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robbysreaders · 2 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

446 notes · View notes

w0nderland42 · 15 hours ago

Text

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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suliigwp · 19 hours ago

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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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somemismatchedsocks · 1 day ago

Text

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 · 1 day 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.”

#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 · 16 hours ago

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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

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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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cheriedivine · 3 days ago

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𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 | Chapter 7

previous | chapter 7 | next

꩜ synopsis: you’re best friends. just best friends. except when she lingers a little too long at your door. except when she calls you her favorite, and it doesn’t feel like a joke. except when her fingers graze yours and neither of you pull away. except when you start to wonder if she’s wondering, too…

꩜ pairing: Ellie Williams x fem reader (No use of y/n)

꩜ content warnings: smoking, weed, smut (finally)

꩜ WC: 11.7k

꩜ Author’s note: THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING SMUT AND IM SO TERRIFIED PLZ… also thank u guys for the sweet comments and messages i’m over the moon grateful, this series is so special to me and it’s not even close to be done okay… y’all will get tired of my ass. Anyway enjoy the chapter love u happy pride month<3

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

"Wait, but when did you actually catch feelings for me, though?" you asked for what had to be the millionth time.

Honestly, Ellie didn’t mind repeating herself. If anything, she kind of loved it. The way you always wanted to hear it again, like replaying your favorite song over and over again. Every time she recalled it, she seemed to remember something new. Like the way your eyes lingered just a second too long on hers when you talked, or how your pinkies always seemed to find each other when you sat side by side. Small things. Things she could never forget.

September had slipped by quickly, and in the blink of an eye, October had arrived, trading warm evenings for cooler nights and scattering orange and brown leaves across the sidewalks. It had been a month since your first kiss, (Not like you were counting or whatever). A month of sleepovers, shared sweaters, tangled limbs, nonstop texting, and sneaking into the diner’s back office during your breaks for rushed makeout sessions. Maria had almost banned you from going back there altogether. Ellie had just grinned and said, “Worth the risk.”

“I’ve told you like, a hundred times,” she said now, clearly enjoying the way you whined for her to say it again.

The two of you were tangled up on her couch, limbs lazily thrown over each other. Ellie was supposed to be sorting through prints for her gallery, her best photos from the week. Some from your recent hangouts: walks in the park under trees turned orange, city crosswalks filled with motion blur, candids of you laughing or distracted, the occasional stray cat she couldn’t help but snap. She’d taken the gallery prep seriously. Of course she had to. But lately, it was like you kept happening to her, distracting and consuming in all the best, worst ways.

You sat curled up on the couch, legs tucked under yourself, a book open in your lap, rereading the same paragraph over and over. You weren’t even paying attention to the text. How were you supposed to focus when she looked like that? Her sleeves pushed up, veins visible along her tattooed forearm as she leaned over her table, elbows braced, studying the scattered prints.

“Your death stare is making it very hard for me to analyze these pictures,” she muttered without looking up.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mhm. I can feel it burning a hole through my skull.”

“Can’t help it,” you said, smiling. “You’re too pretty.”

God, the way that made her chest flutter. She shook her head, hiding a tiny smile. Trying to play it cool, but she was already blushing hard. She gathered up the prints and slid them into a folder, then walked over and dropped her full body weight onto you with a dramatic sigh. Her favorite move. Full body crush, almost knocking the air out of your lungs. Face buried in your chest like she could inhale you and forget the gallery pressure altogether.

You didn’t mind. Not even a little. You stroked her hair slowly, gently, like she was fragile, like you knew how much she needed softness. You stayed like that for a while, Ellie breathing you in, inhaling your scent like the oxygen she needed to live, her eyes were closed as you ran your fingers through her hair.

Both of you spent more time together. Even more than before. On the rare day you didn’t hang out because your schedules didn’t align, it felt like a tragedy. Like someone had sent her off to war. It was all so giddy, high school-level giddy. You felt like a teenager again…sneaking out of the group hangs early just to be alone with her. Play-fighting over who had to hang up first. So many dates, even if Ellie still stubbornly insisted on calling them hangouts like it made a difference. You’d been doing the romantic shit before you even kissed.

“C’monnn, just wanna make sure you weren’t secretly foolin’ me or something.” You pouted again, that same little face that made Ellie’s knees weak every time.

Ellie groaned and buried her face deeper into your chest, voice muffled. “I mean, what haven’t I told you?” Then she tilted her face to look up at you, cheeks slightly red from being squished against you.

“When we met I was basically obsessed with you. But I told myself, ‘Don’t be a creep, Ellie. This is why you only have one friend. Stop being delusional.’” She paused, a little smile tugging at her lips. “But with you, everything felt different. Like I didn’t have to hide. Still, I was too stubborn to admit I liked you like that. Lived in constant denial.”

You watched her talk. Taking in every expression, you could study her mouth and eyes for hours and never get bored. The way her brow furrowed when she talked about feelings. The way her voice softened at the edges when she looked at you like this. You’d heard this story before, at least a dozen times. And still, it made something warm unravel in your chest.

“So that explains the flirting with random girls?” you asked, raising an eyebrow in mock interrogation.

She groaned. “I had to cope in some way, plus seeing all those guys hit on you at the diner kinda ripped me apart, but didn’t say anything.”

“I told you,” you said, crossing your arms, “I laugh when I’m nervous. Doesn’t mean I liked it. Plus, I flirted with you all the time. You were just too hard-headed to notice.”

Ellie grabbed the nearest cushion and tossed it at your face.

Which of course triggered a full-blown pillow war.

You wrestled and squealed and laughed until Ellie gave up and surrendered. You were breathless, Ellie’s limbs sprawled on the couch, with you sitting between her legs, flushed and grinning.

And then she grabbed your face, gently leaning in, still catching her breath and kissed you like she’d been waiting all day to do it.

You think about it all the time. How everything but still nothing changed after the kiss, like it was always meant to go this way. There was no big moment or sudden change. Just small things that added up to everything.

Ellie started picking you up after your late shifts, waiting out front in her beat up truck with the heater cranked and a hoodie in the passenger seat for you to throw on. She always claimed you looked better in her clothes, especially that faded blue hoodie, the one she kept pretending she didn’t miss when you “accidentally” took it home.

Your hangouts had shifted into something else. There wasn’t that quiet, aching longing hanging in the air anymore, not in the same way. After that night at your apartment, Ellie promised she’d take you on a date. A real one.

Like the kind you’d gush about in those cheesy movies you love, and what better place to live out a cliché than the fair…where the air was thick with fried grease and too-loud pop music, and where she finally had a decent excuse to hold your hand on the roller coasters.

Neon lights blinked in seizure-inducing patterns while kids screamed on rickety rides in the distance. Ellie had dragged you from booth to booth, fully committed to her vendetta against rigged carnival games.

“I swear this is the one,” she said, squinting at the line of wobbling bottles.

“You said that about the ring toss. And basketball. And the darts.”

Her eyes locked on the duck shooting booth. Yellow plastic ducks glided across a narrow trough, jerking mechanically as bubbles popped around them.

“Oh,” she said, eyes glinting. “This is my game.”

You trailed behind her as she calmly gave the booth guy a crumpled five, taking her jacket off and handing it over to you.

She rolled up the sleeves of her flannel, revealing her forearms, tattoo on full display, veins trailing down to her hands like thunders on a stormy night and took her place at the mounted water gun like it was a sniper rifle.

You blinked. “Oh my god.”

She leaned in. Tongue poking out slightly. Face unreadably focused. Hands gripping the water gun with total control, like she’d done this before, maybe in a past life. The light caught the curve of her jaw just right, and your brain short-circuited.

You started to feel as if you had been lit up in fire, was it hot in here?

Ellie didn’t speak. She just adjusted her stance a little, lips pursed, and let the water stream rip. One by one, the ducks fell, each hit perfectly in the center like she had memorized the timing and rhythm.

By the time the buzzer rang, Ellie had cleared the whole line.

You stared at her, wide eyed. “What the fuck,” you breathed.

Ellie blew imaginary smoke from the tip of the gun. “Told you. My game.”

You gaped. “Are you secretly, like… ex-military?”

“Duck assassin,” she replied coolly, already pointing to a shelf of prizes.

She chose the smallest one, a crooked little stuffed bear with lopsided button eyes and shoved it into your arms in exchange of her jacket, like it wasn’t a big deal, even though she was clearly suppressing a smug smile.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Uh-huh.” She bumped her shoulder into yours. “You like the bear though.”

You did. Stupidly so.

You held it to your chest and muttered, “Yeah I do.”

She was grinning like stupid, tossing her jacket over your shoulders like a shield, as she grabbed your hand and dragged you to the next game.

You still sleep with that bear sometimes. Not that you’d ever tell her.

Another time, it was the planetarium. This one had been your idea, half-jokingly, you didn’t expect much when you pitched it, just a casual “we could go to the planetarium or whatever,” but when the words fell out of your lips Ellie’s eyes gleamed like a kid on christmas morning.

“No way,” she’d said, practically bouncing. “I thought you weren’t into that kind of stuff?”

“Wanna go or no?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m in.”

She’d shown up five minutes early, hair still damp from a rushed shower, hoodie zipped up to her chin, smelling faintly like mint and laundry detergent. Her eyes were wide, childlike, curious, like she wasn’t totally sure what she was about to walk into but her pulse rushed from the thrill.

Inside, the lights dimmed. The dome lit up. Stars bloomed across the ceiling like someone had torn open the sky. Ellie tilted her head all the way back, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. “Holy shit,” she whispered. “This is… fucking sick.”

You were already watching her more than the ceiling.

“Knew you’d like it,” you said, voice low.

She didn’t even respond. Just stared upward, entranced, like the stars were spelling out something only she could read.

Halfway through the show, during some slow narration about galaxies forming, you felt her hand brush against yours on the shared armrest. A light graze. Just the backs of your fingers, hesitant at first. Then she slid her pinky over yours, this time more purposeful. Like it was no big gesture, but you felt like the sun was imploding inside of you.

She didn’t say anything, didn’t look at you, just linked your fingers together, her thumb tracing small circles over yours, soft and delicate.

Her voice stayed low the whole time, whispering random facts on your ear, with the sweetest tone, like she couldn’t help herself.

“Neptune’s winds are faster than the speed of sound,” she muttered. “Like… hypersonic. That’s insane.”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, too distracted by the glint in her eye.

“And Jupiter’s Great Red Spot is a storm. Like a storm. It’s been raging for three hundred years and it’s big enough to fit Earth inside it, like—” she made a quiet whooshing sound, “—in one bite.”

Her hand squeezed yours a little. Like she got excited and forgot she was even holding you.

You nodded. “That’s… intense.”

She shot you a glance. “You’re not listening, are you?”

She could’ve told you the sun was made of hot dogs and you wouldn’t have noticed. You were too busy staring at her profile, glowing faintly blue under the artificial sky.

“Yeah, no sorry I got a bit lost, what did you say?”

Ellie smirked, a bit shy now. “Nothing.”

She leaned in slightly, placing a quick peck on the top of your head, breathing in your perfume, then turned away, but she saw the smile tug at your lips.

After the show, you walked out into the cool night air, fingers still brushing like they weren’t quite ready to let go.

“I’m not usually, like… a space person. But that was cool.” You said, as you walked out into the night.

Ellie bumped her shoulder into yours. “You’re a space person now. Deal with it.”

You gave her a look, maybe more earnest than you meant it to be. “Only because of you.”

She paused. Looking at you. Then shoved her hands in her hoodie pocket and looked away, clearly fighting a smile.

“Whatever,” she mumbled, ears a little pink. “You’re welcome.”

You both stood there for a second, silent.

But your favorite one was definitely the arcade date. You hadn’t planned it, it was just one of those random afternoons where Ellie showed up at the diner unannounced, leaning against the doorframe waiting for your shift to be over, with that smug little grin of hers.

“You busy?” she asked, truck keys twirling around her fingers.

You weren’t. Not even a little.

The drive was filled with chatter, windows rolled down, music loud, and Ellie’s hand tapping against the steering wheel, like she was playing the backup drums on whatever song was playing. You were both laughing, until you passed a neon sign that read ARCADE & PIZZA, you practically almost turned the wheel yourself.

“Wait Ellie turn around—pull over.”

Ellie flinched. “Okay okay— Jesus you scared me for a second.” You grinned, already unbuckling your seatbelt as Ellie pulled over the parking lot.

“I haven’t been to an arcade since I was like twelve I think” you said as you threw Ellie’s hoodie over your head.

“Wow. Nerd” she snorted, earning a small kick on her heel.

Inside, it smelled like childhood. Pizza and dusty carpets, it was oddly nostalgic. The place was loud, packed with kids and their parents, and a couple of teenagers. Neon lights were blindingly colorful, you felt like your twelve year old self again.

“Alright,” she said, cracking her knuckles dramatically. “Where the competition at?”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe over there, at Jason’s 9th birthday party.” you joked, pointing at the table surrounded by little kids.

Ellie scoffed, “Pffft, easy wins, where is the real competition at?" she glanced over at you.

Oh, you knew where this was going.

“Just say you want to get your ass kicked by me, Williams, not that hard.”

Her grin widened. “You’re on now. Loser pays for the winner’s pizza.”

“Deal.” Both of you squeezed your hands, like you were making some sort of business deal, but this was way more serious.

You didn’t know Ellie had a competitive streak until she practically shoved a 10-year-old out of the way to get to the skee-ball machine.

“Ellie,” you hissed. “You can’t just—”

“He was taking forever,” she snapped, already rolling the ball with deadly focus. “I got shit to prove.”

She won three games in a row.

“Okay, what the fuck,” you growled, staring at the air hockey scoreboard like it had insulted your ancestors. “You’re cheating. There’s no way.”

“You’re just bad,” she teased, throwing the small ball in the air and catching it with her hand. “Maybe I should give you lessons. Private ones.”

“Wow. Cocky.”

“I mean, I did just wipe the floor with you.”

“Oh yeah?” you leaned forward, tempting her, but then you turned around, spotting the motorcycle racing game. Two bikes. One screen. Destiny.

You dragged her over the machine, both mounted the fake bikes revving them like you’d trained your whole lives. Ellie leaned forward, focused her hands gripping the throttle. Her tongue poked out, focused. You knew that look.

Meanwhile you adjusted yourself on the seat, inserting the quarters on the coin slot, your back was slightly arched, causing your shirt to ride up a little and making the small dimples on your lower back visible. Ellie almost fell from her bike at the sight of that. And you weren’t even aware.

“It’s over for you Williams, prepare to eat dust.” you teased.

“You fucking wish.”

The countdown started and the game launched. You took the lead, she trailed behind you, both leaning into turns like you were actually swerving through a neon-lit city. At one moment, your eyes drifted toward Ellie’s arms, her forearm tattoo flexing, adorned by her pulsing veins from gripping the bike handle. God it was unfair—you almost forgot you were in a competition with her.

“Hey, eyes on the road,” she joked, but she was secretly enjoying your staring.

In the end? You won. Throwing your arms up in celebration. “HA. SUCK IT.”

Ellie blinked at the scoreboard in disbelief, “No. Rematch. Right now. My screen lagged.”

“Boohoo excuses are for losers.” you laughed so hard you almost fell off your bike.

The next stop was the dance machine.

Ellie looked skeptical. “I don’t know, dude…”

You were already dragging her by the hoodie. “Nope. No backing out. It’s fate.”

She rolled her eyes but followed. “If I break my ankle, I’m blaming you.”

The game started. The song was fast, the tiles lit up like a rave, and the both of you? Horrible dancers. Absolutely terrible.

You couldn’t stop laughing. Ellie missed the first five steps, almost fell twice, and kept yelling “this is a fucking death trap!” like the machine was out to get her.

But then, something shifted.

Halfway through, she got weirdly into it. Jaw set. Eyes sharp. She started nailing every step, stomping on the lit tiles like she was born in a dancing tournament. She even grabbed your waist at one point, spinning you into position like it was a choreographed number.

“Are you sabotaging me?” you shrieked.

“This is war,” she said, dead serious.

She won that round. You demanded a rematch. She won again.

“Okay,” you panted, doubled over. “You win this one.”

“Jealous.”

“You literally looked like you were summoning demons with your feet.”

“And?”

You played other games after that. Basketball hoops. Whack-a-mole. She tried to win you a prize at the claw machine and got so mad she almost kicked it.

But then— you saw it. The air hockey table.

You gasped. “Oh no.”

Ellie followed your gaze. “Oh yes.”

You both slammed quarters into the machine. Ellie narrowed her eyes, “I’m going to annihilate you.” she said.

You smirked. “You literally just lost the motorcycle race.”

Ellie sighed like a martyr. “Fine. But I’m not holding back.”

“You’ve never held back in your life.”

You both slid your coins in. The machine lit up with that familiar vvvvvmmm of the puck loading up. Ellie rolled her shoulders, cracked her knuckles, and positioned herself like she was about to defuse a bomb. You grabbed your paddle like it was a mortal weapon.

The puck dropped.

The first point? Yours. Quick and clean.

“Fuck yeah!” you whooped, lifting your arms.

Ellie pointed dramatically. “Beginner’s luck.”

The next round? She scored while you were still dancing from your previous win.

“Rude!” you cried.

“Focus up,” she said, eyes glinting.

You both got so intense. The puck clacked across the table like a bullet. Your knuckles started aching from the collisions. Ellie was muttering things like “calculated trajectory” and “this is physics, baby,” which was ridiculous and also extremely hot.

The score climbed. 4 to 4. 5 to 5. 6 to 6.

Final point.

She squinted at you over the rim of the table. “Winner gets a kiss.”

You blinked. “You just made that up.”

“So?”

“…Fair.”

The puck shot out again, and for a moment, everything slowed. Ellie lunged. You twisted your paddle. The puck bounced off the wall—

—and slid right into her goal.

You blinked. Slowly. Then looked up.

Victory.

Ellie just stood there, stunned. Paddle slack in her hand.

“I think you’re choking,” you said softly. “Want some victory soda?”

She groaned, dragging both hands down her face. “I hate this stupid game. This game is rigged. It’s broken.”

“You’re a bad loser, you know that?” you grinned, crossing your arms.

“Can I at least get a consolation prize?” she pouted, and gave her a small kiss on her cheek.

Those memories blurred together now. Warm and fast, like a highlight reel you couldn’t help but replay in your head. The way Ellie had looked at you in the planetarium, her face glowing with stars. The way her tongue poked out when she focused, sleeves rolled up, eyes sharp, and tattoo flexing. The way her hand gripped your waist during that stupid dance game, both of you laughing too hard to breathe.

You hadn’t slept together yet…not all the way, but the tension had started blooming between you in glances and lingering touches and shared hoodies, every moment a little more fragile. All of it, layered like sediment, the slow, quiet shift between friendship and whatever this had become.

Now, Ellie was lying on top of you like a human blanket, gallery prints long forgotten, the curve of her nose pressed into your chest. She was supposedly taking a break,though it had turned into her full-body flopping onto you with all the drama of someone who hadn’t slept in three days. You threaded your fingers through her hair, scratching lightly at her scalp the way you knew she liked. She let out a hum, breath slow and even against your collarbone.

“You’re supposed to be working on your gallery,” you reminded her softly, lips brushing the crown of her head.

“M’working,” she mumbled. “Just horizontally.”

“Ellie.”

She groaned into your chest. “Just five more minutes.”

“You said that fifteen minutes ago.”

“Well now I mean it.”

You smiled despite yourself, thumb brushing over her temple. Her whole body was warm and heavy and tangled with yours, one of her legs slung over both of yours, her arm wrapped lazily around your waist. She wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

Ellie sighed dramatically, face still smushed into your chest. “Mmm. Don’t wanna do the gallery. Hate the gallery. Gallery sucks.”

You laughed. “You’re the one who’s been obsessing over it for weeks.”

“Yeah, but right now I’m busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Laying on top of the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Very important.”

You rolled your eyes, heart doing the embarrassing flutter it always did when she said shit like that. You ran your fingers through her hair again, feeling her melt further into you.

There was a pause. Soft. Heavy.

Then Ellie looked up, that specific gleam in her eye that always meant trouble.

“What if we ditched this gallery prep bullshit for a little while?” she said.

You raised a brow. “And do what, exactly?”

“I dunno. Go for a drive. Kidnap a raccoon. Smoke a joint on the beach. Something not involving fluorescent lights and burn out.”

You bit your lip. Thinking about it. The clock blinked past 10 pm. The apartment was quiet. The weight of October air clung outside the windows, thick and chilly.

You sat up slightly. “Wait. Beach?”

Ellie grinned. “Beach.”

You both got up immediately, snatching your jackets and hoodies, slipping into your shoes in a rush. You grabbed your bag as Ellie tossed a blanket at you and snatched her keys before the two of you hurried out of the studio.

The windows were cracked. Your hair whipped around your face in the night wind. Ellie drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting absentmindedly on your thigh, her thumb tracing light circles over the fabric of your jeans.

She looked free, wind in her hair, face lit up by the passing headlights, radio humming low.

You couldn’t stop smiling.

The beach was mostly deserted, just the soft hum of the tide and the faraway glow of streetlights behind you. You hopped out of the truck, the sand sticking on your shoes damp beneath your feet.

Ellie tossed you her hoodie, hitting you straight to your face.

“Hey!”

“You’ll thank me later,” she grinned.

You pulled it on without protest. It smelled like her cologne, warm and familiar. “Thanks.”

“Race you to the shore!” she shouted, already kicking off her boots.

“Wait!” you laughed, fumbling with your own shoes before taking off after her. Your bag bounced against your side with every step, slipping off your shoulder as you ran, breathless and giggling as the cold air filled your lungs.

At one point, Ellie turned suddenly and knocked you off balance, wrapping her arms around you as she spun you both around. You tumbled to the ground in a heap, landing right on top of her, both of you breathless, your cheeks flushed from the cold and the rush of it all.

You turned onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow as you looked at her.

“It’s… really nice out here.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, brushing the sand from her jeans as she stood. Then she held out a hand. “Come on. Let’s take a walk.”

You slipped your fingers into hers without hesitation, like muscle memory. Like saying yes to her had always been easy.

The two of you wandered toward the water, the waves stretching out endlessly before you.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as you walked, a light breeze brushing over your skin, carrying the scent of salt and earth. Ellie’s jeans were cuffed above her ankles, feet bare, toes sinking into the wet sand beside yours.

She was quiet for a while, and you didn’t rush her. The silence was soft between you, not heavy.

Then, almost like she was thinking out loud, she said, “I think I’m burnt out.”

You glanced over, watching her eyes follow the moonlit waves. “From the gallery?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It’s like… the more I try to prepare, the more it feels like I’m running on empty. Like I’m squeezing everything out of myself and there’s nothing left to give.” She gave a small laugh, dry and tired. “Kinda pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic,” you said gently. “You’ve been putting your whole heart into it. That’s a lot.”

Ellie didn’t answer right away. She just kept walking.

“Maybe,” you added after a beat, “you don’t need to squeeze anything out. Maybe you just need to breathe a little. Let yourself recharge.”

She looked at you then. Really looked at you. And something in her expression softened.

“Maybe some fresh air is exactly what you needed,” you said, nudging her shoulder lightly. “Who knows—maybe the ocean brings back your inspiration.”

But her inspiration was standing right in front of her, with wide eyes and a soft smile, that same smile that reassured her from her doubts and fears, that made her believe everything was gonna be alright.

Ellie snorted. “Yeah maybe.”

You kept walking a little farther until the sand grew softer and untouched, the sound of the waves a little gentler here. Ellie paused, scanning the area before she pulled the blanket out from where it had been tucked under her arm.

She laid it down carefully, smoothing it out before sinking onto it with a sigh. You sat beside her, legs crossed, watching as she leaned back on her hands and tilted her head toward the sky.

The stars were scattered and quiet tonight. The kind you could get lost staring at without realizing how much time had passed. A breeze passed over you both, cooler now, but comforting. Ellie’s arm brushed yours as she shifted slightly to get more comfortable.

The sound of the waves filled the silence between you, steady and calming. You both had your jeans cuffed, ankles cold and damp from the water. The blanket was barely big enough for two. Your knees were touching.

Ellie was rummaging through the pocket of her jacket with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Boom.”

She held up a perfectly rolled blunt between two fingers like she was revealing a magic trick.

You blinked, then burst out laughing. “You’re gonna get me fired, you know that?”

“Please,” she scoffed, pulling out a lighter, “you can just live with me and be my muse forever. I’ll make you coffee in the mornings. Feed you clementines while you read on the couch.”

She lit the blunt, taking a painfully slow drag, and passed it to you. The smoke curled around her lips and you wanted nothing else but to press yours against hers.

“Muse salary probably sucks.”

“It does,” she admitted. “But the benefits include me and… me, and cuddling 24/7.”

“Wow. How could I resist.”

You took a hit, coughing just a little on the exhale. The haze settled slowly over your limbs, warmth spreading through your chest and cheeks. Time slipped a little sideways.

The blunt moved back and forth between you in a rhythm as natural as breathing. The stars were pinpricks above the ocean, shimmering, scattered, infinite.

Ellie leaned back on her elbows, gaze fixed on the sky. “You ever think about how the light we’re seeing from some of those stars started traveling toward us before the human brain even existed?”

You tilted your head toward her, confused, blinking slowly. “What?”

“Like… we’re looking at the past. Some of those stars could already be dead. We’re just seeing the ghost of them.”

You stared at her, momentarily forgetting about the blunt burning between your fingers.

“You’re literally the nerdiest person I’ve ever met.”

“Thanks. I try.”

The blunt burned lower in Ellie’s fingers, smoke curling around her jawline, eyes soft and half-lidded as she looked at you.

“You’re staring again.” Her voice was low and teasing but not like before. This wasn’t about calling you out. This was about pulling you in.

You didn’t look away. You didn’t even try.

“You look really pretty right now.”

Her brows raised a little, almost surprised. But she didn’t deflect it, didn’t joke it away this time. Just blinked, slowly, lips parting.

She kept going, voice soft and raspy from smoke and salt air. “And Earth moves through space at like, 67,000 miles per hour. Which means no matter what we do, even if we’re just sitting here, we’re still flying through the void. Isn’t that kind of fucked up?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just looked at her. With her messy hair, jeans cuffed like a little boy, freckled face lit up in moonlight and awe. She looked like she belonged up there, with all the stars and the galaxies, floating above you like in a dream. And she kept gesturing toward the sky, completely unaware of the way her words made your ribs tighten.

You blinked slowly, a breath catching behind your teeth.

God. I’m really falling in love with her. Was all you could think about.

Not in the loud, crashing way. Not like the movies. No. This felt quieter. More dangerous. Like something blooming in the dark. Like the soft ache of knowing, really knowing…that if you let yourself, you’d never stop wanting her. Not just her body, not just her kisses. But her.

The way she got really quiet when she was focused. The way she always turned down the volume on her phone before coming into your apartment. How she knew the difference between your tired silence and your mad silence. How she never let your coffee go cold. The way she let you rest your head on her lap without making a big deal about it. The way she touched you like she didn’t realize she was doing it.

Something that always came back. The way she looked at you like maybe, just maybe, she already knew.

You passed the blunt back to her with a shaky hand, trying not to exhale your whole damn soul.

“You okay?” she asked, catching your eyes for a second too long.

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek to ground yourself. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

She smiled at you, all teeth and freckles and affection. And you were doomed.

You wanted to kiss her and tell her how far fucking gone you were, that she has already ruined you and there is no turning back. Instead, you just smiled, barely.

“You ever just… forget how good this feels?” Ellie asked quietly, her voice rough with honesty. “Like the world gets so loud, and you forget how simple it can be to just stop for a second?”

You turned your head, so you could look at her. “Yeah. I think we forget to stop because we’re scared everything will fall apart if we do.”

Her eyes flicked to yours, gentle and tired. “Yeah...”

You smiled faintly, the sound of the tide folding over itself again in the background. “Guess that’s what fresh air’s good for.”

Ellie huffed a small laugh through her nose, and without thinking, she reached for your hand in the space between you. Her fingers grazed yours before curling around them, warm and sure.

Neither of you said anything after that. You didn’t need to.

She took another drag and leaned her head back to stare at the sky. “Fuck man, I should’ve brought my camera, the view is unbelieveable,”

You sighed dramatically, then reached into your bag. “Oh, Ellie…”

She glanced over, puzzled, until you pulled out her camera and held it up triumphantly.

“No fucking way,” she laughed, sitting up straighter, her entire face lighting up. “You’re the best. Are you kidding me?”

“You think I don’t know you by now?” you said, handing it over. “I saw it sitting by your keys and figured you'd regret leaving it behind.”

She shook her head in disbelief, already adjusting the lens. “God, you’re unreal.”

You blushed, trying to play it cool, but it was impossible with the way she was looking at you—like you were some rare artifact she'd just unearthed.

Then she brought the viewfinder to her eye. ��Don’t move.”

You froze. “What?”

“Stay like that,” she said, voice softer now, focused. “You look—just stay.”

The shutter clicked once. Twice. She shifted slightly, capturing you from another angle, then tilted the camera up toward the sky, the stars, the waves behind you. The sound of the shutter was rhythmic and careful, like she was trying to memorize every second.

She lowered the camera slowly, then looked at you again, really looked. The way the moonlight enhanced your features and the air blew your hair in all the right directions, like slow motion, she couldn’t hold herself back, she didn’t have to anymore.

Ellie leaned in, cupping your face in both hands, her thumbs brushing just beneath your cheekbones. Her touch was warm and steady, like she was grounding herself through you.

Then she kissed you. Firm and certain.

It wasn’t soft, not this time. It was hungry. Her lips moved against yours with purpose, urgency threading through every second. You melted into her touch instantly, your hands finding her waist and pulling her closer until there was no space left between you.

Her hand came up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, her blunt abandoned somewhere in the sand beside you. And you kissed her back like you could bury the ache under your tongue and hope she didn’t feel the way you melted against her.

She tasted like weed, salt and chapstick and something inherently her. Your fingers tangled in the fabric of her jacket, clinging to her like she was the only thing tethering you to the earth.

When you shifted, she followed, leaning into you as the kiss deepened, her hand slipping to the back of your neck, thumb still grazing your skin like she couldn’t stop touching you.

You broke apart just long enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together, your lips brushing as you smiled against her mouth.

She looked at you through half-lidded eyes, flushed and dazed. “You’re so fucking pretty,” she murmured. “It’s not fair.”

And when you finally pulled back, she didn’t move far, her forehead bumped gently against yours, eyes still closed. Neither of you said anything for a moment. You just breathed together.

“We should probably…” she whispered, voice hoarse, like she wasn’t sure where that sentence was going.

“Go home?” you offered, a little breathless, a little terrified.

Her eyes opened, hazy and low-lidded.

“Yeah. Home.”

But her fingers didn’t leave your cheek right away. And when you finally stood, brushing sand off your jeans, folding the blanket with shaking hands and adjusting your bag, you felt Ellie’s hand on your wrist.

“Wait.”

You turned just in time for her to grab your waist and hoist you up with a laugh, throwing you over her shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“Ellie!” you shrieked, kicking your legs, your fists beating half-heartedly against her back. “You’re gonna make me fall on my ass!”

“Relax,” she snorted. “I’ve got you.”

Your voice was muffled by your own laughter, face buried in the fabric of her jacket.

She finally set you down by the car, both of you breathless with laughter, your heart was still thudding from more than just the chaos. Her hand lingered at the small of your back as you climbed in, and you sat there for a second, staring out at the ocean one last time, still high from the weed and the kiss.

The car ride home was awfully quiet. But not the kind that meant nothing was happening. It was the kind of quiet that pulsed. That built up like crashing waves.

Ellie’s hand had been resting on your thigh the whole way. Her thumb traced slow, lazy circles into your skin over the fabric of your jeans, and the warmth of her touch was burning through you.

You shifted in your seat. Crossed and uncrossed your legs, then stilled, because the pressure of her hand there firm, warm, claiming, was making your brain short circuit.

The music was low. Just a beat, pulsing through the speakers. Her fingers flexed slightly against your thigh every time the bass dropped. You didn’t even know what song was playing. Neither of you said anything. But your skin was on fire, your mouth dry, and the only thing you could focus on was how badly you wanted her. Right here. Right now. And it was obvious, painfully, dangerously obvious…that she felt it too.

All you could think about was her mouth. The way she’d kissed you back on the beach. The way she tasted. The way her hand had cradled your jaw like you were precious and hers and ruinable all at once.

Your breath caught in your throat when her fingers squeezed your thigh a little, just enough. But she didn’t say anything. Just kept driving. Eyes focused on the road. Her lips parted, jaw set tight. Like she was holding herself back from something.

When she parked, neither of you moved.

A beat passed.

Then two.

And then you opened the door, heart hammering.

Ellie was behind you in a second, grabbing the blanket, your bag, the abandoned water bottle in the cupholder. And still, somehow, her hand found the small of your back as she guided you inside.

By the time she pushed open her apartment door, something had already shifted.

Because the second it clicked shut behind you…She dropped everything. Your bag hit the floor. The blanket was halfway off your arm when her hands grabbed your waist and yanked you in like she’d been starving.

Your back hit the wall with a soft thud. Her lips found yours instantly. Messy, hot, urgent.

You gasped, one hand flying to her shoulder, the other tugging at her jacket like it offended you that she was still wearing it.

The weed still in your system made everything so much more intense. Her mouth, her scent, the drag of her hands over your waist. It was like every nerve in your body had been rewired just for her.

She kissed you like she was burning up, rushed, teeth knocking, too much tongue, but somehow that just made it better. Sloppier. Desperate.

You smiled against her mouth, and her hand immediately grabbed your jaw, angling your face the way she wanted.

Your fingers dug into her shoulders, dragging her closer. “Ellie—”

“Yeah?” Her voice was ragged. Her lips brushed your jaw. Your throat. Your collarbone.

“Your room—”

You didn’t finish the sentence. Because she kissed you again, like she already knew.

You both stumbled messily toward her room, laughter and breath tangled between kisses. Ellie’s fingers tightened around your hand, grounding herself in the feeling of your skin. Her head was spinning, not just from the weed but from the fact that this was real. You were here, touching her like you needed her.

She silently thanked herself for tidying up earlier, the faint scent of cedarwood and laundry detergent curling around the space like an invitation. There were no distractions. Just you, her, and the electric charge buzzing between every touch. You kicked off your shoes without thinking, and she was already guiding you back, hands firm at your waist as she gently eased you onto the bed. Her body followed, urgent, reverent, starved—lips crashing against yours like waves meeting the shore. You didn’t hesitate. You pulled her closer. She hovered for just a beat, eyes devouring the sight of you, flushed and waiting.

No lens could ever even come close to capturing the way her eyes saw you, the glistening on your face, with your pupils dilated and lips puffy, something holy worth waking up to, like a small prayer whispered before risking everything you got.

She didn’t waste any second, she was all over you, like smoke lingering in the air after you’d shared a cigarette. Intimate. Sharing the object that had been around your lips and hers, she always inhaled a little too hard, like maybe she could taste you through the nicotine filling her lungs.

But now she could have you. In this moment, she laid on top of you, and you were looking at her with those wide, doe eyes. And right now, nothing else in this room, or in this world, mattered. You were waiting for her just as much as she had waited for you.

Your fingers grazed her collarbone, tugging slightly at the fabric of her shirt, pulling her in, as if you’d die if you didn’t taste her in this second, like your life depended on it. She reciprocated, lips hungry—slow, memorizing the crevices of your mouth, giving you entrance to her own, tongues swirling around, slow dancing together.

Ellie cupped your face, her calloused fingertips rough against your tender skin, tickling your flushed cheeks. She trailed kisses from your lips to your jaw, her mouth hot and open tingling on every spot, you sat up slightly, and Ellie took it as her cue to lower her lips to your neck, warm breath hovering the flesh of your neck, as she left open mouth kisses, like she was trying to memorize the rhythm of your pulse with her lips.

Your hands were tangled on her auburn hair, fingers pulling softly with each kiss.

A small moan slipped past your lips, you tried to cover it by snuggling your face into Ellie’s neck, but she noticed.

And oh lord—she wanted to replay that little sound for the rest of her life.

Something shifted in her. Primal. She was starving for you. She needed to cover every inch of your skin with her mouth, trace a map across your body, taking note of every sweet spot that made you squirm under her.

God she was high on you, just by kissing. Pathetic.

You pulled back to look at her again, and the look she gave you?

Fuck. It was unraveling you.

Slowly, you pressed your lips to hers again, the kiss deepened. Messy, sloppy, perfect.

Hands roamed slow and lazy, tangled in fabric and hair, fingers trailing like they had nowhere else to be. Then, suddenly, the weight shifted. You felt an arm slide beneath your back, the other steadying you both. And before you could say something , Ellie pulled you up, lifted like you weighed nothing and settled you gently into her lap. Your thighs bracketed hers now, knees sinking into the bed, your lips still locked together.

Now both of you were chasing dominance with your tongues, breathy moans and low groans spilling between kisses. Ellie's hands rested on each side of your hips, gripping the soft flesh, digging her fingers into your skin.

Meanwhile you lowered your hands down to her stomach, slipping under her shirt. Her skin was warm and soft, so soft. You traced little circles with your fingertips as your hands traveled to her back.

Ellie broke the kiss for a second, catching her breath, and when her eyes met yours, she knew—

You needed her as much as she needed you.

She gave you a small nod— permission, and you took it as a welcome sign.

You lifted her shirt slowly, as if you were giving her the chance to say something, to stop you. But she didn’t. She raised her arms letting you tug it off completely and tossed it aside. Bare freckled skin now only framed by the black sports bra she wore, muscles tensing from the shyness she suddenly felt.

She followed immediately, helping you out of your shirt, leaving you in your bra. Ellie had been waiting for this moment since that night she’d accidentally caught a glimpse through your door. The image of your bare back, the strap of your bra. It had been burned into her memory ever since.

She was so caught up in that thought, she didn’t even realize when you shifted your weight completely and she was now the one lying beneath you, with your knees caging her hips.

Ellie’s breath caught in her throat, her hands instinctively settling on your clothed thighs. You could feel her heartbeat pounding beneath your palms, a steady drum that matched your own. She looked up at you like you were a miracle. Her pupils were blown, partly from you and from the weed, lips parted, and you could see the faintest tremble in her chest as she tried to keep her breathing even.

You dipped your head, brushing your lips over hers, soft and slow. A kiss like a secret. One she’d never tell anyone else but you. You pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes—her lashes fluttered, lips chasing yours, already missing the contact.

Her hands moved, skimming up your thighs, slipping under the hem of your bra strap. Her touch was reverent, like she didn’t quite believe this was real.

“You’re so…” she whispered, voice barely there, but the rest of the sentence vanished in your mouth as you kissed her again. Deeper this time, your tongue sliding past her lips, tasting her like she was something you needed to survive.

Your hips shifted, rocking forward just slightly, and the sound Ellie made.

Fuck.

A soft, breathless whimper was enough to make your head spin.

Her fingers dug into your waist, pulling you closer, anchoring you to her. You could feel her muscles tense beneath you, her body responding to every inch of you.

“Tell me this is real,” she breathed, voice cracking around the edges, raw and so full of need it made your chest ache.

“It’s real,” you whispered against her lips. “I’m here.”

You leaned down again, trailing kisses along her jaw, down her neck, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. Ellie let out a shaky exhale, her hands sliding up your back, fingertips tracing the curve of your spine.

You smiled, teeth grazing her collarbone. Ellie groaned softly, arching into you as your kisses grew messier, more urgent, like you were trying to mark her soul with your mouth. She let you take your time, let you explore her inch by inch like she was sacred territory.

When you sat up again, her hands followed your movement. One trailing along your ribs, the other cradling your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. The way she was looking at you then? Like you were starlight. Like she’d never let anyone else touch you the way she did.

You leaned into her touch and whispered, “You okay?”

Ellie nodded, eyes glassy, lips swollen, chest rising and falling like she’d just run a mile.

“Better than ever.” She looked completely undone, flushed cheeks, strands of hair sticking to her forehead, eyes drunk on the sight of you.

You leaned in slowly, like you were about to worship her. Your lips ghosted over hers, brushing once, twice, teasing. Cruel. And when you finally kissed her, it was all teeth and tongue, heat and hunger.

She groaned into your mouth, hands sliding up your sides and gripping your waist like she was trying to keep herself grounded to the moment. But she couldn’t, not while you were grinding down on her, slowly, hips rolling just enough to make her curse against your lips.

“Fuck—” she gasped, breaking the kiss as her head fell back into the pillow, exposing the long line of her neck.

You didn’t waste the opportunity.

You pressed your mouth to her throat, biting softly just below her jaw, then trailing your tongue over the spot like an apology. Her fingers slipped under the band of your bra, thumbs brushing over the underside of your breasts, breath coming out in shallow, desperate pants.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” she muttered, voice rough and broken.

You pulled back to look at her, lips wet and a little swollen, eyes hazy.

“Yeah?” you whispered, breath brushing her cheek. “What are you gonna do about it?”

That lit something in her. She sat up just enough to crash your mouths together again, teeth clashing, tongue tangling with yours in a messy, frantic kiss. One of her hands slid down, gripping your ass, pulling your body harder against her lap, hips bucking up with zero shame.

You gasped into her mouth, nails dragging down her back, and Ellie cursed again. Low, and filthy.

“Can I?” she whispered into your mouth, hands moving to unclasp your bra, her voice trembling with restraint.

You let her—let her strip you bare, skin flushed and burning. She stared for a second, like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, then she leaned forward and kissed the top of your breast, slowly, her mouth trailing lower. Her tongue flicked across your nipple and your head fell back with a moan, hips grinding down on instinct, desperate for friction.

Ellie groaned when she felt it, her hands grabbing your waist and helping you move, guiding you to rock against her in slow, aching circles.

“That’s it,” she whispered, her voice wrecked. “Just like that.”

Your hands tangled in her hair, tugging with each roll of your hips. Every kiss got sloppier, every sound louder, every breath more frantic. Ellie was everywhere—mouth on your chest, hands gripping your ass, hips thrusting up into you like she couldn’t fucking help it.

You felt drunk on her—on the heat, the pressure, the want of it all. And when she looked up at you again, eyes glassy, lips slick, it was over for you.

“I need you,” you said, barely audible, but it was enough.

Her hands stilled, holding you there. “You have me.”

Ellie was already breathless beneath you, her cheeks flushed, lips kissed swollen, chest rising and falling like she’d just run for miles, but it was nothing compared to what you were about to do to her.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against hers again, slower this time. A whisper of a kiss, soft and drawn out, like you were trying to memorize the way her mouth felt…like you had all the time in the world. And you did. This was yours. She was yours.

From her lips, your mouth began its descent, trailing to the edge of her jaw, to the spot just beneath her ear that made her inhale sharply. You kissed down her neck, stopping at the hollow of her throat to leave a lingering, open-mouthed kiss there. Your tongue grazed the skin, slow and warm. She whimpered, her hand instinctively gripping the sheets.

Your kisses continued down, over the curve of her collarbone, across the center of her chest. You mouthed over the black fabric of her sports bra, feeling the way her breath hitched when your teeth grazed her nipple through the fabric.

“Fuck,” she whispered, squirming slightly beneath you. “You’re—teasing.”

You didn’t say anything. You just smiled against her skin and kept going.

You pressed soft kisses down her stomach. Pausing just above her belly button, letting your breath tickle her skin. Every inch you touched left her gasping, her muscles twitching under your mouth. You looked up at her then, eyes locking with hers. She was already gone. Lips parted, gaze completely fixated on you.

Still not breaking eye contact, you reached the waistband of her pants. Your fingers toyed with the button, and you watched her nod without saying a word.

You undid them slowly, dragging them down her legs, eyes never leaving hers. She lifted her hips to help you, the soft hiss that left her lips making your thighs clench. You peeled them off, tossing them aside, leaving her in nothing but her dark boxers. The sight in front of you left you in awe, legs trembling, laid out just for you—was enough to make your core ache.

But you weren’t done yet.

You leaned in again, kissing along the sharp lines of her hips. One side, then the other. Slowly. Warmly. Her hands fisted the sheets, a sharp gasp escaping her lips when you mouthed at the sensitive skin right at the waistband, trailing down to place an open mouth kiss to the wet spot of her boxers. You looked up again—still holding her gaze, and hooked your fingers into the fabric.

“Okay?” you murmured.

She nodded quickly. “Yes. Fuck—please.”

Still keeping your eyes locked with hers, you reached for the waistband of her boxers and pulled them down, slow and careful, exposing her inch by inch. Ellie lifted her hips again, obedient and trembling, and you slid them down until she was bare in front of you.

You could’ve stopped just to stare. Her thighs were slightly parted, her breathing ragged, her tattoo curling along her forearm as she gripped the sheets. She looked like she could cry just from the anticipation.

You settled between her legs and let your fingers slide through her folds, wet, warm, already soaked. She gasped, hips jerking slightly.

“This all for me?” you asked, fingers teasing but not entering.

“Shut up,” she rasped, her voice thin, wrecked. “You know it is.”

You smirked, leaned in, and kissed her hip again, just to be cruel. Then, slowly, you pushed two fingers into her.

The way her mouth dropped open, the way her brows pinched like it physically hurt to feel this good, you never wanted to forget it. You curled your fingers just slightly, hitting the spot that made her whimper.

You kept your eyes on hers, and when her lips parted in another moan, you leaned in close, your voice a whisper. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

Ellie looked ruined with her hair spread across the pillow, hand covering her mouth now, trying to quiet the sounds that kept spilling out of her. But she couldn’t stop them. Not when you were fucking her this slow, this deep, your palm pressing against her clit with each thrust.

“Don’t hide,” you murmured. “I wanna hear you.”

You fucked her slow, deliberate, dragging your fingers in and out while your thumb circled her clit. Her hips moved with yours, chasing the friction, her thighs twitching with every movement.

“God—fuck, that’s it—don’t stop,” she breathed. Her voice was high, strained, like she was barely holding it together.

You sped up just slightly, enough to make her cry out. Her hands clutched your forearms now, nails digging leaving half crescent moons in your skin. She moaned again. Loud, desperate, and you knew she was close.

“Come on, Els,” you whispered. And somehow that made her walls clench harder against your fingers, pulsating with every thrust.You started speeding up, hitting just the right angle, her back arched and she choked on your name.

“I’m—fucking—fuck—” Her whole body tensed, then shattered. Back arching off the bed, head thrown back, a moan breaking open in her chest. You leaned in, kissing her as she came, swallowing her moans, keeping your rhythm until she was trembling beneath you. You only pulled out once her body stopped twitching. Then, with your eyes never leaving hers, you slipped your fingers into your mouth and licked them clean, savoring her orgasm

You grinned as you dragged your fingers out with that small “pop”.

Ellie choked on a gasp, eyes wide, pupils blown.

She didn’t waste a second.

After your little display and those fucking eyes locked on hers while you tasted her off your fingers…Ellie snapped. She rolled you onto your back like a rag doll, with a roughness that wasn’t aggressive, just desperate. Her mouth was on yours immediately, hands framing your jaw, tongue sliding in as if she couldn’t get deep enough.

“Mine,” she murmured, almost to herself, between kisses. “You’re fucking mine.”

Ellie hovered over you, flushed and breathing hard, her skin glistening, her eyes blown wide with lust and awe and something deeper—something that cracked you open just by looking at you like that. You were still panting from making her come apart on your fingers, but that didn’t stop her from slipping her hands under your thighs and flipping you onto your back, her mouth crashing against yours in a hungry, lingering kiss that tasted like heat and desperation.

“You think I’m gonna let you get away with that?” she rasped against your lips, her voice low and breathless. “No fucking way–”

Your breath caught. Your legs instinctively parted around her hips, your hands clutching at her arms, the muscles flexing beneath your fingers. Ellie leaned in, pressing kisses to your jaw, then your throat, open-mouthed and wet, letting her tongue drag along the curve of your neck.

You arched into her instinctively when her lips brushed your collarbone, then went lower. She kissed between your breasts, and you felt the cool air and her hot, roaming gaze, addicting.

“So pretty,” she murmured, her voice gone thick. “Fucking perfect.”

She wrapped her lips around one of your nipples, sucking slowly, letting her tongue flick over it before biting down just enough to make you gasp. Her hand came up to play with the other, thumb circling, pinching, teasing, until you were whining, thighs rubbing together beneath her.

And she wasn’t even close to done.

She switched sides, kissing the curve of your breast before giving the same treatment to the other nipple, slower this time, messier. Her teeth grazed your skin, and then she trailed lower…tongue dragging down your ribs, over your stomach, leaving tiny wet patches and hot breath in her wake.

But she didn’t rush. She took her time, leaving small hickeys on your chest, just above your heart, another on the soft swell beneath your breast, and one lower, just to the side of your belly button. She wanted to mark you, and she wanted you to feel it every time your shirt brushed against those spots later.

By the time she reached the waistband of your jeans, you were trembling.

She looked up at you from between your thighs, and fucking hell you could’ve just cummed at the sight of her beautiful green eyes looking at you like that, all desperate and needy, hands sliding to your hips.

“Still ok?” she smirked.

You could barely form words. Just a breathless, desperate nod.

She undid your jeans slowly, dragging the zipper down with purpose, fingers teasing at the waistband as she leaned in to kiss your lower belly, just above the fabric. You lifted your hips so she could tug them down, and she did—carefully, kissing every new inch of exposed skin. Your thighs, your inner knees, the dip just above your underwear. You were soaked already, and Ellie saw it, smelled it, her breath hitching.

“Fuck, look at you.”

She pressed a single kiss to the front of your panties, right over your clit. You whimpered, bucked into her mouth, and she just chuckled low, mouthing at the wet fabric. Her tongue dragged over it once, then again, leaving it wetter with her spit. Then she sucked at it, lightly, then harder right through the cloth, until you were gasping, your hips twitching beneath her grip.

“Tastes so fucking good, even through this.”

She hooked her fingers in the waistband and tugged them off in one smooth motion, tossing them aside without looking. Then she kissed your thigh again, and again, and again, until you were practically begging.

Then finally—finally, she spread you open with both hands and dove in.

Her tongue flattened against your pussy and dragged up in one slow, singular motion, like she wanted to study your body with her mouth. She moaned into you at the taste, low and guttural. Like it relieved something inside her. Her tongue flicked against your clit, soft and rhythmic, then she pulled back just long enough to spit on it, watching the mess drip and smear as she dove back in.

Your head fell back against the pillow.

“Ellie—fuck—”

She hummed again, arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you still, her face buried so deep you could feel her breath inside you. Her tongue teased your entrance, then pressed inside you, slow and firm, while the tip of her nose rubbed against your clit with every movement. Hitting just the right angle.

You gripped her hair hard—really hard. And she just groaned into your pussy like it made her wetter, grinding her own hips into the mattress while she fucked you stupid with her tongue and sucked your clit in between.

The tension coiled fast and hard in your stomach, your thighs beginning to tremble. Ellie felt it. And added two fingers without warning, curling them up just right, and doubled down with her tongue until you broke, cumming hard with a growly cry, hips jerking on her face, your hands pulling her impossibly closer.

But Ellie didn’t stop.

She didn’t even slow down.

She fucked you through it, licking up every drop, moaning into you like she’d drown there happily.

When she finally pulled back, her chin and lips were shining. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, breathing heavy, pupils dark and starving. Then she crawled up your body and kissed you, deep and messy, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

“Didn’t get enough,” she panted against your lips. “Need you again.”

You felt her hips roll down into yours, and then again, more intentional, needy. You looked down.

She was already grinding against you, bare now, both of your slick combining. Your thighs instinctively spread wider, and Ellie settled between them, her cunt sliding against yours, hot and sticky and so fucking wet.

You gasped. “Oh my God—”

The friction was instant. The way your clits brushed together made you both cry out. She grabbed your thigh, threw it over her hip, angling you just right. Then she started to move, grinding slow and deep, her forehead pressed against yours, her breath stuttering every time your bodies slipped perfectly together.

“Feels so fucking good,” she groaned. “Shit—you’re perfect—”

You couldn’t even respond. You were too caught up in it. In the slippery, desperate rub of her cunt on yours, the raw eye contact, the sweat and tension and whimpers she couldn’t hold back.

Your hands clutched her back, your legs wrapped around her waist, and you met every grind with one of your own. You were soaked, overstimulated, and yet completely insatiable.

Ellie’s voice cracked as she picked up the pace, her hips stuttering, her sounds getting louder, higher.

“You gonna come again with me?” she begged, voice strained. “Please—*fuck—*I wanna feel you come on me.”

You nodded frantically. You could already feel it—your second orgasm, rolling in fast. Your muscles tensed, your thighs clenched around her, and then—

You both came.

Harder than before. Together.

Her body collapsed onto yours, her face buried in your neck, both of you shaking and soaked and breathless.

The room is quiet, save for the low hum of the fan in the corner and the echo of your breaths slowly syncing again. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and skin, heat still clinging to both of you, but you’re not in a rush to pull away.

Ellie’s lying on her back, arm stretched out, inviting, and you settle into her side without thinking, thigh slung over her hip, your chest rising and falling against hers. Her skin is still warm. Damp in places. You let your fingers wander on her skin, tracing the soft, faded scars scattered across her stomach.

She doesn’t flinch.

Instead, her hand finds your waist, and she’s holding onto you like she needs the reassurance that you’re real. That you’re still here.

Your fingertip drags in slow circles, skimming across her ribs, then trailing down again, stopping to gently trace the outline of a small mark near her navel. You wonder where she got it. If it hurt. If she ever thought to tell you.

Still, neither of you says anything. You shift slightly, arm draped across her middle now, and your other hand finds her forearm, the ink there familiar beneath your touch. You trace the edge of her tattoo, carefully, like you’re memorizing it with your skin.

Ellie’s breathing deepens. You feel it in the way her chest rises under your cheek, the way her thumb starts brushing gentle lines across the bare of your back.

And then, softly, almost like a thought slipping out by accident, she finally speaks.

“You are the most beautiful girl on this planet—” A pause. A breath. “No. This universe.”

You scoff, letting your lips curve into a smirk against her skin.

“Pffft—You say that to every girl you sleep with?” you mumble, teasing, but your voice comes out quieter than you meant. Too full of feeling.

Ellie huffs a laugh, but you feel the shift in her body. She’s still smiling, but there’s something quieter behind it, more serious. Something heavy in her chest that she doesn’t quite let out yet.

“No girl has gotten lucky enough.”

You lift your head, just slightly, eyes meeting hers.

She’s not grinning. Not smirking.

She’s looking at you like she wants to kiss you all over again, but not in a way that’s messy or frantic or lustful.

She’s just there. Staring. Open. Soft.

And you don’t say anything back.

You just curl into her again, one hand resting on her chest where her heart is beating like a marching band, the rhythm of her palpitations calms you down. And she lets you stay there. Quiet. Wrapped in each other like neither of you know how to ask for more. Even though it’s already written all over your skin.

Sunlight slips lazily through the slats in the blinds, casting pale golden stripes across the tangled sheets. Ellie stirs, arm reaching out instinctively to the other side of the bed, but it’s empty now. Still warm, just barely. She blinks groggily, eyes adjusting to the morning light, her limbs heavy with sleep and muscle ache.

There’s a second where panic flickers through her.

Did you leave? Was everything just a dream?

But then she smells you on her pillow. Faint traces of your shampoo, your skin, your sweat from the night before, and the corner of her mouth tugs upward, soft and slow.

She turns her head and sees it.

A little piece of paper on her desk, scrawled in your handwriting.

“Headed to work. U looked too cute to wake up. Pass by the diner if ur not busy ;)”

Ellie stares at it for a minute, then flips onto her back, one arm thrown over her eyes as a smile overtakes her entire face. It’s the kind of smile she couldn’t hide even if she tried.

Stupid. Giddy. Lightheaded.

You.

Her mind plays it all back in bits, your mouth, your hands, your body pressed to hers like it had always belonged there. The way you looked at her like you were afraid to blink and miss her. The way you touched her, so safe and sure, like you were tracing art into her skin.

And now you were just… gone.

Gone, but not far.

Her eyes flutter open again. The note’s still there. The sheets are still messy. Her chest still feels full in that unfamiliar, aching way. She sighs, long and dreamy, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

When she finally sat up, her hair was a mess, body sore in the best way. The note is still clutched between her fingers, and she reads it once more for no reason other than the way it makes her stomach flip.

She stretches, smiling like an idiot, already thinking about what she’ll say when she sees you again. Already wondering how she’s supposed to act around you now. Already imagining the way your face lights up when she walks into the diner.

Had she mentioned how irrevocably fucked she was? So completely, irreversibly, stupidly fucked for you.

How she felt like she dug a grave for herself, how this would either be the best thing ever or the worst heartbreak of her entire fucking life. And she didn’t wanna think about it, because she’s scared as shit.

She’s scared of herself more than anyone.

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

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greenwitchfromthewoods · 3 days ago

Text

a beautiful little lie. [chapter 8] l Harry Castillo

Summary: you are the personal assistant of Harry Castillo, a wealthy entrepreneur who asks you to go with him to his friend's wedding. there you meet your ex-boyfriend and things get out of hand

Warnings: sexual innuendos and mentions of sex, kissing, tension, secret admirer, Lucy shows up, some talking, lots of feelings

A/N: I've had this chapter in my head for a few days now and I've been trying to write as much as I can. If you'd like to share your thoughts…

your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

[my masterlist] [Harry Castillo masterlist] [a beautiful little lie- series masterlist]

“You’re a terrible liar.”

You almost jumped, spilling coffee on yourself, but after a moment you turned towards the door. Harry. His hair was a mess and his eyes were sleepy, but he smiled as he watched you stand in his kitchen, dressed in his robe, drinking his coffee from his mug.

“Why do you say that?” you asked as he slowly approached you. He was wearing boxers and a t-shirt that smelled of the remnants of his cologne and the passion of the previous night.

“You’ve been telling me for over a year that you don’t know the layout of this penthouse,” he muttered, your smile fading as you bit your lip. Caught! “You kept calling me, saying you were lost and I was supposed to send a rescue team for you, and you…”

“I lied, I admit it,” you replied. Colossal hands gently grabbed your waist as Harry stood in front of you. “But you were always so cute when you were nervous. I couldn’t help myself.”

“And I couldn’t help but pretend I didn’t know about your trick.” Harry mumbled and your eyes immediately widened in surprise. “Sweetheart, I never doubted your intelligence. After the second time I realized you were messing with me.”

“How dare you!” you slapped his shoulder but you couldn’t stop laughing.

Harry leaned down and quickly captured your lips in a sweet kiss. You tasted like coffee and mint toothpaste, delicious. He wanted to tell you how he woke up in an empty bed and for a moment he was scared that it was all just a dream, that you were a dream. But then he saw your clothes on the floor and realized that you must have woken up before him, it brought him relief. It was still early, before eight, and the morning sun was shining brightly through the kitchen windows. When he saw you - he would give anything to feel that way again.

“It’s good to see you here,” he said quietly, resting his forehead against yours and pressing you harder against the counter.

“It’s good to be here,” you replied, setting your mug down and placing your hands on the back of his neck. “I had to go to the bathroom, I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“I appreciate that, but next time you have to go back to bed and not make me look for you.”

There was something natural in his voice and words. Something like a question if this would happen again, but also a promise – I want it to happen again. He wasn’t expecting an answer either, he just wanted to hold you in his arms and enjoy this moment.

“So…” you started, “What now?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Breakfast? You already had your coffee, so toast and maybe scrambled eggs would be nice.”

“How the hell are you real?”

“I should ask you the same thing.”

This was better than he could have imagined. You sat down at the kitchen island and kept him company while Harry prepared breakfast. The radio played soft music and you talked about everything and nothing at the same time, laughing and bantering like it was the most normal thing in the world. Was it any wonder he dreamed of moments like this?

Harry was perfectly aware that he was at a point in his life where most people already had families. Or were starting new ones with their second or third partners. However, he was one of those hopeless romantics who believed in love for the rest of their lives and unfortunately, after all these years, he hadn't found it. There had been a few women in his life, a few serious relationships, but nothing that could last. He also wanted to propose twice, but unfortunately, it didn't work out. Maybe it was his fault, Harry didn't deny it. He wasn't perfect, although he tried very hard to live up to the expectations of others. It was hard, though.

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

You looked up from your glass of juice. “I thought it was time to go home.” You replied.

“Come on. It’s going to be a beautiful day. We can go for a walk around the neighborhood. There’s a great pastry shop nearby, you’ll like it. They also have delicious coffee.”

You looked at him with a smile. You’d never met a man like Harry Castillo before. He treated you like you were the most important person in the world, he really saw you and listened to you, and you still didn’t understand how he could be a real person.

It had been a good day. He hadn’t been able to stop smiling since he’d dropped you off at your apartment building that evening, and he suspected it would be a long time before he regained control over his facial expressions. The walk had stretched into a nice lunch near the park, and then a lazy nap on the couch in the living room.

It was damn nice to wake up to a living room filled with the setting sun while you were fast asleep on his chest. You were wearing one of his shirts and sweatpants and you looked like you totally belonged to him.

He was doing it again. Harry's brain was working overtime again, giving him new ideas. You could go on vacation together, or go to the cinema to see that new movie they were advertising so aggressively everywhere, or go out for sushi or something. He rubbed his face with his hand, sighing quietly. It was always like this. Even you told him that once, when he almost kissed you - he jumped headfirst into the water without checking the depth.

But it was you! You, the you he had known for over a year, the one he had talked to for so many hours, the one who had seen him in a thousand different situations. You had been with him on bad days and good days, and Harry had thought you really liked him.

Meanwhile, his apartment felt strangely empty and vast without you in it. He lazily made his way to the bedroom, where the bed was still unmade. The satin sheets, though cold, still carried your scent and Harry knew he would smell it when he finally went to sleep. The phone in the back pocket of his jeans twitched and Harry pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

[You]: Thank you for every minute. Can I just say I miss you already?

He smiled to himself and quickly typed a reply.

[Harry Castillo]: You won't be alone in this, sweetheart. Good night.

No, he won't screw this up this time.

Susan almost jumped when he appeared in the office and with a huge smile on her face, she moved away from your desk, revealing a very pretty bouquet of flowers sitting in a glass vase.

"What's this?" Harry pointed at the bouquet with interest, pretending not to notice your amused look.

"Someone has a secret admirer." Susan replied in a melodic voice as she sat down behind her desk, "And she doesn't want to reveal his name."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "And he sent those flowers?"

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" you replied, moving the vase to a safe spot away from the edge of the desk.

He nodded. "That guy has good taste. Susan," he turned to her desk, "can you go to Mark in accounting? He was supposed to prepare something for me?"

The girl quickly stood up, "Sure, boss."

"And you," Harry pointed at you, "take your planner and come to my office."

You exchanged quick glances as Castillo disappeared through the door. You gathered your things and followed him, but as soon as the door closed behind you, you felt someone roughly pull you deeper into the office.

Familiar lips found yours and soon Harry was kissing you like he hadn't seen you in at least a month.

“Wait.” You found it hard to speak between kisses, taking a step back as Harry was clearly steering you towards his desk. “Someone might come in.”

“Susan won’t be here for at least fifteen minutes.” Harry mumbled. He took the notebook from your hands and threw it on the desk. One of his hands came to rest on your neck as he kissed you hard again. “Damn it, I missed you.”

“It was only one day.” You giggled quietly, sliding your hands under his unbuttoned blazer, feeling his warm body under his shirt.

“Too long.” Another kiss. You were almost sitting on his desk when his other hand grabbed your thigh, squeezing it. “Will you come over tonight? I’ll make dinner. I hear I make really good pasta.”

“I’ll think about it. I don’t know what the man who sent me flowers will think of it.”

Harry smiled. “Do you like them?”

"They're beautiful." You kissed him now, tenderly and lovingly, because you really missed him too.

When he pulled away from you, his eyes were looking at you with awe, as if he couldn't believe that you were really in his arms, that what he was experiencing with you wasn't just a dream.

"I want our dates to be romantic," he said, and he noticed with concern how you frowned.

"You don't have to prove anything, Harry," you replied, stroking his cheek affectionately. "You're enough and I like you the way you are."

"Do you like me? How did that happen?"

You shrugged, smiling. "I don't know. Maybe you just don't treat me like I'm too much to handle."

"You'll never be that to me."

He leaned in to kiss you once more when his phone suddenly rang. You exchanged glances and smiles before carefully sliding off the desk and reaching for your notebook while Harry exchanged quick comments with Mark. Your mind was a beautiful chaos.

Shopping bags fell to the floor as soon as you crossed the threshold of his apartment. That wasn't important. The most important thing was your lips, which Harry kissed like he needed them to live. You quickly slid his jacket off his shoulders as he pressed you hard against the wall.

“I thought you’d wait until dessert,” he murmured softly, kissing your neck. You moaned, sliding your hands into his soft hair.

“It’s an appetizer,” you replied, sighing.

You didn’t make it to the bedroom. The guest room fulfilled its role perfectly. And when you were lying next to each other, when you felt his hot body next to yours, his calm breath on your shoulder, you felt full of feelings that you couldn’t even name. But it was good. You were good.

three weeks later

You were living on cloud nine and you had no intention of coming back. There was no point. Even though you kept your relationship a secret, Harry couldn’t stop himself from sending you flowers at work or sending you text messages during the day.

Susan did everything to get at least the name of your admirer from you, and you could see that perfidious smile on Harry’s face. Professionalism at work was necessary, but the sidelong glances, the accidental touches, the sneaky kisses when no one was looking—you couldn’t control it.

“I don’t want to be called into HR,” you said every time his office door closed behind you and you were alone.

“I’m the boss here,” Harry replied, reaching for your hand so he could at least feel your touch.

“And I’m the assistant.”

“You know that many relationships start at work?”

How could you fight it? You couldn’t. Harry was a man who tried to fulfill your every desire, even anticipate it. You told him many times that you didn’t expect that from him, that what you had was enough, that he was enough.

For Harry, this was new and exciting too. He was a mature and responsible man, but with you he felt like himself, truly and probably for the first time. Soon he convinced you to leave some of your clothes in his closet, because getting up earlier to go to your place and change was getting tiring. An extra toothbrush took its place in his bathroom, and a few cosmetics and perfumes seemed to find their rightful place next to his.

Every time he looked at it, he smiled. Yes, everything was still fresh. You had been dating for a month, but Harry kept reminding you that you had known each other longer and what had happened hadn't happened too quickly. As he claimed, the scope of your cooperation had simply expanded.

However, Harry knew one thing - it was good to belong to someone. Now you spent your evenings together, watching some stupid reality show or movies, or going out together, or...

Damn, the sex was amazing. He would definitely never look at the dining room table or his desk the same way again. And when you first went down on him, he was ready to do anything for you. The possibility of waking up next to someone, simple everyday activities like drinking coffee together or cooking, everything was more exciting now. He felt like his life had taken on new colors.

"I've never been here. How do you know this place?" you asked as Harry led you towards the doors of some pub.

"Someone showed me once," he replied, grabbing the handle and opening the door for you. "Ma'am."

"Thank you." You smiled as you entered.

The place was spacious and really elegant. Not stiff and inaccessible, but with velvet couches, warm lighting and nice music. There were quite a few people inside, but Harry led you to the bar and you quickly found a seat for the both of you. Soon the waiter placed your drinks in front of you, Harry's warm hand rested on your knee and you thought that this was a really nice end to a long week. The thought of the upcoming meeting with clients next week gave you shivers, but you didn't want to think about it tonight.

"We could go to the movies this weekend." Harry suggested, taking a sip of his drink. "Would you like that?"

“Yeah, that would be nice. But I have to do laundry and clean my apartment. I’ve been putting it off for days.” You sighed, resting your chin on your hand. “We had a lot of work.”

A warm hand squeezed your thigh affectionately. "That's why I think you should move more of your stuff to my place."

You rolled your eyes. "We talked about it, Harry. It's to-"

"It's not too soon at all." He interrupted you, smiling. "You're just scared. But it's okay, I won't push you." He came closer and kissed you lightly on the lips. "I love how stubborn you are sometimes."

You opened your mouth to answer when suddenly you heard a woman's voice. "Harry? It's so nice to see you."

A tall and slim girl with long dark hair with bangs and green-blue eyes appeared next to Harry. She smiled friendly, and when Harry stood up, she hugged him like a long-lost friend.

"Lucy, you look great." Harry greeted you, pointed at you and introduced you. "How's it going?"

“Good.” Lucy smiled. “I’m here with my friends. We’re having a little celebration. What about you?”

“Let’s just say we’re celebrating the end of the week.” Harry replied. He seemed a little tense to you, though he hid it with a smile and polite demeanor. He exchanged a few words with Lucy when their conversation was interrupted by his phone. “Sorry,” he mumbled, glancing at the screen, “I have to take this.”

“Sure,” she replied, and soon you were both looking at him as he briefly went out to the pub.

You were sure Lucy would go back to her friends, but she just stood there, swirling her drink in her hands. She was really pretty, and you knew she didn’t have to put much effort into it. She glanced at Harry, who was walking in front of the pub and still talking, and then finally spoke.

“So you and Harry are together?”

“Yeah, we are.” you replied.

“That's nice.” Lucy smiled again. “Harry’s a great guy. Where did you meet?”

You swallowed a sip of your drink. "At work."

"Oh!" Lucy perked up. "Do you work in finance too?"

You were a little confused. "I'm... I'm an assistant."

Lucy's eyes widened slightly. "Oh! Oh, I see."

You were both silent for a moment, sipping your drinks. Finally, you decided to overcome your fear and ask. "And have you known Harry for a long time?"

Lucy thought about her answer for a moment. Her long fingers twirled the glass of drink in her hands. "We met at his brother's wedding." she finally answered. "But we haven't talked in over a year, I think."

You nodded, letting her know that her answer was enough for you, although certain thoughts were already starting to circle your mind. The way Harry reacted was quite clear. Soon Lucy's friends called her and she said goodbye, disappearing among the guests of the pub. Harry returned a moment later and sat down next to you, sighing quietly.

"I'm sorry. It was about next week's meeting." He downed his drink in one gulp.

"Anything important?" you asked, concerned.

Harry took your hand and kissed the back of it. "Nothing we should worry about right now." he replied. "Do you feel like another drink or should we go eat something?"

"Eat, definitely."

He smiled gently, approached you once more to steal a kiss from you and after a moment you both left the pub. The evening was pleasant, although a bit chilly. You slowly walked forward, holding hands and wondering what you would like to eat. Harry was thinking about the Italian restaurant when your voice reached his ears.

"Can I ask you something, Harry?"

He looked at you immediately. "Of course, sweetheart."

You stopped and, not letting go of his hand, you thought for a moment how to put your thoughts into words. Finally, you decided. "Did you take me to this pub because you wanted to make Lucy jealous?"

Brown eyes stared at you intensely, but Harry remained silent. It seemed that you surprised him with the question, but he expected it on some level. You were still holding his hand, so you couldn't get mad or anything. "I thought you'd rather ask me if I loved her." he finally said.

"It seemed pretty obvious to me. She's beautiful and smart." You shrugged, but you didn't take your eyes off his face. You wanted him to be honest with you.

Harry took a deep breath. “I think I loved how I imagined her.” he replied. “The way I wanted to see her. But no, I didn’t take you there to make her jealous. Even though she was the one who showed me the place, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t expect her to be there.”

You nodded. But that wasn’t enough for him. It seemed like he had to explain everything to you, because if he didn’t, well, you might misunderstand it and it would break the bond between you. But you were still holding his hand, still there for him. He stood closer so the group of laughing young men could pass you by and he spoke again.

“Me and Lucy dated for a while before we started working together. It was a painful breakup.” He sighed. “I used to want her to be jealous, but now I don’t care what she thinks. You’re the one who really matters to me. You’re much, much more.”

You knew Harry wasn’t lying. His eyes looked at you as if he was waiting for the verdict and begging for mercy.

"I'm sorry someone hurt you," you said quietly, lightly squeezing his hand.

He smiled sadly. "We've all been hurt at some point, right, baby? You're not mad?"

You shook your head. "I couldn't be. You're honest with me and I trust you, Harry."

Now he really smiled, and you smiled back. A weight lifted from his heart, because somewhere in the back of his mind the thought was already circulating that you could disappear and he wouldn't want that.

"Maybe we should just go home and order something to eat, what do you think?" you suggested, changing the subject of the conversation to something lighter.

"Yeah, I think that's a brilliant idea, baby." Harry replied with satisfaction, wrapping his arm around you and kissing your temple. "Let's go home."

Home.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist: @nrschuster30 @maried01 @lunariantears @thatesqcrush @suzysface @youkeeno @legoemma @nuo0n @sarahhxx03 @hazzzy418 @pedrofan @peepawispunk @readingiskeepingmegoing @maryfanson @anoverwhelmingdin @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @axshadows @picketniffler @underneath-the-sky-again @kaysfanficcorner @noisynightmarepoetry @xmaykeca @orcasoul @sincerelywithheartt @southernbe @chaoticfestninja @telumendilsoul @hermionelove @paleidiot @lemon-world1 @diabaroxa @scarcetti @thatoneperson38747 @pascal-mynightlyobsession @sunnytuliptime @krystal---meth @nikoanna @capuccinodoll @titlee78 @goodvibesonly421 @crlsummer @chewie-bars @dean-and-baby343 @warmdragonfly @harriedandharassed @speaktothehandpeasants @pasc4lfuzz @darkheartgatita @deesparticus @beezusvreeland @sunnytuliptime @theoraekenslover @secretlettersfromyourlove @yassspose @pinkblackbra @avengersfan25 @kakiki3

#pedro pascal #harry castillo #harry castillo x reader #the materialists #a beautiful little lie series #materialists

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daisybvck · 1 day ago

Text

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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ghostinboys · 19 hours ago

Text

— 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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sergeantbarnessdoll · 3 days ago

Text

Sharing is Caring » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier and Ari Levinson

Pairings: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader, Ari Levinson x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky shares you with Ari.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, blowjob, unprotected sex, threesome, Sergeant kink, praise kink, breeding kink, size kink, slight degradation, name calling (slut) (once), pet names

A/N: Thank you for the filthy request, nonnie🩵 also, my apologies for answering it like this. I don’t know why Tumblr won’t let me answer it with the ask attached.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckyys-babydoll / divider made by me

GIFS ARE NOT MINE! Gif credits go to the creators.

MINOR DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

You brought up the idea of wanting to have a threesome to Bucky. Little did you know that Bucky already had something in mind for you. He called your friend Ari, asking him if he wants to join you two. Ari accepted the invitation to join you guys. Which is what you three are doing right now.

You’re currently laying on your back with your head hanging off the side of the bed. Bucky is fucking your pussy while Ari is fucking your mouth. You’re not sure how long you three have been going at it. All you know is that you’re loving what’s happening right now.

The air in the bedroom felt thick. The ceiling fan above you guys did nothing. The bedroom smelled like sex. The only sounds you heard were moans and squelching as Bucky thrusted his cock in and out of your pussy.

“You gotta let me feel her pussy, man.” Ari says to Bucky.

“I said you can use her throat as you please. Her pussy is mine.” Bucky says.

Both men look down at you, watching your breast bounce each time they thrusted into you. Your skin is wet with a sheen of sweat. The image they’re seeing right now is filthy and they fucking love it.

“Are you enjoying yourself, doll face?” Bucky asks.

You hummed in response around Ari’s cock.

“You can’t answer with a full mouth, can you, baby?” Ari coos down at you.

You whined around his cock in response. Ari smirks when he sees a bulge in your throat from his cock. He wraps his hand around your throat, not choking you. Only to feel the bulge in your throat. You absentmindedly reached a hand down to rub your clit, but Bucky swatted it away.

“What did I say earlier, doll?” Bucky asks.

Ari took his cock out of your mouth long enough for you to answer your boyfriend. You lifted your head to look at Bucky.

“Not to touch myself.” You say.

“Then be a good girl and don’t do that.” He says.

“Yes, Sergeant.” You replied submissively.

Ari put a hand on your forehead and pushed your head back down so it was hanging off the side of the bed again. He tapped his cock against your lips. You submissively opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue.

“Good girl.” Ari praises as he put his cock back in your mouth.

The cock bulge reappears in your throat as Ari thrusts his cock in and out of your mouth. Bucky, on the other hand, was breeding you real good. His cock fucked your cum filled pussy.

“Would you look at that.” Bucky says as he looks down at your pussy.

If you’re being honest, you didn’t know if Bucky was talking to you, Ari, or himself.

“You’re going to be so well bred, aren’t you, doll?” Bucky says.

Now you know he’s talking to you that time. You tried your best to nod as Ari fucked your mouth.

You could feel yourself coming closer and closer to the edge once again. You lost count with how many times you came. What you do know is that you can feel how wet your inner thighs are from one orgasm ago.

“You gonna cum again, gorgeous?” Bucky asks. “I can feel your pussy squeezing my cock.” He says.

You moaned around Ari’s cock in response.

“You wanna cum, babydoll?” He coos.

You nodded your head the best you could.

“What do you think, Ari? Should we let her cum again?” Bucky asks Ari.

“Let her cum.” Ari says.

“You heard him, doll face. Cum for us.” Bucky says.

Bucky’s fingers rubbed your clit, bring you even closer to the edge till you finally came again, soaking your boyfriend’s cock, thighs, and lower abdomen.

“There you go. Good girl.” Bucky praises.

Now that you’ve came once again, Bucky and Ari used you for their pleasure so they can cum too. Bucky pressed his hand against your stomach, feeling the small bulge every time he thrusted into you while Ari grabs onto one of your breasts, holding onto it. Ari thrusted his cock more in your mouth, making you gag when it entered your throat. You knew both of them were about to cum from how sloppy their thrusts became. Then they came once again. Bucky coming in your pussy and Ari coming in your mouth. Both of them pulled out of you and looked down at you.

“You good, babydoll?” Bucky asks, patting the side of your thigh.

You gave your boyfriend a thumbs up as you caught your breath. Bucky and Ari exchanged looks, smirking at each other and nodded. They let you catch your breath for a moment before initiating anything.

“Are you up for another round, baby?” Ari asks.

“Yes I am.” You replied and nodded.

“Be a good girl and get on all fours for us.” Bucky orders softly.

“Yes, Sergeant.” You replied submissively.

You rolled over onto your stomach and got on your hands and knees. Your legs felt like jelly from how intense your orgasms were, but you mustered up enough strength to hold yourself up. Bucky repositioned himself behind you, trapping your legs between his legs. A shiver went through your body when Bucky rubbed his cum covered cock against your cum covered pussy. Ari put his hand under your chin, gently cupping your jaw tilted your head up enough for you to make eye contact with him. His thumb traced your bottom lip. You parted your lips enough for him to put his thumb in your mouth. You sucked on his thumb like you did with his cock a moment ago. You still had that same innocent look in your eyes from when the three of you started.

“God damn. You got yourself a little slut, Bucky.” Ari says.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you.” Bucky smirks. “Isn’t that right, babydoll?” He says, patting your ass cheek.

You hummed seductively in response. Ari took his thumb out of your mouth. You opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue without being told to, ready for him to put his cock back in your mouth.

“Good girl.” Ari praises softly.

At the same time, Bucky and Ari put their cocks back inside of you. Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head at the feeling. Their thrusts weren’t exactly at the same rhythm, but it still felt good.

“Eyes on me, baby girl.” Ari orders softly.

Your eyes flickered up to look at him. Your eyes watered each time Ari’s cock fucked your throat and even the tip of his cock just grazing your throat. The bedroom was still filled with skin slapping, the sound of you gagging on Ari’s cock a little bit, and the squelching sound of Bucky’s cock fucking his cum deep in your pussy.

“You look so pretty like this, doll.” Bucky vibranium hand rubbed along your spine, stopping on the middle of your back. “You like being used for our pleasure, don’t you, gorgeous?” He says.

You tried your best to nod your head as Ari fucked your mouth. Drool seeped out of your mouth as Ari fucked your mouth. Saliva rolled down your chin and got on your chest and breasts.

Bucky reached his hand around to your front, blindly finding your clit with ease and started to play with it. He pinched your clit, making you squeak around Ari’s cock. Your pussy squeezed around Bucky’s cock when he did that.

“I can feel you squeezing my cock, doll. Does that feel good?” Bucky says.

You nodded again. Bucky continued to play with your clit. He mostly rubbed it in a circular motion and pinched it from time to time. He loves to play with your clit.

“You’re such a messy girl, aren’t you, baby?” Ari says, cupping your jaw.

You looked up at him. The look in your eyes says it all. You had an innocent look in your eyes. Ari put his hand on the back of your head, holding it still as he fucked your mouth. Meanwhile, Bucky was making you fall apart just by him playing with your clit. He rubbed it in different motions, knowing how much you love it when he does that. You weren’t sure how much longer you were going to last. Bucky could sense it too.

“Feels like she’s gonna cum again.” Bucky says.

You moaned in response like you were trying to tell him that you were about to cum once again.

“Do you want to cum, baby?” Ari asks.

You hummed around Ari’s cock as a yes.

“Then be a good girl and cum for us again, babydoll.” Bucky says.

Bucky rubbed your clit fast enough to make you cum once again. You’re pretty sure you came harder than you did the last time you came. Shortly after you came, Bucky and Ari used you for their pleasure and focused on their own orgasms, which you’re completely fine with.

“You’re such a good girl for us, babydoll.” Bucky praises, patting your ass cheek.

You moaned in response. Even though you came, Bucky continues to play with your clit. A low moan left Bucky’s lips as he came inside of you. A low moan also left Ari’s lips as he came in your mouth. Both of them stopped thrusting, leaving their cocks inside of you for a few seconds before pulling out of you. Your sweaty and spent body fell against the bed. Bucky and Ari looked down at you, proud smirks plastered on their faces. Bucky laid down next to you while Ari got dressed.

“This was fun. We should do it again sometime.” Ari says.

“I’d love that.” You grinned.

Ari leaned over you and gave you a kiss on your lips before leaving.

“Did you enjoy yourself, doll?” Bucky asks.

“Yes.” You smiled at your boyfriend. “I love you, babe.” You say softly, kissing him softly.

“I love you too, babydoll.” He almost whispers, kissing you back.

-Bucky’s Doll

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therobotsarestuckinmyhead · 3 days ago

Note

YOU OPENED THE REQUEST HORAYY

I hope this won't be too difficult to write, but could i get some TFP Predaking x Predacon reader? I think Predaking wouldn't be so lonely if he had a companion of his own kind, and they could continue their species, maybe have some Predacon sparklings and such >:3

I hope I didn't come across as rude! And wish you happiness every day :3

♡ [TFP] "A NEW START" Predaking HCs

EEEEE THANK YOU SO MUCH YUUZI. i hope your pillows are always cold and that rocks never get in your shoes <3 this is such a fun ask… sorry for the extended time i took! this does not follow RID2015 it never happened for the sake of this fic

scenario: family life with predaking as his predacon s/o and eventual sparkling

warnings: reader carries sparkling

— You were quick to leave The Nemesis and turned against Megatron just like how Predaking did after finding out who really was behind the massacre of the others of your kind. When you were told the lie that the Autobots had killed off your brethren, it became something that finally made you settle your differences with Predaking, bringing you two together as allies in a quest for vengence. Up until then, you didn't really see optic-to-optic about his self-proclaimed title as the 'King of all Predacons'... it turned into a lot more than just a shared quest for vengance. But the two of you found yourself on the surface of Cybertron soon enough once Megatron got Predaking out of the ship and dumped you out of an airlock.

— Now, having a family with Predaking would be stressful. Not because of him but because you are on a very war-torn Cybertron that's just recently been brought back and even then, the terrain is unstable and there's all sorts of surprises from the nature of the planet the two of you need to face. Predaking as cooperative and sweet as they come in regard to being a partner, his honor drives him but so does the weight of his loneliness as the last Predacon. Until you broke out of Shockwave’s lab back when the one-optic scientist was stranded on Cybertron, it was a few days right after he was made and it was nearly an instant connection for him.

— Also, Predaking wouldn't heedlessly start a family with you either. You two need a home first and foremost. So the two of you are going to go exploring, trying to find an appropriate location; a cave or a den to nest.

— Once the two of you do find such a place, the two of you immediately start nest building. Finding whatever material that's soft the two of you could, scavenging through the currently-under-construction temporary settlements when the bots inhabiting aren't looking.

— The duties are split, you find energon and he gets other resources. Most of the time though, the two of you work together. Helping each other out. You give him the clear when no one is around and he rushes in to get the goods. Your sense of smell is better than his so you're usually the one who makes the finds.

— Now Predaking would've fought the Autobots for nest resources but you keep telling him not to and he listens to you. For now. But stealth really isn't easy for him. He respects his partner and thinks of them as an equal.

— At some point, the Autobots begin rebuilding major cities like Iacon and Kaon. It's a goldmine for you and Preda who unwittingly sabotage their progress by stealing resources for your nest. Bulkhead is so confused… all the softer metals keep disappearing! How is he going to construct if all the equipment starts disappearing!

— Autobot HQ starts getting reports of Predacon sightings because of the two of you and they've told everybot to stay on high alert. So it's gradually getting harder to scavenge and steal take resources.

— I feel like there would be minor disagreements about the decor choices but Predaking will just grumble and yield to you because he loves you a lot. Like… a ridiculous amount of lot. Someone disrespects you in front him and it's over for them.

— Tada! Now you have a nest! And you've stacked enough energon to last a long, long time. But your party is cut short when Sky-Lynx and Darksteel approach Predaking for a place to stay and as their self proclaimed King, he's often busy helping those two set their lives straight. You frown whenever Predaking has to leave you to go and check up on those two.

— Now, Predaking isn't very affectionate in his bipedal and neither are you but in your alts? It's a different story. The two of you play-fight (with him getting the upper hand almost always but he does give you charity), nuzzle your dragon helms against each other or just cuddle in your newly built nest. When two of you do snuggle up against each other in your bipedal, his servos wrapped around you tightly, like he doesn't want to let you go. But he will loosen his grip if you ask.

— Another thing to note is he wouldn't have sparklings with you unless you want them too, he wants a full blown family with you badly. Predaking will bring up the idea, definitely but he will drop it with thinly veiled disappointment if you're averse to it.

— If you do agree, he will be absolutely excited. There's a huge chance that you'll be the one carrying because Predaking is the brawn, he's strong and he can't exactly fight off threats if he's carrying. It's not that you're weak, no. You're strong. But he's stronger. And taking on both Sky-Lynx and Darksteel at the same time in a fight is no joke. Not to mention, nosy Autobots that end up wandering into your territory.

— Speaking of which, you usually have to talk him out of lashing out on intruders, you're apologizing on his behalf with a wry smile as he huffs with his servos crossed over his chassis. Preda is still death-glaring them though, yellow optics narrowed at them so that they get the message and leave the two of you alone. Again, he loves you a lot so he folds like paper.

— Predaking would want three or four but not too large; he's a realistic mech. There's no way the two of you could deal with six or seven little predacons running around, especially considering the volatile state the newly rejuvenated Cybertron is in. And he doesn't want family life to be a burden for either of you.

— Predaking is a lot more protective over you if you're carrying. It does take a toll on your frame and he knows that so he's cautious. You say you want something and he's immediately fetching it, imagine a dragon terrorizing an under-construction Iacon for more energon treats and conducting quilts at their local supply depot.

— He's specifically targeting Autobot supply stores but not really hurting anyone in the process and it's confusing the whole team. Ultra Magnus is drawing up statistics to figure out where he will attack next, completely unaware that Predaking's motives are charged by your swinging needs so Magnus is trying not to get frustrated every time he predicts it wrong. Ratchet wonders if it's some primitive gathering instinct that the Predacons have and asks Knockout about who, despite having worked on Project Predacon, doesn't have the faintest clue. Bumblebee thinks Predaking is just trying to survive out in the wilderness. Arcee thinks he's just being a menace. Meanwhile Bulkhead is slowly losing his cool as more and more of his construction equipment goes missing and he's ironically got more patience than all of them. Wheeljack is doing his own thing.

— If you need his comfort or physical touch, he's more than ready to give. His servos hold you as tightly as you need them to as your helm is against his pauldron while you sit right between his stabilizing servos. Predaking also leaves light kisses on the side of your face, softly telling you things he saw outside.

— Trouble arrives when you need medical attention. Predaking starts panicking a bit but he gets it together when he sees you writhing in pain, your cries are hurting him in a way nothing has. He proceeds to kidnap Ratchet because he trusts him, Predaking would never trust Knockout or any ex-Decepticon affiliates after what happened on that ship. He's arguing with Predaking because he's literally been kidnapped by current public enemy number one?

— But then he hears your cries in the background and there's this pleading look in his yellow optics that makes the medic concerned. Whatever this is, is serious. He goes over to you as you're laying in the nest and… Holy scrap, you’re sparked. And from what he can tell, your spark is currently shorting out from excessive energy draining in the process of making new sparks. Ratchet quickly informs Predaking that they'll have to take you to the Autobot HQ because all his equipment is there. Predaking is skeptical— He doesn't trust the Autobots enough to leave the literal love of his life with them but he doesn't have a choice here which is the only reason he agrees.

— Predaking manages to transport you to the Autobot HQ in his alt mode and the others are very confused but Ratchet tells them it's okay as he's running to the medbay. Soon enough, procedures are underway and you're better than before. Meanwhile, Predaking was pacing back and forth in utter concern, agitated and worried. He was tempted to break into the medbay if it weren't for Ultra Magnus who was standing there unimpressed. Cue awkward tension. Magnus is here to sternly command Predaking to stop his 'raids’ at supply depots.

— The moment you come out, a concerned Predaking is going to hold both your servos and bombard you with questions. The care and worry is very obvious in his yellow optics. Apparently you're supposed to be cautious about the type of energon you're fuelling on when you're carrying. Who knew? Ratchet is giving the two of you a very long stern talk about carrier health. Predaking is paying more attention than you are. Until he notices Knockout in the background and gives him the most vile glare Knockout has ever had shot at him right his way.

— Bumblebee has a bright idea and marches up to the two of you with a proposal the two of you can't resist. The Autobots will help the two of you out with the whole procedure, supplies and everything if Predaking stops raiding their depots. You and Preda exchange glances in skepticism but… They did just save your life. So you two begrudgingly agree. Predaking keeps the promises he makes.

— And surprisingly, the Autobots keep their end too. They're willing to give out energon to you and Predaking— along with other supplies as an act of good faith. Bumblebee feels as if Optimus would have wanted a treaty with the Predacons. Besides, they could spare you supplies; it's just you and Predaking after all.

— Until it's not because Sky-Lynx and Darksteel are standing in front of your den for those sweet, sweet Autobot energon deliveries. They're trying so hard to convince Predaking but he doesn't want you anywhere near those two when you're carrying and he also doesn't want to share the energon with them.

— And soon, the sparkling is brought into the world. Predaking sees how… small they are and his protective instincts flare. His spark is melting. They're so cute. If there's twins involved, Predaking will be sort of worried because even though he does want a family, he hasn't had any exposure to sparklings before. It's still a relatively new thing. So he's nervous but he tries to mask it by saying he's just being cautious.

— The sparkling follows you around sometimes, just waddling towards you excitedly. Predaking can't believe the two of you made such an adorable little thing. Now, usually, sparklings follow their parents around but your curious little sparkling tends to roam the den by themselves and Predaking follows behind them. Carefully, he doesn't want to alert them but if they do see him, they run up to him and just hug his stabilizing servo. It's spark exploding-ly cute.

— Once the sparkling manages to gain equilibrium in their movements though, it becomes a nightmare. They're running around everywhere and a very concerned Predaking is running after them, making sure they don't hurt themselves. He doesn't want you to strain yourself especially since you carried, Predaking makes sure you rest. You can help out once you fully recuperate.

— The Autobots are watching this tiny little dragon fly into their settlements and a bigger dragon chasing after them and just go '???'.

— When the sparkling makes friends that are Autobots, he's going to be so very conflicted but it inadvertently strengths predacon and cybertronian relations. Bumblebee thinks it's great though, Arcee thinks they should be a little weary and Bulkhead is chill with it. Ratchet just hopes he doesn't have to deal with another child. Smokescreen is scared of the sparkling because of who their parents are. Imagine the little predacon showing off their den to their friends and they're so very intimidated of you and your sparkmate.

— Sometimes, the little one can't control their fire-breath so the two of you need to be careful.

— Predaking isn't exactly unfamiliar with being gentle like many would think. He knows how to control his strength so he's very, very gentle with the little one. He's right in the middle of motherly and fatherly.

— After you recover, you go flying together! Teaching the sparkling how to transform and teaching them about their surroundings. How to track, how to be stealthy and soundless. At some point, the little one is trying to learn how to pounce with Predaking being their victim; Predaking falls and pretends as if they were strong enough to knock him to the floor. He would also proceed to say something like, “Hm. You certainly are the strongest Predacon out of us all.” while he's laying on the floor. Predaking would never make his sparking feel bad.

— When you and Predaking are cuddling, whether you’re in your bipedal or alternate mode, a baby dragon is squeezing in between the two of you.

— But he can be stern. And will be. But it's a gentle sternness, he's being firm but there's a kindness and understanding to his tone which is unexpected of him.

— Uncle Darksteel and uncle Sky-Lynx are… Shocked when they see Predaking and the sparkling. Because he’s being so gentle, they can't believe this is the same bot who absolutely rocked their shit. But Predaking makes sure to shoot them a nasty glare if they even try to come near his sparkling, at first. Eventually, your kid gets two new playmates once Predaking becomes more trusting of them.

— At some point, Predaking is coming towards you with puppy-eyes because he wants one more. Your family life is going well and your neighbors are surprisingly understanding.

#transformers #transformers x reader #cybertronian reader #reader insert #transformers prime #tfp #predaking #tfp predaking #tfp predacons #tf prime #leave me alone with predaking and we would restart the whole predacon race together 🥰🥰🥰#he's actually one of the more reasonable characters in tfp #i personally think he was the only other green flag aboard that ship other than breakdown #predaking fans wya?#i hate how he's so slept on #one chance with him PRIMUS PLEASE #tooth rotting fluff #i thought so hard to make this up #i think the reconstruction of cybertron after the war would take a minimum of like 25 years ngl

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lisalamona · 3 days ago

Text

(rewritten) Lay All Your Love On Me

. Pairing: Rockstar! Poseidon x Gn! Reader

. Summary: Neither you nor Poseidon fully understand, or want to understand, your feelings for each other. Your playful flirting suddenly feels too real. You find yourself wanting to be the one next to the other instead of anyone else. Zeus thinks you two should just fuck… Maybe he’s right? There’s only one way to find out.

. Warnings: +16?, swearing, mature and suggestive content, making out, mentions of sex and drinking

. Notes: Giving this a second chance, this time bigger, longer and hornier! This shouldn't have taken as long as it did 😭 I don't think it's worth the wait but honestly as long as only one person enjoys it I'll be happy 😭 Poseidon divider made by @/vibeswithrenai and taken from this post Art made by Neal Illustrator and taken from this post. The idea for this au was also inspired by her art And an infinite amount of thanks to @theproverbialpen for beta reading this and helping me out so much! Also please go check her stuff out, it's seriously so much better than anything I could ever write (if you like this you'll LOVE "EPIC: The Siren Saga")

. Word count: 12562

series masterlist

"Don't go sharing your devotion Lay all your love on me" - Lay All Your Love On Me, ABBA

Lights exploded across the arena—blinding, intoxicating—a cascade of greens, yellows, and blues swallowing everything in their path. The air pulsed with an impossible energy, electric with the anticipation of thousands who had been waiting months for this moment. It was contagious, seeping into your skin, winding itself through your veins until it felt like you could breathe it in and be swallowed whole.

The bass rumbled beneath your feet, a living heartbeat in the floorboards. You felt it climb your legs, coil in your stomach, and settle deep in your chest, thrumming like a second pulse. Ecstatic. Overwhelming in the best way. Alive.

People had come from all over, some traveling for hours, even days, just to witness this moment—to see Natural Disaster live in the flesh. Thousands of bodies moved in unison, swaying, dancing, losing themselves to the music. Their cheers tangled together into an indecipherable roar, but the glow of their faces, the messages scrawled on signs, the way they pressed against each other with sheer unfiltered joy made what they wanted to convey more than clear. They were utterly entranced. The whole place buzzed with an almost tangible force, as if the concert itself was something alive.

You took advantage of the moment, the tidal wave of sound and movement, and raised your camera. The crowd behind you sang and screamed, their voices a perfect backdrop. A few people near the barrier noticed you, those lucky enough to be close to the stage, and eagerly struck poses—some waving, some locking arms in excitement—before turning back to the show just as quickly. You chuckled.

It had become a habit, taking at least one picture of the crowd at every venue the band played. You were drawn to it—the beauty of people losing themselves, completely immersed, living in a memory they would carry forever. Simple, maybe. But special. And, if nothing else, it kept the social media managers happy.

For the past ten months, you had been traveling with Natural Disaster as their photographer, and despite having witnessed dozens of shows, the magic never faded. The crowds, the staging, the music, the reaction to the music—it never got old. It wasn’t as if you were unfamiliar with the scene, big concerts, blinding lights, the deafening sound of the speakers, but there was something about these ones that felt different. Maybe it was the way you got to see everything, the before, the after, the world behind the curtain. A world you never knew existed.

You still couldn’t believe you were there. Couldn’t thank your friend enough for pushing you to take the job—or hell, to even apply in the first place. You had been given the opportunity of a lifetime, one most fans could only dream of.

The song swelled into its chorus, and you found yourself mouthing the words instinctively. The melodies, the singer’s inflections, every pause, every note—it was all etched into you, like something that had always been there. After listening to these songs so many times, for so long, they had become second nature. More than once, you’d caught yourself humming them absentmindedly, the tunes slipping from your lips before you even realized. Who knows how many times it had happened unnoticed?

Then suddenly, the crowd near you erupted—cheers, screams, hands reaching past you, reaching for something.

You turned, reflexively raising your camera, part instinct, part curiosity.

And you found yourself almost face-to-face with him.

The lead vocalist.

He stood at the very edge of the stage, towering over you, eyes scanning the sea of bodies as he sang, every syllable sharp, deliberate. The LED screens behind him cast him in an ethereal blue glow, his long dark locks haloed in light. The tips of his hair, dyed royal blue, almost melted into the background, giving him an otherworldly aura. Small trinkets woven into his strands caught the light, shimmering like stars trapped in his hair.

His outfit, minimal, effortless—despite the fact that you knew every piece had been chosen carefully—somehow only amplified his presence. A tank top clung to him just right, highlighting the muscle of his arms. One was wrapped in a fishnet sleeve, his fingers hugged by metallic rings that gleamed under the lights. His right arm, a sleek blue metal prosthetic, caught every flicker of color, reflecting the energy of the crowd itself. He looked like something untouchable. Something unreal.

And then—his eyes found yours.

Locked. Held.

For a second, the world shrank. The lights dimmed. The crowd melted away.

Your lips parted, lyrics forgotten, the song lost at the tip of your tongue.

His eyes were beautiful.

You were frozen. Stuck. Trapped under his gaze, under his call, under his siren song.

And the bastard knew it.

As the instrumental break started, his lips curled into a smirk. Slow. Sharp.

Without warning, he crouched, closing the distance in an instant. If it weren’t for the stage being slightly taller than you, you would’ve been eye-to-eye.

He took his right in-ear out, letting it dangle from its wire over his shoulder. Resting his left arm on his thigh, he pulled his microphone away from his lips bringing it down to hang loosely between his legs—casual, lazy, intentional. His cheek pressed against his closed right fist, elbow resting on his knee, his gaze unwavering, almost mocking.

Over the screaming crowd and pounding bass, you barely caught his voice.

"Enjoying the show?"

It snapped you from your trance, though not quickly enough to stop the heat from creeping up your neck.

“I liked it better when you were over there.” You nodded toward the opposite end of the stage.

Poseidon raised a brow. “You did, didn’t you?”

The comment sent another rush of heat to your face, and you hated that he knew it.

You didn’t have a response. Just looked at him.

His smirk widened. Dangerous. Knowing. It reminded you of a shark—something predatory, something too aware of its power.

“Take a picture.” He motioned lazily to your camera. “It’ll last longer.”

"Stop it."

He only shrugged, as if to say, ‘your loss’. Then, just as effortlessly, he slipped his in-ear back on, lifted the mic to his lips, and stood—his presence filling the stage once more.

Still, it didn’t stop you from raising your camera, snapping a few quick shots, wishing he had stayed just a few moments longer.

Lowering the camera slightly, you peeked over it—

And there he was.

Still smirking.

Still looking directly at you.

And worst of all, you knew—without a single doubt—that smirk was meant only for you.

Your breath left you in a quiet exhale. You glanced down at your screen to review the shot.

Perfect.

The crowd erupted again, their voices blending into a thunderous chant—one name, over and over, rising like a prayer to the heavens.

"POSEIDON! POSEIDON! POSEIDON!"

The stage lights flickered in response, casting the entire scene in a fleeting, shimmering blue—like moonlight on crashing waves.

And for a brief moment, you wondered if this man was just a man or something far more.

And Poseidon—Poseidon tried his best to keep his eyes off you. But his attempts were futile.

──────📸──────

"I think tonight went great."

The four of you made your way out of the arena through a dimly lit back alley, slipping through the heavy metal door that slammed shut behind you with a dull thud. It wasn’t the most glamorous exit, but you had to stay humble somehow, right? In all seriousness, it was one of the safest ways to leave venues like this—without the risk of being swallowed by a screaming crowd.

Still, you had a feeling you could have walked right through the front doors if you wanted to. Considering how late it was and how long ago the concert had ended, most fans had already cleared out. It was Zeus’ fault, really. If anyone ever arrived late or left late, he was somehow always to blame. In this case, though, you silently thanked him for it.

"Yeah, we got to end it with a bang!"

You’d been told you’d need to wait a few hours before getting back on the tour bus—the crew still had things to pack and prep before hitting the road again. You weren’t too thrilled about the downtime, but it wasn’t like you had a choice.

"What did you think, [Name]?"

Three heads turned toward you in perfect synchronization, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. They always asked, and you always gave the same answer, that didn’t stop them from cheering every single time. So this time, you decided to switch it up.

"Eh, it was fine."

You waved a dismissive hand, fighting to keep a straight face as the three of them froze in place.

"...Fine. Fine?"

Zeus, the bleached blonde, looked as if you had just personally insulted him and his entire bloodline. His mouth hung open slightly, his brows furrowing before he lurched forward and clamped a hand against your forehead, playfully checking if you had a fever.

"Are you okay?" He demanded, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

You laughed, batting his hand away. "Yes."

"You never say it’s fine. You’re always all like—" Zeus suddenly slung an arm over your shoulders, lifting his hand like a talking puppet, bringing his voice higher in what you assumed was a terrible impression of you. “‘Oh, well, I think it was splendid! Absolutely brilliant! Oh, Poseidon was my favourite part! He was truly divine! Oh please kiss meeee!’”

He brought up his other hand and dropped his voice into a deeper, raspier tone. “‘Of course I will, how could I ever resist you? I’ve been waiting for you to ask me for months because I’m too much of a wimp and can’t do it myself!’”

He then mashed both of his hands together, putting you in some kind of headlock and making obscenely loud kissing noises as if his hands were making out. You paid no attention to the last part—or at least you tried. Still, a slight heat crept up your neck and bloomed across your ears.

Sure, you and Poseidon exchanged flirtatious comments from time to time, but it wasn’t real… was it? At least, not from his side. You, on the other hand, had thought about it a little too much—more than you’d like to admit.

You were certain the impression of his brother was made just to upset and annoy him, that it didn’t hold any truth, just like Zeus had done many times before. You probably shouldn’t overthink it, you told yourself. Which, of course, meant you would.

Maybe he was just messing with you the same way he messed with his brothers. After all, over the past year or so, you'd grown close to them—not just as colleagues, but as friends. Real friends. The kind that could spend hours together on the road without wanting to kill each other (well, most of the time). You had late night conversations about nothing and everything, inside jokes that made no sense to anyone else, and a ridiculous amount of shared memories in different cities across the country. They had become your people. And, judging by the way they always included you in everything, you knew they felt the same.

So yeah, he was probably just messing with you.

“Leave it.” Poseidon’s unmistakable voice broke Zeus from his lewd puppet show. His tone was stern—warning him to piss off. He effortlessly replaced Zeus, shoving the blonde’s arm off your shoulders and draping his own there instead, almost protectively.

Zeus scoffed, rolling his eyes as he gestured toward you and Poseidon, looking to Hades for support. But the eldest merely shrugged.

You stiffened slightly at the unexpected touch, but when Poseidon looked at you, the tension faded. His scent—something faintly salty, like the sea—washed over you, strangely familiar and oddly comforting. It was strange, really. You hadn’t ever seen him anywhere near a large body of water, except for the few times the band stopped in coastal cities for a break. And yet, he always smelled like the ocean.

"Well," Poseidon drawled, giving your shoulder a light squeeze. "I think it’s a good thing. Helps us improve, doesn’t it, sweetheart?"

His gaze lingered just a second too long. Neither of you looked away.

It gave you a chance to look at his eyes—really look at them—deep blue as the depths of the ocean, beautiful but deadly if you stayed in them too long. You could get lost. You could drown. Still, despite the warnings, you always stared and kept staring, analyzing every detail you could. The way they sparkled under the fluorescent lights, the way they seemed to dilate when looking into yours. The way he raised a brow when the silence stretched a beat too long—a mixture of amusement and the tiniest bit of infatuation. The small amount he allowed himself to show, even if it wasn’t fully conscious.

For a second, you wondered if he was analyzing yours too. A small part of you hoped so. A bigger part of you buried that hope deep down, almost embarrassed for even thinking such a silly thing.

For a fleeting moment, as it seemed to become more common since you met him, the rest of the world faded.

Then—

"I heard of this one bar from a friend." Hades interrupted, breaking the spell as he glanced up from his phone. "We could go there while we wait. He said it isn’t usually busy."

Poseidon turned to him, giving his brother a thumbs up. "Sounds good."

Just as you began heading in the direction of the bar, a small group of lingering fans spotted the band and rushed over. Nothing too overwhelming, just three of them that seemed eager to interact with their favourite artists.

After asking for autographs, they requested a few photos. The band agreed without hesitation. You offered to take the pictures, already used to the role—it didn’t bother you. You took pictures for a living.

Poseidon let go of your shoulders. You hadn’t realized he’d kept his arm there the entire time, like it belonged, like it was molded to fit you perfectly. But you did notice when he let go. The warmth and weight you’d grown so familiar with was gone. You shouldn’t have missed it as much as you did.

Still, you smiled and held your hands out for their phones.

As you were snapping the last picture, a girl stepped forward and turned to Poseidon, asking if she could get a photo with just him. He agreed, giving her a charming smile. They posed, his hand settling on her hip as she leaned in a little too close. Not inappropriate, but... familiar. Too familiar. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he said something you didn’t catch—judging by her blush, it wasn’t exactly innocent.

And something inside you shifted. Not anger. No. It was a feeling you’d become too familiar with over the years. The only thing you didn’t understand was why you felt it—at least, you didn’t want to admit it.

You saw no reason to feel so strongly about it. Poseidon had had plenty of interactions like this before. Hell, he probably had deeper, more meaningful—even more sexual—encounters. You were sure of that. Some even happened while you’d known him.

He’d had them before you knew him. He’d had them while you knew him. And he’ll have them after the tour ended and you went back to your boring life.

So why? Why were you jealous?

Maybe it was just the feeling that you wanted to be that girl at that moment. The one who got to press close, laugh too loudly at a joke that wasn’t even funny, feel the weight of his hand resting easy on your hip like it belonged there. Maybe you wanted to lean in and feel him lean back, catch a whispered compliment that was meant for your ears only, something low and teasing and just a little bit dirty that would have you blushing all the way back.

Maybe you just wanted to be the one who made his eyes crinkle at the corners, who made his voice drop that octave lower—smooth, deliberate, like velvet dragging over bare skin. Maybe you wanted to feel the shift in him when the teasing stopped being just for show. Maybe you wanted him to lean in and murmur something you’d replay in your head for days, words you wouldn’t dare repeat out loud.

Maybe you wanted his fingers to tighten just a little around your waist, not enough to draw attention—but enough to feel. Enough to know. Maybe you wanted him to dip his head close to yours, so close his breath hit your neck and made you shiver, pretending it was the breeze. Maybe you wanted to press against him, just barely, and feel his body react, feel the tension settle low in his stomach, feel the way he tried not to show it.

Maybe you wanted to push him just far enough to make him crack, to make him slip up and say something that he couldn’t take back.

Maybe you wanted to see what would happen if there were no fans, no brothers, no distractions—just the two of you, and that look in his eyes. Maybe you wanted to see what his hands would do if he didn’t have to hold back.

Maybe you wanted him to forget about every other person, even just for one night. To turn to you with that easy grin and that fire behind his eyes and say your name like it meant something more than a casual joke.

And god, maybe you wanted to know what it’d feel like to have him back you into a wall in some forgotten corner of the venue, breathless and flushed, his lips hovering just over yours like a promise waiting to be broken. Maybe you wanted to hear him groan your name like it was the only damn word he remembered, feel the heat of his palms under your shirt, his mouth on your neck, on your—

Your “moment” got interrupted by the fan asking for her phone back. You hadn’t realized you’d already taken the photos. You were so used to it, it probably happened on autopilot. Being snapped back to reality made you actually process what you'd been thinking about.

What the hell was wrong with you?! Why were you even thinking that? That was creepy as fuck.

Sure, you worked with him. And yeah, once in a while, you’d flirt, tease each other, let your touches linger just a little too long, get lost in the way his eyes caught the light and— STOP.

That wasn’t the point. The point was: he was a rockstar. He was popular. He was hot. Of course, he got around. You knew that. He knew that. So why the hell were you thinking so much about it?

You needed to drop it. Yeah, drop it. Stuff every last thought into a drawer at the back of your mind, lock it tight, and hurl the key into the ocean, so deep that some clueless fish would mistake it for food, swallow it whole, and let it sink into oblivion. Poof. Gone forever.

You were good now, you told yourself.

You were, in fact, not good.

Poseidon caught your eye as you handed the last phone back, something flickering in his expression. Maybe amusement. Maybe something else.

You watched the group of fans disappear into the night, their excited chatter fading into the hum of the city. Zeus and Hades had gone back to squinting at a map on Hades’ phone, quietly bickering over which turn to take next.

"Jealous?"

His voice was sudden, low, and far too close, making your heart jump just slightly. You raised a brow, trying and failing to give him the impression that you had no idea what he was talking about.

“Your face gives it away. The way your nose scrunches up.” You subconsciously reached a hand to the bridge of your nose.

He let out a breathy laugh. “You don’t have to lie.” His smirk alone should’ve been a dead giveaway. The bastard did it on purpose, just to get a reaction out of you.

It had become your game. One you two had developed over the months of knowing each other: make the other as flustered as possible.

It started as just a couple of jokes, then slowly evolved into what you had now. You got touchier. The flirting started to feel a little too real. Like a desperate call to take the next step—but neither of you would admit it. You both had your reasons. You weren’t sure about his, but you were damn sure about yours, even if you didn’t like thinking about them.

Ever since you met him, you’d felt this pull. Sure, you’d had relationships before. You’d felt attraction before. But this… this was different.

Still, none of that had stopped you from playing the game. Maybe because deep down, you hoped one day it’d be real—that he was drowning in the same feelings and sending out an SOS call like you were.

But that’s what it was: a game. And damn it, you weren’t going to lose.

Before he could get another word in, you moved—grabbed him by the waistband of his pants and gave a firm tug, pulling him closer.

The unexpected action made him stumble slightly. You managed to catch the way his face shifted in surprise, how his ears turned red, the way his chest stopped moving as he held his breath, and how he stiffened, completely taken off guard. It wasn’t the first time you’d done something like that—and most of the time, he wouldn’t have that strong of a reaction—but it felt great every time you managed to get one out of him.

Now you were face to face. You could both feel each other’s breath.

“I know what you’re doing.” Now you were the one smirking, and he was the one frozen in place. And damn, it felt good. “It may have worked this time. But two can play that game.”

Despite himself, Poseidon snapped back into character. “Yeah? What are you gonna do?”

“You’ll see.”

“That’s a big promise coming from you.”

You gave him another tug, pulling him impossibly close, your middles pressed flush, pelvis to pelvis. Every inch of space left vanished, bodies molded together, breath caught somewhere between tension and something heavier.

“Are you two coming or what?” Zeus, already nearly a block away, called back.

Hades, not far behind, gave you an apologetic look.

“We’re going.” You responded for both of you.

You started dragging him by the waistband after them. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t protest. He just smiled and let you. Let you drag him along like he was caught on the metaphorical, almost literal leash you had him on.

──────📸──────

By the time you finally made it to the bar, the four of you had settled into a secluded booth toward the back. It was a snug fit but comfortable, the kind of space that made it easy to sink into conversation without interruption. The atmosphere was calm—almost homely—an intimate contrast to the chaotic, electric energy of the arena.

The warm glow of dim lights reflected off polished wooden surfaces, casting soft shadows across the walls. A low hum of voices drifted around the room, but no one was loud or disruptive—just small groups of friends talking in hushed tones, likely regulars who had carved out this space as their own. The only other sound was the faint murmur of a football game playing on a small TV mounted in one corner, though judging by the lack of interest from anyone in the bar, it was probably a rerun.

You sat with your arms stretched out toward the center of the table, your camera resting in your hands, its screen casting a pale glow on your faces as you scrolled through the night’s captures. The three of them leaned in, watching as you flicked through the images.

Comments were thrown around—some admiring the shots, others laughing at the more unflattering ones. Zeus, of course, was the loudest, making sure to poke fun at Hades’ stone-faced expressions and his own occasionally ridiculous poses. But as the slideshow continued, one comment, in particular, caught you off guard.

“Why are most of these Poseidon?”

Your fingers froze, embarrassed that your unconscious habit came to light for all to hear.

Zeus had a raised brow and an infuriatingly smug smirk, leaning forward with one arm propped on the table, hand supporting his chin. Before you could even process how to respond, his expression flickered—just for a second—as if he had been struck with sudden pain. Someone had clearly kicked him under the table.

You weren’t sure who.

“I just want to know!” Zeus protested, rubbing his leg and throwing an accusing glance around the table.

Your face heated up, mind scrambling for an excuse.

“He’s the main vocalist.” You said matter of factly, shifting in your seat. “If you have a problem, take it up with the people. It’s what they want to see.”

Zeus’ smirk only widened.

“Are you the people?” Before you could formulate a response, another thud sounded beneath the table—this one louder, sharper. Zeus flinched again, hissing in pain as he immediately bent down to rub his leg. “Stop that!”

Your attempts to fight back a grin—and the giggles threatening to bubble out of you—were futile. There was just something about seeing Zeus being put in his place that never got old. Not in a mean way. It was just... satisfying.

Too caught up in his misery, you hadn’t noticed Poseidon’s gaze settling on you. His expression shifted from one of irritation toward his brother to something softer, gentler, the corners of his mouth twitching at the sound of your laugh.

You did, however, catch the subtle look the eldest of the three sent him—a quiet warning. Poseidon rolled his eyes in response, leaned back against the booth seat, and rested his arm casually along the backrest behind you.

That alone made you realize that yeah. You had a pretty good idea who was responsible for those kicks.

Leaving your camera on the center of the table, you leaned back as well, your shoulders brushing lightly against his arm in a silent thank you.

He turned his head to look at you again. His eyes found yours—and this time, he didn’t look away. His smile was faint but real, something warm blooming beneath the cool exterior he usually wore like armor. You returned it, mirroring the expression like it was instinct.

“You too. Stop it.” Hades said to Zeus, his voice sharp and unamused.

“He started it.” Zeus’ defense sounded more like a pouty three year old than a grown man.

“No I didn’t.” You heard the indignation in Poseidon’s voice beside you, quiet but firm.

As the youngest prepared to retort, you downed the last of your drink, seizing the perfect opportunity to excuse yourself to shake off the lingering embarrassment sitting heavy in your chest. It wasn’t anything serious, nothing you couldn’t handle, but still, your skin felt a little too warm, your pulse just a little too quick.

“Gonna go get some more. Anyone want anything?”

A chorus of no’s and I’m fine’s met your ears, so you simply nodded and made your way to the counter.

As you waited to be served, another patron leaned casually against the bar beside you. He looked about your age, dressed in faded jeans and a hoodie, clearly just waiting on his drink too. It wasn’t long before you exchanged a few words, just friendly conversation, nothing out of the ordinary.

Poseidon turned toward his brother, voice lowered to an accusing whisper-yell. “Why did you do that?” His eyes darted toward you, just for a millisecond, checking to see if you were listening before snapping back to Zeus.

“What? I was just curious.”

He scoffed. “Curious? Like you wouldn’t jump at the chance to make someone uncomfortable.”

“I’m doing you a favor! Anyone with eyes could see how smitten you are. And you repay me with pain?”

The comment earned a dry laugh from Poseidon. “I’m not smitten.”

“Please. It’s been going on for months. It’s unbearable. The amount of sexual tension is—”

Poseidon rolled his eyes, tuning him out. He would be lying if he said he’d never noticed how good you looked, or how often his thoughts wandered to you when they shouldn’t. But the more Zeus talked, the more he wanted to scrub the entire idea from his mind.

While Zeus continued rambling on and on about ‘just manning up and doing something already’, Poseidon's eyes wandered—seeking something, anything, more interesting than his brother’s voice. Naturally, they found you.

It was always you.

It took him a second to notice the guy beside you. Another second to see your hand on the man's arm, your body angled slightly toward him. Maybe it was innocent. Maybe not. But the moment your eyes flicked back toward Poseidon, a smug little grin tugging at your lips—he knew. You were doing it on purpose.

Your words from earlier echoed back: two can play the game.

And by the looks of it, you were keeping your word.

He had to respect you for that.

“That smug little…” The words slipped under his breath, unfinished but heavy with meaning.

Still, his jaw clenched. His grip on the backrest tightened. His stare sharpened, locking onto the guy like he could scare him away with a look. It was almost laughable how intense his stare was—if looks could kill, that man would’ve dropped right then and there.

“–it could be resolved with a nice reservation at a hotel and—” Zeus finally noticed his words were falling on deaf ears. “Y’know, you keep glaring like that, and he might actually drop dead.”

Poseidon exhaled through his nose, tearing his gaze away and taking a slow sip of his drink, trying to appear indifferent. It wasn’t working. “I’m not glaring.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Not wanting to endure more of their bickering, Hades stepped in. “They’re into you. They might even love you. Where do you think all your chemistry comes from? They look at you with those eyes, the ones you once had. We’re not blind.”

Poseidon laughed, incredulous. “Love? I think you skipped a few steps. It’s just playful flirting.” Zeus opened his mouth, but Poseidon cut him off. “Don’t act like you don’t do it all the time. I don’t see you claiming you love every person you flirt with.”

“At least I’m not as bad as you.”

“That’s not what the media says.”

Let’s be honest—Poseidon wasn’t much better than Zeus when it came to nightly lovers. But by god, he clung to that small difference of public opinion like a lifeline.

“Since when do I care about what the media says? Don’t bring me into your sad little worry bubble.”

That was the problem. He did care. He hated how much he cared. Sometimes he envied Zeus’ ease, or even Hades’ ability to vanish from public attention. Maybe it was pride, or maybe it was a fragile ego he didn’t want to admit he had. Or maybe—just maybe—he cared too much about how people saw him. What they thought of him.

He hated Zeus most days, but he had to admit—sometimes, he was grateful for the way his brother drew the spotlight away from him.

When it came to relationships, however, Poseidon prided himself on not caring. At least, he thought he didn’t. That they were casual, disposable. He could forget names the morning after and never wonder what they were doing now. He told himself it didn’t matter what his one night flings did before or after. Who they talked to. Who they touched.

But you... you might’ve ruined that for him.

In truth, there were very few people who had ever truly broken through the walls he’d built—and fewer still who had stayed long enough to know him. Those connections had always ended in ruins, leaving him even more guarded than before.

He’d always struggled with emotional intimacy. The very thought of someone seeing his deepest flaws and secrets laid bare made his skin crawl. He hated the idea of anyone looking past the persona he had so carefully built over the years. Vulnerability felt like weakness. So he kept people at arm’s length. Maybe that’s why everything always ended the same way: with disappointment, or worse—someone walking away with pieces of him he couldn’t get back.

“And those stupid braids! You let them braid your hair like some kindergartener every night!” Zeus threw his hands in the air, exasperated.

Poseidon instinctively glanced down at the braids you had done for him earlier that night. They weren’t anything elaborate—just a few loose ones scattered through his hair, with two framing his face. You’d woven small trinkets into them, mostly ocean themed charms—tiny seashells, beads shaped like starfish, a silver wave. He had reminded you of his domain, and you had made it very clear in your choices. And he wore them with pride, he wasn’t about to let his brother diminish them like they were something disposable, something without any meaning.

He absentmindedly reached up, running his fingers over one of the charms before looking back at his younger brother, expression almost offended. “They’re not stupid. I like them.”

Zeus snorted. “You look like a hippie.”

Poseidon arched a brow. “Look at yourself in a mirror before you speak.”

Before Zeus could fire back, Hades sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, enough.” He muttered, effectively cutting through their bickering. His gaze shifted to Poseidon. “They won’t be around forever for you to tell them how you feel and you know that.”

Poseidon’s brows furrowed.

How he felt? What did that mean? Well, he knew what Hades meant. He just didn’t like thinking about it.

He knew the burning sensation in his chest every time he looked at you. He’d always brushed it off as attraction—just lust, nothing he hadn’t felt before. But now… the weight of his brother’s words settled in his mind like an anchor.

This wasn’t the first time they’d teased him about it. But this time, it felt more like a wake up call.

He didn’t like that.

“No, no, no, do you know what he needs to do?” Zeus cut in, turning to Poseidon with a glint in his eyes. “Next stop—there’s this place over—hold on, I’ll just send it to you.” He didn’t even finish his sentence before pulling out his phone and typing. “You just gotta get out there, turn on the good ol’ Olympian family charm, tell them you have chemistry and let the setting take care of the rest.”

Poseidon rolled his eyes, but the lightest hint of pink dusted his cheeks. He brought his drink back to his lips.

Zeus, of course, had to make it worse.

“Or, in better words—just fuck already.”

Poseidon nearly choked on his drink.

He coughed, sputtering as he caught his breath. “You’re disgusting.” His voice came out more flustered than threatening, especially with the way he quickly glanced around to see if you had heard. Though... he didn’t exactly hate the idea. Maybe he’d thought about it once. Or twice. Or more. Not that he’d ever admit it—especially not to Zeus.

His blush deepened as Zeus leaned in, brow raised, smug smirk on his lips.

“I’m just saying—” He continued, clearly enjoying this way too much. “You need to quit acting like a prude and do something for your little guy. He’ll thank you.”

The sound that followed was so loud and pained, half the bar turned to stare. Hades had to apologize to the nearest table.

Between the curses Zeus let out and the ones Poseidon hurled back, the youngest still managed to spot the woman who had just walked into the bar.

He stopped mid rant.

Tapping the table once before standing up, he grinned. “Watch and learn, brother. Dear ol’ Zeus will teach you how to prevail. Look closely.”

And just like that, he was gone, striding toward the girl with all the confidence of a man who had never once been rejected, not that it was true.

Poseidon exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, his jaw tense.

Across from him, Hades silently turned the camera toward him, he pushed it toward him slowly, deliberately. His expression remained unreadable—sharp but oddly gentle.

The camera was heavier than it looked. He could almost still feel the residual heat of your hands radiating off of it, despite them no longer being there, like a ghost, an illusion, a trick his mind was playing on him, the strap slightly tangled from how you'd slung it over your shoulder earlier. And when Poseidon finally looked at the display—at the photo you had taken of him at the start of the night—his breath hitched.

You hadn’t posed him. Hadn’t warned him. He had barely realized you were aiming your lens his way—he blamed the stupid lights in his eyes, making him basically blind. He had just been standing there—eyes on you, shoulders relaxed, distracted for just a second, bathed in the glow of the lights pulsing from the stage behind him. Neon spilled over his silhouette, casting his form in a surreal aura, like he wasn’t entirely made of flesh and blood. A halo of color framed his hair, kissed the curve of his jaw, and wrapped around the gleam of his prosthetic.

And somehow, you’d caught it. That fleeting moment—unguarded, unperformed. The smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, subtle enough to miss if you blinked. His eyes, that so often looked like cold steel and stormclouds, looked... still. Gentle. Pleased.

When he saw the photo, it unnerved him—deeply. It stilled something inside him, cracked open the quiet ache he’d long kept buried beneath ego and bravado.

That’s how you saw him? Not the frontman, not the untouchable performer colder than ice itself—but that version? The one he hardly recognized in himself?

And yet... there he was. A moment immortalized. A man seen—not as a myth or a spectacle—but as something real.

“You know he’s right.”

Hades’ voice cut through the stillness. Poseidon looked up, startled by the sudden return to reality.

“He is?” The incredulous bite in Poseidon's tone bordered on defensive.

“You know what I mean.”

Poseidon exhaled again, more ragged this time. He looked away. “No, I don’t. You keep saying ‘feelings,’ ‘feel’—you know I don’t—”

Sensing the edge in his voice, Hades tried to bring him back down. “Tell me how you feel during those moments you have with them.”

That word again. Feel. As if Poseidon could just crack open his chest and read out what was inside.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, shoulders taut. “That again.”

He almost stood up and left, on instinct—fight or flight. But Hades reached out, his hand closing over Poseidon’s. Grounding him. That simple contact was enough to keep him rooted in place.

“Tell me.”

Poseidon didn’t understand why his brother kept pushing. Why he needed him to look at it, name it. Why he had to poke at all the things Poseidon had been doing his best to ignore for months.

But if he really had to think about it—if he really had to say it out loud—he’d start with this:

He loved your smile. Especially when he said something stupid, something that wasn’t even funny, and you still laughed like it meant something.

He loved how he could flirt, test the waters, and you’d play along, giving him just enough to keep him addicted. He loved the way you got flustered when he leaned too close, the way he got flustered when you caught him off guard with a comment or a look that felt far too intimate for the setting.

He loved your eyes—not just their color or shape, but the way they lingered. How they looked at him like you were trying to figure him out. Like you actually wanted to. It scared the shit out of him.

And your lips—god, he’d never admit it, but he’d memorized their shape. The curve when you smiled, the way they twitched when you were holding back a laugh. How sometimes, when you were deep in thought, you’d bite your lower lip and he’d lose every coherent thought.

He loved the way you listened—really listened—when he spoke, even when he was rambling. He loved the warmth in your voice when you greeted him, the quiet way you made space for him without asking questions. He loved how you saw him. Not the god, not the storm, not a performer. Just… him.

He loved—no.

No, he didn’t love.

He didn’t love any of that.

Poseidon didn’t love.

He wasn’t capable of love. He’d never be loved, not really. Yes, he was attracted to you. But love was something else. Something dangerous. Off the table.

Still, there was a part of him—buried deep beneath the bravado, beneath the waves—that wanted to say it. That wanted to hand you all the delicate, breakable pieces of himself and pray you’d be gentle.

But he didn’t. He wouldn’t.

So he didn't say any of it.

“I said it before. It’s just flirting. Pure tension built over months. Nothing more.”

Hades sighed—not disappointed, but with the kind of quiet concern only someone who’s lived through heartbreak can carry. There was a flicker of fear behind his eyes too—that Poseidon’s refusal to name what he felt would end up hurting him more than protecting him.

“Maybe Zeus is right.” Hades said with a pointed look toward their brother, who was now mid routine with the same poor girl as earlier. “Maybe you do need to ‘fuck it out.’ Go ahead. Try it. But when it’s done, and that thing in your chest is still there? You’ll try to bury it. And it’ll come back a thousand times worse. And you’ll feel like shit.”

Poseidon didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to picture what it would mean if his brother was right.

So he didn’t.

He slipped the mask back on with practiced ease. “Talking from experience?”

As if on cue, Hades’ phone buzzed against the wooden table, cutting through the conversation. The screen lit up, and Poseidon caught a glimpse of the contact photo—his sister in law’s familiar face.

Persephone.

It was almost a ritual at this point. Every night after a show, without fail, she called to check in. Maybe to ask how things had gone, maybe just to hear Hades’ voice. Either way, Poseidon had lost count of how many times this exact moment had played out.

Hades barely glanced at the screen before reaching for the phone, a rare, almost imperceptible softness passing over his usually sharp features.

“Think it through.” He murmured before standing up and making his way toward the exit. The door swung shut behind him, the cold night air swallowing his voice as he answered the call.

Poseidon glanced around the nearly empty table, a quiet exhale slipping past his lips. It was as if the universe was mocking him—one by one, everyone had slipped away, leaving him the last one standing. Hades had stepped outside, deep in conversation with Persephone. Zeus had all but disappeared, wrapped up in a flirtatious exchange with the woman who had just walked in. And then there was you.

He recalled the first time you two met—back when you were just the photographer, just another face amidst the crew. He was polite, maybe even a little distant, the way he usually was with new people. Keep it casual, keep it safe. That was the rule. That was the plan. He certainly hadn’t planned to notice you, hadn’t planned to see you. Not like that.

But then you looked at him. Smiled at him. Said his name in that light, curious tone that didn’t sound like you already had him figured out. And something in his chest shifted. It was subtle at first—how he started hovering nearby more than necessary, how he noticed the color of your eyes, how your laughter cut through the noise of the room even when he wasn’t listening for it.

The first few weeks on the road were filled with long days, quiet nights, and the kind of interactions that should’ve stayed professional. But something about you refused to be ordinary. And somewhere between stolen glances and shared jokes, he fell. Hard.

And he wasn’t supposed to fall—not like that. Attraction? Sure. Lust? Of course! But this? This ache in his chest when you weren’t around? This low, burning hum that lived under his skin whenever you were? That wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to someone like him.

He kept telling himself it would pass. That it was just infatuation, just tension, just a trick of proximity and convenience. But the longer he knew you, the more the excuses thinned out. You weren’t just a passing interest, weren’t just something pretty to look at during the tour. You were real, and kind, and smart, and stubborn in all the ways that made him want to bite back a grin. You challenged him. Calmed him. Disarmed him without even trying.

And maybe that was what scared him the most.

He thought about what Hades said. About how he felt. About how you might feel. Did your chest tighten the way his did when you saw him flirt with someone else? Did you feel that same magnetic pull every time you were close? Did you want something more?

And what even was more? Was it just lust tangled with infatuation? Or something deeper? Something scarier?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know how to feel.

Zeus had made it sound easy. Months of flirting, looks, touches, that constant electricity. Couldn’t you two just… do something about it? Take the edge off? Release the tension that had been building over months?

Poseidon thought about what that might look like—what it might feel like. The warmth of your skin, the way your breath might hitch, how you’d look when you let go.

He thought about the dreams. The ones he never spoke about. The ones where you reached for him first. Where you said the things he was too proud, too guarded to say himself. Where you wanted him—not just in passing, not just as a game—but really wanted him. All of him.

And god, he liked the idea that you might think of him that way too. Maybe more than he should.

He should probably talk to you about it. Just lay it out, ask what it was. What you wanted. But what if that ruined everything? Would it be better to let things unfold naturally, the way they had been? Quiet, unspoken, simmering just below the surface?

But if nothing had happened yet, after all those months, all those stolen looks, all that heat, then when?

How much longer was he supposed to wait? How many more nights could he take this gnawing thing inside his chest—this ache that wouldn’t leave him alone? He couldn’t take it anymore.

He needed to do something.

Then he saw you. Standing at the bar, laughing with the man from earlier. You leaned in slightly, one hand resting lightly on the counter near his, your smile wide and easy. You touched his arm when you laughed—not inappropriately, but it still made something coil, tight and bitter, in Poseidon's stomach.

Before he could stop himself, his hand reached for your camera. He pulled it closer, like it was second nature to protect something of yours. Then, without a second thought, he stood and walked toward you—no hesitation.

You and the man were mid conversation. He was nice, friendly, maybe even a little charming. He looked surprised when Poseidon arrived, especially when he slid an arm around your waist like he’d done it a hundred times.

“What are you having?” His voice was low, close—closer than you expected.

You jumped a little, startled by the cool pressure of his fingers settling on your hip. It wasn’t just a fleeting touch, either. His thumb moved in slow, absentminded circles over the fabric of your clothes, sending an unexpected shiver up your spine. Your mind short circuited for a moment.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus. “Oh! Don, this is uhh…” You scrambled to remember the young man’s name.

“Noah.” He reminded you with a sheepish smile. He didn’t seem offended by you not remembering, or Poseidon’s interruption—more confused than anything, his gaze flicking between you and the man who had appeared at your side like a shadow. His hand, which had been resting lightly near yours, subtly dropped to his side. He clearly hadn’t expected Poseidon to show up, much less to touch you so casually.

“It’s his birthday. He’s here with his friends.”

Poseidon barely acknowledged him. He spared Noah a glance—one of those indifferent, faintly bored looks. Then, as if remembering basic politeness, he offered a dismissive “Happy birthday”.

Then he turned back to you, eyes expectant, clearly waiting for an answer to the question he’d asked before.

Noah blinked. Coughed lightly into his fist. “Umm, I—I’ll just go. My friends—”

“Oh, yeah, it’s okay!” You offered, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt.

“Cool.”

“Have a good night.”

“Uh, thanks.”

You both stood there in the cringeworthy silence that followed, the tail end of the conversation awkward enough to make your skin crawl. The second Noah disappeared into the crowd, you turned to Poseidon, incredulous.

“What was that about?”

He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“He was nice! You didn’t have to intimidate him like that.”

“I didn’t do anything.” He said innocently, though his voice held that faint edge—like someone trying very hard to sound disinterested when they absolutely were not.

“You scared him.”

“If he’s scared of me just standing there, he’s pathetic.”

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms. “Didn’t take you for the possessive type.”

That caught him off guard. He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“You were starting to get a bit toxic there." You teased, stepping just slightly out of reach, letting your smile do most of the work. A part of him almost made him reach back for you, just to feel the heat your body radiated once more.

His expression twisted, half offended, half bewildered. “It wasn’t about him. It’s you.”

He punctuated the statement by gently booping your nose with a finger, smug and accusatory. You immediately caught his hand and pulled it down, still holding it.

“So I did it.” You said, triumphant. “I made you jealous.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t try to pull away.

“No, no, you have to say it. With words.”

He sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, you made me jealous. You can be proud of yourself as much as you want.”

Your heart nearly left orbit, but you somehow managed to regulate your breathing before it gave you away. He admitted it.

Still holding his hand, you guided it back to your hip where it had rested before. A small, slightly anxious part of you braced for him to pull away.

He didn’t.

His fingers stayed where you placed them—warmer now, more certain. As if silently saying, I’m still here.

And yet, even as his hand stayed, Poseidon was somewhere else for a beat. Mentally turning over what had just happened. He had been jealous. And worse, he didn’t even try to deny it. That scared him more than he wanted to admit. So, of course, he changed the subject.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You giggled, the sound light and teasing as you lifted your drink. “Just some water.”

Poseidon raised a brow. “Nothing else?”

“Yeah, not in the mood to let you guys drink me under the table again.” You finally turned to meet his gaze, expression playfully accusing. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

“It was one time.”

“It was embarrassing.”

“It was adorable.”

You downed what was left of your drink, not trusting your expression to stay neutral much longer. The cold hit your chest and helped calm the storm just enough. But then you looked back toward the booth—and noticed how empty it looked.

“Where are the rest? Are we leaving?”

Poseidon followed your gaze, then glanced at the clock on the TV screen. “We probably should.” He pulled out his wallet, dropped a few bills on the bar, and nodded to the bartender.

Without needing to say much else, he gently guided you toward the entrance, his hand still steady on your hip.

As you passed Zeus, still deeply engrossed in conversation with the stunning woman from earlier, Poseidon didn’t even slow his pace. Didn’t glance her way. Just dropped a single, casual bomb as you walked by:

“He’s married.”

The woman froze. Her face shifted in slow motion—smile fading, posture going rigid. She stared at Zeus as if he’d grown horns.

Without another word, she stood up and walked away.

Zeus groaned, throwing his hands up like a man betrayed. “Oh, come on!”

Poseidon didn’t even look back. He just smirked.

──────📸──────

The bus was quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine as it rolled down the darkened highway and the faint clicking and tapping of your laptop’s keyboard. The shining lights of the highway infiltrated through the drawn curtains, casting slivers of gold and silver that carved moving shadows across the narrow interior of the bus.

Hades had been the first to fold—calmly checking his phone one last time before slipping into his lower bunk and offering a quick “Good night” like clockwork.

The second was Zeus. He hadn’t done much more than mutter “Night” and disappear into the bunk above Hades’. He was usually the last one to fall asleep, staying up for ages doing god knows what on his phone before finally crashing at some ungodly hour. That night, however, he’d passed out almost instantly—if the deep, rattling snores behind his curtain were anything to go off of.

You had decided to stay up a little longer to transfer the night’s pictures from your camera to your laptop. You couldn't risk losing them—not when they were so important. They were moments frozen in time, bits of chaos and beauty captured forever. Highlights of a night that pulsed with energy, with light, with the electricity of the crowd. Moments one shouldn’t be able to forget.

And then there was Poseidon, the only one in the whole damn bus apparently having a full-blown existential crisis.

He stood motionless in the cramped bathroom, staring into the mirror. His braids had been undone. His expression was unreadable, carved from stillness. He looked down at the loose charms in his hands, fidgeting with them.

He thought about what his brothers had said. Words from earlier refused to leave his head, circling like vultures. “You need to tell them.” “It’ll come back a thousand times worse”. Like it was that easy. He groaned quietly, dragging a hand down his face. He hated to admit it, but he might actually take his brother’s advice—for once, Zeus might’ve been right.

With a deep breath, he finally built up the courage to step back out and maybe, just maybe, face you again. He gave himself one last look in the mirror, fixed his hair half-heartedly, and opened the door.

What he didn’t expect was to find you still awake.

You were sitting cross-legged, laptop propped on your thighs as you worked. Your bunk was the top one—you had fought tooth and nail to get it, determined not to settle for anything less. What you didn’t know was that Poseidon had let you have it, even if he’d never admit it.

He paused, watching you. You were focused, brows furrowed, lip caught between your teeth. The soft blue-white light of your laptop painted your face in quiet hues, and for a moment, he just looked.

“Still awake?”

The sudden voice startled you. You flinched, snapping your head toward him.

He was already dressed for bed—shirtless. You’d always liked his chest tattoos: ocean blue ink forming intricate images that flowed together like currents, puzzle pieces locked into harmony. His pajama pants hung low on his hips in a way that made it impossible not to look, revealing the start of his happy trail. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this, but it was the first time his pants sat that low, inviting your imagination to fill in the rest. And there you were—just sitting there, gawking like a total idiot.

He noticed. Oh, he noticed. He raised a brow, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, then casually walked past you.

You snapped out of it fast. “Y-yeah, just making sure I don’t lose any pictures.”

“It’s been a long day and it’s pretty late.” There was a thread of concern in his voice, so faint you almost missed it. “You should sleep. You can do that tomorrow.”

He crouched beside your bunk, reaching into your backpack like it was second nature. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. He pulled out the small plastic container where you kept all the little charms and trinkets collected during the tour. Quietly, carefully, he dropped the ones in his hand into it—resetting everything for the next time you'd braid his hair. And he’d let you, without question, because whenever your fingers threaded through his hair, it was like every part of him unraveled in the best possible way.

You returned to your work, fingers tapping away. “I could. But it’s already happened one too many times—pictures just... vanish. This piece of junk—” You jabbed a finger at your old camera “—needs some serious repairs.”

“Looks like we’ll need to get you a new one.”

You missed the we. “Yeah, I already started saving up for a new one.”

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t correct you. He just reached out and gently took the camera from your hands, putting it into its case without a word, like it was instinct.

With two strides, he was in front of you again. He rested his hands on your knees, peering at you over the top of your screen.

“Can I look at them one last time?”

You turned to him, surprised by his genuine interest. "Of course."

With effortless strength, Poseidon grabbed the edge of your bunk and hoisted himself up, careful not to bump his head in the cramped space. He had to hunch a little to fit. You adjusted your laptop, angling the screen toward him as he settled beside you, shoulders touching.

You scrolled through a few shots together, laughter slipping between you as you pointed out ridiculous expressions and perfectly timed moments. Then you reached a very specific photo. The one Poseidon had grown familiar with earlier that night. He went quiet the second it appeared. You both did. It wasn’t an awkward silence—it was weighty. Intentional. The kind of silence where words weren’t really needed.

Still, you felt the urge to speak. To fill it. To say something.

“You actually managed to look right at the lens.” You said, half a laugh in your voice. “Which is wild, because with all those lights, I’d imagine it’d be hard to spot it.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at you.

You hesitated, then pushed forward. You had to get it out—what had been haunting the back of your mind all night. “You kept looking at me.”

Poseidon tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking from the screen to you. His thoughts moved a million miles a second—his brother’s warning, the implications, the risk, the truth. And then—

Fuck it.

“It’s hard not to.”

You froze.

He had leaned in to say it—so close, his breath brushed your ear, his voice deep and low. Your entire body tensed at the unexpected sensation. The space between you felt suddenly nonexistent. He was always cool to the touch, like the ocean breeze on a late night, but now—now he was warm. Too warm. His presence was overwhelming in the best way, his body radiating heat like a fire in the dead of winter.

Your fingers stilled over the laptop. The moment stretched. You turned your head, searching his face. His eyes. The small flick of his brow. The rise and fall of his chest. You scanned every inch of him for a clue—for anything—was this just more of the playful flirting he always threw your way?

He waited patiently for your answer, but the way his gaze dipped briefly to your lips... one could tell he didn’t have much patience left in him.

That tiny flicker told you everything.

The air between you thickened, charged. Before your brain could scream at you to stop, you leaned in. Something—maybe gravity, maybe fate—pushed you toward him. His lips met yours—soft, warm, lingering in a way that felt certain. No hesitation. No teasing. Just him. The scent of smoke and sea salt hit you as you inhaled—comforting, familiar.

He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, his hand drifting to the back of your neck, pulling you in like the tide. You melted into him. The only thing that could part you was the desperate need for breath.

And so it did.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, he hovered just inches away, your noses brushing, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin.

You looked into each other’s eyes, admiring one another—neither of you able to break the silence. His breath brushed against your lips, warm and shallow. And his eyes—oh, those eyes—deep, deadly, and yet they filled you with something that felt almost like life. They seemed unreal, like they didn’t belong to a mere man, but a god. At that point, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was one. I mean… have you seen him?

You didn’t know what possessed you to say what you did next. “You know… everyone always sees you as this rough, bad, untouchable persona you put up. And you go along with it. But I think there’s more.”

A small part of Poseidon screamed at him to back away. To go back into the bathroom and lock himself inside until the next stop. That you were poking too close to what he didn’t want anyone to see. Still, he ignored every warning. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know how. He just did. “Is there?”

“I know you.”

He let out a short, silent laugh, leaning back slightly at your naiveté. He took the hand he had placed on your neck with him.

Oh, you fucked it up, didn’t you? Why did you say that? Fuck. You were so close, and you just ruined everything with three words.

“Really?”

Even though some part of you knew this was probably a terrible idea, you doubled down. “Really.” If you were going to screw everything up, you might as well go all the way.

He smiled, amused. “We’ve only known each other for a few months.”

“...Still.”

Far too entertained, he leaned back even more—at least as much as the cramped space allowed—and raised a brow. “If you know me…” He paused, just briefly. “You should know what I want right now.”

It felt like some kind of test. Torturous. Awful. If you answered the way he wanted, would he keep holding you? If you got it wrong… would he leave you high and dry?

“What you want…” You echoed under your breath, your gaze faltering for just a second.

In response, he gently grabbed your chin, guiding your eyes back to his. He was closer now. Heat rushed to your face. Your heart beat so fast you were sure he could feel it.

“What do I want?” He whispered, voice dropping an octave. It sounded less like a question, more like a command. “Show me.”

The next kiss was different—hungrier. His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moved over yours, stealing every breath you had to offer. His lips were warm, demanding, moving with purpose as if trying to memorize yours. Your laptop became an afterthought as one of his hands found it and closed it carefully. He pulled it off you, delicately lowering it to his bunk below, the act oddly gentle compared to the feverish kiss.

You subconsciously followed his lips with your own, not wanting to miss his touch again. At your eagerness, he chuckled into the kiss, the low rumble vibrating against your lips—

Thud.

He hit the side of his head on the low ceiling ledge, where the curtain rails ran. He muttered a few curses, then finished lowering your laptop, properly this time. He turned to you again just to find you trying to stifle a laugh. When you spotted him looking at you, rubbing the sore spot, you couldn’t suppress it anymore.

"Oh, you’re laughing? This is funny?" Despite the words, there was no real heat to them.

"A little bit." You teased.

Poseidon narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. “I’ll shut you up.”

The third kiss was the best one yet. A perfect mixture of the two that came before. Hungry, but not desperate. Gentle, but not cowardly. His hand cradled the back of your neck, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, grounding you. Your mouths moved together with increasing rhythm, like you were beginning to find the right tempo, the right balance. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and when you granted it, the kiss deepened, turned breathless. It sent sparks across your skin and heat pooling low in your belly.

You finally properly turned your whole body to him. And now, without anything between you two, you were able to pull him closer, grabbed his waist with one hand while the other gripped the fabric of his pants, bunching up right over his thigh. Your bodies pressed together, chest to chest, hips aligned as if molded to fit this way.

He started lowering you back onto the mattress, your bodies a mess of interwoven limbs. He positioned himself over you, one leg between your own, the other to the left side of your body. Arms braced to the sides of your head, holding himself up in a plank position, his weight hovering deliciously close.

As he pulled away from the kiss, he playfully bit your lower lip, not enough to hurt—just to claim. His long dark hair cascaded around you like a curtain, shielding you from the outside world. Some strands were still curled where you had braided them earlier, contrasting the rest of the silky, straight locks. God, how you loved touching it—feeling the cool softness slide through your fingers, silky and weightless, like ink in water. You could lose hours playing with it, and by how relaxed he always got under your touch, you knew he liked it too.

Without thinking, you lifted your left hand to pull one of the strands partially covering his face behind his ear, your thumb brushing his cheek along the way. His skin was warm under your touch, a sharp contrast to the cold edge of the metallic hand that suddenly lifted to meet yours, holding it in place with surprising tenderness.

He turned his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, without breaking eye contact, he brought your hand to his lips. A kiss to your palm. Then your wrist. Then your forearm. Each one slow, deliberate, like a trail of breadcrumbs leading you further into the forest of him. His mouth was soft and reverent, and each touch sent a tremor through you—like you were being worshipped piece by piece.

When he reached your neck, he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough with need. “You drive me crazy.”

His hot breath brushed over your pulse point, and it hit you like a tidal wave—your skin prickled with goosebumps, your lungs forgot how to fill. His mouth settled in the delicate space between your jaw and neck, and when he spoke again, it was like a confession dragged from somewhere deep inside him.

"Every time I see someone else as much as look at you the way I want you to look at me, I can barely breathe."

He kissed higher, angling your head with one hand to gain better access. You let him guide you without resistance, surrendering to his touch, your body pliant under his. Your hand slid down his side, curling around his ribcage, as if anchoring yourself to the moment.

"I’ve been thinking about this exact situation for months." He whispered, lips brushing your jaw. “How I’d hold you. How I’d kiss you. How I’d caress your skin. How you’d have me. How you’d react to all of it.”

Each sentence was punctuated with a kiss: to your chin, the corner of your mouth, the dip beneath your ear. His voice rumbled through your bones, and the heat of his body enveloped you from everywhere at once. He wasn’t just close—he was everywhere. Around you, above you, inside your chest. Breathing you in like he couldn’t get enough.

"I know it’s greedy. I know I shouldn't. I can't help myself." His forehead leaned against yours, voice thick with longing. "Please, lay it all on me—say you’ll be mine."

Your heart felt like it was about to detonate inside your chest. You could feel your pulse in your throat, your fingertips, the very tips of your toes. You had never been more aware of your body—and of his—than in that moment. The truth sat heavy in your chest. No promises of forever. No declarations of love. There was no romance in his words, only raw longing. But still… you’d take what you could and hold it tight. So, if only for a night—if it was temporary, if it was just lust—you’d indulge. You’d be his. If only for a little while.

"I’m yours." You whispered, your lips barely brushing his own.

“Say that for me one more time.” He whispered. “Say you’re mine.”

"I’m only yours."

You rose just enough to meet his lips again, but he pulled away at the last second, just to smirk and mutter: "Needy much?"

Your only answer was to tug on his waistband, bringing his hips down so they met the press of your leg. The friction was electric. His breath hitched, his jaw flexed. He tried to stay composed, tried to swallow the sound clawing its way up his throat, but you still heard it—

A soft, low groan.

He tried to play it off, tried to act like it hadn’t affected him, but the slight flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. The crack in his armor only made you smile.

"You’re the one who pleaded." You said with a smirk.

He let out a breathy chuckle, defeated. "I love it when you do that. But keep it up and see what happens to you."

The warning lit a fire in your stomach. He shifted his weight to the side, leaning into the wall of the bunk for balance. His left hand slid down and gripped your thigh, kneading the muscle, firm and slow. He pulled it up around his waist, drawing you tighter against him. His touch was confident but unhurried, like he was savoring every second of contact.

His fingers traveled upward, brushing the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh. Sparks shot down your spine, your breath caught in your throat. You could feel everything. The tension. The weight. The need pressing hot and thick between you both. He held you like you were something fragile, like if he let go too fast, you'd disappear.

With your hand still at his waistband, you moved it, splaying your fingers against the firm plane of his lower stomach. Your palm met the soft trail of hair that led downward. You hesitated only a moment, then followed it, your fingers slipping beneath the hem of his pants. The air between you shifted—charged, electric. You glanced up at him, silently asking for permission.

He met your gaze. Didn’t speak. Just nodded, slow and deliberate. A silent yes.

At your touch, his body tensed. The fabric of his pants suddenly felt too tight, too restrictive. His breathing stuttered, his jaw clenched. It was like you’d hit a switch—one gentle stroke and his composure was slipping through his fingers like water.

He didn’t want to let the sounds out. Didn’t want you to know just how badly he needed this. So he buried his face in your neck, left open-mouthed kisses that turned into small bites when restraint failed him. Your gasp, soft and surprised, spilled out without permission, and it drove him wild.

The warmth of his mouth, the graze of his teeth, the way his breath fanned across your pulse—it was dizzying. It made your limbs feel like liquid, your thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm. You arched into him before you even realized you were doing it.

He smirked against your skin, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. He barely had time to say anything before—

“HEY!”

Zeus' voice shattered the moment. “If you're gonna have sex, do it at the next stop OUTSIDE the bus. I don't wanna hear you two going at it!”

Heat flooded your face. You buried your face in the crook of Poseidon’s neck, laughing softly in embarrassment.

Poseidon groaned. Of course—he had finally calmed his insatiable need for you, and now Zeus was butting in? Telling him to stop? After he had told him to do something about his ‘little guy’? “Shut up, Zeus.”

Zeus snickered. “You’re welcome.” It was revenge for what he had done before.

Poseidon muttered something under his breath, but as you glanced up at him—his face slightly pink, his lips kiss swollen—you just smiled.

You gave him one last chaste kiss on the mouth, slow and lingering, a quiet promise that this wasn’t the end of whatever had just begun. Your fingers brushed over his arm in a gentle pat, grounding both of you back to reality.

"We should go to sleep." You murmured, your voice softer now, reluctant but firm.

His eyes, still hazy with emotion, softened at the sight of you. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something that made your heart clench just a little. But he didn’t argue. He simply exhaled, slow and steady, before finally loosening his hold on you.

His fingers grazed your waist one last time as he pulled away, as if reluctant to break the connection.

"Yeah," He finally said, voice quieter now. "we should."

With one last glance, he eased himself down from your bunk, settling into his own below you. The space between you suddenly felt colder, emptier—but the warmth he left behind lingered on your skin. You couldn’t help the smile that had formed on your face from ear to ear, you had to physically stop yourself from squealing.

And with that, the bus rolled on, carrying you both into the quiet of the night.

. taglist: @hornehlittleweeblet2 @kyeunderyourbed @burnoutpisces @xdolls-crownx @fastleopard1521 @elysian-asphodel @gdfhi @itsjust-gabs7

#epic the musical x reader #epic x reader #epic! poseidon x reader #poseidon x reader

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