after years of learning your body even better than you know it. He just lives to fuck you not only well, but what he would describe as properly. He knows exactly what to do to make you come undone by just the movement of his tongue. Everything just feels so good, so amazing when he has you like this. You let out a cry of his name, as he continues. Your hips move with a mind of their own, your promise of staying still is long forgotten at this point. He takes notice of this, strong arms pinning your lower half down with ease. The soft sheets are bunched up in your hands as you struggle to ground yourself, He's practically making out with your cunt, sloppily and it's clear he's enjoying himself as he is relentless.

He moans into your cunt, vibrations sending just that much closer to the edge. You're so close, so close to cumming all over his face, exactly like he wants you to.

"M'so close, gonna cum," You whine and it just spurs him on more so than before. He's devouring absolutely everything you can give him, letting out a moan as he brings you to your high.

You throw your head back with a lewd moan, backing arching off of the mattress as it finally hits you. It's almost violent the way you throw your head back into the pillow, the pleasure was overwhelming. Joel is all that occupies your thoughts as your orgasm takes over.

He’s savoring your sweet taste, unable to get enough of the way you taste on his tongue. You're shameless in the way you moan out for him. He keeps going and going until you're finally pushing him away, unable to handle the overstimulation.

When he looks at you, he believes that there has never been a sight as beautiful as this one. You with sweat glistening on your forehead, hair all sprawled upon the pillow, still trembling from your orgasm. It's what he personally would define as totally fucked out. He doesn't even bother to wipe your cum off his chin before his lips land on yours. You're kissing him back, lazily moving your tongue against his before he leaves you breathless as he sits up from you.

His cock aches painfully in his boxers as he finally is pulling away to remove them and his sweats, the final few layers that are keeping you separated. Your mouth salivates at the sight of him, that gorgeous cock of his has you rubbing your thighs together at the thought of it being inside you. Precome just leaking from the red tip as it twitches just for you.

"I am gonna fuck my baby into you. So perfect for me. You just can't wait for that little cunt of yours to be filled to the brim," he crawls back on top of you, running his tip through your folds as he gives it a few pumps. You let a high-pitched whine out, just wanting him to put it in and give you exactly what you want.

"Gimme your babies, wanna be such a good mommy for you. Just fill me up, please," you whine, wanting him to just stuff his dick inside already. You can't wait any longer now, the thought of him impregnating you was just too much.

"Don't worry sweetheart, I'll take care of it. There's no way I won't get you pregnant, gonna breed you until there's doubt in my mind that you are," Joel reassures you, kissing your forehead with such affection as he lines himself up with your entrance.

God he's missed being inside you. He swears it's like you were made just for him and him alone, perfectly molded to squeeze his dick just perfectly with your walls. He lets you adjust to his length before finally pushing all the way in, hips beginning to thrust into yours over and over again.

You're chanting his name, saying it just to say it as you can't find it in you to form any form of a coherent sentence. You spread your legs even wider for your husband, gasping as his pace fastens. His face is buried in your neck, nipping at the skin as he continues to fuck into you.

"Shit, (Y/N). I love you so much," He groans out as he goes to look at your fucked out expression. Your eyes hazily stare into his as clench around him. It feels as if you're trying to milk his dick dry with the way you squeeze him so nicely. It just drives him crazy to think about it, hell, you in general right now have him in a trance. No other goal in his mind but to breed his sweet, little wife. Every noise you make sounds like music to his ears as he brings a hand down to rub smooth, gentle circles on your clit.

You feel your body growing tense as your second orgasm of the night draws closer, and you know Joel is too with the way his thrusts have begun to grow sloppy and desperate. It's got you seeing stars with each and every time he slides in and out of your hole.

You hear choked moans leave Joel as he's going faster chasing his high desperately. His hands grab your legs firmly, wrapping them around his waist letting him fuck you even deeper than before. The new angle causes something in you to snap right then and there, and the rapid clenching of your walls around his cock sends Joel’s orgasm rushing through his body. Warm cum fills you up deep inside of you, pumping you full just as you had begged for earlier.

After a few brief moments that consisted of the two of you attempting to calm down and recover, he brings a hand up to gently stroke your cheek with the utmost adoration and care.

"You're really going to be such a great mom, sweetheart.

I love you," He kisses your nose, then both of your cheeks and smiles softly at you, "So much."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x pregnant reader #joel miller fluff #daddy!joel miller #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader

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moon-ttokki-x · 20 hours ago

Note

ooh could you do 53 & 64 with Hyunjin? you write really well!

. . . hey so this is super angsty bc ive kinda had a shit week so you guys are coming down with me HAHAHAHAH . also thank you for the compliment :>

unclicked - (bf!hwang hyunjin x fem!reader)

pairing: bf!hwang hyunjin x fem!reader

summary: hyunjin has been distant lately and you finally snap.

genre: idol!au, fem!reader, mentions of eating and drinking, kkami mention, mentions of feeling like throwing up, broken glass, mentions of injuries and crying, reader struggles with eating, mentions of neglect and apathy, hyunjin is kinda a jerk in this fic but i also feel bad so . . . you decide who the villain is

a/n: yeah so there's no happy ending, fuckers . . . be warned

🖤 prompts: 53. "Why are you so afraid of the truth?" / 64. "I thought I had everything figured out."

skz masterlist | skz prompt list

You had always been the affectionate type; gentle, loving, yet excitable. The type to ramble about your day over dinner while smiling and piling more food onto your plate, unaware of your lover's smitten gaze; the type that would have your arms open for Hyunjin when he came home from a long day at the company. He forever relished your comfort and the warmth of your body against his, always open to your soft words and cute smiles.

But lately, he had been distant.

Now he was out the door before you had even left the bed; always coming home late and never showing up when you needed him to. Like the time you smashed a glass and texted him asking for him to come home, but he didn't. So you cleaned it up and patched up your hand without him. Or like the time when you both finally had a day off and he spent it with the rest of his members even though you'd already made plans. You got left at home, alone, because all the rest of your friends had plans already and it wasn't like it mattered, anyway, that you were alone.

Not really. You'd chosen to understand rather than getting pissed off at him about it.

You weren't too sure about that decision now.

You sigh and begin to pick up the plates. You'd laid out dinner for two so both of you could sit and eat immediately after getting home, even though Hyunjin worriedly insisted you should eat even before he got back. You never listened, though, always wanting to share a meal with him while you both exchanged details about your days. It was one of your favourite parts of being with him; being able to welcome him home with a warm hug and a plate of good food.

But now it'd gone cold. And you were alone. Again.

The clock on the wall reads 10:43 PM.

Kkami runs up to you as you clatter dishes into the sink; he bounces hopefully around your feet, and you smile before giving him a forkful of the dinner. He yaps and licks it off messily, his high-pitched barks filling the empty apartment.

You don't bother taking any of the food for yourself, simply shoving it all into a plastic container and tossing it onto a shelf in the fridge. You were hungry when you were cooking; the rumbles of your stomach overlaid the noises of a knife against the chopping board and the simmering of the stove, but you just feel drained now. Too tired to eat, too defeated to care about the hollowness in your gut.

You wash up the remaining dishes and stack them neatly in the dishrack. Kkami comes up to you again, hoping for another bite, and you kneel down and scratch his fluffy head.

"Looks like it's just you and me," you say quietly. "Again."

The dog tilts his head, two black eyes in a mass of black and white fluff. He seems to understand, and he flops down on the floor while you run damp fingers through his fur.

"He's been coming home late so often," you mumble absentmindedly, still stroking the little dog. Your fingers pause.

He wouldn't cheat.

Would he?

No, you tell yourself, shaking your head to clear the thought out. Hyunjin wouldn't do that. He loves me, he cares for me. He clings to me every possible moment of the day. There's no way he would ever do something like that.

Then again...

He's surrounded by girls much prettier than I am. Girls that are slimmer, more feminine, girls that are a part of his world. Girls who are artists and singers and dancers just like he is. And it's not like I can measure up to them. I'm just me.

I'm just-

Kkami's incessant barking snaps you out of your thoughts. He's licking your hands, bouncing off the floor and around your crouched figure like a fluffy little pogo stick rather than a dog.

You realise what he's barking at. The salty drop of a tear pools in a little circle on the cold, tiled floor. Your face is wet.

Sniffling, having not even realised you were crying, you wipe a hand over your face, scrubbing harshly, and exhale a shaky breath.

"I'm okay," you say softly to the anxious little animal. "I'm fine. I just- I miss him. I don't know what i did wrong."

Kkami gets up and runs off. You sigh and watch him skid around the corner before standing up. Even the dog doesn't want to be around you.

You stand, wash your hands, then dry them, feeling lost. Suddenly, every movement feels like a tremendous effort. Your body feels slow and you feel a little dizzy. Maybe you should've eaten earlier.

The lock on the door unclicks.

Hyunjin enters the apartment, kicking off his shoes and locking the door behind himself. His hair is getting longer by the day, and he runs a veiny, ringed hand through the black spikiness of it as he drops his bag by the wall. He looks up, surprised, and his eyes meet yours.

You're stuck in place, rooted in fear. You're not sure why.

"Baby?" He says, voice floating over your head. "Why are you here?"

Your heart thuds dully. The first thing he says after coming home late. Again. He doesn't ask about the tears or the crying or the turned-off light or why you're still awake, no, he asks why you're here. Like you're a stray staff member on set rather than his lover at home.

"I live here, Hyunjin," you say coldly. The blood turns to ice in your veins, expression blank and unsurprised. "You would know that if you were actually home more often."

He flinches at your tone. Like he has no idea why you're upset to begin with. Like he hasn't been the sole cause of your misery for the past month. Like none of it is his fault.

He doesn't say anything. His expression betrays his feelings.

"Hyunjin," you say, in disbelief. He's not even trying to defend himself. He's just... standing there. The way you say his name makes you sound like you're begging and you hate yourself for it.

"Y/n, I just..." He runs a hand through his hair again, stepping forward. "I'm sorry, okay? I've been so stressed lately, and the tour preparation has taken so much out of me. I didn't mean to neglect you-"

"So you knew," you snap at him, tears welling. "I didn't say what was wrong, I never told you, but you knew. You knew that I felt alone and unappreciated."

He throws his hands up, exasperated. "I can't be there at your every beck and call, Y/n! I have my own life too!"

"So do I," you shout, voice rising. "I moved in with you so I'd be able to support you better, even if it meant that I had to travel further for work, even if it meant that I would get home later! I have my own life just as much as you do, Hyunjin, and it seems like all of it's going to waste-"

"It isn't!" He protests. "I like having you here-"

"But you're never here!" You cry finally. "Do you even love me anymore? Or do you just want to avoid me like you've been doing for the past month?"

Hyunjin sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Silence hangs over both of you like a heavy blanket, thick and suffocating. You can almost see the tension in the air, solid and unmoving.

He's a blurred shape in front of you, and you feel the hot streaking of tears down your face. You don't move, can't move.

"Y/n..."

You look up. Hyunjin looks defeated, tired, a quiet sort of finality settling behind his features. It makes him look so much older, that boyish charm and cheeky smile nowhere to be seen. And it breaks your heart more than he ever could. At least, you think so.

Your entire body feels rooted to the spot. Hyunjin steps behind the counter and sinks into a chair. The golden glow of the kitchen light above both of you does nothing to soften the moment.

"I really tried," he says quietly. Your heart thuds when he looks up at you, tears welling in his own eyes. "I tried to... Keep loving you."

Your mouth parts in distress, shocked. This isn't real. This isn't happening. "No."

His eyes are red-rimmed but his gaze is firm and set. "Why are you so afraid of the truth? Surely you understand that-"

"No!" You cry. You don't want to hear him say it, say that he doesn't love you anymore-

"I'm sorry," he says, a little louder. His voice cracks. "I just- I didn't know if I could make the time for you-"

"I did," you whisper fiercely. "I made time for you, for us, even when I had to sacrifice myself. Because I loved you more."

"You didn't have to do that-"

"I wanted to," you sob. "I made that choice, Hyunjin. Because I thought that if anyone could reciprocate the effort, if anyone could make me feel like the sacrifice was worth it, it was you."

"It's late," he whispers after a pause. "Please, come to bed with me. We can talk in the morning-"

"No."

Hyunjin goes silent. His eyes meet yours and there you stand, utterly defeated and exhausted, fed up, tired, and all the rest of it. But most of all, in disbelief. Because there's no way you thought this was going to happen. And the worst part is, you know exactly what you're supposed to do next. You knew this was coming, but now that it's here, you feel like throwing up.

He always said you were too independent for your own good.

"I thought I had everything figured out," you say weakly, a bitter smile curling the corners of your mouth. "And I did, but I see now that I'm the problem here. Not you."

A tear slips down Hyunjin's cheek. "That's not true."

"It is," you say, voice strong despite the salty tears streaking your face. "Because after a while, after all the lovebombing and the letters and gifts and dates and kisses, you stopped. Like you got bored of me, like I was just another one of your duties.

And you," you stab a finger at him, "You dragged it out instead of telling me, instead of wanting to fix us. You let me keep putting the effort in because you needed the love more than I did. You don't care about me, Hyunjin-"

"I do!" He cries. "I do care about you, Y/n, please, I love you. You mean so much to me, your effort makes such a difference, I'll do better, okay? I promise. Just please, please come to bed with me. It's late-"

"Oh, I know," you say venomously. "I know it's late, Hyunjin, because for the umpteenth time, your dinner got fed to Kkami instead of you. Because I'm such a fucking burden to you that you stay out late to avoid me."

You turn and grab your coat off the hook by the door. You cast him one last glance over your shoulder, bones made of concrete, limbs like unoiled joints. Tears soak your skin, irritated and sticky and puffy, but you slot your key in the door despite the watery blur in your vision. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of his voice. There's a thud and you know he's on his knees.

"Y/n," he cries, a choked sob leaving his throat, raw and strangled. "Please don't leave me. Please, okay? I'll do better."

You turn the key. "We're done, Hyunjin. I'll send someone to get my things."

You slam the door behind yourself, flying down the corridor, almost stumbling in the wake of your misery. Regret and guilt and determination flood your system so suddenly that you actually believe for a second that you might pass out.

But you don't. So you opt for the stairs instead of the lift, too afraid to stop moving, to stop and contemplate, then clatter down the levels, and disappear into the night, not knowing where you're going but knowing exactly what you've left behind.

Up in the apartment, Hyunjin screams.

a/n: oof . div by @kodaswrld

ttokki's taglist: @emilyywhyy @galaxy4489 @hyuneskkami @justsomekpopstuff @wavetohannie @strayingawayy @its-stayville-forever @sillyseob @wickedbutlovely @headfirstfortoro @lov3yv4mps @possum-playground @bear8585 @astraystayyh @m-325 @gnabnahcbby @mbioooo0000 @akindaflora @tsunderelino @hhwangsmoon @crazyforthatbangchandude @bluebellsringinghereandthere @ladylexis @tillaboo @geni-627 @jsngprk-vhs @stellasays45 @de-uns-tempos-pra-ca @luvvchn

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totallynotslothhh · 3 days ago

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Hiiiii I absolutely love ur one shots especially the snoring or sucking one,so cute!!!!!!

Soooo I wanted to request a joostxreader where joost is tired from all his work and the reader is also tired from her work,so the reader decide to take turn in massaging each other but when it comes to joost turn to massage the reader,her back is very sensitive so she keeps moaning and it escalates into something more than a massage 😍

Feel free to ignore this if u don’t like it!!!!

Also I absolutely love when someone is crashing me with their weight so I like the massage scenario cause well he’s sitting on the reader back (idk😔)

NECESSARY TIREDNESS

pairing: joost klein x fem!reader

word count: 3,279

warning: fluff, smut, spanking, dirty talking, fingering

description: just the request!!

author’s note: I had to make it up to you somehow, and most importantly I had to start working of some requests (i’m sooooooooo slow).

thank you so much anon for this request and the compliments, i love youu!!! your freaky minds mirror mine, don’t worry.

enjoy your reading!!! hope you like it, let me know what you think!

big kisses!

(sorry if there are grammatical errors, I tried my best, English is not my first language!!!🙏)

——————————————————————

The book I had promised myself I’d read -the one that had been buried in the old bookshelf of the apartment I shared with my boyfriend- ended up shamefully abandoned in the rumpled sheets, right next to the spot my body had occupied just seconds before I got up, lured by the sound of keys turning in the front door lock.

I tiptoed to the living room, peeking silently from the hallway and catching a glimpse of my boyfriend’s exhausted figure as he finally made it home.

He locked the door behind him and let out a curse under his breath, making me stifle a giggle as I tilted my head to watch him better: Baggy jeans, the heavy jacket, and the cap he’d been wearing constantly lately.

The scent of his arrival filled the house, that familiar smell that always managed to calm me, the one I found myself searching for everywhere and that I only ever truly rediscovered in our love nest.

His tired eyes landed on my hidden silhouette, and his face slowly gave way to a soft smile.

“Hey, baby” he murmured toward me, before setting the house keys down on the usual cabinet, shrugging off his heavy coat, and taking off the dark cap, as if even the fabric against his skin had started to bother him.

He was left in just his jeans and a plain black t-shirt, which you could tell from a mile away had survived the chaos of the music world.

It was a really stressful time for Joost: barely home, juggling the release of his new album, the tour, and a bunch of video shoots that kept him busy for entire days.

I missed him and we often ended up slipping into small arguments born out of that tension.

-“You were supposed to do the dishes and forgot.”-

-“You said you’d text me after work, but you didn’t.”-

-“You didn’t hang the laundry like you said you would.”-

-“You said you’d buy more detergent, but if I don’t do it, no one will.”-

You know, the everyday stuff couples bicker about.

I’d been pretty busy myself lately: work was overwhelming, stress piling up on my shoulders and the only thing I wanted the moment I got home was to disappear into my boyfriend’s arms, laugh about nothing, count the moles on his skin like they were stars in a constellation.

And more often than not, those weren’t wishes that could be granted.

But apparently, that day, luck was on my side.

I’d left work early, treated myself to a relaxing bath, and now I got to watch my boyfriend come home before ten at night. A miracle.

“I’m so tired” he mumbled with a sigh, heading toward me and down the hallway, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to fix it, only to mess it up even more.

I walked barefoot to meet him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as his hands instinctively settled on my hips, both of us still moving forward, unwilling to let go.

Our clumsy steps brought us to the bathroom door, where Joost looked down at me with a smile and brushed a hand against my cheek.

“I was hoping you’d be home” he admitted, nudging his nose against my forehead before catching my lips in a kiss. I hummed quietly, rising on my toes and letting my hands glide over his warm shoulders, savoring the closeness.

“I was hoping you’d come home early” I whispered back, playfully nipping at his lower lip and pulling him even closer. Like if I let go, he might disappear.

I was wearing only a pair of panties and one of his white shirts, every time I hugged him or stood on tiptoe, the thin fabric slipped and revealed patches of bare skin, giving Joost’s hands all the room they needed. He gripped my bare waist, sending shivers down my spine and leaned in again, trailing soft, lingering kisses on my lips, savoring the moment between each one just to look at me, to admire me.

“Mmm, you stink” I teased with a giggle, sticking my tongue out playfully, which he caught gently between his lips and bit without pressure before replying.

“Thanks for the heads-up. Had really no idea” he said, letting his hand sneak down to grab a bare cheek.

“If my favorite little leech lets me go for just a second, I’ll take a shower and then I’m all yours” he whispered warmly, his voice scratchy with fatigue but softened by the love that laced every word.

“Without this leech, who knows under which bridge you’d be living” I shot back, my teasing clear and his laugh that followed proved I’d hit the mark. I relaxed my arms and let him go, planting another kiss on his lips before I stepped away.

“I really should thank you” he said with the same playful tone, taking advantage of the fact that I’d turned to walk back to the bedroom: his hand landing gently on my exposed butt, the soft slap echoing faintly. I giggled and let out a dramatic little groan, pretending to complain as I made my way back to our bed, crawling under the sheets and trying to pick up the thread of the book I’d abandoned.

After what felt like endless minutes, I saw him walk into the room wearing a bathrobe wrapped around his body and a towel draped over his hair. He threw me a glance with those soft, little eyes of his, carrying with them a familiar kind of tenderness.

“So tired you turned to reading?” he said as he rummaged through the underwear drawer, eventually grabbing a random pair of boxers.

I shifted my legs under the blanket and rolled my eyes toward the ceiling, biting back a smile by pressing my lips together.

“Wanna bet my plan to give you a massage is slowly disappearing?” I raised an eyebrow, closing the book and letting it rest on the nightstand , this time for good. The only thing on my mind now was indulging in some well-deserved affection with the Dutch man standing by our bed.

“Oh my God, yes please baby, I need it” his eyes practically lit up as he looked at me, almost pleading, before dropping the towel and slipping into the pair of boxers he’d just picked up.

“What now? You begging the leech for a shoulder rub?” I teased, sitting up on the mattress while he groaned in protest, mumbling some incoherent mix of words as he let himself fall onto the bed.

“You’re submissive for a massage” I whispered with a smirk, lowering my tone, running a hand through his damp hair before leaning down to press a light kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll give you one later” he muttered, letting his eyes slowly roam over my half exposed body. He reached out and let his thumb trail gently along my bare thigh.

I nodded, recognizing the unspoken agreement and caught his rough hand with mine.

“Come here” I said softly, moving my hand away from his messy hair. I sat cross-legged, waiting for the slow, lazy bear to settle himself in front of me.

I placed my hands on his tense shoulders and helped him relax into me. I loosened my legs, resting them on either side of his torso, comfortably against my abdomen. His arms wrapped around my knees, his hands lazily caressing my calves and his face tilted up to meet my gaze.

“Relax, love” I whispered, my fingers kneading the muscles in his shoulders, pulling a low, guttural moan from his throat as he inhaled and exhaled slowly, letting the tension melt from his body.

“yes baby” I breathed out, letting my thumbs travel to the nape of his neck and then down along his arms. Every spot I touched, I moved gently, slowly, not forcing anything, just trying to work out the stress and exhaustion that had built up over the long, relentless days behind us.

The room was filled only with the sound of our steady breathing, and the occasional soft smack of kisses I leaned down to give him: on his face, often on his lips. I kept massaging him for a solid ten minutes, while his hands caressed from my ankle to my knee, mimicking the pressure I was applying to his shoulders, as if to hint at what he was planning to do next.

“Turn around, baby, and take off your shirt” he murmured, letting go of my legs and shifting on the bed, now kneeling on the mattress. His eyes lingered first on my face, then slowly dropped to my body which didn’t hesitate to obey, slipping off the shirt and collapsing face down onto the bed with a soft sigh.

“Be gentle” I warned, resting my arms at my sides and almost instinctively pressing my breast into the plushness of the mattress to hide it.

“As if I don’t know that already” he replied with a breathy chuckle that cradled my ears and gave me the reassurance I needed to close my eyes and trust him. He straddled me, and I felt the weight of his hips settle against the curve of my backside, his hands placing themselves on my back, right between my shoulder blades.

He began to move his tattooed fingers gently, drawing from me nothing but soft moans and light sighs. My muscles tensed beneath his touch, and my shoulders curled in reaction.

“Breathe, you’re a bundle of nerves” he said, his voice dangerously close to my ear, a clear sign he had leaned down against my body. A cascade of shivers ran down my spine, and Joost’s hands took that as encouragement.

He kept gliding them down the length of my spine, reaching the dimples just above my hips, then pressing softly but firmly as he traced his way back up toward my shoulders. A louder moan slipped past my lips, echoing like a quiet confession that reached his ears.

The more he realized he could draw those sounds from me, the more he caressed and kneaded my back. I could feel the full weight of his body pressing into the curve of my ass, and that pressure only intensified the heat pulsing through me, settling insistently between my thighs and dampening the fabric of my underwear.

“A massage isn’t the only thing you need to relax, huh?” he muttered, halting the movements of his hands as his lips brushed over the sensitive skin of my neck, stealing a sigh that had been caught in my throat.

I bit my bottom lip and arched my back just slightly, barely grinding against his hips.

“Answer me” he whispered again against my skin, gradually leaving a trail of teasing bites that marked a chaotic path down my back. I opened my eyes for a second, catching a glimpse of him from the corner of my gaze, only to close them again when he rose off me and then came the smack. A sharp slap to one cheek, followed by a firm squeeze.

“You already know the answer” I mumbled, the words muffled against the pillow I was now gripping tightly with one hand. Another slap landed, this time on the other cheek, followed by the soothing stroke of a palm, easing the sting with gentle pressure.

“Tell me you want to be fucked” he said, voice oddly calm, as he leaned down with the full weight of his body pressing into my ass. I could feel his erection, growing and insistent, the need between us undeniable and building fast.

I let out a quiet, breathy laugh and clenched the pillow harder, feeling exposed and feverish.

How long had it been since we last had sex? A week? It felt like it.

Suddenly, his hand tangled shamelessly in my hair, yanking my head back and forcing me to arch my spine.

“Say it” his voice rasped close to my ear, and I let out a sharp moan at the tight grip, clutching the pillow even harder and wetting my lips.

“I want it. Fuck me..” I breathed out the words in a half-whisper, barely more than air in the room but they reached him, completely.

He let go of my hair only to bring that same hand around my neck. He didn’t squeeze too hard, just held me steady as he kissed me open-mouthed along my shoulder and into the hollow of my neck, licking hungrily and adding sharp bites that would soon bloom red on my skin.

I closed my eyes, parted my lips, and let out obscene sounds from the overwhelming stimulation prickling through every part of my body. He began grinding slowly against my ass and gently guided my head back down to the pillow, loosening the hold on my neck as his lips traveled the length of my back.

I bit down on my lower lip and released a hot, sex-laced sigh that seemed to stain the white walls of our bedroom. He grabbed the edge of my panties and pulled them slowly upward, creating delicious friction between the soaked fabric and my dripping sex. I squeezed my thighs together and lifted my hips slightly.

“Please, Joost” I murmured, right before the third slap landed on my ass. I jolted from the sensitivity and held my breath.

Without another word, I felt him rise off me and walk to the bedside drawer. He pulled out a condom and tossed it onto the bed near my nearly naked body.

I watched him: the way his hands moved, his flushed cheeks, his heaving chest, his hair almost completely dry but still messy. Our eyes met, and he gave me one of his warmest smiles, the kind that made me curl inward and bury half my face into my hands.

Every time, it felt like the first time. I was so deeply in love with how he loved me.

“You’re beautiful” he said as he climbed back onto the bed, leaning over me to reach the side of my face.

His hand slid between my legs, under my panties and began moving his middle and ring fingers over my entrance, which clenched around nothing the moment I felt his touch.

I muttered something chiding, overwhelmed by how he made me feel, only to be answered with a kiss on my shoulder and a soft laugh, followed by a playful bite.

Then he slid those two fingers inside me from behind, and I tensed, eyes rolling back as raw, instinctive moans left my throat.

“One day, I swear I’ll sample these sounds in one of my songs” he groaned against the tender skin of my neck, never stopping the slow thrusting of his fingers.

I blushed hard, letting the heat flood my face.

“You perv” I whispered through a breathless laugh, cut off by a loud, guttural moan as he smacked my already flushed right cheek, harder this time.

“The same perv you’re begging to fuck you, that’s some real consistency” he teased again, but I let his words slip through my fingers and answered only with more needy, gasping moans.

He pulled his hand out of my panties that didn’t take off, just moved them to the side, revealing what he wanted. I turned my head as much as I could to look at him, and our eyes locked again.

My heart stuttered in my chest from the sheer love I felt for him in that moment.

He knelt on the bed, gripped my hips, and lifted them slightly, making my back arch on instinct. I heard him let out a sigh of pleasure at the sight, probably one of his favorites, since he never failed to tell me how much he loved it.

He pulled off the boxers he had just put on, freeing his erection, painfully hard and throbbing. I shifted my hips, waiting for him to bury himself inside me while he was putting on the condom. Finally, we connected and though our mouths were apart, our breaths merged into one long, trembling sigh. I tightened around his length as he began to move, slow at first, sweet, careful but deep.

He leaned over me as he thrust deeper, our bodies echoing with wet, shameless sounds.

His fingers tangled in my hair again, gently turning my head to the side: my lips spilled moans and my eyes fluttered halfway closed from the pleasure flooding through me. He kissed my cheek, my lips as best he could, then focused on my neck and shoulders, biting and kissing with hunger.

He tugged my hair tighter and pressed my face into the pillow, increasing the force of his movements. They were messy now, hard and fast, driven by something deeper than lust. Our moans grew louder, blending into one another. My lower back ached but I didn’t care. It only amplified my arousal, building the climax that was beginning to form in my core.

“Let go… it’s okay” he groaned against my shoulder, leaving a bite there that I knew would last for days.

I was overstimulated, lost in him and his thrusts grew harder, matching the rhythm my body needed to fall apart. I shut my eyes tight, my leg muscles tensed and Joost’s hands now held firmly onto my hips, gripping hard enough to leave red marks.

“I love you y/n… I’ll never stop loving you”he whispered and that’s what pushed me over the edge.

My orgasm crashed into me. My hands gripped the bedsheet, my face buried in the pillow, my hips locked tight while his length kept pounding into me without pause.

I rode the wave, trembling and didn’t relax until I felt him finish too, thick and deep into the condom, slowing his thrusts as he collapsed over me. One of his hands clenched the bedsheet, the other sought mine.

“Fuck… fuck” he breathed, his mouth open, staying buried inside me for a few seconds longer before pulling out, removing the condom and tossing it in the bin beside the bed.

I let my hips go slack, groaning from the soreness in my lower back.

“You okay?” Joost’s completely spent body slid beside mine, his hand brushing softly through my hair as he motioned for me to come lie against his chest.

I accepted his invitation immediately. I moved with a bit of pain, wrapping an arm around his torso and resting my head on his chest, tangling our legs together.

“Yeah… I’m perfect” I murmured, lifting my eyes to him, taking in the sweat on his forehead, the exhaustion in his eyes and the smile still tugging at his lips.

“I love you too” I replied in the same low tone, leaning in a little to silently ask for a kiss. He lifted a hand to gently caress my cheek, and met my lips with his.

He pressed a few quick kisses to my lips, each one landing with a loud little pop that made me laugh.

“I should put this beautiful laugh in a song, too” he murmured against my lips, not stopping the soft rhythm of them brushing against his.

“Don’t even think about it” I warned, pulling back gently just enough to look him in the eyes, trying to pass off a serious look.

It only made him laugh: that sweet, boyish laugh of his.

Not that it mattered. He was going to do it anyway.

Sooner or later he would come home with a song made from my moans and laughter, only to see me embarrassed.

#joost klein x reader #joost x reader #joost fanfic #joost x you #fanfic #fanficz #joost klein smut #joost klein x y/n #joost klein fluff #joost klein x you #joost klein fanfic #joost klein rpf #requestz

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