#and got to see the sun rising out my windows!

[wigglebox]

☕️☀️

[kamaluhkhan]

ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY

pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 10.5k summary: after years away, vi returns home for the holidays and reunites with you, her ex-girlfriend. the universe (*cough cough* and your meddling families) push you together again, and neither of you can ignore the feelings that linger. (or: you, vi, and the ghosts of christmas past, present and future.) warnings: reader is ekko's older sister but not necessarily biological so appearance isn't specified; childhood friends to lovers + second chance romance; reader gets hit on by a creepy guy + gets into a fight (injury + blood mention), smut [strap mention (reader receiving), oral (both receiving), fingering (both receiving), biting, spitting, tribbing, sub!vi makes an appearance...kinda rough + possessive sex but there's aftercare too <33] (18+) ! a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR GIRLS AND GAYS <33 tbh i debated whether to post this now bc xmas was like....3 weeks ago but figured i might as well. so pls enjoy what is essentially an x-rated sapphic hallmark holiday movie.

♪: ‘tis the damn season by taylor swift (sun); winterbreak by MUNA (moon); last christmas by wham! (rising)

track 1: thank god it’s christmas by queen

(winter — age 17)

“okay, just relax your fingers — no, but keep some tension, apply a bit of pressure on the string….yep, that’s better. now, straighten your back….”

it’s dark and snowing outside, and the cold’s seeping in through the window of her attic bedroom, but vi still almost melts into the floor when you follow her advice and press against her chest. she worries that you can feel how fast her heart is beating — faster than it maybe should for someone she’d been calling friend ever since she could remember. 

you shift in her lap, her arms still wrapped around yours from when she offered to guide you through an instrumental version of wham’s “last christmas.” you tilt your head towards her, nose almost brushing against hers. 

“vi?”

“....yes?”

“maybe we should finish our lesson another time. we better hurry up, anyways. i bet ekko and powder are already arguing over whether we should watch home alone or home alone two.”

vi snorts. it’s practically a tradition at this point, along with the annual post-christmas-dinner pyjama movie night.

you try to hand her the bright pink guitar pick, but vi shakes her head.

“it’s yours. you’re gonna need it if you want more lessons.” 

“hm, or maybe i could sell it for a billion dollars once you’re a big rockstar,” you tease. “i can picture thousands of fangirls painting your portrait and writing mrs. violet lanes in their notebooks.” 

you get up, shoot her a wink, and leave vi on the bed, clutching her guitar and trying to get her pulse under control. 

neither of you say anything as you both get changed. the stereo plays the mixtape you’d made for her — you got her for secret santa this year.

“my mom loved this song,” vi hums, a warm ache growing in her chest when the next song plays. this is the second christmas without her, but vi is still not used to using past tense. “she thought freddie mercury was the best rockstar of all time.”

“i remember. you…you must miss her.” 

of course she does, and she could run through a million reasons why.

“vander says you’ll be spending new year’s at your dad’s,” is what she says instead.

you let out something between a scoff and a laugh. “yeah.”

“your mom going, too?”

“just me and ekko. i swear, it’s like he’s trying to be this perfect dad to his new stepkids, meanwhile he’s the one who left us here to deal with his mess, the one who just ran away, and….whatever.” this time, you do scoff. “hey – do you have a shirt i could borrow?”

vi looks over to find that you’ve switched from the velvet dress you wore during dinner into a pair of flannel plaid pants; her cheeks flush when she sees that you’re only wearing a black lacy bralette on top. 

she clears her throat and pulls a clean jersey from her dresser, tosses it over to you. 

“that’s a shame. i was looking forward to spending new year’s eve together.”

you hum and slip the shirt over your shoulders. the only sources of light are the moon and the stars and the multicoloured christmas lights strung along vi’s walls, but she swore that your eyes flick down to her lips. 

“why’s that?” you ask. 

there’s something absolutely dizzying about being this close to you, the way your sparkly eyes wait patiently for her to respond. joni mitchell sings about skating away on a river, and vi wishes she could skate away from this conversation, but there’s nowhere to go. 

vi blinks away from your gaze and fixates on one of the many things she’s pinned up on her bedroom walls throughout the years. it’s a page torn from an old notebook of yours, something from seventh grade math class, but vi always loved your little drawings in the margins. 

vi?” you prompt, never one to let go easily.

“i want to kiss you at midnight,” she confesses.

“yeah?” 

vi nods. she’s tempted to walk out of her room, down the stairs and out into the winter night, until you weave your fingers through hers and squeeze her hand. she looks up — and you’re beaming, a smile that brightens vi’s entire being. 

“i want that too.”

vi finally, finally crashes her mouth onto yours, lips sticky with marshmallow fluff.

you taste like vanilla and gingerbread and hot chocolate that is definitely not spiked with irish cream that vi slipped into your mugs while you distracted the adults. 

you taste like home.

….

so, slight change of plans….i’m gonna stay here in london with the rest of the band. apparently the kirammans throw a super fancy holiday party with super fancy people every year, and cait convinced her parents to let us perform. fingers crossed someone important discovers us.

merry christmas, baby. and, if i don’t get the chance to say it: happy new year.

….

track 2: winter wonderland by darlene love

(winter — age 12)

you’re supposed to be looking after ekko while your parents are at work, but all that really means is making a big bowl of kraft dinner and stove-top s’mores for lunch and watching old christmas specials on the worn-out living room couch while you draw in your sketchbook and your brother, only 7 years old, programs the doorbell to play ‘jingle bells.’ 

when someone rings the doorbell, the tune floats through the house and wakes up your dog who starts barking like it’s the end of the world. 

“easy, ziggy.” you click a marker closed and run a hand through the husky’s fur, attempting to calm him down. “let’s go see who it is.”

you open the door, and there’s vi: snowflakes sparkling on her eyelashes, pink hair hidden under a knitted hat, and a toothy grin that brings out the dimple in her flushed cheeks. she’s also got a split lip and crooked nose from her last hockey game.

“we’re building a fort,” she tells you. she shuffles to the side so that you can see powder, who’s making a snow angel. “well, we’re going to. wanna join?”

you nod, smiling. “ekko!” 

your brother’s already behind you, slipping on his chunky boots and oversized coat that used to be yours before running outside and collapsing onto the fluffy snow next to powder. ziggy bolts outside, too, running circles around them. 

you stumble to get your winter gear on as fast as possible, the cold air rushing inside your front hallway as vi waits for you, kicking her snowy boot against the concrete entryway step. not even a heartbeat after shutting the door behind you, vi takes your gloved hand in hers and pulls you forward, the two of you a flurry of laughter.

…..

hey, pretty girl. i was at this party and one of your songs came on! every time i hear it, i’m in awe of how amazing it is….how amazing you are. i’m basically walking home in a snowstorm, so i’m gonna go before my fingers freeze off, but i just wanted to say that i’m so proud of my rockstar girlfriend.

i was also wondering: are you coming home any time soon? the holidays are coming up, and i really miss you. we all do.  

…..

track 3: last christmas by wham!

(winter — now)

vi should have learned from sonic youth and fleetwood mac: 

no sex or romance between bandmates. it never ends well.

it was bad enough giving into the rumors and fooling around with cait, but it’s another layer of messiness now that cait and maddie dating. meanwhile, cait is very much still bitter towards vi, vi is very much pining after someone whom she’s pretty sure never wants to see her again, and steb and lorris are very much caught in the middle. it’s no wonder the band’s manager suggested everyone take some time apart to ease the tension. frankly, while others protested, vi was almost relieved at the suggestion.

so cait’s off to london, maddie’s off to glasgow, the boys are going god knows where, and vi —

vi’s heading back home, back to you.

she wakes up in the bed of her childhood for the first time in a long time. her dad put on fresh sheets, but they’re still the same ones from back then — worn flannel with cartoon penguins. it takes a lot of willpower to untangle herself from the warmth and cloud-like softness, but eventually she heads downstairs to the kitchen.

powder still has exams so she’s not home from college until tomorrow, and vander’s gone to work. it’s just vi in her too-small christmas pyjamas (she has yet to unpack), eating a box of stale cinnamon pop-tarts for breakfast even though it’s well past noon. curiosity gets the best of her, so she peers through the window to see if anyone is next door.

your mom’s car is in the driveway, completely snowed in. there had only been a dusting of snow while vi was devouring the first pastry, but four pop-tarts in and it’s about doubled. she waits until the snow stops falling; with nothing better to do and a sugar rush to burn off, vi pulls on her old winter coat and snow boots she hasn’t worn since she was 18, grabs a shovel from the garage, and gets to work. 

it doesn’t take her long to clear the driveway, and she has some adrenaline to spare, so she decides to be a good neighbor. 

vi’s heaving one last shovelful of snow over her shoulder when she hears:

“violet? is that you?” 

she turns around. and, okay the first thing she registers is ziggy running towards her, the husky toppling her over into the snow.

“i missed you too, zig,” vi laughs. 

she gets up as ziggy’s still bounding around in the snow, and sees your mom standing in the doorway, looking a little more tired and a little more gray. but the smile on her face when she sees that it is, in fact, vi — it’s so bright that the snow might not exactly melt away, but the years sure do. 

vi remembers making snow angels with you while your moms gossiped over tea, how the two of you would stomp inside with a mess of slush and snow while laughter echoed from the living room. vi remembers your mom keeping a comforting arm around her shoulder through her mom’s funeral while you held her hand. she remembers your mom helping her pick out the perfect corsage to match your suit at prom, making a joke about how next time it might be an engagement ring, and telling vi how proud her mother would have been of her at your high school graduation party. 

with the golden glow of nostalgia comes a crashing wave of guilt at what vi said to you last time you spoke. 

“come inside, sweetheart. i’ll make you some hot cocoa as a thank you.”

vi is tempted to reject the offer, but your mom looks so hopeful and vi’s fingers are about to freeze off, anyways. 

so your mom makes hot cocoa as vi defrosts, the two of them chatting in the familiar yellow kitchen that you and vi once almost burnt down while trying to bake a cake for powder’s birthday. even the magnets and paper memories decorating the fridge are the same, with the addition of an article about vi’s band that was featured in the rolling stone, pinned up by a ceramic cow. 

“she’s an art teacher now,” your mom tells vi after giving an update on ekko. she glances at the oven clock. “speaking of which — i know you just finished shoveling our driveway, but do you mind helping me with another favor?”

“after the world’s best hot chocolate? anything.”

“i told my daughter that i’d pick her up from work, and i’m wondering if you would be able to take care of that.” your mom smiles. “i’m sensing a bad migraine coming on.”

the last sip of hot chocolate trickles down vi’s throat like cement. she knew she’d be seeing you, but didn’t quite plan for how that….reunion might go.

“of course,” vi says. 

vi puts both of their mugs in the dishwasher, about to grab the car keys from the hook by the door when your mom calls out: 

“oh, and violet?” vi turns around. “i’m so glad you’re home.”

you’re talking to a student when vi enters the art room of your old high school. nothing else in the building had changed — same boring concrete, same scratched up lockers, same graffiti immortalizing whom hooked up with whom. this room is the exception, vibrant with how students’ art is displayed all around, paintings and drawings and collages, and you’ve strung up multicolored christmas lights that give the whole space a cozy ambiance. you look the part of a cool, young art teacher: wearing a simple dark purple turtleneck tucked into black jeans and the same combat boots you’ve had since tenth grade, paint stains on your skin that is exposed by rolled up sleeves, and a marker behind your ear. you’re standing in front of an easel, talking to the student who happens to notice vi before you do.

“holy shit. is that violet lanes?”

vi watches as your face scrunches up in confusion, and then falls into shock when you see her standing there.

“it seems that it is violet lanes,” you state coolly while the student squeals. “what are you doing here?”

“oh, i, uh,” vi clears her throat, her palms sweaty. why is her body reacting like she’s a teenager about to ask out her crush for the first time? “your mom wasn’t feeling great, asked if i could pick you up from work.”

“you guys are friends?” the student asks, eyes wide as they flick between you and vi. 

“we used to date, actually,” vi clarifies. wrong move, she realizes, because you can’t help but glare at her.

“oh my god.” the student squeals again and reaches in their pocket to whip out their phone. “i need to tell alyssa that ms. l/n was in a relationship with the violet lanes. are you guys gonna get back together? oh my god, have you come to win her back —”

“layla,” you clip, and by the furrow of layla’s brow, it seems like you’re not usually so stern. you smile at layla, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “you’ve done some great work today, but you’ll have to finish this when we’re back from winter break. do you mind giving ms. lanes and i a minute?”

layla nods once, gathers her things. when she walks past vi, she can’t help but ask for an autograph. vi complies, of course, even lets her take a selfie. a fan is a fan, after all.

and, quite frankly this is the only part of being in the band that she still enjoys: hearing how excited young girls are at the music she writes, the music that vi wished she had growing up, about girls liking girls, about girls falling in and out of love with each other. everything else is just an occupational hazard that vi’s getting more and more fed up with. 

when vi turns her attention back to you, you’re finished putting all the material away, wiping your hands with an already paint-stained towel.

“i meant what you’re doing back in town,” you explain, not quite meeting vi’s eyes. you pack away some books and your laptop into a supple leather briefcase, and slip on your coat. vi’s cheeks flush when you catch her watching you. 

“it…it doesn’t matter. i’m here for a while, though.” 

you sigh. “okay.” and you don’t say anything more. vi keeps up with you as you switch off the lights, lock the door, and stride to the parking lot in silence. when you get to the car, you extend your hand.

“i’m driving,” you say, gesturing at her to give you the keys. “we both know that you’re a terrible driver.”

“i’m not a terrible driver,” vi guffaws. 

“says the lesbian who gives the rest of us a bad name,” you quip, a hint of a smile dancing across your lips, like the first bout of sun after a winter storm. “c’mon, pretty girl. i’m not giving up, so unless you wanna freeze to death….” 

the nickname slips effortlessly from your tongue, so much so that you don’t even seem to realize it, but vi’s breath hitches and she’s more than happy to fold to your every whim if it means hearing you call her pretty one more time. 

“so….” vi glances over at you from the passenger seat. a snowy landscape passes outside the window, and you tap on the steering wheel to a generic christmas song that plays through the stereo. “you’re teaching high school now?” 

she wonders if you remember the last fight you had, almost two years ago to the day.

you keep your eyes on the road. “yeah. guess i graduated from finger-painting with kindergarteners.”

vi feels her cheeks heat up all over again. 

so, you do remember. 

she wonders if you’ve replayed it over and over again and hoped for a different ending like she did. she should have thought more about what to actually say to you —

“you know, i never understood why you liked this song so much,” you suddenly say when the radio starts playing dolly parton’s cover of ‘i’ll be home for christmas.’ 

vi can read between the lines, but she’s waiting for you to point out the irony in her preference for a song that’s about someone wanting to go home for christmas, something vi has deliberately avoided at all costs these past few years. 

“it just seems kinda sad,” you continue. 

“you love ‘last christmas,’ and that one’s pretty sad,” vi points out.

“sure, but it ends hopefully.”

“oh?” vi tilts her head towards you. “how’d you figure? 

“sure, it’s someone singing about heartbreak and how much it sucks during christmastime, but then there’s this hope that they still find true love down the line. it’s a maybe that isn’t hopeless.” you shrug. “meanwhile, your song ends with the lyric ‘if only in my dreams,’ which just seems too accepting of the fact that going home for christmas, being with the person they love — it might just be a dream.”

“i don’t know. some dreams do come true,” vi muses. 

by now, you’ve made it home. you put the car in park but keep the engine going, presumably to avoid becoming icicles. neither of you make a move to leave. 

you glance over at vi. “your dreams sure came true, ms. violet lanes,” you joke, but there’s an air of sadness to it.

“not all of them.”

“yeah? which ones haven’t?”

vi swallows the lump in her throat and hopes that you understand the look in her eyes. “let’s just say i’m working on them.”

you blink away and cut the engine.

….

you’re still dealing with the shock of seeing vi back in town when your brother, freshly home from college, suggests going skating. 

he can be fairly convincing, especially when he mentions that it’s a christmas season tradition, so, you prepare for what is essentially a double date with your brother, his girlfriend/your ex-girlfriend’s sister, and your ex-girlfriend, with isha as a fifth wheel.

should be fun. 

it turns out, despite all her past hockey experience, vi really cannot skate. in fact, skating seems to be the complete opposite of riding a bike: she’s terrible at it after years off the ice, essentially reenacting that scene from bambi. it’s easier to ignore vi’s presence when she’s sitting next to the snack bar, by herself, but then powder skates up next to you and asks if you’d be kind enough to please help her sister have a good time. you roll your eyes at her shit-eating grin, but it is a bit sad, watching vi on the sidelines. she’s wearing a beanie and a pair of sunglasses to hide her identity, and now she kinda looks like a divorced dad watching his grown kids pass him by while he’s stuck in a midlife crisis.

you convince vi to give skating another shot — it’s tradition after all — and pull her out onto the rink. you start by holding her from behind, keeping her hips steady until she gets the hang of it. you try to let go, but vi stumbles and reaches out for your gloved hand, and you melt into the familiarity of her fingers curled around yours. the two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm, first with you pulling vi along, then with her taking the lead, until vi almost knocks into a small child.

“see what i mean by you being a bad driver?” you jest, successfully maneuvering to avoid collision. 

then, you follow where vi’s eyes have settled — on powder and isha laughing and chasing each other around the rink. vi had asked earlier when isha had dyed her hair blue; you still have some residue under your nails from last weekend, when powder came for a study break and the three of you ended up helping isha achieve a new look she’d apparently been itching to try. 

“you know powder’s graduating this year?” 

“she overloaded her credits so she could get out of there as soon as possible,” you explain, having had many conversations with powder leading up to the decision. 

vi nods, her jaw clenched. you already know what she’s thinking, and frankly, you agree: that vi hasn’t been here, literally and figuratively. you also feel the warmth of vi’s skin radiating through her glove to yours, notice the slight flush to her freckled cheeks, how chapped her lips are from the cold, so much so that you’re tempted to share the vanilla chapstick you’ve got on your own lips, to kiss her deeply like you did last time you were here, together.

it’s only been three days since vi’s been back home. this is only the second time you’ve seen her, and you’re already falling back into old patterns, tempted to ask her to stay, to try again, even though you already know the answer.

except….not staying isn’t the deal breaker it used to be, so maybe trying again isn’t as hopeless as you think it is.

vi squeezes your hand, and you realize that you’ve stopped skating entirely. 

“hey. you still with me?”

you nod, decide to enjoy this moment for as long as you can, and the two of you glide across the ice.

…..

when you suggest making stove-top s’mores, it’s another item on the list of things she’d missed. 

a list that’s been growing a lot these past few days.

vi offers to make more once you’ve all run out, and ekko follows her into their kitchen while you, powder, and isha keep watching christmas specials in the living room. she turns on the gas stove, stabs a marshmallow through a wooden skewer and waits for it to roast — and, for ekko to say something.

“i don’t know what happened between you and my sister, but i need you to promise me that the tabloids aren’t true. that you and that kiramman chick didn’t hook up…at least until after y’all broke up.” 

“or, what, you’re gonna challenge me to an arm wrestle? think you can finally beat me?”

“oh, i know it.”

a pause. the marshmallow catches on fire and vi blows on it to quell the damage.

“i didn’t cheat on her.” she throws out the burnt marshmallow and gives it another shot. “i would never. does….does she think i did?”

ekko shrugs. “not sure. some of those articles are pretty convincing. but, since you’re promising me that you didn’t…”

“i didn’t.”

“then that saves me from kicking your ass.” ekko nods once and uncrosses his arms, handing vi some graham crackers and chocolate. “actually, i could use your help with something.”

“sure.”

“she applied to this great art residency in new york, like, on whim. the only people she’s told are me, powder, and vander….i think she’s nervous to tell mom, at least until she knows for sure she’s gotten in, but this is the most excited i’ve seen her be about something in a while, and she worked really hard on her application…” 

“i’m sure she did,” vi states. “what do you need my help with?”

“convincing her to go.” 

“i’d love to help, but i’m not sure i’m someone she’d wanna hear from, especially about this. she was never a fan of me leaving to pursue my dreams.”

“she was never a fan of you leaving,” ekko corrects. “she’s still a fan of you pursuing your dreams.” he juts his chin out at the article stuck to the fridge. 

vi had just assumed that your mom had pinned that up.

“okay.” vi says. “i’ll talk to her.” 

a plateful of semi-burnt s’mores later, and vi and ekko return to the living room with the rest of you. 

vi forgot how nice this felt, all of you cuddled on the couch, ziggy included, watching how the grinch stole christmas. she half expects her mom to walk in through the door without even knocking, shake the snow off her hair, and hold up a batch of pre-baked gingerbread people she’d gotten for the kids to decorate.

but that’s not happening. other than isha, none of you are kids anymore and things can never be the same.

and yet — you glance over at vi and give her a sticky marshmallow smile, and she feels her heart grow three sizes.

….

baby, i swear it’s not what it looks like. the record label thought it would be good promo to get a picture of me kissing under the mistletoe…’tis the season and all that…..cait and i were both really drunk and things got a bit out of hand….but it looks worse than it is. i swear on my mother’s grave that nothing happened.

please call me back, baby…..i’m so fucking sorry….please. 

it’s not christmas without at least hearing your voice. 

….

track 4: river by joni mitchell

(winter — age 23)

it’s hard to believe that hours ago, you were kissing vi backstage and showering her with praise after the concert. she was happy to indulge in your excitement, even though she was all sweaty and her ears were still ringing from the crowd. 

more than happy, in fact. phone sex can only go so far, and it’d been too long since vi had seen you writhe and heard you whimper for her firsthand. 

“i missed you so fucking much,” you groan, tightening your grip on vi’s hair. it’s now an inky black instead of fuschia — the band’s starting to lean more punk rock. 

a particularly hard thrust is her way of telling you that she missed you too. so fucking much. she throws your legs over her shoulders, pushing the strap deeper inside you and digging her knees into the mattress as she coaxes you through another orgasm. you pull her down for one last searing kiss, your tongue searching each crevice of her mouth. 

“i can’t believe you’re here,” vi continues a few moments later, after you’re both cleaned up and getting dressed. she wants to add something along the lines of i love you, but she bites back the sentiment. she’ll save that sappy shit for later tonight, when she finally gets down on one knee for you. 

you glance back at her from where you’re pulling out a sparkly silver dress from your side of the closet (and isn’t that such a slip of the mind? your side, as if it’s a shared closet and a shared bedroom and a shared home; if she thought about it more, though, she would realize that, though she has no problem asking you to marry her, she’s still terrified at the thought of staying in one place for more than a few months).

“me neither,” you smile. 

vi walks over to you, presses her half-dressed body against your lingerie-clad form (vi’s sure you wore this fuschia set just to drive her insane; it’s working). she lodges her hand behind your ear and pulls you in closer, kisses you deeply because you’re here and she missed you so fucking much and she’s so ready to make you her wife.

she could write a whole record just about the taste of your lips: the sweetness of vanilla chapstick, the saltiness of sweat and the headiness lingering from the wetness you lapped up from between her legs.

you pull away first. vi tries not to stare at how your chest heaves, your breasts straining against intricate lace. 

“we, um.” you clear your throat. you slip your hand underneath vi’s blazer, and she groans when you make contact with the exposed, burning skin of her abdomen. vi thinks you’re about to suggest another round, or two, or ten, but instead you untangle yourself from her and say: “we should probably get ready.”

the after party is going well. the club’s busy, the music’s good, and the drinks are flowing.

you seem to be having a great time until someone (probably cait or maddie, on cait’s behalf) lets it slip that the band’s heading to london later in the month to start recording their new album before the end of the year….something vi decidedly did not want to tell you until later tonight, after the high of the proposal, after she’s promised you that she’s dedicated to this relationship, that she’s always been dedicated to you. 

instead, vi’s trailing behind you as you angrily stomp towards the bathroom, her mind scrambling to come up with a way out of this argument.

there’s a line, but you cut in front and slip inside as soon as someone walks out. 

“wait, what the fu —”

you slam the door and lock it behind you once you’re both inside, ignoring the subsequent banging and jiggling of the handle.

“please, baby, let me explain —”

“i can’t fucking believe you,” your voice is steady, measured, and for some reason that makes vi even more nervous. “you give empty promise after empty promise that you’ll be more present, but something always gets in the way, is always more important than —”

“don’t you dare say that you’re not important to me. i offer to fly you out anywhere to be with me, but you’ve only taken me up on the offer once. twice, now.”

“it’s been five years, vi. five years of us staying together because….god, at this point i don’t even know why — ”

“do you not understand how much i love you?” vi raises her voice over the sound of the club music outside. “i was gonna propose tonight.”

you stare at her, then start to laugh.

“please tell me you’re joking.”

“i’m not.”

“if you think marriage will save us, then you’re delusional. what was your plan — call me your wife while we’re thousands of miles apart, but not even have the time to answer my calls? we’re barely in a relationship now, vi. all that’s left between us are missed calls and voicemails —” 

“oh that’s really all that’s left between us?” 

“i love you, violet. i have since we were kids. but, now, there’s also all this — the parties, the crowds, the fame….you’ve gone all over the world, and you can’t even be bothered to visit your family during the holidays.”

“well i’m sorry that my ambitions are bigger than that nothing town we grew up in,” vi snaps. “i can’t believe you’re throwing a tantrum because i’m not making it home for christmas. for what? so we can all reminisce by the fireplace, pretend that we can be kids again, even though things can —” vi chokes back a sob, soothes it with a healthy dose of anger. “things can never be the same. you need to grow the fuck up.”

“maybe you should be the one to grow up!” you finally yell. “convincing yourself that this relationship is working, meanwhile you’re running away from everything and everyone you grew up with because it reminds you of your —”

“at least i’m not afraid to actually go after my dreams,” vi cuts you off before you can finish that sentence, uses the broken shards of your words against you. “don’t you want more for your life than finger-painting with a bunch of kindergarteners? you’re gonna end up just like your deadbeat mom, going nowhere, drinking yourself to sleep, all alone, with nothing to show for the life you’ve lived.”

as soon as the words leave her mouth, vi wishes she could take them back. you don’t bother swallowing your tears, letting them rush down your cheeks. vi digs her nails into her palms to prevent herself from reaching out and wiping them. it wouldn’t make sense, anyways. she’s the reason you’re crying. 

you take a deep, shaky breath.

“yeah, well, i’m glad that your mom isn’t alive to see what a selfish asshole you’ve become.” there’s a pause, and vi feels her stomach turn at your casual cruelty, your quiet anger. “i’m gonna pack up my stuff and catch the first flight out of here. merry fucking christmas and happy fucking new year. have a nice life.”

vi screams and throws the velvet box against the door you’ve slammed shut behind you. the hot tears that were building in her throat finally boil over. the engagement ring clatters onto the floor.

…..

vi? it’s me. not sure if you’ve blocked my number. i wouldn’t blame you. i know it’s been, like, a year, but it feels weird not hearing your voice for this long, especially around the holidays. well, i guess i could just turn on the radio….it’s not the same, though. anyways, merry christmas. happy new year, too. and….and i’m sorry. 

please come home.

…..

track 5: i’ll be home for christmas by dolly parton 

(winter — now)

karaoke at the last drop used to be one of vi’s favorite christmas traditions, so you decidedly avoided it at all cost since the breakup. vander always tried to convince you to join, but he understood and even made sure to not give you a shift during that time after you started working there at 21. 

you kept the job because, evidently, high school art teachers don’t make a ton of money, and you would one day like to move out of your mother’s house. 

which, as it turns out, might happen sooner rather than later. you applied for this artist residency in new york, and, yeah, you put time and effort and heart into your application, but you were sure that you’d be rejected. while you got your acceptance email this morning, and you were so fucking overjoyed at first, the thought of leaving still terrifies you, so you’ll postpone worrying about that until after the holidays. that’s what they’re for, anyways: a break from reality, a peek into a cozy snow-covered world where everyone is festive and joyous and worry-free.   

right now though, you’re feeling neither festive nor joyous. gert called in sick, and no one else is able to cover for them, so you’re stuck at the last drop on christmas eve, listening to one of your old high school classmates drunkenly fumble the lyrics of darlene love’s ‘christmas (baby, please come home).’

about three verses in, vi walks into the bar with mylo and claggor, flakes of fluffy snow melting into her grayish pink hair. you’re already pouring their drinks before they reach the counter. mylo and claggor offer their sincere appreciation, chattering away as they leave to snag a booth in the corner. vi stares at her drink before grabbing the beer glass. 

“you remember.” 

“are you surprised?”

vi smiles. “no. it’s just nice. cait keeps insisting i order gin martinis instead. says it’s classier.” 

something sour curdles in your stomach. “yeah, well. i’ve always liked you the way you are.”

that probably ended up sounding like you’re still pining after vi (which you’re….not) rather than the bitter comment you intended it to be. 

vi’s soft blue eyes search yours. 

“i better get back to the boys,” she finally says. “maybe sign up for a song or two.”

you’re busy clearing a table when you hear her voice again. actually — a silence fills the bar, and it’s replaced by the lush rumble of vi singing ‘last christmas.’

you watch her as she performs, eyes locked on yours, and it’s over before you know it. you feel like you should go say something to her, but then there are a bunch of excited fans that she has to attend to, signing autographs, taking photos.

as you swallow your disappointment, the normal chatter of the bar resumes. you’re walking back to the kitchen when you feel someone pinch the back of your thigh, right under your ass. you whip around to find that old classmate who butchered a christmas classic an hour or so before (james, you think his name is, from ninth grade science), with the most arrogant smirk.

“hey, gorgeous. my friends and i were just arguing over who should take you home tonight.” he gestures towards a table of guys who look like equally preppy assholes. “i won the chugging contest.”

“good for you,” you say, balancing a tray of empty glasses. “grope someone in here again, and you’ll be sorry you did.” you turn around to get back to work, but james grabs your wrist and stands up abruptly so you’re chest-to-chest.

“i don’t think you understand what i’m offering, baby.” you gag at the nickname and the stench of beer on his breath. you’re a bartender, you’re used to getting hit on, but creeps like this are the worst.

you rip away from his grasp. 

“i’m not interested,” you snap. “and i’m not your baby.”

“listen.” james puts his hands on your shoulders, and if both of your hands were free, you would promptly push him away. everyone’s having a good time and you don’t wanna cause a scene, so you try to think of ways to get this asshole out of the bar and into the snow without much of a fight. “you know, santa might come down your chimney on christmas eve, but if you’ve been a good girl this year i’ll come down your —” 

“there you are!” powder’s voice is loud over the sound of someone singing another generic christmas carol. she knocks into your side, breathless. “sorry we’re late. had some car trouble.”

“well, hello.” he removes his hands from your shoulders, shifts his predatory gaze from you to powder. 

oh, fuck no.

“powder,” you keep your voice steady even if your heart is racing. “go back to the table. i’ll be there in a sec.”

james reaches out for powder, but you punch him square in the jaw before he can so much as touch her, the tray of glasses crashing on the floor. 

james’ flirtatious smile is long gone, replaced with the kind of anger only egotistical, self-important jerks have when they don’t get what they want and they’ve taken a blow to their ego. 

in fact, he’s angry enough to deliver a punch right back to your face.

you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you stumble, but powder manages to catch you before you tumble into the broken glass. she holds you as people start yelling. you think that vander rushes over, too, shouting at james to get the fuck out of his bar and never step foot in it again. 

you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and everything is all a bit fuzzy. powder tries her best, but you slump your body weight into hers and she almost topples over.

“i’ve got her.” vi’s surprisingly calm voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist to steady you. 

somehow, you find yourself in the bathroom, sitting on the counter as vi stands between your legs. she carefully examines your injury, but you notice how she avoids making eye contact. 

you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while.

“remember teaching me how to throw a punch?” the question slips past your lips before you can stop it.

vi looks slightly amused, and she finally meets your gaze. “‘course i do,” she hums. “you tried to convince me to help you start an all-female fight club at school.”

a smile creeps onto your face, despite the pain from your nose.

she remembers. 

somewhere within her, vi holds on to fragments of you.

“thank god the principal vetoed it. would’ve been a disaster,” she continues.

vi wipes the blood off your face, the sleeve of her silk red button-down now stained a darker crimson. “how’s your hand?” she asks. 

you flex your fingers. “it’s been better,” you answer, your knuckles slightly aching. “totally worth it.”

vi smiles sadly. “i guess you’ve been the one protecting my sister while i’ve been away.”

while i’ve been away. 

the reminder feels like a stab to the heart. 

vi’s back home, sure, but only for a limited time. 

her fingers graze your cheek, and the breath hitches in your throat.

“you know, i only wanted to start that fight club as an elaborate plan to spend more time together,” you confess, opting to preserve the delicate bubble of nostalgia you’d stumbled into together. “we were each so busy….i had studio, and you were always away at hockey games. it wasn’t realistic in the end, though.”

“i would’ve stayed if you asked,” she tells you, and you wonder exactly what she might be referring to. 

you swallow the lump in your throat. “it’s what you loved, though.”

“but i - i loved you, more. you had to have known that.”

“yeah, well. i loved you, too,” you explain, and it’s clear that neither of you are talking about a lesbian fight club. “whether it was hockey, or music….as long your heart was in it, it was more worth it to let you go, to not stand in the way of your dreams.” 

“you were my dream.”

you scoff, cheeks heating up, and look away. “you probably say that to all the girls.”

“no.” vi guides your chin towards her. “just the one.”

it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on vi’s— messy, urgent. noses bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. she cradles your face in her hands, and you wrap your legs around her waist to bring her closer. you taste beer on her tongue, and maybe a hint of lime, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. when you run out of air, you pull away. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the adrenaline, but dizzy from her. vi’s gaze is heavy on yours as she traces your top lip with her thumb.

“vi,” you whimper, itching to kiss her again. 

“you’re still bleeding.”

vi wipes away the blood with the sleeve of her shirt. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s a knock on the door. vander, wondering if you’re okay and if maybe you could hurry up and get back to work. 

you can’t sleep that night. before, staying up on christmas eve was an elaborate operation to catch santa. now, it’s overthinking a very hot kiss and all the unresolved tension between you and your ex-girlfriend next door. 

logically, you knew that you missed vi, everything about her and who she is, the way you would laugh and argue and make love. but the rush of feeling her tongue licking into your mouth, her body melding into yours after being apart for so long….

you’re scared that she won’t feel the same, but you’re even more terrified of letting the moment slip through both your fingers without at least trying. 

so, you grab your phone, deciding to finally reach out to her, when by some christmas miracle you get a text from her.

she climbs through your window not long after, wearing plaid boxer shorts and a zaun university sweatshirt you’ve been looking for, for about five years. you didn’t bother to change, either, only wearing an oversized shirt. you sit cross-legged on your bed as she waits by the window. vi stares at your chest for a good few seconds, and you remember that you’re wearing one of her band’s concert tees, faded from years of wear. 

“so, um,” vi starts, her voice as soft as the well-worn cotton of your shirt. “we have so much shit to talk about and figure out, but, i, uh, can’t stop thinking about early tonight —”

“vi.” the swarm of butterflies in your stomach is replaced by something more delicate, more urgent. “do you wanna come sit?”

vi swallows thickly, looking between you and the still open window. a winter breeze rushes through. you shiver, thinking she might just turn around and disappear into the cold night. instead, she shuts the window, removes her snow-covered boots, and settles onto the bed next to you.

you place a tentative hand on her cheek, still cold and slightly flushed. she shudders when you run your thumb over the tattoo under her eye.

“i know there’s a lot we have to work through.” you take a deep breath as she shifts closer, suddenly dizzy from the familiar scent of her winter pine old-spice body wash. “right now….right now, i just want you.”

“yeah?” vi smirks, her shyness melting away. she settles a warm hand on your bare thigh. “how do you want me?”

you exhale sharply when her hand travels higher, dull nails scraping at the fabric of your underwear. 

“it’s cute that you’re flustered,” she quips, leaning in even closer. her breath is warm and heavy against your lips. “because i’ve spent so many night replaying all the dirty, nasty things we used to —”

you tug her sweatshirt and pull her back onto the bed, feeling her body solid against yours. the vibration of her groan shudders through your body when you crash your lips onto hers with such hunger, you’d think you had been starving without her. 

“how’s about an encore, superstar?” you drawl. 

you bite your lip hard at how vi nods at you desperately, eyes all dark and lustful.

“you read my mind,” she breathes. by now, her hand has reached the hem of your shirt, and she pushes up the cotton to reveal the supple skin of your stomach. you give her permission to remove it, leaving your top half exposed.

her lips nip and suck down your body until she reaches the waistband of your panties. she pulls it up with her teeth, the elastic snapping back when she lets go. you whine her name, and she looks up at you with dark eyes. 

“can i?” her breath fans over your navel, her nails digging into your hips as she waits for your answer.  

“yes. please.”

you hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you could feel vi smirk against your inner thigh before sinking her teeth into it. you whimper, and vi salves her tongue over the area to ease the sting before removing your underwear. she positions your legs over her shoulders for better access to where you need her most.

vi moves her tongue and fingers in all the ways she remembers makes you shake, curl your toes, and grind down on her face. in return, you grip her pink hair, tightly, and utter praise in all the ways you remember makes her shake. 

“just like that, pretty girl,” you encourage, practically melting into the mattress. it feels so good — dangerously good, intoxicating, even — to be devoured by vi.  “keep doing a good job and i’ll return the favor later.”

vi’s moan vibrates throughout your body and she becomes faster, reaches her tongue deeper, bringing you over the edge. she leaves a few more bites on your body on her way up to meet you and when she does, vi’s lips and chin are shining with your release.

you lean forward slightly to lick it up. you ghost your mouth over hers.

“your turn,” you taunt and run your thumb over her tattooed cheek. 

you twist your calf around vi’s leg and flip your positions. she lets out a yelp when her back hits the mattress. once you’re hovering over her, legs and arms on either side of her body, you do what you’re sure you’d never get tired of doing: you kiss her, passionately, deeply. you bite her lip as you pull away. 

there was always a bit of jealousy that gnawed at you, became your very-own shoulder devil that you just couldn’t shake when you were together, no matter how hard you tried. it was no secret that vi was admired by many, that girls around the world were crushing on her, hoping they’d catch her eye, get their chance with her. you never felt like she was yours, and yours alone. 

but you do get a deep satisfaction knowing that right here, right now, you’re the only person who gets to see her like this — pink hair splayed across the pillows like her very own halo, but the rest of her telling a much less-angelic, much more sinister story: her lips swollen and kiss-bitten, her cheeks a devilish shade of red, her eyes dark and lustful and waiting for you to make the next move. 

"you want me to have my way with you?" you whisper, voice honeyed with desire.

vi whimpers, a sound that fuels the fire in your abdomen. "yes."

you practically rip off her sweatshirt, kiss down her jaw, her neck, her exposed chest and sternum down to her stomach. vi lifts her hips from the bed so that you can remove her boxers, and you’re delighted to find nothing else underneath. 

you’re greeted by her glistening pussy. blowing onto her folds, you run your tongue from her hole to her clit, loving how you already feel her slick coating your lips. vi spread her legs even wider, and you take the opportunity to sink two fingers into her cunt. you know her body, as well as you know your own, as well as she knows yours. you flick your gaze up, view slightly blocked by the pink curls of her bush, but you can still picture it — how her eyes roll back, how her mouth opens to release a perfectly delicious gasp.

"god, i've barely touched you and you're already about to cum. did you miss me that much?" you tease, feeling her clench around your fingers. as if you aren’t subtly rutting your hips against the mattress, eager to ease the throbbing between your legs. 

all you get in response is whine. it’s muffled, and you crane your neck upward to see her biting down on her knuckles, so hard you’re worried she might break skin. 

unacceptable.

the rest of the world gets to hear her every day, any time they please. you want to be serenaded by the lyrics of her want, the notes of her desire. all for you and you alone.

with your other hand, you reach up to pinch one of her pierced nipples, always so sensitive. "answer me, violet."

vi props herself up on her elbows to look at you, just as you remove your mouth from her.

"yes!" she sings, practically sobbing. you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel the throbbing between your thighs intensify, hearing the frantic lilt of her voice — like she needs you and only you. "i missed you so fucking much. please, just do something."

at her request, you move up the bed so that the two of you are face to face, one of your hands holding her chin while the other is two fingers deep in her cunt. you add another, just to reveal in the timber of her sultry moan. she tries to bring her hand back, to quiet herself, but you shake your head. 

with your thumb, you trace over her lips, uneven and scarred and imperfectly beautiful. "open." 

vi obeys you instantly. you spit in her mouth, heart racing as you watch her swallow the combination of your saliva and her cum without question.

you continue fucking her with your fingers until she moans, louder and louder as she reaches her peak.

removing your fingers from her pussy, you lock eyes with her as you bring your syrupy fingers to your mouth and suck off her juices. then, you kiss underneath her ear, lips sticking slightly to her skin, and you whisper: "now i know why they say you have the voice of an angel.”

“fuck,” she exhales, the breath turning into a chuckle as you kiss underneath her chin, where you know she’s ticklish.

"one more time for me, okay, pretty girl? i want to feel you against me," you whisper. "i want to watch you fall apart, knowing that i'm the one who makes you feel this good."

vi nods, allowing you to adjust your positions so that your cunts are touching. you start fucking her down into the mattress and she sits up slightly so that your nipples brush against each other, the cold metal of her piercings encouraging the roll of your hips, her nails digging into the curve of your ass to bring you impossibly closer. 

“i missed you too. so fucking much,” you finally admit.  you flick one of the silver rings before leaning down and wrapping your lips around her nipple. 

“i missed these, too,” you add as you release her nipple with a pop, and vi moans. you’re grinning from ear to ear because, holy shit, vi is here and you’re together and you’re both happy, if only at the ecstasy of your silken cunts gliding against each other, at the taste of the other slicking your tongues, as thick as nectar and twice as sweet.

she laughs — love and magic and everlasting bliss — and you have to capture her lips now if you want to swallow the sound. you feel it bounce through your ribcage, awaken something deep within you that you feared was lost to time.

vi thrusts her hips upwards, presses harder against the seam of your cunt until you’re gushing against each other, not quite sure who’s making what mess. 

strings of cum connect you as you remove your body from hers. for a few seconds, you both lay on your backs, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch your breath. vi drapes an arm over her eyes, chest heaving. 

you throw on some clothes and leave the room, hoping that vi’s still there when you get back.

….

vi worries that if she opens her eyes, she’ll wake up from this dream. 

she’ll be in some uncomfortable bed in london or tokyo or los angeles. the dull ache between her legs would be thanks to some girl who’d be eager to text all her friends and spill all the details about what vi likes in bed, or caitlyn who would tell vi to shave next time, darling, or i won’t let you fuck me again anytime soon.

instead, vi hears the creak of a door opening, feet tiptoeing along the floorboards. the mattress shifts with the weight of someone between her legs, though their body is not touching hers. 

“vi, baby,” a gentle coaxing, a familiar voice, pulling towards something she forgot she needed. her heart soars when she finds you kneeling on the bed, holding a damp towel in one hand and a glass of water in another. 

“yeah?” her voice is hoarse, but her throat doesn’t sting in the same way it does after a concert. it feels tender, well-used, well-loved.

you hold out the cup of water, watch vi eagerly gulp down half of it before she realizes what she’s done.

“shit, i — did you want some?”

you smile and shake your head. “i had some downstairs after my shower.” it’s then that vi registers the water dripping from the ends of your hair, soaking the fabric of her (fine, your) sweatshirt. “i’m gonna clean you up. is that okay?”

vi nods.

okay? okay? vi thinks she might have whiplash. 

it’s been a while since someone has fucked her so well she’d be satisfied for years and then touched her so tenderly afterwards. you run the damp cloth over vi’s sticky, sweaty skin, occasionally leaning down to press soft lips where you’d left teeth marks and bruises before. 

“there.” you throw the cloth on the floor. “so, um. do you wanna stay….?” 

you bite your lip as you wait for vi to answer. you start picking at your nail polish, too. vi sits up and grabs your hand. 

“i do,” she soothes. “do you want me to?”

your smile brightens the entire room and you kiss vi before muttering:

“i do.”

vi slips on her boxers as you settle into the bed next to her, leaving her top half bare. she notices the sketchbook on your bedside table, and she lifts it up at you, a silent question if she can flip through. you take it from her as you shift to sit between her legs, her chest warm against your back. the room’s only illuminated by the string of multicolored christmas lights you’d left on, but vi can see the talent, the passion behind your work as you walk her through your sketchbook. you tell her about the techniques you’ve been working on and new mediums you want to explore, about how you want to make the kind of art that makes people appreciate the beauty in the everyday. 

“i always loved your art,” she muses. vi cranes her neck slightly, places a kiss on your shoulder then one on your cheek. “the world would be more beautiful if you shared it.”

you hum and place the sketchbook on your bedside table. you each shift to your sides, facing each other; vi notches a leg around your hips, and you throw an arm around her waist, fingers trailing down her tattooed back. 

“ekko talked to you, huh?”

“i would have said that even if he hadn’t,” vi promises. “so….have you heard anything yet?”

“well….yeah,” you sigh, smiling shyly. “i got in, actually.” 

“really? that’s amazing, baby.” she beams at you, excitedly cupping your face in her hands, leaving small kisses across your cheeks until you’re giggling. 

“okay, okay,” you laugh. “i don’t know if i’m gonna go yet.”

vi hums knowingly. she presses her forehead against yours. 

“i know you’re scared, baby,” she says softly. “but sometimes it’s just a leap of faith.” 

“i know.” you pause, gnawing at your bottom lip while your eyes fixate on the scar on her upper lip. “can i ask you something?

“anything.”

“when you proposed to me….” her body tenses up, but you brush your hand over her bicep and the tension in her muscles dissipates. “was that a leap of faith? like, were you scared?”

“well, not at first.” she takes a shuddery breath, her voice suddenly small. “i always thought that we’d be together….i just didn’t think through how we’d make it work, i guess. i didn’t mean to mess things up, though.”

“hey.” vi leans into the hand you cup around her cheek. “we both messed up. we never actually talked, you know? but….i’m glad we are, now.” you swallow. “i still love you, vi.”

vi exhales. “you know, girls tell me that they love me pretty much every day.” 

you can’t help it — you roll your eyes, and vi laughs. because, truthfully, her heart has felt more full at your admission of love just now than it ever has for an area of screaming fans.

“there’s a point to this, i promise,” she says, nudging her nose against yours. “i used to get such a thrill from it….but then i think about what you said earlier. my heart — it’s just not in it anymore. all the band is now is drama and gossip and compromises of fame over art, and…. i don’t know. it’s not really what i want anymore. i want to be with you. for real, this time.”

you blink at her; she can feel your chest pulsing against hers like a hummingbird.

“would you, um, if i were to take that leap of faith and do that artist residency, would you —”

“anywhere you wanna go,” vi promises. she thinks about it a bit more….how nice it’s been to be home for the holidays, how nice it would be to come home year round.  “preferably close enough so we can have dinner at home on the weekends.” 

“sounds like a plan,” you smile.

the two of you twist closer underneath the flannel sheets, sink into the mattress, and gaze up at the faded glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to your ceiling until you fall asleep in each other’s arms.

you jolt awake a few hours later, several firm knocks on the door and ekko shouting:

“it’s christmas! get the fuck up before ziggy eats all the bacon!”

beside you, vi protects you from the frosty winter morning. her body radiates warmth, and her eyes flutter open, ever so slightly, as you gently shake her shoulder. 

she groans, turning on her back, rubbing sleep from her eye. 

“i better go.” 

“....yeah.”

you flush when you glance over as vi’s slipping on her sweatshirt, rose-petal bruises delicate across her skin. she opens the window, hair still mussed up, and a gust of frigid air rushes into the room. 

the image is so familiar: vi, one leg in your room and another out the window. you feel like a teenager again, scrambling to get dressed and avoid anyone hearing that you’d snuck your girlfriend into your room late at night. but there’s something else now, too — you imagine this becoming routine: waking up next to each other every day, swapping clothes, kissing over coffee and pancakes at breakfast. a place where the two of you might create some new memories, build a shared life together. and much more, so much more that feels like it could be your reality, sooner rather than later. 

you’re so deep in thought that you don’t notice vi rushing back towards you. she kisses you and kisses you, until your lungs are burning.

"merry christmas, baby,” she mumbles against your lips.

you grin back at her. “merry christmas, vi.”

....

hi baby, i know you’re at studio right now, but i forgot to ask you this morning: how do you feel about sending out holiday cards this year? i know they’re kind of cheesy, but it seems like the type of thing married couples might do…..

anyways, we’ll talk about it when you get home. i’m test-driving this new recipe for brussel sprouts to bring to dinner at my dad’s. 

i’ll see you later. love you!

[imaginedisish]

Close to You (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Oh my god. I got so carried away with this. It was not supposed to be this long. Anyway, here's the beach fic, y'all. This one is inspired by "Close to You" by Gracie Abrams...which is an absolute banger. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: The team goes away on a weekend beach trip, and your pining for Logan comes to a head when you're forced to share a room...

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!! Thigh riding, oral (f!receiving), fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, soft!Logan, feelings, fluff, afab!reader/fem!reader, reader wears a bikini (no descriptions at all, though!), one bed trope (muahaha), friends to lovers, cursing, absolutely some grammatical errors bc this fic is so long, I think that's it!

Word Count: 6,577 this was so self indulgent

You step out onto the concrete and the salt in the air immediately coats your skin. The breeze is sticky and slightly humid, but it smells so good. You can hear the waves crashing against the sand, seagulls squawking above. Laughter on the boardwalk. Carnival music blaring from all the rides. It’s perfect—the sun is high, fluffy white clouds framing the endless blue sky.

“We’re going to have so much fun!” Jubilee cheers, closing the car door as she slides out of the Jeep. 

Jean and Scott step out of their car, parked just up ahead, unloading their bags. “It’s so nice of the Professor to give us the weekend off!” Jean says excitedly, placing her bag down onto the sidewalk and wheeling it up to the porch of the house. “I can’t believe he rented this place for us.” It’s a yellow, two-story cottage with a lemonade porch, adorned with white shutters and a shingled roof.

Logan makes his way to the trunk of his Jeep, pulling out bag after bag. You rush to his side, reaching inside the trunk. “Let me help you,” you mumble as the rest of the team excitedly approaches the house. 

Logan smiles and shakes his head, reaching for the same bag you are. His fingertips brush yours as he takes the bag away, your heart beating in your chest at the sudden contact. “Don’t worry, princess,” he huffs, smirking as he places the bag down in front of you. Heat rises to your chest at the nickname. “Don’t lift a finger. Go inside and check out the place.” He nods his head towards the front door and grabs another bag. 

You smile, throwing your backpack over your shoulder, grabbing two bags, and carrying them to the front door in protest. “Gonna help you anyway,” you say over your shoulder. Logan chuckles as he closes the truck, grabbing the rest of the duffle bags and following behind you. 

He meets your side as you walk through the doors. The walls are pale blue, and the bottom halves are lined with white shiplap. Beechwood covers the floors. The living room is light and airy, white curtains floating through opened windows. The kitchen is off to the side, and to the back is a large open sunroom. Just straight ahead are the stairs. 

Jean and Scott settle some groceries on the counter as Jubilee, Kurt, Rogue, and Gambit head upstairs to see the bedrooms. 

“Hey, guys?” Jubilee calls from upstairs. You can tell by the sound of her voice that something is off. “I thought the Professor said there’d be six beds.”

Jean puts away a bag of chips and steps back into the living room, following Jubilee’s voice up the steps, and disappearing as her feet hit the landing. “How many are there?” She asks, her voice muffled.

“Five,” Jubilee answers. “Three queens and two bunk beds, and Kurt and I took the bunks already.”

“That’s fine,” Jean says, shrugging her shoulders as she heads back downstairs. “We’ll all just be a little tight—closer quarters than usual.”

And that’s when it finally hits you. Three queen beds—and Kurt and Jubilee took the twin bunks. 

You’ll be sharing a room with Logan.

You turn to him and find that his eyes are already on you. “You okay sharing, princess?” He asks, nodding to the steps.

You swallow harshly, trying to mask your nervousness, hoping Logan can’t hear the way your heart beats out of your chest. “Yeah!” You say, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Totally fine with it.”

He nods, smiling softly as he walks towards the steps, his bags in his hands. You follow behind him, the wood stairs creaking with every step you take. 

Jean was not exaggerating; the upstairs of the house is extremely small. There may be four bedrooms—but bedroom is a generous title. Each room is only large enough to hold a queen bed, a single dresser, and a small nightstand on either side of the bed. There’s little to no walking room. One of the rooms—Kurt and Jubilee’s—has just a bunk bed and a nightstand, with a tiny wardrobe in the corner. In the center of the tight hallway is a bathroom with a simple sink, toilet, and a stand-up shower. 

Logan steps into the first bedroom to the left of the stairs and puts his bags down on the ground. “You sure you’re okay with this?” He asks, watching as you put your bags down next to his. “I can sleep on the couch if you’re uncomfortable.”

You shake your head, walking over to the window and taking in the view of the ocean. “Don’t worry,” you say, watching kids run across the sand, trying to distract yourself from how close Logan is to you in this tiny room. “We’re adults.” You turn to face him, fighting the urge to let your eyes trail up and down his body. “We can share.” Or at least, you hope you can. 

You can handle this for a weekend. You can force down your feelings—can ignore your massive crush on Logan for seventy-two hours. That’s all this is. A weekend trip. This is doable. You’ve been through so much worse than this. 

“If you change your mind, you can let me know,” Logan says, reaching his arm out towards your shoulder. His knuckles brush against your bare skin, and you let yourself lean into his touch. He’s warm, solid, cozy—

“Let’s go to the beach!” Jubilee interrupts, Logan’s hand falling from your shoulder instantly. “We didn’t come here to sit in a house all weekend, did we?” She jumps away from the door and runs down the stairs. 

 “Kid has a point,” Logan says, shrugging his shoulders and nodding towards the door. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling widely. “Already have my bathing suit on.” Logan smiles back and grabs your wrist, tugging you into the hallway, down the stairs, and out the door. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re sitting on the beach, watching as Jubilee and Kurt splash each other recklessly in the water. Jean sits in a chair, reading a book, while Scott lays on a beach towel, eyes likely closed behind his glasses. Rogue and Gambit walk down the shoreline, hand in hand.

Logan stands up from the beach blanket you share, tugging his beater up and over his head. “I’m going in,” he says, just to you. “Wanna come?” He reaches out his hand again, the same hand that tugged you the whole way here. You bite your lip, nerves building in your stomach again. “Come on,” Logan says, smirking. “I don’t bite.”

Your heart flutters in your chest, and you take his hand, standing up. You let go and tug your shorts down your legs. You look up at Logan as your fingertips find the hem of your tank top, his eyes trained firmly on you. Your stomach somersaults as you pull your shirt up your body, revealing your bikini top, knowing Logan is watching. 

Logan’s throat bobs as he swallows. He nods towards the ocean, wordlessly grabbing your hand again and tugging you along. 

The waves lap at your ankles, and you force yourself into the cold water. Logan seemingly has no problem at all, pulling you along from a few feet ahead. The water is already up to his hips. He looks behind at you, all wide-eyed and happy. 

“You’re not afraid, are you?” He teases, squeezing your hand tighter. Your heart drums against your ribcage at the feeling. He’s never held your hand like this. You try to shove down your feelings, to brush away how having him this close makes you feel, but nothing changes. You want him all the same. 

You take a deep breath and shake your head as the cold water barrels against the middle of your thighs. “No,” you protest. “I’m just freezing.” 

Logan smiles wider. “You gotta get all the way in!” He tugs you further, pulling you closer to him so that you’re shoulder to shoulder. You can’t tell if it’s the icy waves or your proximity to Logan that makes your heart freeze in your chest, that makes you crave the warmth of his body. You want to be close to him. You want him to pull you into his chest and hold you. 

“Do I have to?” You ask playfully, a half-smile turning up at the corner of your mouth. 

He jokingly rolls his eyes. “Come on,” he says, dropping your hand and wrapping his arm around your waist instead. “I’ve got you,” he whispers. You choke on your own breath as he guides you further into the water. “You okay?” He asks. 

“I’m fine,” you mumble, his fingertips pressing against the bare skin of your stomach. Goosebumps pebble your flesh. Finally, Logan guides you all the way into the water, up to your shoulders. It’s a surprisingly calm day—the waves easy and gentle. 

Logan lets go of your waist and treads water, slipping underneath the dark blue current and coming back up—his hair wet, drops of water dripping down his face and neck. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips at the sight. 

“Your turn,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes half shut as he swims towards you. 

Your smile drops as you swim away. Logan grabs your ankle, pulling you towards him. You yelp as he tugs you closer. You turn around and splash him playfully, freeing yourself from his grasp as he wipes the salt water off his face. 

You laugh, still backing away from Logan. He creeps forward, assessing you like an animal stalks its prey. “You’re not getting away that easy, pretty girl,” he huffs. 

What was that? Your eyes widen as those last two words repeat in your head. You’re so distracted that you don’t notice him closing the gap between the two of you. Suddenly his hands are on your hips, dragging you into his chest. 

His grip is like iron around your waist, keeping you in place, your hips pressed to his, your chests touching lightly. You don’t feel the coldness of the water anymore—you can’t feel anything except Logan. 

“What am I gonna do with you?” He asks, his voice low and raspy. The world stopped long ago, his arms wrapping around your back now, pulling you closer. The playfulness of the moment disappears—this is something else, something more serious. Logan brings his face closer to yours, his lips just centimeters away. This is it, you think to yourself. The moment when everything finally changes—

“Hey!” A familiar voice calls from the beach. Logan’s eyes fall closed—an almost defeated look painting across his face. Your head whips to the sand, and the team is standing by the beach chairs. Jubilee waves you and Logan over. “We’re going to the boardwalk! Come on!”

Logan opens his eyes. You think he’s going to push you away, to let you go, but he only holds you tighter. “Give us a second!” He shouts, frustration clear in his voice. 

But Jubilee crosses her arms against her chest. Scott chuckles and walks ahead with Jean. Gambit and Rogue look at each other knowingly, and Kurt teleports to the edge of the water. 

“And just like that…” Logan murmurs, half to himself, half to you. “Moment ruined.” 

You tilt your head, the implication of his words wracking your brain. “What do you mean—” 

But Logan is pulling you along with him to the shore before you can finish asking for clarification. His arms drop from your waist, his hand grabbing yours to guide you onto the sand. He bends down, picking up your shorts and top from the beach blanket the team left out, and passing them to you. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, your hands parting as he shoves his beater up and over his head. Once you’re dressed, flip-flops and all, you join the team and make your way up to the boardwalk. 

Gambit is talking with Logan about something just ahead, trailing on and on, clearly irritating Logan, while Rogue falls back to walk with you. 

“So,” she says softly, her eyes flitting between you and Logan. “What’s going on there, sugar?” She asks, smirking. 

You furrow your brows, trying to hide your smile. “Nothing that I know of,” you say, somewhat honestly. This might be nothing—might just be a friend teasing another friend. A friend whose lips were just inches from yours, so close that you could feel his breath fanning across your face. A friend who dug his fingers into your waist to pull you closer to his—

“Nothing, huh?” She asks, snapping you back to reality. “Because I think he would’ve kissed you if Jubilee didn’t interrupt,” she whispers so only you can hear. 

Heat rises to your chest at her words. “I don’t know. We’re just friends…” You trail off. 

“We’ll see about that, sugar,” Rogue says, walking ahead, tearing Gambit away from Logan. Logan’s shoulders visibly relax once Gambit is gone, and he looks back at you, slowing his steps so that you can meet his side. 

“Hi,” he husks, smiling down at you. 

You smile back, the warmth of his hand suddenly spreading across your lower back. It’s gentle, the ghost of a touch, almost not quite there—more tentative than in the ocean when it felt like no one was watching. But it’s solid and centering all the same. 

“Let’s go on the Ferris wheel!” Jubilee suggests, holding out the ticket booklet that Jean and Scott ran ahead to buy. She tears out tickets—three for each person. Jean and Scott hold hands and walk to the front of the line. Rogue leans over to Jubilee, whispering something into her ear that makes her eyes widen. She nods and pairs off with Kurt. Rogue turns around and winks at you while Logan isn’t looking. 

You look up at him and see that he’s staring off at the sun slowly setting. Pink, orange, and red erupt in the sky, the colors blending, painting across the wispy clouds. “Looks like it’s just you and me,” you say as the others climb into the Ferris wheel gondolas in pairs. 

Logan smirks, his eyes finding yours as you approach the front of the line. “Looks like it, pretty girl,” he husks. There it is again. Pretty girl. The ride attendant slows down the wheel, and you and Logan slip inside the gondola. You think maybe he’ll sit across from you, but he sits next to you instead. 

The attendant closes the door of the gondola, and the ride starts up. Once you’re off the ground, Logan slips his arm around your shoulder, his palm warm against your bare skin. “This okay?” He asks, his lips at the shell of your ear. 

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, your breath catching in your throat as his thumb brushes gentle circles into your arm. You let your head rest in the crook of his neck, and he leans against you, fitting together like puzzle pieces. 

It’s silent communication—knowing, but not saying. You can feel his intention as his arm tugs you closer, his lips at the crown of your head. Your heart beats out of your chest—for the millionth time today—and you know he can hear it. 

You reach the top of the Ferris wheel and look out at the ocean, the sun hitting the water, turning the blue waves to gold. “It’s beautiful,” you mumble, the current rippling against the shore, glistening vibrantly like the ocean figured out alchemy. 

Logan chuckles softly. “I can think of something prettier, you know,” he husks, his lips still pressed into the crown of your head. Your heart thumps in your chest at his words. You lift your head, looking up at him.

His eyes meet yours, a soft smile playing upon his lips. “Logan, I—”

But the gondola comes to a sudden stop, and the door to the car swings open. You’re already back on the ground. The attendant crosses his arms, waiting for you and Logan to get out. Logan rolls his eyes, grabbing your hand and helping you back onto the boardwalk. The team is already off the ride, waiting for the two of you at the exit.

“Why don’t we play some games and then head back to the house for the night?” Scott suggests, his arm wrapped around Jean’s waist. 

Jubilee smiles widely. “Yes! I wanna play the game where you throw the lobster into the pot!”

“Gambit’s gonna win chere a prize,” Gambit drawls, tugging Rogue into his chest. “The biggest one Gambit can find.” Rogue giggles, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

Jubilee and Kurt run off to the other side of the boardwalk, immediately finding the lobster-pot game. Jean and Scott follow behind, making sure they don’t get into trouble. Rogue and Gambit go out on their own, heading toward the ring toss game. 

You and Logan are left alone. Again. Surely everyone is doing this on purpose. “What do you wanna play?” You ask, nodding towards the array of games lined up on the opposite side of the boardwalk. 

His eyes meet yours, flitting down to your lips and then back up to your eyes. “Whatever you want, darlin’.” You smile, grabbing his hand and tugging him towards balloon darts. 

You approach the booth, and Logan pulls out his wallet, handing a five-dollar bill to the woman running the game. She slides a cup of five darts towards you and Logan, and steps off to the side, away from the balloons. Logan watches as you grab a dart and throw, completely missing the balloon you were aiming for. You groan, rolling your eyes, and grab another dart. 

“Here,” Logan rasps, standing behind you. He holds your hand in his, lining the dart up to a balloon. His other arm wraps around your waist, the front of his hips pressing into your back. “Like this,” he murmurs, pulling your hand back. You let go of the dart when he thrusts forward. The dart pierces a balloon, the pop echoing through the booth. 

You look up at him, his face close to yours, and smile. He grabs another dart, his eyes still focused on you, and throws without looking away, popping another balloon. “Now you’re just showing off,” you say teasingly as your smile grows wider. He grabs another dart, aiming at a bigger balloon this time, and pierces it with ease. 

“Gotta win you a prize, pretty girl,” he says, grabbing the last dart from the cup, and tossing it across the booth, directly into the biggest balloon on the board. It pops—of course—and the game attendant’s jaw drops. 

She shakes her head, walking over to the bigger prizes. “Never seen anyone do that before…” she trails off, pointing to the giant plushies. “You can pick any of these.”

Logan’s arm sneakily wraps around your waist as he waits for you to pick between a giant fox, panda, or dolphin. “The fox, definitely the fox,” you decide. 

The attendant grabs the fox and pulls it down, handing it to you. You squeeze it to your chest, Logan’s grip on your waist tightening. “He’s so cute!” You giggle, looking up at Logan, who’s guiding you towards the edge of the boardwalk. “Thank you,” you say softly.

He shakes his head and looks out towards the water. “It was nothing,” he says, his arm still around your waist as you lean against the railing of the boardwalk. The sun is falling behind the horizon, stars rising in the sky. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he turns to face you. “Listen…” He starts, his jaw working as his grip on your waist falls away, his forearms bracing on the railing. Your shoulder presses against his, the tension between you palpable. “I’ve been thinking…” But he pauses again, his eyes searching yours. 

“We ready to head back to the house?” Scott asks, interrupting the conversation. Logan’s eyes roll into the back of his head, and he leans forward. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Logan mutters, thinking you can’t hear him, resting his head against the railing. 

Jubilee grabs your arm, holding up her little stuffed teddy bear. “Look what I won!” Her smile drops when she sees your giant fox. “Oh my god, my bear is nothing compared to that! That thing is massive!”

You smirk, glancing over at Logan. “Wouldn’t have gotten it if it wasn’t for him.” Logan lifts his head and smiles sheepishly at you. 

The moon rises high in the quickly darkening sky. You’re not quite sure where the day went. Everything happened so quickly—the hours spent on the sand, Logan tugging you into the water. It was perfect. Beyond perfect. And now it was time to head back. 

The team treks down the boardwalk and onto the street, trailing a few blocks before arriving back at the house. You and Logan walk shoulder to shoulder the whole way there, leading at the front of the group. Logan grabs the key from his pocket, unlocks the door, and you all head inside. 

Jubilee and Kurt run into the kitchen scavenging for snacks. Gambit and Rogue crash onto the living room couch. 

“We’re gonna head to bed,” Scott says, Jean following him up the stairs. “Night, guys.” Everyone mutters soft goodnights in response, and a comfortable silence falls upon the house. 

“Gonna steal the upstairs shower before they get to it,” you whisper to Logan, nodding to Jubilee and Kurt. 

He smirks. “I’ll shower down here,” he says back. “See you upstairs?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” you answer, suddenly remembering that you’re sharing not just a room with Logan, but a bed. You walk away and head upstairs, grabbing your pajamas from your duffle bag and making your way to the bathroom.

You turn on the water and undress. The shower is warm and relaxing, releasing the tension you had spent the entire day holding in. But the peace is temporary—your thoughts drift off to Logan. You imagine him sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, waiting for you to join him. Butterflies flutter in your stomach, and you try to ignore the heat growing at the bottom of your belly. Maybe you should’ve taken a cold shower instead. 

You finish up in the shower, turning the water off and grabbing a towel. You reach for your pajamas, only to realize you forgot your bottoms and your bra. You step into your panties and shrug your oversized band t-shirt over your head. You push the bathroom door open just a crack, and seeing no one in the hallway, you make a break for it, tip-toeing to your room. You slip inside and shut the door. 

Logan coughs from behind you, and you whip around. “S-sorry,” he stutters, standing up from the edge of the bed. He’s shirtless, just like you imagined he’d be, wearing only a pair of boxers. His hair is still damp from his shower. “I didn’t mean to—”

You cut him off. “No, no,” you assure. “It’s totally fine.” You’re worried you sound too eager, too focused on making sure he stays. You clear your throat nervously, stepping towards your duffle bag. You lean down, hoping your t-shirt is still covering your ass as you rifle through your belongings. You groan when you finally realize you forgot to pack pajama shorts. You stand up and make your way around to the left side of the bed.

“Everything okay?” Logan asks, following suit and walking to the right side of the bed. 

“Yeah,” you say. “I, um…” You trail off, motioning towards your duffle bag. “I forgot pajama bottoms,” you finally spit out. “If you’re uncomfortable or—”

“No,” Logan cuts you off this time. “I’m not uncomfortable at all.”

You smile, climbing into the bed and slipping under the covers, and Logan does the same. He rolls onto his side and turns off the lamp—the only light on in the room. The space is engulfed in darkness save for the pale light of the moon pushing through the curtains. 

You take a deep breath; you’re more nervous than you can comprehend. You could simply turn away from Logan, but you’re too anxious to move. Your stomach somersaults as his knee brushes against your thigh. You force your eyes shut, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. 

“I can hear your heartbeat, you know,” Logan mumbles into the dark room, shuffling under the covers. “You okay?”

You swallow harshly, humming a soft mhm, too distracted to form a complete sentence. 

“I know you aren’t telling the truth, pretty girl,” Logan whispers, his hand finding your waist. “I can sleep on the couch, if you—”

“No,” you protest, the words escaping your lips almost uncontrollably. “It’s f-fine,” you stammer. “I’m fine.”

He chuckles darkly. “Then what’s got you so worked up, huh?” Oh. He knows. He has to know. You can hear it in his voice. 

“N-nothing,” you lie, your eyes fluttering open. Logan is closer to you now, his fingertips trailing down to your thighs, to the hem of your shirt. 

“Relax,” Logan husks, his hand slipping back up your body and settling on your waist. He tugs you closer to him. “This okay?” He asks, and you hum a quiet yes. You can feel the tension thickening, feel it readying to snap. He breaks the silence. “Thought about this all day, you know.”

Your eyes widen at the confession. “Th-this?” You ask, your legs tangling with his. 

“Being alone with you,” Logan rasps. Your shirt hikes up as he pulls you into his chest. “Wanted to get you alone earlier,” he says, his hand sliding back down your body, playing with the hem of your shirt before slipping underneath. His fingertips drag along your stomach. 

You curse under your breath, Logan’s forehead pressing against yours. “Logan,” you whisper, his name the only thing you can think of. You’re sure he can smell the arousal building between your thighs. 

“There’s no going back from this. You know that, don’t you?” He whispers, his breath hot against your lips. He’s so close, his thigh pushing between your legs, bumping against your core. 

“Yes,” you sigh. “Don’t wanna go back.” 

Your eyes flutter closed, overwhelmed by how close Logan is to you. “Good,” he breathes. “Because you have no idea how much I need you.” 

His lips crash against yours, his thigh dragging along your core. You moan into his mouth, his tongue swiping across your lower lip. You part your lips, inviting him inside, his tongue tasting yours. 

“Logan,” you whine, involuntarily bucking your hips, grinding down on his thigh. “N-need you too.”

“I know, beautiful,” he soothes, gripping your waist, rolling you onto your back, pushing you into the mattress. “Fucking thought about you all day, always thinking about you.” He slides your shirt up above your tits, drinking you in with his eyes. “Wanted you for so long, pretty girl.” He hovers over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand explores your body.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he palms your left breast, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and then doing the same to the other side. It’s dizzying having him this close. You can smell his body wash—notes of musk and pine and a hint of leather on his skin. 

“Please,” you beg, not quite sure what you’re even begging for. All you know is how badly you want him—need him. 

Logan buries his face into the crook of your neck as his thumb rolls over your nipple, biting down on your pulse point and sucking the sensitive skin between his lips. “Please what, darlin’?” He mumbles, continuing his assault on your neck. 

“F-fuck,” you whimper, your hips rocking against Logan’s. “W-want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah? That what you want?” Logan teases, his hand pushing between your legs, his fingertips finding your clit through your panties. “What if I wanted to taste you first?”

“W-whatever you want,” you moan, grinding down onto his hand. “I’m yours.”

He lifts his head from your neck and presses his forehead to yours. “Whatever I want?” His voice is thick, cocky, almost mocking. “You’re mine,” he husks, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, then to your jaw, your neck. “All fucking mine.” He crawls down your body, trailing kisses down the valley of your breasts, your stomach, stopping just above the hem of your panties. 

Your hips lift off the mattress as his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, and he tugs them down your legs, throwing them to the floor. He nestles between your thighs, his breath hot against your cunt. You tremble in anticipation, watching as he breathes you in, his jaw working. You can see in his eyes that he’s holding himself back. 

“Are you sure you want this, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice suddenly soft, his cockiness replaced by genuine care. "Not gonna be able to stop once I start.” But you know he doesn’t just mean in the moment, right now—he means forever. 

“I’m sure, Lo,” you whine. It comes out like a prayer, like a desperate cry, a guilty plea. 

And then he buries his face into your heat, his tongue swiping through your folds. He grunts against you, flicking your clit before stroking his tongue through your folds again. “Fuck,” Logan groans, his face pressing harder into you, his tongue exploring your cunt. “Tastes better than I ever imagined,” he mumbles against you, the vibrations of his voice pulsing against your core. “So fucking sweet.”

Your hips jolt away from him as his tongue laps at your sensitive clit. His palms quickly slide under your legs, wrapping around your thighs, yanking you back to his face, and holding you down onto the mattress. “Don’t move, princess,” he chides, his nails digging into your flesh. “Wanna eat this pretty pussy.” 

“L-Lo,” you stutter as his tongue draws tight, rapid circles around your clit. You’re already close, his teasing words enough to push you over the edge. But you know he’s nowhere near done—he’s only getting started. 

His right hand loosens its grip around your thigh, his nails dragging down the curve of your ass and towards your folds. His fingertips prod your slit, spreading your slick. “So fucking wet for me, pretty girl,” he praises, his lips wrapping around your clit, his teeth grazing the bud lightly as he sucks. “Want my fingers?” He asks, knowing your answer, but wanting to hear you beg for him. 

“Yes, Logan, please. Need—” 

He’s thrusting two long, thick fingers deep inside you before you can finish your sentence. “Fuck,” he whispers, pulling out and pumping back in—down to his knuckles. He stills inside you, letting you adjust to him. “So goddamn tight.” His tongue laps at your clit. “Gonna have to work you open for me, hm?” He mutters, thrusting in and out now. 

You’re so overwhelmed, your swollen clit already overstimulated. He wraps his lips around your clit again, sucking harder this time, his fingers unrelenting as they plunge deeper with every pump. His tongue draws long, hard strokes around your bud, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

It feels like a wildfire is spreading through your veins, a current dragging you under and holding you down. Warmth blossoms in your belly. “Doing so good for me, beautiful,” Logan praises, his fingers fucking into you. Your walls flutter around him at his words, sucking him in deeper. “Know you’re close, pretty girl.”

“Logan,” you moan, his tongue drawing those tight circles around your clit again. He’s adding more pressure, his fingers dragging along your walls, scissoring inside you, splitting you in two. “Please, need to come…” You trail off, your back arching off the mattress, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. 

“Come for me,” Logan demands, his voice dark and filled with lust. “Wanna know what it tastes like.” His tongue presses harder into your clit, his fingers rocking in and out of your entrance. “Wanna see that pretty face when you let go.” 

And then the tension breaks, white-hot heat pouring freely from the bottom of your belly. Your vision goes blurry as Logan laps at your clit, his fingers still pumping in and out, working you through your high. You moan his name, pleasure ripping through your body in intense waves. 

His pumps relax, his fingers stilling inside you before he finally pulls out. His face is still buried against your cunt, licking long stripes through your folds. He’s savoring the taste of your release, drinking every last drop you have to give. “Can’t get enough of you,” he husks. “Could do this forever.” 

He licks one last long stripe through your folds before lifting his face from your cunt. He’s a mess—your release glistening on his chin, his hair disheveled, his boxers all wrinkled. Your heart beats in your chest at the sight. All this, just for you. 

Logan crawls up your body, hovering over you again, lowering down onto his forearm. “Wanna fuck you, beautiful,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing to yours. “Wanna know what you feel like.” His hand slips between your legs, his fingertips finding your swollen clit and giving it a gentle pinch. Your hips buck against him at the sudden sensation. 

“Wanna feel you too,” you whimper, your arms wrapping around his back. “Want you inside me, please.” 

And then he’s tugging his boxers down his legs, his erection pressing against the inside of your thigh. You can’t see—but you can feel just how massive he is. His tip slides through your folds, spreading your arousal. 

“You know how bad I need you?” Logan whispers, his lips finding yours. He bites your lower lip and kisses away the pain. “You know how long I’ve been thinking about this?” And then he sinks himself inside you, down to the hilt with one smooth, fluid thrust. “Thought about this every day since I met you.” 

Your muscles release and contract at his words. His hips stall, letting you adjust to the size of him. You feel indescribably full. He’s splitting you open, stretching you out, claiming you as his. His hips pull back, his cock sliding out, and he plunges back in, somehow deeper this time. 

“Th-thought about you too,” you stutter, already too fucked out to form a coherent thought. “Always wanted you.” Logan sets a reckless pace as his fingertips find your clit again, working long, languid strokes into the bud, teasing you, leading you on. 

“You feel so perfect,” Logan praises, rocking into you, his cock dragging along your walls. “So fucking warm, so tight. Made for me.” His lips are on yours again, his tongue slipping into your mouth, tasting you, swallowing your moans. “Never gonna want anybody else, pretty girl.”

His hips snap against yours, his fingers circling your clit faster now. “Just want you, Lo,” you choke, the tension building at the bottom of your belly, a fire burning through your bones. “Only want you.”

“I know,” he whispers, his voice suddenly soft, contrasting with the way he pounds into you recklessly, hitting that sweet spot inside you with every pump of his cock. “It’s you, just you.” You can hear the emotion in his voice, the sincerity, the desperation, the aching longing. 

Your chest heaves against his. He’s fucking you to get closer to you, to be as deep inside you as possible. This isn’t just sex—this isn’t just some tension that needs to be broken. It’s an invisible string keeping the two of you tied closely together. Maybe it was stitched by the Fates centuries ago, laid out carefully, a plan to be executed. Maybe everything that led you to this moment was always meant to be. Because here you are now, his lips soft and hungry against yours, his words tearing through your resolve, his cock buried deep inside you, searching for a way to get deeper. And all you can think is…

This is it. This is what people mean when they talk about love—that word that changes its meaning every time you say it. The word with a definition that always escapes you. You know what it means now. 

“Logan, I’m gonna…” You trail off, that fire in your belly spreading through your body as he rams into you, the sound of your skin slapping against his echoing along the walls of the tiny room. His fingers press harder into your clit, pinching softly, and then circling again. 

His cock twitches inside you. “Me too, beautiful,” he hums, his pace growing sloppier, his cock throbbing again. “You’re so perfect,” he praises. “Love you so much, pretty girl.”

And then the tension snaps, electricity buzzing through your nerve endings, fire prickling your skin as you melt into him. “Love you too, Lo.” Your muscles contract and release, squeezing around him, coming undone. 

Your walls clench around him again, and you know it’ll be the thing that pushes him over the edge. “Fuck, wanna come inside you,” he pants.

You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close. “Please,” you beg, and with one more thrust he’s painting your walls, filling you up and letting go. 

You share one breath, panting, foreheads pressed together as Logan’s pumps slow, his cock stalling inside you. His fingers slip away from your clit, his arms reaching under your back as he carefully pulls out. You feel empty without him inside you. 

“Y-you can stay inside, if you want,” you offer as Logan rolls you onto your side, pulling you into his chest. 

He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Is that what you want, pretty girl?” He asks, his lips pressing to your nose now. 

“Yes,” you whisper. He swallows harshly as one of his hands slides down your body, hiking your leg up and over his hip. He lines his half-hard cock up with your entrance, his lips finding yours as he slides back in. Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of being full of him again. 

He groans as he bottoms out. “So fucking good,” he praises, his arms wrapping around your back again, tugging you into his chest. 

You lay in comfortable silence, listening as Logan’s breathing becomes rhythmic. Your eyes grow heavy, and you bury your face into Logan’s chest. You can hear his heart beating.

“Love you,” he mumbles against the crown of your head. You can hear the sleepiness in his voice, the exhaustion. 

“Love you too,” you whisper, your breathing matching his, like you’re no longer two separate people, but one.

He presses a kiss to your head. “So lucky I met you,” he huffs. You smile against him. “So lucky I finally figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” You ask, looking up at him. 

He smiles down at you. “What love is supposed to feel like...” He trails off, and you watch as he chooses his next words. “What living is supposed to feel like.” 

You can feel tears brimming in the corners of your eyes, and you do your best to blink them away. “Me too, Lo,” you whisper, pausing…

“Me too.”

tags: @wittyjasontodd @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @figsnpassionfruits @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @fanfic-writing-barbie @pedrohoe04 @cosmiccandydreamer @movhoney @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @maniuplatour *as always, I'm so sorry if I forgot to tag you*

[moongirlcleo]

Folded Hands

❤︎  tags and content: strip poker, light dom themes, rough sex, aftercare, table sex, f!reader, caleb x reader, not proofread ❤︎  author note: check out all my fics by searching #moongirlcleo or on AO3

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/cafekitsune  Fic: @moongirlcleo  

It starts with a bottle of wine and an innocent game of poker—just a quiet night on Skyhaven, something light to pass the time between missions and memories. But when the clothes begin to come off, the stakes rise higher than either of you planned.

For Caleb, restraint has always been second nature: in battle, in command, even in love. But when he sees you again—sitting before him, laughter on your lips and old longing in your eyes—he learns what it means to fold.

You don’t warn him that you’re coming.

You know his schedule by now—know the window when patrol shifts ease and the briefing rooms go quiet, when he might have a sliver of time to breathe without a headset pressed to his ear or someone barking his title down a comm line. It’s selfish, maybe, showing up unannounced, but something about Skyhaven’s artificial skyline and the faint hum of the platform beneath your boots feels too sterile without him.

You pass two levels of clearance before reaching his wing. The security personnel stationed outside glance at you but don’t question a thing—they know your face, probably know your name too. Caleb’s name gets you into places most people never dream of, and the thought settles strangely in your chest.

You pause outside his door, hand hovering near the chime for a beat longer than you mean to. Then, with a quiet breath, you press it.

The door slides open almost immediately, like he was already on the other side.

He doesn’t speak at first—just stands there in the entryway, jacket sleeves rolled to his elbows, dog tags peeking from beneath the collar of his half-buttoned shirt, hair still damp from a recent shower. There’s a moment of silence, but it isn’t awkward. If anything, it stretches soft and golden between you like the sun lingering just a little longer on the horizon.

Finally, his voice breaks it. “Pipsqueak. You came.”

You smile, tucking your hands into your jacket pockets. “I figured you might need someone to make sure you were still eating real food and not surviving off nutrient packs again.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Guilty as charged.”

You expect him to step aside, to usher you in like he always does, but instead he studies you for a second longer—eyes flicking briefly down your frame, as if double-checking you’re really there and not some illusion conjured by exhaustion or hope. Then he steps back, wordlessly holding the door open.

The moment you cross the threshold, the quiet hum of Skyhaven gives way to something softer—his space is dim, cozy, nothing like the sterile exterior of the station. A warm light glows from a small lamp near the couch, casting lazy shadows across the room. There’s a pot simmering somewhere beyond the partition, faintly spicy and comforting. And the faintest trace of your favorite scent lingers in the air—subtle, but unmistakable.

“Been working late?” you ask, shrugging off your jacket and draping it over the back of his chair.

“Always,” he says, closing the door behind you. “But… I’m glad you’re here.”

You glance toward the source of the smell, eyes flicking toward the kitchen. “You cooking?”

He nods, sheepish. “Trying to, anyway. Got roped into making a proper meal tonight. I may or may not have bribed someone on the logistics team for decent ingredients.”

You raise a brow, mock seriousness. “You bribed someone for dinner?”

“Only a little,” he says, lifting one hand in mock surrender. “I didn’t know you were coming, but there’s enough for two. Stay?”

You don’t even have to think about it. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He doesn’t move right away. Just watches you for a moment longer, the faintest crease between his brows, like he’s still calibrating the reality of you standing in his space. Then something eases in him—shoulders relaxing, expression softening—and he gestures toward the small dining nook by the window.

“I’ll plate up,” he says. “Make yourself at home.”

And just like that, you’re back in orbit around him again, the two of you drawn together in quiet gravity, as if no time has passed at all.

Dinner is quieter than you expected, but not in a bad way. Caleb sets the table with military precision—two bowls of something simmered and savory, still steaming from the pot, a bottle of wine between you, half-full glasses catching the soft light like blood-red glass. You’re close enough to see the fine scar just under his jaw when he leans forward, but far enough that you still feel the distance he keeps around most people.

Except you’re not most people.

He waits until you’ve eaten a few bites before speaking, and when he does, his voice is softer than usual.

“So,” he says, watching you over the rim of his glass, “how’ve you been holding up?”

You shrug, rolling your shoulders as if it’ll shake off the weight of everything. “Same as always. Working, reporting, picking up intel where I can. Got clipped by a rogue Wanderer last week, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.”

His jaw tightens just slightly. You catch it even if he thinks you won’t. “You shouldn’t be dealing with that alone.”

You offer a small smile, lifting your glass to your lips. “I wasn’t alone. Zayne had my back. We made it out clean.”

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes dropping to his plate. When he speaks again, it’s low, almost like he’s talking more to himself than you. “I hate that you’re still in the middle of all that.”

You tilt your head. “You think I should be locked away in here with you?”

He looks up sharply, but there’s no bite to your words—just a trace of amusement, tempered with something softer.

“I think,” he says after a pause, “that I’d sleep better if I knew you were safe.”

You don’t answer right away. The silence stretches, not uncomfortable, but full—like a breath you’re both holding, unsure when to let it go.

Eventually, you break it with a quiet laugh. “God, this wine is strong.”

He glances toward your glass, brow lifted. “Already feeling it?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit, nudging your plate away. “But in a good way. I think I needed this.”

There’s a flicker of something in his expression. You lean back in your chair, swirling the last of your wine lazily, and glance toward the side table where the deck of cards sits, half-hidden under a data tablet.

“Hey,” you say, catching his gaze, “still keep a deck around?”

His eyes flick toward the cards, then back to you. “Always.”

“Good.” You smirk, setting your glass down. “You up for a game of poker?”

He leans back, arms folding across his chest, that familiar amused glint in his eyes returning. “You’re tipsy.”

“Which means I’m just reckless enough to win,” you shoot back, giving him a mock-challenging look. “Unless you’re scared I’ll beat you again.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, already reaching for the deck. “You cheated last time.”

“Did not.”

“You stacked the deck when I blinked.”

“Prove it.”

He stands, pulling the cards free with a flick of his wrist, and walks slowly back toward the table. “You’re on, then. But I’m warning you... I play for keeps.”

You look up at him, heartbeat catching just a little at the way the warm light slides over the edge of his jaw, the faint smirk at the corner of his mouth.

“That so?” you murmur, voice soft with challenge. “Guess we’ll see what you’re willing to bet.”

And just like that, the room feels warmer. Not just from the wine. Not just from the way his eyes linger on you a second too long. But from something simmering beneath the surface—just waiting for one of you to fold.

<hr>

The cards move fluidly between Caleb’s fingers, shuffling in smooth, practiced motions, each flick of the deck precise in a way that feels entirely him—controlled, deliberate, like even this moment of downtime is something he needs to master. He sits across from you now, long legs stretched under the table, sleeves pushed to his elbows, the fitted line of his jacket hugging his frame like it was made for him. There’s a slight crease between his brows as he cuts the deck, but it softens the moment he glances up and catches your gaze, a spark of amusement flickering there.

You lean into your hand, the curve of your mouth lazy. “You gonna deal, or just admire the cards all night?”

His gaze lingers on you, eyes half-lidded, voice low. “Thought I was admiring something else.”

Your stomach tightens, not because of the wine—but because of that voice, that look, and the way he says it like he means every word.

He starts to deal, and the first few rounds pass easily—banter traded, hands won and lost. You bluff; he calls it. He folds; you grin. There’s tension simmering under the surface now, subtle but growing with each glance, each casual brush of fingers on the table or leg beneath it. The room is too warm. Or maybe it's just him.

“So,” Caleb says, tapping his cards against the table, “what exactly are we playing for?”

You shrug, watching the way the light catches in his hair, casting faint gold at his temples. “Didn’t set terms.”

He hums, as if weighing options. “We could make this interesting.”

You arch a brow. “Interesting how?”

He lifts his glass for a slow sip, gaze unwavering. “Loser of each hand removes something.”

There’s a quiet beat—just a moment where the air stills and your breath stalls—but then you set your wine down, fingers brushing your cheek as you pretend to think.

“You’re serious?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Only if you are.”

You meet his eyes, steady. “Alright, Colonel. But you’re going to regret this.”

He grins, all confidence and something darker beneath it. “Can’t wait.”

The cards are dealt. You lose the next round, of course—whether by fate or the fact that your mind is no longer entirely on the game. With an exaggerated sigh, you slide your sweater off your shoulders and toss it over the arm of the couch behind you. You don’t look at him, not directly, but you feel his eyes track the movement like a predator watching the first sign of weakness.

The round after that, he folds way too early.

You tilt your head, not bothering to hide your smirk. “Really? You’re giving up that easy?”

“Maybe I just wanted to even the field,” he says, and this time, he unzips his jacket.

He peels it off in one slow, smooth motion, the fabric whispering over his skin as he drapes it over the back of his chair. The dark shirt beneath fits him too well—clinging to the curve of his shoulders, the line of his arms, like a second skin. You swallow a little too quietly.

The game continues, barely. Small losses, smaller victories. Neither of you’s really trying it seems. Your bracelet ends up on the table. His socks go next. It’s almost ridiculous, but neither of you laughs.

It’s your deal. You flick a card onto the table with the sort of flair only three glasses of wine can inspire. “Call it.”

Caleb leans forward, folding his arms against the table, his voice quieter now. “Don’t tell me you’re throwing this one too.”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Who says I’m not just bad at poker?”

He tilts his head, studying you with a gaze that sees straight through your act. “You forget I grew up with you. I know when you’re pretending.”

You hold eye contact, the challenge clear, but so is the invitation. “Your turn.”

He looks at his cards, then at you. There’s a slow exhale, almost like he’s bracing for something—and then he lays them down.

A flush. A clear win. But he doesn’t smile.

“I had a choice,” he says softly. “And I’d rather lose to you.”

Then—without waiting—he reaches for the hem of his shirt.

This time, the motion isn’t quick. There’s no humor in it, no shrug. Just slow, deliberate movement as he drags the fabric up his torso, revealing inch by inch the toned expanse of his chest—cut with lean muscle, marked by faint scars, the synthetic gleam of his right shoulder catching faint light. His eyes don’t leave yours. If he’s giving you a show, it’s intentional. If he’s waiting to see how you’ll react—he’s watching closely.

The shirt hits the floor shortly after. And when the silence stretches, heavy and filled with a different kind of charge now. Caleb doesn’t reach for more wine. He just breathes slow and deep, bare and still, like the next move is yours to make.

<hr>

You should have folded.

The thought hits you a moment too late—right as Caleb places his hand down on the table with quiet finality, his cards a clean, easy win. He doesn’t gloat. He doesn’t need to. The way he looks at you, eyes steady and dark with quiet heat, is far more effective than any smirk or tease.

The silence that follows stretches, weighted and slow, and you feel it settle over your skin like the hum of something electric waiting to arc.

There’s no way out. You’ve lost the round. You take a breath, steadying your hand as you reach down to the hem of your shirt, feeling the faintest tremble in your fingertips—not from nerves, not exactly, but from the awareness that this moment has long since stopped being about poker. With careful fingers, you lift the shirt over your head and pull it free, the air cool against your skin as your bare shoulders meet the open room. You’re still in your bra, modest and simple, but under his gaze, it might as well be nothing at all.

You place the shirt beside your jacket with what you hope is casual ease, though you can feel your heartbeat stuttering just beneath your ribs. When you glance up, Caleb is watching you, unmoving, his expression unreadable—but the tension in his jaw, the way his gaze lingers, betrays him.

You clear your throat softly, needing something—anything—to cut through the moment.

“I, um… I need more wine,” you say, pushing up from your seat before he can respond.

You cross the room with too much purpose, your steps just a little too quick, the air against your skin feeling too sharp now, too exposed. Your fingers reach for the bottle, more for something to do than for any real need to drink. You’re not even sure if you meant to escape the moment, or if part of you just wanted to feel the cool glass in your hands before the warmth burning in your chest gets too much to hold.

But before you can pour, you hear the quiet scrape of a chair behind you, the soft sound of his footsteps—slow, deliberate—drawing closer.

You don’t turn. You don’t have to.

His presence fills the space behind you like a shadow stretching in the light—close enough that you can feel the heat of him ghosting along your back, but still not touching, not yet.

“You sure you need more wine?” he asks, voice low, with just the barest hint of gravel at the edges.

Your fingers pause on the neck of the bottle. “I’m just... cooling off,” you murmur, trying to sound breezy, unaffected, though your voice is already tighter than you’d like.

There’s a beat of silence, and then he hums—not skeptical, exactly, but amused in a way that makes your skin prickle with awareness.

“That why you’re trembling?”

The words land too softly to be accusatory, but they knock the breath from you all the same. You close your eyes, just for a moment, and instantly regret it—because now every inch of him feels closer, like the air has folded in around you, and you’re standing in the center of a storm that’s just barely restrained.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to look at him over your shoulder, and you find him already watching you—his gaze pinned to yours like it’s holding you in place.

“I thought you said you play to win,” you manage, your voice low, barely more than a breath.

There’s something in his eyes now, something deeper—desire, yes, but also something rawer beneath it, something like vulnerability wrapped in steel. He lets his gaze drop, tracing the line of your jaw, the curve of your lips, then lower, lingering at the bare skin of your shoulder before meeting your eyes again.

“Maybe I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to lose,” he says softly, and there’s no teasing left in him now—just honesty, quiet and bare and thick with everything neither of you has said aloud.

You don’t speak. You don’t have to. Because then his hand lifts, slow and careful, and his fingers brush the side of your arm with a touch so light it barely registers as contact—just a whisper of skin against skin, a question asked without words.

You don’t pull away. And in that silence—warm, charged, breathless—the line you’ve both been toeing begins to blur, then fade entirely.

Caleb’s fingers linger at your arm, unmoving for a breath, and then they trail upward—slow and deliberate—sliding over the curve of your shoulder and up along your neck, his touch featherlight but sure. He’s watching you closely, as if waiting for hesitation, for a sign that you’ll step back.

But you don’t.

Your breath catches as his hand finds the edge of your jaw, thumb brushing just below your cheekbone, his palm warm and steady against your skin. And still, he waits—so close now you can feel his breath on your lips, but he doesn’t move that final inch until you do.

You lean into him, just barely, and that’s all it takes.

He closes the distance like gravity finally winning—no pretense, no gentleness, just years of wanting poured into the kiss as his mouth crashes into yours with an intensity that steals the air from your lungs.

It’s not soft. It’s not polite. It’s a question, a claim, a thousand unsaid things slammed into one desperate kiss. His hand tilts your jaw up, deepening the angle, and you meet him with just as much urgency, fingers digging in the bare line of muscle at his side, pulling him closer, like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you don’t hold onto him. His other hand braces at your waist, grounding both of you as your bodies come flush, heat meeting heat with nothing left between but breath and skin.

You sigh into his mouth—soft, shaky—and he swallows the sound like it’s the only thing he’s needed since he came back from the dead. You can feel it in the way he kisses you: the hunger, yes, but also the grief, the guilt, the impossible devotion he’s been carrying like armor. His mouth moves with desperate precision, lips parting yours like he’s memorizing every second of this in case it gets torn away again. When you pull back for air, just barely, his forehead rests against yours, breath ragged, eyes fluttering shut like the moment is too much to hold.

“Tell me this is real,” he whispers, voice rough, thick with something cracked open and raw.

You nod, your fingers curling against the base of his spine. “It’s real.”

And then he kisses you again.

The second kiss is deeper, hungrier—less careful now, as if something inside him has cracked open and there’s no point in trying to put it back. Caleb’s hands slide down your back with firm, reverent pressure, like he’s relearning the shape of you by touch alone, his grip tightening when you arch into him.

Then—without a word—he pulls you back toward the table. With one swift motion, he sends the deck of cards, the half-empty wine glasses, everything scattering to the floor with a crash that makes your heart leap. The sound doesn’t faze him. If anything, it makes his breath deepen.

He looks at you, chest rising and falling with barely leashed control, his hands already sliding down to your hips, guiding you back until your thighs press against the table’s edge.

“I’ve been patient,” he says, voice hoarse and low, each word like gravel dragged across silk. “For years, I waited… I held back… but not anymore.”

You don’t speak—you can’t. Because the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only thing left in the universe that matters, steals every coherent thought from your mind.

He turns you with careful insistence, hands firm but reverent as he guides your body to face the table. You grip the edge, breath catching, the cold surface against your palms a stark contrast to the heat that radiates from him behind you.

When his hands return, they’re rougher now—claiming. He drags them slowly over your sides, then up your back, the tips of his fingers teasing the band of your bra. He bends down, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, then another, slower, teeth grazing the skin just enough to make you gasp.

“You have no idea how many times I dreamed of this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear as one hand slides around your waist, the other flattening over the small of your back. “Of you, right here—mine.”

The last word is a growl.

He presses against you, chest to your back, hips flush to yours, and you feel how hard he is already, the heat of it grinding just enough to make you whimper. His metal arm braces against the table beside yours—cold steel humming with quiet energy—and when you shift your hips back into him, he curses under his breath.

“That’s it,” he growls, one hand sliding between your thighs, forcing them to part. “Keep doing that and I won’t last.”

He dips his head again, this time kissing down your spine, slow and reverent, but each kiss feels like a brand—like he’s marking you one breath at a time. His hands return to your hips, and when he straightens, you feel the weight of his stare on your back like a spotlight.

“You don’t get to hide from me anymore,” he says, hands gripping your waist like you might vanish if he lets go. “You’re mine now. Say it.”

You bite your lip, breath ragged. “I’m yours.”

Your breath catches when you feel Caleb’s fingers slide into the waistband of your pants, his touch both reverent and possessive, and though his movements are deliberate, there’s no mistaking the weight behind them—he’s not teasing anymore; he’s unraveling, and he’s going to take you with him.

He leans in close, his mouth grazing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “Don’t move,” and the way he says it, low and threaded with rough restraint, leaves no room for disobedience, only heat curling low and fast through your core.

You brace your hands against the table as he begins to tug your pants down your hips, dragging the fabric with agonizing slowness, like every inch he reveals is something sacred, something he’s waited too long to see again. His knuckles brush your thighs, his breath warm against the back of your neck, and when your pants pool around your ankles, he lets out a quiet, nearly broken groan that vibrates straight through you.

It’s your panties he lingers on.

His fingers trace the waistband, sliding along your skin like he’s memorizing you by feel alone, and then, without warning, he curls his fist into the lace and tears it clean in one savage motion—just a sharp, decisive snap, and then nothing but cool air on bare skin and the hot, heavy sound of his breathing behind you.

“I’m not waiting anymore,” he says, almost like a confession, and the ruined fabric is discarded without care as his hands return to your hips, steadying you, grounding you, claiming you all over again.

His touch drifts lower, smoothing over the curve of your ass, then up the small of your back, the contact so firm and slow that it borders on worship, his thumb brushing along the dip of your spine like it belongs there. He leans down, lips pressing against your shoulder, trailing heat with every kiss as he works his way downward, pausing only to let his teeth graze lightly against your skin, the quiet sound of your gasp spurring him on.

“You have no idea,” he whispers, voice hoarse with the weight of everything he’s been holding back, “how many times I dreamed of this—of you, bent over in front of me, mine to touch, mine to take.”

The sound of his belt unfastening fills the silence like a drumbeat, followed by the low scrape of a zipper and the shuffle of clothing pushed hastily down his thighs, and then he’s behind you again, thick and hot and hard, the head of his cock sliding through your folds, coating himself in the slick evidence of how ready you are for him.

He doesn’t press in—not yet.

One hand anchors you by the hip, the other coasting along your front, splaying across your belly before drifting downward, parting your thighs further until you’re open for him, exposed and trembling beneath his touch.

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” he murmurs, his voice cracking on the edge of a growl as he guides himself to your entrance, teasing the sensitive skin with slow, shallow strokes. “Thought I’d never get to fuck you like I always wanted.”

When he finally pushes in, he does it in one slow, brutal thrust, the force of it knocking the breath from your lungs as your body stretches to take him, your hands clutching at the edge of the table for dear life. He doesn’t move right away—just stays buried inside you, fully sheathed, his hands tight on your waist as if he’s holding himself back from coming right then and there.

“Fuck,” he groans, low and guttural, his mouth pressed against your shoulder blade. “You feel like heaven.”

And then he begins to move.

Each thrust is hard and deep, perfectly paced to drive you wild, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that’s all hunger and dominance and years of frustration finally, finally, breaking loose. The table creaks beneath you, your legs spread wide, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room with every punishing snap of his hips.

His hand slides up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades and urging you further down against the table, and when your cheek hits the cool surface, your breath escapes you in a soft, desperate moan.

“You were made for this,” he growls, his mouth near your ear, the heat of his voice sinking into your skin like a brand. “For me. This body, this sound—mine.”

You manage his name on a broken gasp, your voice shaking, your body already on the verge of losing itself entirely as he continues to thrust into you, each movement rougher, deeper, more desperate than the last.

His hand slides between your thighs again, this time to circle your clit with unrelenting pressure, the pads of his fingers slick and confident, and when you cry out, he doesn’t stop—he doubles down, whispering, “Come for me. Let me feel you fall apart.”

And gods, you do.

The orgasm crashes into you like a storm, seizing you from the inside out, your entire body tensing, walls clenching around him as pleasure tears through your spine and explodes behind your eyes. You sob his name, breathless and undone, and he holds you through it, his hand on your hip tightening, the rhythm of his thrusts faltering as he loses himself in the feel of you shattering around him.

“Ah—fuck—gonna come inside you,” he groans, every muscle in his body going taut as he drives into you one last time and stills, buried deep, spilling into you with a guttural moan that’s as much pain as it is relief. His chest presses flush to your back, arms wrapping around your waist like he’s anchoring himself there, like he can’t bear the thought of letting go.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. The air is thick with heat, your bodies tangled, breath syncing in a slow, uneven rhythm that speaks more than either of you could right now.

He doesn’t say anything, but the way he holds you, the way his lips brush the side of your neck in a kiss so soft it almost breaks you, says everything he can’t.

The silence that follows is heavy. It’s the kind of quiet that settles deep into your bones, warm and full, like the world has finally stopped spinning long enough to let you catch your breath. Caleb doesn’t move for a long moment, his chest still pressed against your back, his arms wrapped around your waist like he’s anchoring you to the earth itself. His breath ghosts over your shoulder in slow, unsteady exhales, his body still trembling faintly against yours as the aftershocks roll through both of you.

Then, with a gentle murmur—your name spoken like a vow—he presses a kiss to the back of your neck and pulls out of you slowly, carefully, as though he’s afraid he might hurt you if he moves too fast. He catches your waist as you sway slightly, already reaching for you before you even realize you need the support.

“Easy,” he says, voice low and still rough at the edges, but his hands are impossibly gentle. “I’ve got you.”

And you believe him. You always have.

He helps you straighten, one arm still firmly around your middle as the other brushes a loose strand of hair from your face. When you glance up, your eyes meet his, and for the first time tonight, you see all of him—not just the soldier or the survivor, not the boy who left or the man who came back, but Caleb, who looks at you like you’re the one thing that kept him tethered while the rest of his world burned.

Without a word, he leans in and kisses your temple, slow and soft, before guiding you gently toward the bed in the corner of the room. The lights dim as you pass—probably movement-commanded, but it feels like the room itself is exhaling.

“Stay,” you murmur, already missing the warmth of his body as he helps you sit at the edge of the bed.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says immediately, brushing his thumb over your thigh as if to reassure himself more than you. “Just getting something.”

He returns a moment later with a warm, damp cloth and a fresh towel, kneeling in front of you like you’re something precious, like tending to you is the most natural thing in the world.

Caleb’s silent as he cleans you—tender, focused, his touch slow and steady as he wipes between your thighs, along the insides of your legs, his hand cupping the back of your calf as he works. There’s nothing hurried or clinical in his movements; everything about the way he touches you now speaks of devotion, of reverence, like this is part of the ritual. Like this is sacred, too.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, eyes flicking up to meet yours as he dabs the cloth gently between your legs.

Your voice is small, but sure. “Better than okay.”

A soft smile tugs at his lips, and he presses another kiss—this time to your knee—before setting the cloth aside and wrapping the towel gently around your hips. He helps you ease back into bed, pulling the blankets up over your shoulders, and then, finally, finally, he slips in beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight as his arms curl around your body and bring you close again.

You rest your head against his bare chest, listening to the slow, rhythmic thud of his heart as his hand drifts through your hair in lazy strokes, his other arm banded around your waist, holding you like you’re the last thing worth protecting in the universe.

“I missed you,” he says after a while, voice barely more than a breath. “Just—” his hand squeezes gently at your waist “— you. Everything about you.”

You tilt your head, fingers brushing lightly over the scar near his ribs. “You always had me. Even when you weren’t here.”

He doesn’t answer with words—just a long exhale, a kiss pressed to your forehead, and the way he holds you tighter like he’s finally allowing himself to believe it.

And in the quiet hum of Skyhaven, tangled in Caleb’s arms, with nothing between you but skin and truth, you feel more safe, more known, more his, than you ever have before.

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Dead of Night - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer stumbles upon a secret dark fantasy of reader’s and does everything he can to be the one to fulfill it.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: This is the first time I’ve ever written anything with themes like this so feedback is definitely appreciated. Not proofread cuz this is long and I’m tired ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I fully understand if the themes included in this are not for some of my regular readers and I encourage you to scroll if you’re not comfortable with any of the following warnings.

TW: perv!spencer, dom!spencer, mask kink, knife play, blood, dubcon, kind of cnc but it’s emphasized repeatedly that reader initiates and is in control of what is taking place, unprotected sex, penetration, creampie, degradation (slut), pet names (doll, angel) religious imagery, gun mention, std testing mention, fem + afab reader, soulmate talk

Rating: R, 18+

——

You knew it was wrong, you’d seen just how easily Penelope was able to track someone down through their “anonymous” profile on websites just like this one, but your desires got the better of you, and you just had to try.

Your profile was nondescript, your age, a vague physical description of yourself, and a link to a meticulously detailed account of your wildest fantasies. After weeks of back and forth, chatting with a few equally nondescript profiles, you found the one that you really clicked with, the stranger you decided you’d let sneak into your window and do whatever he wanted with you. After an std panel and the agreement of your safe word, you decided to fully commit, sending this complete stranger your address and logging off for the night.

Even though you knew this was a stupid idea, you weren’t a complete idiot, you had plans in case anything went south, including placing your handgun in your bedside table for easy access if you, god-forbid, had to use it. Placing yourself in a high-risk situation was the whole point, and you couldn’t wait to see how it turned out.

You spent the remainder of your afternoon preparing, doing every grooming ritual you’d usually do before a date, but this time felt somehow more important. You didn’t even know what this guy looked like, and yet, you wanted to be the picture of beauty for him. It was silly, but you always pictured yourself the prettiest you’d ever been when you daydreamed about being ravaged by a stranger. You wanted to be completely irresistible in every way, and you were doing everything in your power to accomplish that.

As the sun finally set, your excitement levels began to rise, anxiously awaiting the arrival of your masked suitor. You opened the bedroom window just above your fire escape, the cool night air drawing goosebumps over your exposed skin, only a thin lace slip and matching panties adorning your frame. You crawled into bed, double checking your bedside drawer before pulling your comforter over your body, eagerly drifting off to sleep.

—

Spencer had been keeping a secret, one that he did not want you to know about, until today. A few weeks ago he’d stayed late to finish up some paperwork for the last case you’d been on, when his pen ran out of ink just as he was about to sign off the last document. He walked to your empty desk, reaching across it to grab a pen from the cup next to your monitor, when his arm brushed against your mouse, causing your display to light up.

He knew he shouldn’t snoop, but curiosity got the best of him, scanning through the title of each tab open on your browser until a certain website caught his eye. He went against his better judgment and clicked the tab, his jaw dropping upon viewing your profile, and with it, the graphic description of your sexual proclivities. His brain immediately cemented that information in his mind’s eye, fit to torture him for days after the encounter.

He couldn’t stop picturing himself fulfilling all of those desires for you, having to excuse himself to the bathroom several times a day to take care of the bulge in his pants just from being around you. He eventually bit the bullet, creating his own profile on the website and messaging you as an “anonymous” suitor, beyond pleased when the two of you hit it off. He felt bad not telling you, but this was a means to an end that would surely leave you both satisfied, and the devious part of him won out this time.

He did everything you asked, getting tested so he could fuck you raw, he was apprehensive about the risks of a potential pregnancy even without the fear of std transmission, but the way you begged so beautifully in your messages for him to creampie you was more than enough to convince him. The moment he got your message with your address, he went out and purchased a mask to conceal his identity just like you asked, and anxiously waited for nightfall.

—

The graze of fabric against your skin gently woke you as your bedding was pulled down off of your body, your mind clouded from the deep sleep you’d been sunk in seconds before. You rolled onto your back, starting to lift your head until a large hand clamped over your mouth, forcing your head back down onto your pillow. Your eyes widened, darting around the room before settling on the masked figure on top of you. You tried to scream against his palm, but the sound simply reverberated back against you, muffled by his strong grip.

His free hand made quick work of cutting off your slip, the thin fabric splitting easily against the blade of the knife in his grasp. You struggled underneath him, weakly pushing at his strong shoulders, feigning defense as the heartbeat in your cunt grew stronger by the second. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making you feel almost high.

“Don’t fight it.” He hushed, holding the knife flush against your neck. You slowed your movements, settling for shifting your legs against his. He removed his hand from your mouth, freeing it up to gather your hands to pin them above your head as well as give you an opportunity to use your safe-word if need be.

He trailed the knife down your body, your chest heaving with shaky breaths as the blade scratched a small cut between your breasts, warm droplets of blood forming in it’s wake. He followed the curve of your body, leaving shallow kitten scratches until he reached your hip, using the tip of the knife to carve a heart into your skin. The sting of each movement set every nerve ending in your body on fire, the wetness pooling between your thighs increasing by the second.

He pressed his thumb to the wound, smearing the blood down to the waistband of your panties, using the digit to pull the fabric before letting it snap back against your skin. You gasped, your labored breaths growing more desperate as he brought the blade to slice the fabric, exposing your embarrassingly wet cunt.

“Look at how wet you are, you love this, don’t you?” The condescension in his tone felt almost half-hearted, and the more of his voice you heard, the more familiar he started to sound, but you couldn’t quite place why. You looked down at him, watching his every move as you tried to place him.

He set the knife on the bed, using his now free hand to yank his pants down, his hard cock slapping against his thigh. Your eyes went wide at his size, looking just long and thick enough to have you a little worried about being able to take him raw, but the thought of being stretched to your limits sent another wave of arousal straight to your core and helped quell that fear ever so slightly.

“If you don’t want this, just say the word.” His words dripped from his lips like honey, sickly sweet, and in that moment you had never felt more sure of your desire for anything in your life.

—

Spencer wondered if the way he was feeling was akin to that of religious psychosis, so engulfed in your very being that he ought to worship at your altar for the rest of his life, fit to carry out any act you requested of him.

His brain kept your description of your fantasy scrolling in the back of his mind, catering to everything you had written to a T in hopes of making this a night you’d never forget. The only thing at the forefront of his thoughts, however, was the intoxicating sounds you made every time he gripped or marked your skin. Each note sought to pull his focus, threatening his plan as it tempted him to lose control all together. He couldn’t do that, his conscience too righteous in its goal to keep you as pleased as possible.

He took his time, marking you just the way you’d requested, his cock twitching with every whimper that flowed out of you until he finally reached your core, the lace of your underwear glistening under the moonlight cast through your open window from how wet you were. He wanted to sink fully into you without a care in the world, but he had to make sure this was absolutely what you wanted. He was, to your knowledge, a stranger after all, and the last thing he wanted was for you to be uncomfortable in any way.

—

You frantically shook your head in acknowledgment, spreading your legs wider for him, ready for this tall stranger to finally be inside of you. Your eagerness spurred him on, a surge of confidence washing over him as he let go of your wrists, his large hands gripping your hips and pulling you further down the bed. He lifted your legs so your knees rested atop his shoulders, his rough movements making you gasp.

He brought his cock to your core, running the shaft through your slick folds before slapping the head against your clit a few times, the repeated hits making your hips jolt ever so slightly. He hummed low in the back of his throat, lining up his tip with your entrance before thrusting forward, bottoming out inside of you in one fell swoop.

“You’re so tight.” He grunted, one hand holding an iron grip on your thigh to hold your leg up, the other digging fingerprints into your hip. You gasped once more at the intrusion, feeling more full than ever before as he set a steady but unrelenting pace. Your gasp turned to crying moans, brows furrowed in awe at the way his cock stretched you so deliciously, prominent veins rubbing against the contours of your sensitive walls.

Each snap of his hips had his balls slapping against your ass, the lude sound mixing with his grunts and the wet squelching where your bodies met in the most intimate way, the decibel level in the room reaching an all-time high.

You bit your lip, trying to quiet yourself to at least somewhat lower the noise and not disturb your sleeping neighbors, but the absence of your desperate moans was not lost on him. His pace slowed, his left hand firmly gripping your chin to force you to look at his masked face. His eyes met yours through the thin slit in the dark fabric.

You knew those eyes, those big, soft brown irises, so comforting, yet darker than you recognized, pupils far more blown than you’d ever seen before. You knew him, but there was no way. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you, because there was no way that Spencer Reid would do anything this perverse, let alone with you.

“Louder, slut.” He squeezed your cheeks, forcing your lower lip out from under your bite.

“I-I’m not a slut.” You mumbled, barely above a whisper.

“Only a slut would leave her bedroom window open, practically begging a stranger to come in and fuck her.” This was far too brazen to be Spencer, you thought, a level of blunt confidence you’d never in a million years expect from him.

“I-I didn’t mean to.” You stuttered over your words, raising your voice in an attempt to half heartedly defend your actions.

“Well then, you should really be more careful next time.” He laughed, releasing his grip on your face before playfully slapping your cheek and increasing the pace of his thrusts, his now free hand finding your clit. His calloused thumb drew broad strokes over and over and over against your sensitive bundle of nerves, a knot tightening in your stomach as you drew closer and closer to your release. You turned your head, trying to bury your face in the pillow as you writhed underneath him, your body frantically looking for relief.

“Oh don’t be shy doll, let me see how much you’re enjoying this.” His tone was almost sing-song, clearly enjoying this just as much as you were. He pressed his body down closer to yours, almost pinning your thighs against your stomach, the change in angle forcing a borderline scream from your lungs, crying out strangled ‘uh’s with every stroke. You looked him in the eye, desperate to know if this deity above you could possibly be your nerdy coworker, and every interaction you’d had with him flashed before your eyes.

Every fleeting glance he took at your chest or your ass, the way he lingered behind you in the field, feeling his presence even when you couldn’t see him. You couldn’t think of a time he wasn’t around a corner when you turned it, always near whenever you needed his help on a case. You always secretly hoped he'd make a move sooner or later, but you never thought it would be anything like this.

He was omnipotent, knowing exactly how to make you feel things you’d never felt before, pushing your body to levels of pleasure you never thought possible. You thought you might disappear, your brain short-circuiting as you tried to make sense of everything, finally understanding why the French refer to orgasms as the little death.

Your walls fluttered around him, the sounds leaving you reduced to pathetic whimpers as your vocal chords grew strained.

“That’s it, cum on my cock, angel.” He groaned, his thrusts growing increasingly desperate. The pet name surprised you, but if he saw you as an angel, how fitting considering how godlike he felt to you in that moment. You could tell he was close, and if your orgasm was what would get him to cum inside you, then so be it. Your eyes glazed over, your hands clawing at his back as you chanted ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ like a mantra, wave after wave of euphoria washing over every nerve in your body.

—

Spencer was a man possessed, his primal urges leaving his mind completely uninhibited, so lost in your body that he thought he might need divine intervention to ever leave you.

He didn’t quite understand where the sudden dominant urge coursing through his veins had come from, but he didn’t care to dwell too much on the thought, content to fuck you into the mattress until you screamed his name.

He knew that wouldn’t happen, but he secretly hoped you’d realize who he was, wishing for nothing more than for you to want him for him. His heart felt like it may burst at the thought, the desire to be wanted as he was ever-lingering inside of it, that being the very motivation behind his lingering tendencies from the start.

As your heat contracted around him, he felt an embrace like no other, hoping the myth of twin flames to be true. If this connection wasn’t proof of it, how could he rationally explain anything? He knew the scientific reasoning behind it, but it didn’t feel like enough, such a finite explanation for a feeling so sempiternal.

He wondered if you felt the same way too, so lost in his every desire that he let himself dive into the delusion, using the pet name he wished he could call you every day for eternity.

Your chants and cries as you came set him free, his hips stuttering as he finally filled your aching cunt to the brim with his seed. He hovered above you, catching his breath, watching your expression soften as you rode out your orgasm, practically glowing.

When he finally snapped out of his lust-fueled haze, he fully remembered his role, pulling out of you and quickly scrambling to stand, fixing his pants and underwear. You had agreed to his departure after, and as badly as he wanted to hold you until you drifted off to sleep, he respected your wishes more than his wants. He walked to the window, lifting his leg to climb out of it when you cleared your throat, drawing his attention. He turned, seeing you sit up, hazy smile on your face.

“Thank you.” You sighed, and he gave a nod of acknowledgement before slipping out of the window and into the night.

—

When you awoke, you had a couple minutes of doubt in which you thought the events of the night before had all been a dream, until you moved to get out of bed and winced at sting from the shallow marks adorning your body and the dull ache between your legs. You smiled to yourself, before looking at your phone and realizing what time it was. You were going to be late, and panic set in when you realized you’d have to go to work in the makeup you’d fallen asleep in last night.

You rushed out the door, checking your makeup in a compact mirror in your car, wiping a small bit of smudged mascara off of your brow bone before walking into work.

“Fun night?” Derek quipped as you walked through the doors, always the first to poke fun at your perceived escapades.

“You could say that.” You laughed, setting your handbag on your desk before joining the team to walk to the conference room.

“What happened?” Penelope asked, almost panicked, taking your arm in her hand and pointing to the only visible cut on your body.

“Oh that’s nothing, I just scraped my arm on my car door.” You reassured, smiling at her. As much as you loved your best friend, she didn’t need to know the truth of your little white lie.

“You should really be more careful next time.” Spencer’s voice came from behind you, his hand gently resting on your hip before squeezing right where the heart shaped cut from the night before was inlaid in your skin. His words reverberated in the space between your ears as your brain processed what he’d just said.

Realization hit you like a semi truck, your lips parting in shock. Your suspicions had been correct, and you almost wanted to turn around and kiss then interrogate him right there. You couldn’t do that though, having a full work day in front of both of you.

Now you just had to figure out a time and place to broach the subject with him without completely humiliating yourself.

——

part 2 can be found here

tag list: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[multific]

Prove It to Me

Emperor Geta x Reader

Summary: With Caracalla's health getting worse by the day, you try to attract the eyes of your husband, Geta.

The golden light of dusk streamed through the tall windows of your chambers.

The empire was silent outside these walls, but within them, the weight of the world pressed heavily on your husband’s shoulders.

Geta stood near the balcony, his gaze fixed on the horizon, though you knew his thoughts were elsewhere. He had barely touched the food you had sent for him earlier, barely acknowledged your presence when you tried to comfort him.

He was worried about Caracalla. Again.

You understood. You truly did. 

The twins had been bound together since birth, and Caracalla’s illness had been lingering for weeks now, an affliction that not even the empire’s finest physicians could fully explain.

But understanding did not ease the ache that settled deep in your chest, nor did it soothe the loneliness.

You rested a hand against your growing belly, feeling the movement within, a reminder that you were not truly alone, but it didn’t stop the resentment.

“Has he improved?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.

Geta sighed, rubbing his temple. “No. The fever remains. The physicians say it may pass, but they cannot be sure.” His voice was distant as if he were speaking to himself rather than to you.

You watched him, taking in the tension in his jaw, the exhaustion darkening his eyes. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days, but even so, there was a part of you that wanted to demand his attention.

To demand that he notice you.

“Have you eaten today?” you tried again, hoping, praying, that this time he would look at you.

“Later,” he murmured, still staring out at the setting sun.

Your fingers curled against the fabric of your dress. It was always later.

You had been patient, swallowing down the ache of being second in his heart, but tonight something inside you cracked.

The jealousy, the frustration, it all came down crashing.

You were four months pregnant, carrying the heir to his empire, and yet you felt invisible.

You inhaled sharply, forcing your voice to remain steady. “I’ve decided I will leave for the villa.”

That got his attention.

Geta turned to you, his brows furrowing. “What?”

You lifted your chin, meeting his eyes with determination. “I will leave for the villa,” you repeated. “Perhaps some time away will be good for me.”

His expression darkened. “You are not going anywhere.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “And why not? You certainly don’t need me here. You have been so consumed by your brother’s illness that you hardly notice I exist.”

“That is not true.”

“Isn’t it?” You took a step forward, your voice rising. “When was the last time you touched me, Geta? Held me? Looked at me the way you used to? I have been waiting for you to remember that I am here, that I need you too.”

He stared at you, silent, his lips pressed into a thin line.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion. “I know Caracalla is your brother, and I know you fear losing him. But what about me? What about our child?” Your hand moved instinctively to your belly. “We need you too. And if you cannot see that, then I will go where I am wanted.”

His entire body tensed. “You would leave me?”

You exhaled sharply, blinking back the sting of tears. “Unless you can prove to me that you still love me, Geta, I don’t see why I should stay.”

For a moment, he said nothing.

The air between you was thick with tension. Then, without warning, he moved.

In an instant, he was in front of you, his hands cupping your face, his breath warm against your lips. “You are my wife,” he said, his voice low, almost desperate. “You are carrying my child. Do you think for one moment that I do not love you?”

You shuddered at the intensity of his gaze, but the pain in your chest did not disappear. “I need to hear it,” you whispered.

His grip on you tightened, his forehead pressing against yours. “Then let me say it now. I love you. More than my own blood, more than the empire itself.” His hands slipped down to rest against your belly, his fingers reverent. “And I love our child. I have been a fool to neglect you.”

Your breath was slow, your heart pounding in your chest. “Then show me.”

Geta didn’t hesitate.

His lips crashed against yours, fierce and possessive, pouring every unsaid word, every unspoken emotion into the kiss. He kissed you like he had been starved for you like he was terrified you would disappear if he let go.

Because he was.

When he finally pulled away, his breathing was ragged, his hands trembling against you. “Stay,” he murmured, almost a plea. “Stay with me, please.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but this time they were not from sorrow.

You reached up, running your fingers through his hair. “I never wanted to leave, Geta. I just wanted you to see me.”

“I see you,” he swore, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then to your lips once more. “I see only you.”

And in that moment, you believed him.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[whxrecruxxes]

RUFFLED SHEETS - cl16

pairing- charles leclec x fem!reader warning- smutttt ( wrap it before you tap it pooks) , dirty words (frenchie french) porn with no plot :) lowk reader's first time riding ??? idk yall does that count genre- established relationship summary- missing charles when he's away is a recurrent feeling. question is, what happens when he comes home to find you in his shirt ? this is not proofread sorry for any mistakes english is not my first language les copains :)

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · keep reading !! · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

It was no surprise that you were alone for yet another weekend. Not that you minded it, it felt nice to be alone sometimes. But you had to admit, spending the weekend with Charles was always more fun than watching him spend his weekend without you on the TV.

You were sat on your couch, the blanket draped over your knees, your eyes heavy with sleep, Charles shirt heavy on your shoulders. Miami was always the toughest race for you to keep up with, seeing as though the time difference with Monaco was always so huge. But you stuck through, and in the end it was worth it, because you got to see Lando cross the line first for the first time in his career, and you got to see your boyfriend bring it home third. From the look on his face, you could tell he was happy for Lando, but that p3 was not the result he was expecting- nor hoping for. You shot Lando a quick congrats text, who responded with a flurry of misspelled, clearly drunken texts of different variations of the words "thank you, love you, wish you could've been there" instead reading "tjanl yio, lobe yiu, qisj yio xouldvr beem tjete". It took you a while to decipher it, but when you finally did, it brought a soft smile to your face. It was obvious the young boy you had gotten close to had not even waited a minute after that podium to go out with his friends and celebrate. Your phone buzzes by your side as you yawn, cracking your neck. You pick our phone up and squint your tired eyes at the screen.

"I'll be home by tomorrow night, ma chérie. Je t'aime, fait de beaux rèves." I love you, sweet dreams. You read out loud, rubbing your eyes. You got up from the couch and switched the tv off and ventured into your room, craving the comfort of your bed. Charles's shirt reached far enough down to the middle of your thighs, so you had assumed when you slipped it on hours ago (after remembering he had left his signature red shirt here as he didn't need it because of the blue shirts for miami) that you didn't need shorts, and now was no different, so you simply slid into bed and cuddled yourself into your pillow and letting yourself succumb into sleep.

When Charles walks in, almost twelve hours early because he was planning on surprising you by getting the first flight home, the sun hadn't even gone up yet. The apartment is quiet when he steps in, and he expected you to be asleep on the couch, still watching the TV. He's confused when he doesn't spot you, dropping his bags by the doorway and venturing further into the apartment, and when he finally reaches the room, he carefully pries it open. The moonlight is gushing in through the windows, illuminating your body. Your hair is sprawled over your back, your shoulders rising softly in sleep. Charles smiles at your sleeping state, quickly, ridding himself of any airport sullied clothes and slipping in next to you, his chest bare, sweatpants hanging low on his waist. At the sudden dip of the mattress beside you, you jolt awake, turning to face him.

The look on your face makes his heart melt.

You look so tired, but so happy to see him. Your eyes light up, and he practically melts into your touch as your hands find his cheeks and you sling a thigh over his middle, humming softly as his arms bunch up around your waist.

"Hi, mon amour. Surprise." He whispers, kissing his aw down your jaw. You push at his back with your heel, humming softly.

"Charlie ? I missed you." You mutter, burying your hands in those soft brown curls of his.

"I caught the first flight back. Needed to see my girl." He says, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He grimaces, his nose scrunching as he notices an odd smell on your body. His cologne, mixed with sweat and another mixture of things that you like about his scent. He frowns.

"Why do you smell like me ?" He asks, his voice soft against your ears. He softly pulls away from you, the darkness in the room making him squint. He turns on the bedside light, sending the slightest glow emmenating around the room, and finally illuminating your body. The sheets have bunched up near the apex of your thighs, revealing the soft black material of your lingerie and finally his shirt, resting on your shoulders. His number, splayed over your chest, the fabric stretching in a heavenly way around your breasts.

Charles heard his breath catch in the back of his throat. Sleepy and craving to hide your eyes from the light, you whimper and shift from side to side, the shirt hiking up to reveal he ruffled hem of the lingerie resting on your hips.

"I missed you." You repeat again as an answer, humming as you closed your eyes.

"Putain." Fuck. He mutters, gulping heavily. "Is that- Are you wearing my shirt ?" This makes your eyes open. There was so something to primal in his eyes. Seeing you in his shirt, proudly wearing his humber, knowing you were probably cheering him on and seeing the way the fabric of the shirt stretch over his favorite part of you- stroked something deep within him, ever ounce of blood leaving his head to rush between his legs.

"Do you not like it ? I can take it off." You whispered. The ferrari red brought out your flushed complexion, and Charles felt his pants grow uncomfortably tight.

"I'f i'd have known you were waiting for me here, like this.." His finger finds the apex of the your thighs, slipping his finger between the tiny gap, stroking the soft, subtle skin. "I would've come home earlier." He mutters, and you smile at him softly.

"If you hadn't left, you could've had seen me like this all weekend." You mutter, although you know he could never stop racing. He smiles teasingly at you, rolling his eyes. You sit up, the shirt falling down to your thighs, yawning.

"I need the bathroom. Be right back, baby." You breathe out, getting to your feet after pressing a soft kiss to his lips. His jaw almost drops, and the tightness in his pants grows. The number and red on your body seems to be made for you, and Charles has to bite back a primitive growl. When you emerge from the bathroom, the heavy lidded look of your eyes looks like you've been fucked out, and Charles sits up fully. You sit in front of him, kneeling at the foot of the bed as you tuck your hair behind your ears.

"You did really good today. P3." You say, smiling softly at him. He simply just nods, his chest heaving. You frown at his lack of answer, not noticing his eyes glue to your chest, to his number on your body. It's like he's finally staked his claim to you, and it makes his heart swell. You smile confusedly at his dazed expression.

"Charlie ? Are you okay ?" You ask, leaning forward, your arms pressing your breasts together. He gulps heavily, holding his hand out for you.

"Lemme look at you." You slide over, expecting him to be all soft and cute like he usually is when he's sleepy, but boy were you wrong. He guides you over his lap, forcing you down to straddle it as he inspects you.

"Fucking hell. You look hot in red. Why have you never worn this before ?" He asks, running his calloused hands over your thighs, the cold of his rings burning your skin.

"Because you're always wearing it ?" You reply teasingly, fingers mindlessly drawing out the sahpe of his abs and muscles.

"Ma belle fille.." My pretty girl. You blush furiously, smiling softly as he traces the apex of your thighs with his hands. You rub your eyes tiredly, craving to cuddle into him and sleep, but the way he's looking up at you, his hands grasping you tight, it makes a rumble start up in your stomach. He's looking at you like a man starved. I mean it's not as if he's never seen you wear red. But something about you, in his shirt, makes him hungry.

"Why ? Do you like it ?" You counter his question, giggling softly. His eyes almost bulge out of his head.

"Like it ? Amour, I love it. You are never taking this off. " You smile softly, cocking a questioning eyebrow.

"Never ? Don't you have to wear this in Imola ?" he shakes his head, licking his lips again.

"Were you wearing this when i crossed the finish line ?" He asks, softly swerving your question. You nod, smiling softly. He chuckles, his hands slipping up the shirt and caressing your ribs, his thumbs grazing right along side the underside of your breasts.

"Well then i'll tell Fred we're keeping the blue. You're wearing this at every race weekend from now on- My lucky charm." The words send a blush rising to your cheeks, and he laughs. "Really ? That's what gets you going ? I have worse i can say, bébé." He says, his eyes still trained on his number on the shirt, making you roll your eyes. Charles knew the effect his words had on you, and he was not afraid to use it. Wether in was to rile you up when you two were out with the rest of the grid, or when you were in the privacy of your home or his driver's room.

"And with you on top of me, looking like this.. I have a few ideas." He mutters, before his face dives down to bury itself in your neck, his lips nipping at the sot skin right below your jaw. You bite back a breathy moan as your hand comes flying up to grab his hair, the covers bunched up around both of you. Your hips roll instinctively against his as he continues to suck at your skin, inevitability leaving bright red marks along your jaw and collarbone, sure to mark you for everyone to see- And he was going to make sure everyone would see. You could already see the gears in his head turning, trying to figure out where to mark you so people would know you were his next time you even set foot in the paddock. His hands travel up to fully grasp your breasts, his thumps pinching the pebbled peaks, this time eliciting a whimper from the back of your throat. He smirks against your skin.

"There it is." He whispers, before pulling away from your neck, his hands leaving your breasts, slipping up to cup your cheeks. His lips smash down against yours, catching them in a rough dance, his hands blindly reaching down to push the fabric on your panties to the side, running his finger against your folds. When he's met with the obvious wetness and slick already coating you and spreading across your thighs, and audible groan is heard from your boyfriend, kissing you with a new fervour.

"T'est déjà prête pour moi, hein, ma belle ?" You're already ready for me, huh, pretty girl ? He teases, the accent rolling off his tongue as he pulls away to observe the way your eyes flutter closed at the sensation of his thumb pressing down on you clit as two of his fingers stretch you out with no warning. Your hands fly up to grip his bare shoulders at the sudden intrusion, a pained whimper leaving your lips as you bite your full bottom lip between your teeth.

"So wet f'me.. Only for me. Where do you want me, amour ?" He asks, slowly and teasingly kissing your breasts through the shirt. You whimper.

"L-Like this." You manage, gulping down the moans bubbling up your throat as his fingers brush against that spot he knows would make you come undone.

"You want to ride me, bébé ?" He asks, smiling against your skin. You nod frantically, unable to contain the shake in your thighs as his thumb continues to assault your clit.

"Tes mots, ma chérie. Utlise tes mots." Your words, darling. Use your words. He instructs, clearly not wanting to use your fucked out state to his own gain.

That's the thing about Charles.

He may be a huge fucking tease, but he will always double check before dong anything he thinks might hurt you in any way. Especially in these situations, when your need for him would be too overwhelming and your thoughts wouldn't process normally, and sometimes you would say thins you didn't mean just to get him to touch you. So when you notice that twinge of doubt in his eyes as he looks up at you, you gulp down whatever moan or cry of his name was about to emerge and lovingly kiss his cheek, trying your best to keep your orgasm at bay.

"I want to ride you, Charlie." You manage, before his thumb gives your clit another appreciative rub and you crumble, body going slack against his as your body convulses, your walls fluttering around his fingers. He kisses you through the high, letting you ride it out before your hips still and he takes that as his sign. He retracts his fingers from you, lapping them up with his tongue, and you gasp as he smiles.

"You ready for me, mon cœur ?" He asks, softly moving himself underneath you to tug down his sweats. Eagerly, you help him shimmy them off, watching as his cock slaps up against his abdomen. You practically drool, at the sight, and move to take the shirt off. Charles shakes his head, licking his lips.

"No. Don't. Keep it on." He says, a hungry glare in his eyes. Fucking you with his number on him seems to seem more appealing to him than touching your breasts- which is usually his favourite part. But there's something in his eyes that makes it so hard to deny him. So you simply nod and drop your hands back down, softly bunching the shirt up around your waist so he can see what he's doing. His hands find the lace of your underwear again, fully shoving it to the side before softly placing you right above his length. He pushes you down, stopping when your pained whimpers feel the air, your nails digging into his chest.

"Woah, you got it, baby." He breathes, reaching up to brush your hair out of your face. "We can stop if you want to, amour. I don't want you to get hurt." He's barely halfway inside you, and he's already worried about hurting you. You shake your head, letting yourself sink down a little more and wiggle your hips to try and let yourself adjust to his girth, stretching you out from a new angle. He pushes your underwear further to the side, his hands balled around the shirt. When you finally sink down fully, the room is met with synchronized moans from the both of you.

'Fuck, chérie. Taking me so good." He praises as your hips start to instinctively roll above his. HIs hands push up the shirt, so that your stomach is revealed, leaving only the number on your breasts exposed. He groans as the bounce with your every roll, the number jutting out as if to further shove it in his face, that you are his. Your hands are splayed on his chest, gasping as you feel him poke his way into your stomach. He smirks at your desperate whimpers.

"What's wrong, darling ?"

"S'not enough." You whine, your hips stuttering. His hands guide you along, but it doesn't seem enough to push you further towards your edge. His brows furrow in worry. You whimper again, your hands balling into fists above his bare chest.

"Please, Charlie." You whimper, your head thrown back, sweat covering your skin, his hands coming to a still around your hips. His hand reaches around your back and pins your hips down against him. He holds you still, earning a whine of protest from you. he kisses up your chest, shaking his head as you try to roll your hips again.

"Shhh, non mon amour. Bouge pas. Let me take care of you." No my love, don't move. He whispers against your skin, finally letting go of your shirt, the material dropping back down to bunch up around your waist. He holds you still, before thrusting his hips up to meet yours.

"Better ?" He asks, his chest caving with every heavy breath that fills his chest, the only thing edging him on are your desperate whimpers. Your own hips start rolling again, and his head is thrown back, a low groan leaving his lips.

"Ah, fuck. So pretty. So tight. Just f'me." His words bring heat up to your cheeks, feeling his cock brush against that knot of nerves that is yet to be untangled.

"God, Charles." You cry, his hands trailing up and past the shirt to grab your breasts underneath the rough material of his shirt. He palms them, smiling as you whimper once again, leaning into his touch. His hips keep on bucking up to meet your rolls, and he can tell you're already getting close. The urge to have you pinned under him, ready for him, is overwhelming,. With no warning, he twists the two of your around, splaying your thighs open onto the bed, your hands gripping his shoulders in shock. His hips meet yours at a furious, hungry pace.

"God, you drive me crazy." He groans as his lips find your neck and leaves marks atop the already present ones. "Sleeping in my shirt, wearing my number.. it's like you're trying to get me to fuck you." He groans, a slight chuckle leaving his lips. You whimper, your hands digging into his shoulder blades.

"Fuck, i missed you so much." You whimper, tears flying up to your eyes. His hips snap against yours harder at your words, stealing the whimpers from your lips.

"I missed you more, fuck you have no idea. Tu m'a tellemment manqué." I missed you so much. He moans, his hips stuttering. You bite back a moan, your head thrown back as he pushes your thighs further apart, making you whine.

"God, please. Please, Cha, i'm so close." You whimper, gasping for air, the shirt tight around you. He pull back only slightly, gripping your thighs and dragging him closer to you. His hand wraps around your neck to tilt your head up, licking his lips.

"Vas-y, amour." Go ahead, love. "Show me how good i make you feel." His words seem to be the only thing your body obliges to, and your body convulses under him as you come all over him, whimpering loudly as your back arches off the bed. His body falls forward, pushing up your shirt to wrap his full lips around one of your breasts, making you moan loudly as he continues to push himself in and out of you at a steady pace. HIs free hand is still pushing your thigh open and flat on the bed, and he tries to ignore how it shakes and how you cry out in overstimulation as he tries his best to push you to another limit, not wanting to hurt you in his selfish need for release.

"Charlie, please, i can't-" You beg, your body shaking as tears fall past your eyes. He shushes you, pain blooming in his chest at your cries.

"Shh, i know baby, i know. Just one more for me, okay ?" He groans as your walls flutter around him, clearly already primed and ready for another. You nod frantically, feeling the tension build up in you stomach again. You hands drift down to his waist, grabbing it and pushing him towards you.

"Putain de merde." Fucking hell. "You're going to be the death of me, baby." He praises, his hips stuttering.

"Fuck, i'm close, do you want me to-"

"Inside." You gasp, feeling your own orgasm reach you, the third one of the night. The breathy sound of your voice has his toppling and he empties himself inside of you, moaning your name loudly as his eyes flutter closed. You whine as he pushes his shirt back down your chest, the emptiness between your legs evident. He kisses your face, slipping his own boxers on before grabbing a towel from the chair near your bed and baling it up, softly dragging it along your thighs. You whimper, squeezing your thighs together. He brushes your hair away from your eyes, softly shushing you as he spreads your thighs open again and proceeds with cleaning you up.

“Shhh, it’s okay, mom cœur. It’s okay.” He whispers, kissing the tears away. When he finally pushed your underwear back into place, he slides next to you and pulls you into his arms. He kisses your forehead, sighing heavily as you sniffle into his chest.

“I really did miss you.” You mutter, running your hands along his muscles. He smiles, looking down at you.

“I know, bébé. I missed you too. I wish you could’ve been there, cheering for me.” You giggle.

“You know i had to work, Charlie. I would’ve dropped everything to be there if my boss had given me the days off. P3.. That’s a great result.” He grimaces at the praise. You frown.

“What ?”

“P3 is not a great result- it’s just a result.” You sit up, glaring down at him, trying to ignore the pain in your legs.

“Hey.. P3 is a good result. It’s just the beginning, you can only get better from here, and i’m sure you will. I mean P2 in the sprint is already amazing.” You praise, and he smiles.

“See, this is why i need you at races. You’re such a better pep talker than Xavi and all the others.” You roll your eyes and lower yourself down next to him, sighing as you rest your head on his chest.

“If you get me a job, maybe i could be there every weekend.” He laughs, the rumble making your heart soar.

“I’ll see what i can do, amour. Anything to have you there with me.”

The rest of the night is spent laughing and him telling you about his weekend, pure and unfiltered like the TV would show you- and you make a mental note.

If you ever have to spend the weekend away from him again- which wasn’t bound to happen often- you’d make sure to be wearing his shirt when he got home.

[leyavo]

| On my way |

Summary: Simon needs you after a particular rough mission and you help him come back to himself.

Hurt/comfort. TW: death** I apologise in advance for this one. [masterlist] 1,233words

[Wife/gf masterlist]

It’s not often that John Price’s name lit up your phone. You rubbed your eyes, kicking the thin sheets off your legs as you sat up. A sheen of sweat coats the back of your neck, vest top sticking to you like a second skin in the summer heat. You glanced over your shoulder to the vacant space, palm smoothing over the mattress as you answer on the third ring.

“Sorry gal, Si’s not himself. Gonna need you to work your magic again, just like last time.” John’s grating voice nothing more than a scratch, as if he’s been shouting more than talking. The other end of the line silent, no banter in the background as the team make their usual jokes.

“I’m on my way.”

Simon made you a plan for quick exits, made you practice how to react without a second thought. You’re dressed and out the door in a matter of minutes, the T-shirt Simon gave you inside out but you’re too worried to care. Resetting the house alarm is muscle memory, the small bag on the crook of your elbow carrying only the necessities. Phone, charger, purse and a warm bottle water.

The drive feels painstakingly slow, the absence of cars on the road making it seem like you’re not getting anywhere. Three straight lanes of the motorway merging. The rising sun blinding you as the car crawls to a stop outside the residential house of the army base.

John’s halfway out of the door before you’re even walking down the pathway. He’s still wearing his tactical gear, bucket hat askew as he meets you in the middle.

“He’s inside, I’ve got, gotta…” he stuttered, the captain crumbling in front of you.

You nod your head, patting his arm and walking through the front door. The house gloomy, musty stench hanging in the air where the place had been left unused. You know that whatever’s lead up to this moment, no amount of words would console them. There’s no way for you to understand, because you’ve never done the things they’ve had to.

There’s always a distant part of Simon you’ll never relate to. A part he’ll suppress in order to protect you.

And that’s all to do with the mask. The one he’s never worn when he’s with you. The last time you came here, he’d already removed it thanks to the gash on his jawline needing stitches.

The dark and narrow hallway sends a shiver down your spine, the tracks of mud staining the carpet leading the way. You paused at the door ajar, a sliver of light peeking through. Slipping through the gap and into the room, you bit back your gasp.

Simon’s perched on the edge of the bed, head hung low and shoulders hunched as he picked at the skin around his fingernails. The dim lamp casting shadows on the skull mask covering his face, but you can see those downcast eyes. A glimpse of the man behind it.

His gear dumped by his mud coated boots, vest and hoody strewn across the creased bedding. Red coats his bare arms and hands, you can’t even tell if it’s his or someone else’s.

“Simon.” You say his name more like asking a question, wondering if he’s your husband or Ghost still on a mission. Someone you don’t know.

You stood at least a foot away from him, learning the hard way last time when you’d moved too fast and ended up pressed against the wall. No, you’d let him come to you even it if took all day.

“John called me.”

His body curled in more and his broad shoulders trembled. You took a step forward and he stilled, head lifting a fraction to your discoloured trainers. He nodded ever so slightly, acknowledging your presence.

“I’m just going to stay here with you,” you said, closing the gap between you and him, toe to toe. The open window behind you sent a warm breeze through the room, the baggy T-shirt that swamped you billowing towards his clasped hands.

You sunk to your knees, your hands taking his before he resumed the picking. It took everything in you not to move as his head snapped up and you finally got to see the mask. Even the stitching on the centre running down the crown of his head put you off. The cracked ivory skull staring back at you. It’s hard to recognise a semblance of your husband eyes, there’s a shadow of darkness looming over them as his features remain unmoving. Waiting for you to move too fast or say the wrong thing.

Simon’s forehead pushed against yours, the rough skull of his mask digging into your skin. His hand grabbed yours and he lifted it to rest it on the nape of neck. A silent plea for you to help him remove it. It’s gritty and rough under your touch, as if it’s been dragged through a burning building. The Smokey stench stinging your nostrils.

“It’s okay,” your whispered voice trembled as his hand dropped to the bed like a dead weight. The thump drawing you to stand back up as you pulled the mask over his head. The black material tracing his forehead and crooked nose as you gently tugged it off. A mess of blonde hair skimming his thick brows.

“I couldn’t…” his words stopping short as his fists clenched on top of his knees. The scabs on his knuckles tearing open and weeping blood.

“You don’t have to do anything, it’s over.”

You hooked your finger under his chin and lifted his face. His lashes clumped, tears leaving track marks down the grime dusting his skin. The hem of your T-shirt twisted in his grasp as he tugged you closer to stand between his legs.

The top of his head leant against your stomach, the curve of his shoulder blades shifting underneath his dirty shirt. You combed your fingers through his blonde hair, his palms cupping the back of your thighs as if you’d fall back a step and he’d lose you. You’d never seen him so small. The way he hunched over and shrunk away from your gaze each time he tried to speak.

“I’m right here Simon.”

You can’t bring yourself to think of the horrors he’s witnessed, can’t begin to think how it’s only the second time he’s been like this. Breaks your heart to think he probably did it alone before you.

“I couldn’t get to him…” he sniffed glancing up at you, arms wrapping around your waist and head burying into the crook of your neck. “Johnny he just went down.” A sob tore from his throat and his whole body shuddered against yours.

And that’s when you realised why John hadn’t stayed. Why Simon had reacted at the sound of his name, as if he expected you to say Johnny and not John. Why the rest of the task force wasn’t hanging around the house.

It wasn’t Simon’s vest on the bed, it was Johnny’s. His blood staining your husband’s arms, as if he held his friend till his last breaths.

The last time Simon had struggled to come back to himself, he’d seen someone hit by a bomb. Now it was the death of his friend.

You’re not sure if he’ll ever come back from this loss.

“He was just lying there…”

❤️‍🩹 I apologise for whatever I’ve just wrote - Leya

[chaconnehoonie]

Wet- L.HS

☼ Lee Heeseung x Fem Reader

Synopsis- As temperatures rise, so does Heeseung’s dick.

WC: 4k+

Warnings: smut, one(1) food play-ish scene, water gun fight, cursing, nothing too extreme it’s just pwp

Smut warnings: Verbal and physical teasing, kissing, oral(f), unprotected sex, creampies, voyeurism and they (kinda) get caught, pool/outdoor sex

This is fiction and the scenarios are completely fake and from my brain, none of the characters are accurate in real life, MDNI!

A/N: This was originally supposed to be written for Sunghoon but I can’t get over that picture of Heeseung so I changed my mind. Enjoy!

You’re so hot

The summer sun warms the exposed areas of skin, but your water soaked shirt keeps you cool in the one hundred degree weather. God damn the sun and its harsh rays—cursing the land with heat waves and rising temperatures that force you and your friends to find ways to cool off.

Heeseung can’t help but stare.

Even as he feels a stream of water hit the back of his head, he can’t keep his eyes off of you. Especially when Jake takes aim and pulls the trigger of his water gun to shoot straight at the center of your chest. God bless the sun.

“Alright, pervert! You got me.” You run a hand through your wet hair, laughing to yourself as you make your way towards your friends and knock water guns with Sunoo as a small celebration.

Jake shoots you one last time, whining about how unfair you play. “Seriously, how did you even get back there? I swear I checked thrice! I want to switch teams!” You poke the muscle of bicep that’s outlined by his own soaking wet shirt, teasing him for his terrible skills at his own game.

“Maybe you should’ve checked better.” With a click of your tongue you prance towards the pool, placing a palm upon the hot pavement to determine the heat. Heeseung watches as you stand up and pull your shirt off of yourself, back arching and neck rolling back as you peel the sticking fabric off of your body to reveal your bikini.

He admires the way you swiftly throw your shirt to the side, grabbing your beach towel and placing it next to the pool to sit on. Plopping yourself onto it, you dip your freshly painted toes into the water and splash them around.

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Jay startles Heeseung from his trance, snapping his head to see the younger is now the only person standing next to him, a quirked eyebrow following his question. “I can’t.”

Heeseung replies simply, turning back just in time to notice Sunghoon handing you a small ice cream cone. He’s unable to focus for long as his attention is caught by Sunoo loudly laughing from the pool, where Jake is swimming around with an open mouth, begging Sunghoon to at least attempt to throw his own cone into his mouth from where he stands next to you.

“I don’t think Sunghoon would like that.” Heeseung sighs, shaking his head and deciding his own fate is to watch you from afar. To admire you from a distance.

But Jay wouldn’t let that happen. He doesn’t call himself “Heeseung’s number one wing man” for no reason, which is why he encourages his friend to go after you. Even if Sunghoon seems to be the only guy in your field of vision.

Of course, you’re just friends. At least that’s what you both claim. Heeseung doesn’t believe it though, in fact, he believes you two have been keeping it on the low. He’s created a whole fantasy relationship between his two friends— a fantasy that he isn’t a part of.

“Your first problem is not Sunghoon.” Jay brings up the topic once they’ve made their way into the cool house, alone. “The problem is you thinking there’s something going on between them.” Heeseung scoffs, taking a beer from Jay then turning his head to look at you through the window.

Your ice cream cone is melting in the hot sun, creamy liquid running through your fingers and down your forearm and Heeseung shivers. He’s always known he has a strong imagination, but with the visual stimulation right there; the suggestively colored desert leaving trails of itself down your arm, he can only imagine how his is own cream would adorn your body.

“Are you even listening?” Jay smacks his friend’s head, snapping him out of his scandalous fantasy. “You need to make a move. And I promise you Sunghoon won’t care. Sure, he’s a little protective but he’s your best friend too—he knows what’s best for both of you.”

Heeseung only pays attention to the first half of Jay’s rant, falling back into a trance as you finally lick a long stripe up your forearm, swapping your ice cream cone to the other hand to suck on your messy fingers. He only looks away when Sunghoon grabs your wrist and forces your fingers further down your throat and you gag for a second, then bring your ice cream and spit covered hand to the back of Sunghoon’s head, pushing him into the pool with Jake and Sunoo.

“You’re so right.” Heeseung’s voice is barely audible to Jay. “What-”before Jay can even question him, the older is patting him on the back and muttering a quick thanks you’re the best and rushing outside. Jay stands there for a second, sighs, then quickly entertains himself with an unopened bottle of vodka. He’ll pay Sunghoon back later.

You move your attention from the pool to the house just in time to see Heeseung sitting down next to you. You note that he looks nervous, maybe even shy, but you don’t say anything to humiliate him. Yet.

“Hi, Hee. What’s up?” You chirp out before bringing what’s left of your ice cream to your lips, licking a sensual stripe along the side. You don’t break eye contact with Heeseung as you twist the cone between your fingers, coating the entire expanse with your tongue.

Heeseung gulps, adam’s apple bobbing as he watches a drop of melted cream land on your chest, then can’t help but follow it with his eyes as it glides down your skin over your right breast, then between your breasts, and finally landing somewhere in the covered area of your bikini top.

As if he wasn’t just ogling your body, he looks back up to see you staring at him in amusement, and finally answers your question. “Nothing.”

You nod, smirking to yourself and quickly glancing towards all four of your friends now in the pool. “Nothing, huh?” You repeat and he nods eagerly.

“So what about that?” Your gaze drops to his lap, and only then does he realize how hard he’s gotten over this short interaction. “That seems pretty up to me.” You tease, letting out a giggle before abruptly standing up and stretching out the hand currently holding your ice cream.

Heeseung grabs the cone, confused but so love-struck that he’s barely processing anything at the moment. You push his hand closer to his mouth, watching as drops land onto the crotch of his swim trunks and he once again follows your gaze.

Grabbing his cheek with one hand and pushing the ice cream past his lips with the other, you smile widely at him. “Finish for me, yeah?”

.☼.

If yesterday really happened, then Heeseung is in a slight dilemma. After arriving home last night, he did finish for you. At least, he hopes that’s what you meant by finish. Perhaps you really did mean the yummy treat but he knows you. He knows your double meanings and your teasing jokes.

But this makes his situation all the worse. To anyone else, these interactions would have confirmed your requited feelings for Heeseung, but it’s you. You’re so confusing.

With the way you’re so teasing with everyone, and the way you show affection in questionable manners. Even the way you openly treat all and any of your friends as if they’re your boyfriend.

Heeseung remembers when Sunoo complimented the scent of your lip gloss, so in return you kissed him for a solid five seconds, stating that you “just wanted him to taste it”. Yeah, sure.

Or the time Jake wanted you to clean up his eyebrows for him, which resulted in you sitting in his lap for fifteen stiff minutes applying your entire skin care routine on him.

Whatever you have going on in your head, it confuses Heeseung. Which is why he decided he’s finally going to man up and ask you on a date at your daily pool hang out.

At least, he’s going to try to. Hopefully if you’re not wearing his favorite red bikini. Hopefully if you somehow magically forgot the events of yesterday. Hopefully if he just grows some balls and lets his feelings free for the first time in years. Probably not.

.☼.

It’s safe to say, you did not forget the events of yesterday, you’re definitely wearing Heeseung’s favorite red bikini, and he has not at all grown any balls to even make eye contact with you yet.

He’s been here for an hour. One whole agonizing hour of watching you climb onto Jake’s shoulders and wrestle Sunghoon who is on Sunoo’s shoulders. Thankfully, Sunoo has thighs of steel and is able to keep Sunghoon steady while you push and pull all in an attempt to knock him over.

Heeseung’s jaw clenches and his eyes don’t leave your hands— your hands that are currently touching up every part of Sunghoon’s body. He contemplates leaving now and skipping out on the guy’s night he and his friends hold biweekly.

Your fingers grip Sunghoon’s biceps before making their way to his chest, nails scratching their way down his ridged stomach, letting out frustrated groans as you poke and poke at Sunghoon’s body.

Oh, how Heeseung wishes it was his body you were touching. He can’t take it anymore, standing up quickly and pushing his lawn chair back, where it hits the floor with a loud crash before making his way into the house just like he did yesterday.

The crash distracts you and Sunghoon takes this as an advantage as he swiftly loosens your harsh grip on Jake’s shoulders and pushes you down into the water.

From outside of the pool, Jay sighs to himself before following Heeseung back inside, finding him snooping through Sunghoon’s home bar.

“She’s not going to fuck you if you’re not sober, you know.” Heeseung jumps at the sound of Jay’s voice, almost dropping one of the expensive bottles of alcohol.

He shrugs and continues snooping. “Who said anything about fucking?” His reply is nonchalant but his best friend can see right through his act. “Your eyes say everything I need to know.” Jay laughs to himself but Heeseung doesn’t find it funny.

“Whatever. She’s not into me like that anyways.” Heeseung speaks like he’s trying to convince himself, but Jay can hear the hopeful tone in his voice. “Trust me. She was eye fucking you earlier when you weren’t looking.”

Jay barely gets the sentence out before Heeseung is visibly perking up. “Really?!” His face is bright and his eyes are glossy and wide. “Relax, man. Don’t pop a boner in front of me.” Jay teases his friend and Heeseung rolls his eyes in embarrassment, because he definitely would grow stiff at just the mention of your name.

Jay heads back towards the sliding door but turns back to Heeseung before he opens it. “By the way, Hoon invited her to stay the night with us also.” He smiles to himself before continuing his sentence. “So please try to keep it down if you do happen to make it past first base.” With that, he makes his way back to the pool and leaves Heeseung with a heavy problem in his swim trunks.

.☼.

Heeseung opens his eyes to the sound of obnoxious snoring echoing throughout Sunghoon’s living room. He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep but by the looks of it, everyone else seems to have knocked out by now too. Closing his eyes, he decides to try to fall back asleep. Until he’s startled awake-

“Heeseung.”

Shooting his eyes back open, he sits up from his place on the couch and looks around the dark room. With his eyes adjusting to the lack of light, he can only barely make out your figure kneeling next to him on the floor. “What the fuck are you doing?” He whispers a little too loudly and you stand up, a palm covering his mouth swiftly as you take place onto the couch next to him.

Heeseung is a big man, meaning he already takes up most of the space, leaving you only a small sliver of cushion to sit on. So, you climb up onto his lap to get comfortable— because of course you would. Stiffening up from under you, he makes eye contact with you the best he can with the dim lighting, only the moonlight peeking through the curtains.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You whisper, slowly taking your hand off of his mouth and trailing it down his chest and stomach, finally resting it at his side. Your thumb swipes comfortably there, almost as if you’re reassuring him, letting him know that this is real. “And I’m bored.” You lean in closer to him, your hand now coming up to his chest and pushing him to lay flat underneath you, his head landing softly on the armrest of the couch.

He gulps, big doe eyes looking up at you almost innocently. But you know that’s not the case. You’ve seen the way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. Seeing him drool over you is one thing but seeing him think he’s being slick with it? It, makes you way more aroused than you’d like to admit.

However, it’s taken too long for him to act on his desires, so you decide to do it for him. “Wanna help me?” Your voice is sultry and low, and Heeseung’s tummy feels warm as it stirs with excitement when he nods. Leaning down slowly, you stop as soon as the tip of your nose brushes Heeseung’s. Nodding your head slightly, you rub your nose against his almost domestically, before leaning in and lightly pressing your lips to his.

The kiss doesn’t last long, as you’re quick to pull away and smile. But Heeseung isn’t pleased yet, instead cupping the back of your head with his hand and pulling your face back towards his. Your lips smash together almost painfully, but you’re distracted quickly as his tongue immediately pushes its way into your mouth. It’s warm and wet, strong as it glides against yours in a teasing manner.

You catch his bottom lip between yours, sucking on it for a second before biting it softly and pulling away, watching as it bounces back now glossy and red. Heeseung expects more, but to his surprise, you just jump off of his lap and quietly walk to the door that leads outside.

Looking back, you watch his silhouette as he runs a hand through his hair and sits up again. You turn back to unlock the door, already taking your shirt off to expose your bare torso before turning to him one last time. “You coming?”

.☼.

If anyone had told Heeseung two days ago that he would be not only skinny dipping at 2am with you—but shoving his tongue down your throat as well, he wouldn’t believe it.

But, lo and behold, he currently has your back pressed to the edge of the pool with your legs wrapped around his naked waist, lips locked and swollen.

It all happened in a rush, between you stripping to nothing in front of him to him following your lead and ending up intertwined, he suddenly finds himself in a dream-like state.

Was this really happening? The girl he’s been craving for years is finally giving him a chance? Heeseung feels like happiest man on earth right now, and judging by the little moans you let out every now and then, he thinks you may feel the same.

“Heeseung.” You practically whimper as he drags his lips to your neck, nipping and sucking at your warm skin. His lips kiss down your chest softly, landing on one of your hard nipples. He pecks it so so softly, almost afraid of hurting you, but you want it to hurt. Grabbing the back of his head and pushing your chest forward, you encourage him to take your nipple into his mouth and he easily gets the hint.

He’s barely done anything and you’re already shaking in his arms, gripping his biceps and throwing your head back with a loud moan. “Heeseung- I need you to fuck me.”

He stops immediately, then slowly detaches his mouth from your nipple and looks up at you. “Yeah? Want me to fuck this pretty pussy?” He thrusts his hips up, his movements slowed by the water but his cock still manages to brush against your folds. You bite your lip, nodding your head eagerly and Heeseung smiles. “Let me get a taste of it first.”

Without waiting for your response, he lifts you up and places you at the edge of the pool, your pussy sat deliciously in front of where he keeps himself afloat.

He almost drools, noting the way he can still see your slick drip out of you despite your whole body being drenched in pool water. Heeseung wastes no time, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you closer so his tongue can lap at your slit.

The pleasure sends a shock through your body, your back arching almost painfully and your hips push themselves harder against Heeseung’s face. He’s forced so close into your cunt that you can feel each feature—his nose stimulating your clit as his tongue teases your entrance and his plush lips sucking almost obnoxiously all while his chin is already slippery with your arousal.

“Ah-fuck!” He’s only been at it for a few minutes yet you’re already so close. But this isn’t want you want. No, as much as you want to release all over his pretty nose, you didn’t seduce him just to finish so quickly. So, you use all of your strength to pull him off of you and scoot away. “Need you to fuck me, now.”

That’s all it takes for Heeseung to lift himself out of the pool, pick you up, and then throw you on the nearest lounging chair. Thank fuck for Heeseung convincing Sunghoon to buy these at the start of the summer. Otherwise he may have opted for fucking you on the itchy grass.

Grabbing his face, you pull him down, kissing him with a sloppy force while you grow more impatient by the second. “How do you want it?” He’s so polite as he asks, but just the idea of him caring about your pleasure is so arousing. You turn around, placing your cheek on the cushion of the pool lounger and wiggling your ass to taunt him.

It works, of course, and Heeseung takes his place behind you. He slaps his thick girth on the crevice of your ass, feeling the heat between your bodies mix with the humid summer night air. “Hurry, please.” You whine but he just shushes you, dropping his cock to gather your slick on his tip.

You’re tired of waiting, pushing yourself back only slightly to feel him enter you just an inch. “Oh, God.” You gasp, caught off guard by the stretch of just the head. He fights the urge to fully push himself in, instead gently sliding in more, your walls clenching tighter and tighter as each inch stretches you out, a tingling feeling fluttering in your stomach.

He fully bottoms out, standing still with his hands on your hips for a second, before somehow pushing even deeper. You squeak, brows furrowing as you try to ignore the pain of the threatening size currently stuffing you full. You open your eyes, looking back to see his bottom lip caught between his teeth and his eyes shut.

You reach your hand back and tap his own hand, letting him know he can finally move. He nods, leaning forward a bit to hover his body closer to yours. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” You smile at him for a second, but it’s quickly replaced by an open mouthed moan as he pulls back a few inches, then slams himself back in.

Building up a steady pace, he thrusts a few times before finally letting out his first moan. And God, was it beautiful. “Yes-yes let me hear you, baby.” Your voice is weak as his thrusts push your whole body against the chair, your breath unsteady and shaky with each meet of your hips.

It feels amazing, but you can’t help but feel that Heeseung is trying to be gentle with you, which you don’t want. Pushing yourself back again, you meet his thrusts with quiet hmph hmph hmph noises that catch his attention. “You need more? Yeah? My cock isn’t enough for you, needy baby?” He coos at you but you know he’s still holding back. “Please, Heeseung. More.” Your fragile voice ignites something in him, and you’re suddenly being picked up by your hair.

Heeseung grabs your wrists and pins them to the top of the lounger, romantically intertwining his fingers between yours before aggressively snapping his hips against your ass. You let out an almost-too-loud moan, but it only fuels Heeseung more. Your bodies are close and he can’t pull back fully, so instead he fucks into you at a fast, almost blinding pace.

He watches your ass jiggle as it meets his pelvis, the bouncing fat sending him to an almost trance like state. The only thing that snaps him out of it is your whiny voice. “Harder, Heeseung, harder!” He pulls out fully, not giving you time to process his actions as he sits down on the lounger and pulls you on top of him, slipping his cock back into your heat easily.

Thrusting up once, twice, then a third time, he watches your thighs tremble as you try to hold yourself up for him. He finds it cute, how you’ve teased him for so long only to end up too cock drunk to even ride him. He wraps his arms around your body, pulling you flat against him so you’re chest to chest with your face in his neck.

He slowly drags his cock out of you, then fully shoves it in, a loud squelching noise following. “So fucking wet. So fucking noisy.” He grits his teeth, clenching his jaw as he fucks up into your cunt in an almost inhumane pace. “Ah ah ah, shit! I’m cumming, Heeseung!”

Your warning barely falls from your lips as you clench impossibly tight around him, body stiffening for a second until your toes curl and you feel the knot in your stomach releasing with a tingling sensation spreading throughout your entire body, which then goes limp against Heeseung’s.

This encourages him to thrust harder, chasing his own release that he can already sense creeping up on him. His fingers dig into your ass, nails leaving indents as his hips don’t slow down. The sound of your release mixing with the slapping of his balls on your ass is all too much, and he finally lets himself go.

“Gonna cum in you, baby. Gonna cum so fucking deep-fuck!” He bites down on your shoulder as he cums, hips stilled and cock stuffed so deep inside of you, you’re sure you’ll end up pregnant even on birth control.

He slowly lowers his hips, caressing your back soothingly as if he’s apologizing for his harsh treatment before. “Was that okay? Did I hurt you?” He cups your cheeks to look into your eyes, only to meet your fucked out expression and lazy smile. “That was the best I’ve ever had.”

That was enough to almost have Heeseung stiffening up again, if not for the sound of the sliding door opening and Jay’s pissed off voice. “Brought you guys some towels.” He walks out with a hand covering his eyes and the other holding out two beach towels, which he throws on the floor carelessly, then walks back to the door. “I told you to keep it down if you got past first base.”

[really-fanny-longbottom]

only in my dreams [part 2]

azriel x reader, eris x reader | you turned off your emotions so you could protect your heart but at what price? warnings: angst, mentions of unrequited love, curse words, blood and death. words: 8.9k

series masterlist | general masterlist

morning was here. 

you left emerie's house when the first rays of sunlight passed through the half-open bedroom window. 

your friends were still sound asleep when you pushed away their arms that tried to offer you some comfort during the night and got out of bed. 

you had no intention in waiting for them to wake up and having to talk about what had happened just a few hours ago. 

so you quickly changed your clothes and placed the backpack you had brought with you over your left shoulder.  

you didn't bother looking back when you left the room.

the front door closed behind you, and you found yourself facing the sun that was almost reaching its usual place in the blue sky. 

sunrise has always been your favorite part of the day.  

not only for the view, but also for its meaning — every time the sun rises, a new day comes with it, a new day that seems like a new blank page giving you a new opportunity to do your best and let go of the past on the day that was left behind. 

besides, being a healer meant that your day always started early, so why not start it with the best view ever?

when you lived with your aunt madja, you would go to the bridge over the sidra and sit on the wall and when you moved to the house of the wind you would go to your balcony and do the same.

you would close your eyes and tilt your head slightly upwards and immediately relax with the sunlight passing through your body and warming not only your skin but also your soul.

you don't know if it was because you're an empath but you've always felt a connection with the sun, as if you could feel its energy, it was as if the sun itself had emotions and was trying to communicate with you.

you loved how it made you feel.

but that was before.

now, standing in the doorway of emerie's house, as you looked at it, you didn't know what to do.

you stayed there for a few moments waiting for something to happen — for you to feel something.

but nothing came.

with a shrug of your shoulders, you turned your back on what used to be your greatest comfort and step by step you began to move away from it and the house.

as you walked, you didn't notice that the camp was starting to wake up, just as you didn't notice the sunlight fading away.

you winnowed as soon as you reached the edge of the camp.

••• 

twenty minutes later, you were in velaris about to arrive at your aunt's house to take a much-needed shower.

as you walked up the street, you didn't pay attention to any of the citizens who were opening their establishments and getting ready for a new day of work.

some of them tried to get your attention to greet you just like they always did. You would look at them with your eyes full of color and wave greetings with a warm smile, sometimes you would even stop and talk to some of them.

but not anymore.

now, you simply walked with an expression of indifference without removing your empty eyes from the path ahead.

you only stopped when an all too familiar voice filled the air around you — the voice of the last person you wanted to see right now. "y/n."

you could already see your aunt's house from here, and you were so close to getting there. 

slowly, you turned around and faced the person who had stopped you from reaching your destination.

it was the wife of the patient you lost yesterday with one of their sons by her side, both wearing mourning clothes.

"i'm sorry to bother you, but i saw you passing by, and i just wanted to thank you again for what you did for my husband yesterday." she told you with a weak voice, her eyes still red from the tears.

with a fake smile on your features, you ran a hand through your hair before telling her, "i was just doing my job. after all, that's what i'm paid for."

surprised by your reaction, the female lost her words and after a few seconds to compose herself, she cleared her throat and said "well, the funeral is this afternoon at three o'clock if you want to join us."

you laughed, and without a care in the world, you replied, "no, thank you. i have better things to do but have fun."

and with that, you turned your back on them and walked up the rest of the street before removing the small key from your backpack and entering your aunt's house.

the wife and son remained in their places, trying to understand what had just happened. 

••• 

after placing your backpack on the sofa, you started heading to the stairs towards the bathroom, but before you could, an irritated voice stopped you in your tracks. "where have you been?"

"oh, for cauldron's sake," you muttered and turned to find madja with her arms crossed and an angry face.

"i was with the valkyries. i spent the night at emerie's." you told her with a tone of annoyance.

"i'm aware of that. the high lord had the decency to send me a letter unlike you," madja scolded before continuing, her voice turning softer. "he also told me what happened about azriel." 

when she opened her mouth to speak again, you raised a hand and stopped her from it, "okay, auntie, it's too early for this. i'm going to take a shower and i'll see you at the clinic. okay. cool."

you used both hands to give the cool sign, but before you could step on the stairs, madja called you again. "wait."

"ugh, you gotta be kidding me," you whispered low enough for her not to hear.

you saw your aunt grab a piece of parchment and hand it to you. "this arrived for you a few minutes ago." 

when you unrolled it, you recognized nesta's handwriting. 

she was asking where you were. 

without hesitation, you crumpled the paper and threw it into the middle of the fireplace where it instantly began to burn.

"anything else?"

when your aunt didn't speak, you accepted her silence as an answer and started climbing the stairs by jumping two steps at a time. 

the bathroom door closed seconds later, and madja, who didn't know what animal had bitten you to react like that, put a hand to her forehead before muttering to herself, "what was that?"  

••• 

the clinic was very busy like almost every day but you never complained.

unlike other people, you could happily say that you liked your work. being a healer has always been a rewarding job. 

there was nothing else you enjoyed as much as helping your patients. heal them, make them feel safe, and heard. make them feel important.

your favorite days were the days you helped a new life enter this world. seeing those beings so small and innocent was the best miracle of life.  

but of course, like all jobs, yours also had a bad side. 

seeing your patients sick and knowing that in some cases there is nothing you can do to help, seeing them leave this life and the family they leave behind. 

there were patients who had left such an impact on you that from time to time, they appeared in your dreams. 

sometimes, you felt guilty at their memory because you felt like you could have done more, but most of the time, their memories reminded you to do better for others.  

but none of that mattered to you anymore. now you simply limited yourself to doing your job so you could get paid. 

you were finishing bandaging the knee of a boy who had tripped while running.

the boy had become a regular patient of yours, always finding a way to hurt himself, whether it is running or reading a book.

it was a simple wound that didn't require the use of your powers, so you cleaned, disinfected, and put a bandage on it.

your right hand held his injured leg while the other tried to wrap the bandage, when you finished and lowered his leg, you noticed that he had a bruise in the exact place where your hand had been just seconds before.

with your focus on the wound, you hadn't even noticed the bruise. you went behind the counter and grabbed a bottle of ointment that you had made last weekend and handed it to the boy.

"take this," you pointed to the bruise that had several shades of purple on his leg, "twice a day, one in the morning and one at night. if it starts to hurt, put some ice on it."

following the movement of your hand, the boy saw the bruise for the first time with a confused face "oh, i didn't even know I had that," he grabbed the bottle and with a toothless smile, he started heading towards the door but not without shouting first "thank you, y/n! i'll see you next week." 

"whatever" you let out a sigh and walked towards your chair to take a break but before you could your aunt directed you to the next patient. 

it was an old male who mixed up the plants in his garden and ended up using the wrong plant as a seasoning for his food.

he was slightly pale, nauseous, and had stomach pain.

"you mistaken a poisonous plant for a seasoning plant?" you asked as you examined him, judgment written all over your face and voice.

"yes, i know what it looks like," he explained between short breaths, "but it was an honest mistake."

"it was a stupid mistake." you answered him without hesitation.

you were too busy finishing your exam to notice madja's shocked expression, who had stopped what she was doing at the sound of your words.

"y/n!" she approached and scolded you. "you can't talk to patients like that."

"what? it's true. it's not my fault he's an idiot." you told her with frightening indifference.

at your response, your aunt put her hands to her head with a whisper of "by the mother," escaping between her lips.

she got closer to the patient and placed one hand on his arm before bringing the other to her chest and apologizing to him for your behavior.

the male, on the other hand, said, "it's okay, she happens to be right."

you scoffed "of course i am," you turned to your aunt and with an air of irritation you asked her "now, are you going to let me work or haven't you finished disturbing me yet?"

shocked by your words, madja didn't know how to react or what to say, so she limited herself to taking two steps back, giving you space to continue working.

she looked at you, trying to understand what was happening to you, because this type of behavior was not normal.

you had never spoken to her like that — you had never spoken to anyone like that.

you were sweet, attentive, and very polite. this was not the niece she knew.

she couldn't help but think that maybe this situation with azriel and elain was affecting more than you had let on.

plus, she was well acquainted with how much your emotions could overwhelm you. 

choking sounds broke the trance she was in, and her mind refocused on what was in front of her.

you had started the healing process in the patient, and your hand hovered over his belly in order to try to eliminate the poison, but something was wrong.

because the patient was now paler and bleeding from his mouth.

madja saw you stop and look at her. "i think the poison is stronger than i thought." you kept looking at her, no doubt waiting for her to react, but when she didn't, you couldn't help the sarcastic comment that escaped you. "are you waiting for him to die? because my arms are starting to get numb." 

that was enough to make her move and begin her own examination of the patient.

she frowned. did you really just say that? 

"are you sure you gave me the correct name of the plant you used in your food?" you asked the patient while using a cloth to clean the blood, irritation in your voice.

he simply nodded his head

"maybe the plant you used was in contact with another. are there any other poisonous plants in your garden?"

the male shook his head, his breathing more rapid.

your brain started working quickly trying to see all the possibilities and it was then that you turned to your aunt and found yourself saying "maybe it's because he ate a long time ago and that allowed the poison to spread. i mean, who knows how long this idiot ingested a poisonous plant?" 

madja didn't answer you and due to her silence, you removed your hands from the patient and met her gaze with your empty eyes and a bored expression in your features "okay, so you got this right? i'm hungry, so i'm going to take a break." and with a look of disgust, you walked away.

the old female's heart was beating very fast. she couldn't believe what she had just witnessed.

not just your words but also your actions.

maybe she had seen wrong. 

maybe what she saw and made her freeze before you caught her attention hadn't happened.

maybe she just imagined it. 

because it couldn't be.

could it?

•••

several days passed, and you continued to act strangely since the day you returned from illyria. 

madja was observing you now more than ever, and little by little, she began to assimilate all the differences that you now demonstrated, but the one that worried her the most until now?  

the reason she made you work behind the counter taking care of patient charts so you wouldn't have to interact with them medically. 

you weren't the niece she knew and loved so much, and she began to think that something else must have happened — something you weren't sharing with her. 

and if madja was honest with herself, you were starting to scare her.

your behavior continued to become increasingly strange — how you interacted with patients, the way you spoke to her, your 'new clothes', and your nights out.

not to mention what you had said to the family of the patient you lost a week ago. 

madja met them in the market when she went shopping for groceries, and when the widow told her what you had said them, she didn't want to believe that such insensitivity had come from you. 

she thought about asking the inner circle if they knew anything but after meeting the high lady on the street as she left her studio the other day, she informed madja that it had been almost a week and a half since any of them had seen or spoken to you. 

feyre also explained that both she and the others sent several letters to you, and none returned with a response.

not even nesta knew where you were these days. 

it was with this new information that madja's heart began to tighten more and more with worry. her sleep no longer came as it used to, and the feeling of calm that used to hover over her was gone. 

madja was well aware of your relationship with the older archeron sister, that she was not just a best friend but a sister.

so, why wouldn't you be talking to her? with none of them? 

•••

rita's was full as always — full of life, light, and music.

people danced while others drank and gamble. laughter, singing, and shouts of euphoria filled the air of the familiar bar. 

this has always been one of your favorite places to spend time with your family, not to mention that rita herself was a long-time friend.

good memories were formed on the dance floor with feyre and nesta, on the karaoke stage with mor, several shot battles with cassian that often ended with the two of you on the floor and too many card games with rhys and azriel where you took all their money.

whenever these memories surfaced, they warmed your heart and made you feel lucky to have these people by your side.

now, you felt nothing besides an emptiness in your heart, but at least your heart was whole again, and that's what mattered. 

you ordered your third drink of the night, and the moment you took the first sip, a deep voice was heard from behind you.

"can i join you, my lady?"

when you turned to find the owner of the mysterious voice, you couldn't hide the surprise on your face which you quickly replaced with a mischievous smile "well, well, well, look what the wind brought." 

your colorless eyes meet golden ones that belong to a male with fiery hair and a smirk that matched yours, displayed on his lips.

you let your eyes roam the male in front of you as you analyzed him. he wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top two buttons open, brown pants where his muscles were visible and black boots.

"eris vanserra," you held out your hand for him to shake. instead, he grabbed it and placed a kiss on your knuckles.

"lady y/n," he greeted, his eyes always fixed on yours. 

you let out a light chuckle as you ran your eyes over the male again as he took the seat next to you. "well, you look delicious." 

"i could say the same about you," he replied with a chuckle, and now it was his turn to look at your form.

you wore a simple black strapless dress that fit your curves perfectly with a slit in the skirt on your left thigh and a pair of silver high heels that matched your jewelry. 

eris ordered his drink, and after you hit each other's glasses with a small 'cheers', you asked him the question you wanted since your eyes had landed on him.

"you are far from home. tell me, what brings you to velaris?" you took a sip of your drink before continuing. "does rhysand even know you're here?" 

following your movements, eris took a sip from his own glass before putting it down, "i'm here because of him, actually. i had a meeting with him and his inner circle a few hours ago."  

"oh, and i thought you had come here just to see me," you said as you signaled the bartender to refill your glass.  

"that can be arranged," the heir replied as he took another sip without ever taking his eyes off yours. 

you cleared your throat after an unexpected heat warmed your cheeks. "i'm surprised he let you come here." 

eris chucked and turned around in his chair and faced you before resting one of his arms on the back of your chair. "i'm surprised i didn't see you at the meeting with the others. did you lose the invitation?" 

you let out a laugh as you tilted your head back slightly before meeting those golden eyes again. "nope, i just didn't want to go. those meetings bore me to death." 

eris's laughter rivaled yours and after losing yourself to the sound for a few seconds, you regained composure and found yourself saying to him "so, if the meeting ended a few hours ago, what are you still doing here?" 

the male stared at you for a few seconds and you noticed his smile weakened a little at your question but he was quick to hide it before answering you "maybe i wanted to see you before i left." 

"you mean you want to avoid beron." 

shock crossed the male's features, and when he opened his mouth to respond, you were quick to raise a hand towards him and stop him. "i'm an empath. reading people is kinda my thing, remember?" 

"right, sometimes i forget that," he picked up his glass again and turned it around a few times in his hand and this time he kept his eyes on the drink as he asked, "so, does that mean you've read me before?" " 

"yes." 

"and what did you read?"

"that this whole act of you being a bad, terrible and heartless male is just that — an act." 

his eyes finally meet yours, and you proceed. "that you care. that you love your mother and lucien more than you let on. and that you love your court and can't wait to get it out of beron's claws." 

"hm," eris leaned against the counter, and with a look of indifference on his face, he told you, "that's. . .accurate." 

a smile returned to your lips. your skills never failed you, at least not when it came to reading people.

"do you want to know what else i read?" 

eris gestured with his hand for you to continue, coming closer to the edge of your chair, you leaned slightly towards him before telling him "that you, eris vanserra," you placed a finger on his chest "you will be a better high lord than that terrible male ever was." 

eris swallowed the lump in his throat as you picked up your glass again and raised it towards him, making the heir follow your movement.

with a clink of glasses, you both drained your drinks, and a mischievous smile returned to your lips. "so, are you spending your night here?"

eris laughed, and as he placed some money on the counter for the night's drinks, he matched your smile, and with amusement in his voice, he asked you, "why? is that an invitation?" 

you added the same tone of amusement to your voice when you answered, "maybe." 

•••

you thanked the Mother that your aunt was working the night shift at the clinic and would only return in the morning. otherwise, this would be embarrassing — for her, at least. 

you walked up the stairs towards your bedroom with the male behind you. 

upon entering your bedroom, eris looked around, noticing that it was small but cozy.

a bed was placed in the corner with a wide window behind it, a bookshelf full of books on healing and romance novels was at the foot of the bed with an puff in front of it against the wall.

some paintings decorated the walls, several faelights lit up the small bedroom, and a desk was on the wall opposite the bed with a mirror on its side. 

what also didn't go unnoticed by eris was the pile of parchments you had on your desk.

"what's all this?" he asked as he pointed to it.

your eyes followed his finger, and you noticed  that the pile was now higher than yesterday 'madja must have added the ones that arrived this morning', you thought. 

they were letters from your friends. the ones they've been sending since you left illyria and have been avoiding them.

every day, new letters arrive — letters that you didn't even bother opening, let alone reading, so you collected them on top of your desk.

why? you still didn't know.

there was a morning when a letter signed by azriel was on the carpet at the entrance of your house — that one went right to the fireplace.  

with a shrug, you simply said "trash" and picked them all up and placed them in the trash can before leaning against your desk while eris sat on your bed. 

"you look different." the male's voice filled the bedroom.

"what do you mean?"

it was eris's turn to shrug before continuing, "you seem more. . .free." 

you chuckled, and as you ran a hand down your dress, you said, "i feel like that." 

there was a moment of silence, and you watched the heir as he looked at one of the paintings next to your bed.

your eyes fell on his body again, and with a thought coming to your mind, a feline look and smile took over your face. 

noticing the way you were looking at him, eris leaned on his forearms and shot you a bold smile. "what is that little head of yours thinking about?"

you laughed at his words, and as you approached him, you rested your hands on his thighs. "i have a question."

his smile grew even wider, and one of his eyebrows rose, and you took that gesture as your cue to continue.

your hands moved to his chest as you straddled his hips, "i want to know if what everyone says is true."

he placed his hands on your thighs and, in a whisper, asked, "what is?" 

you leaned into his chest and as you brushed aside his hair with your hand, your lips hovered over his ear "that the autumn males have fire in their veins and they also fuck like it." 

eris's body tensed beneath yours at your words, turning his smile into mischief, and the smell of arousal began to fill the small bedroom. 

"it's true." eris straightened up, taking you with him and pushed your hair behind your shoulders.

you intertwined your fingers in his fiery hair, and still in a low voice, you said, "i'm afraid i'm going to need proof," earning a few chuckles from him.

with a kiss on his neck and then another on his shoulder, you whispered, "why don't you show me?"

eris chuckled, and with his hands now on your waist, he murmured, "as you wish, my lady." before connecting his lips with yours. 

•••

several knocks on the front door woke you up the next morning. 

you let out several curse words as you went down the stairs only in underwear while you tried to button the white shirt that you stole from the male who was still sleeping in your bed. 

you only had time to button the last three buttons of the shirt before you reached the door and turned the handle to open it.

"oh, for caudron's sake," you ran a hand over your face before crossing your arms and leaning against the door. "what are you doing here?" 

the high lord of the night court was at your doorstep dressed in his usual black suit with his hands in his pockets.

"good morning to you too." rhys said with a look of indifference at your choice of clothing to open the door. 

 "what are you doing here?" you asked the question again. 

"you missed yesterday's meeting, and as you haven't answered any of our letters, i decided that perhaps it would be better to pay you a personal visit." he finished with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. 

you ran a hand through your hair again before giving him an irritated look. "and you decided to come. . ." you stretched back to see the clock on the living room table "at seven in the morning?" 

"i went to the clinic, and you weren't there."

"today is my day off." 

he cleared his throat, ignoring the fact that your bra was showing, "why didn't you go yesterday?"

"i've been busy." it was your only answer.

rhys was about to speak again when someone's footsteps coming down the stairs reached both your ears. 

"do you have guests?" 

"she does, and he's really annoyed that you made her get out of bed at this hour." eris said as he stood right behind you in just his boxers. 

one of his hands went to your hip and the other to the door. “good morning, rhysand.” he said with a smile.

"eris." rhysand replied with an mask of indifference, but you knew that deep down, he was surprised to see him with you.

silence hung in the air as the two males looked at each other and you looked between them.  

the high lord broke the silence without taking his eyes of the autumn heir. "what is he doing here?"

with a shrug and an air of amusement, you replied, "eris wanted to see velaris."  

a laugh sounded behind you, and you joined him, and when you noticed the frustrated look of the male in front of you, you couldn't help but ask, "what? you don't like the view?"

"i can't say i do." rhysand answered with his eyes now meeting yours.

"well, that's a shame. maybe next time, think about letting me know you're coming before you show up at my door at seven in the morning." and with a fake smile dancing on your lips, you closed the door in his face. 

•••

madja continued to look at you from moment to moment, trying to understand you as she has been doing in the last few days without success.

you were working at the counter, updating patient charts, and you seemed so normal. It seemed like everything was fine.

but madja knew it was just an illusion.

the atmosphere between you was now stranger after her shift ended early, and she found you with a male on the living room couch a few days ago — not just a male but the heir of autumn.

you laughed at the situation while she didn't think it was that funny. in fact, she thought it was shocking, considering this had never happened before. 

her worry grew with each passing day. 

it was only when a letter from rhysand arrived at the clinic that morning informing that you were to appear at the townhouse for a meeting in the afternoon that the old female's heart relaxed for a moment. 

the high lord also took the time to explain in the letter that if you didn't show up this time, he himself would pick you up and carry you on his shoulder if necessary as this meeting was not optional. 

when you finished reading, you huffed and muttered a small "i'd like to see you try" before crumpling up the piece of parchment and throwing it in the trash can. 

you kept yourself busy at the clinic, and when the time for the meeting approached, you didn't bother finishing your work and going.

you simply continued doing your job and about twenty minutes later, when you returned to the counter, your eyes met violet ones. 

the high lord was now in front of you and with your biggest smile of innocence, you asked him "are you here for an appointment? or maybe you came to pick up some medicine?"  

rhysand faked a smile at your sarcastic comment — apparently you made a lot of those now. 

"where is your red-haired lover?" 

you looked down, and started looking in your pants pockets and when you finished, you met his violet eyes again before saying "not in here." 

The male sighed loudly and in a deep but calm voice said to you "the meeting started twenty minutes ago."

"i know," you said without ever breaking eye contact.

"and can you explain to me why i had to come here?"

with a hand gesturing around the waiting room where multiple patients were, you replied "as you can see i've been very busy. a lot of people don't have the choice to spend the day sitting around doing nothing." you finished by resting your head on your hands, which were on top of the counter. 

rhys furrowed his eyebrows, since when did you talk to someone like that?

at his confused look, you let out a dry laugh and, continued "i have no interest in going to the meeting, so i'm sorry you wasted your time in coming here, rhysand."  

"rhysand?" He asked dumbfounded as he saw you walk away from the counter and grab the next patient's chart before making your way to where a old female was seated.

he wasted no time in following you "since when do you call me by my full name?" 

you were quick to mutter "since you came here to be a pain in my ass" in response. 

and this was enough of a reality check to make the male stop in his tracks. rhys had received a letter from your aunt a few days ago informing him that you were different but he discard it since the events of that night were still recent. 

but now that he allowed himself to really look at you — he saw all the signs. not only in the way you were acting but also in your clothes.

you were always a warm and happy person and you reflected that in the clothes you wore with light and vivid colors. 

normally you always wore dresses or a skirt with a top as the days at the clinic required you to walk from one side to the other and that way you were more comfortable as you had explained once when cassian commented that you always looked like a princess. 

but now? now it seemed like the princess had been replaced by an evil queen.

leather pants covered your legs while a black strappy top was on your torso tucked into your pants and held up by a belt with silver details around your waist.

black high heels, eyeliner on your eyes and red lipstick on your lips completed the outfit.

you looked like a completely different person. 

'what the hell happened?' the question echoed through his mind before rhys gently grabbed your arm and turned you around.

he decided at that moment that this could — and would — be talked about later, the important thing now was getting you to the meeting. 

"y/n, we have a meeting to attend. let's go."

"i already told you that-"

before you could finish, rhys took the patient chart from your hands and handed it to a dark-haired healer that was passing by before crouching down and lifting you onto his shoulder with one hand still gripping your arm while the other reached around your legs to hold you. 

"rhysand! are you kidding me?" you said and started swearing as you hit his back with your free hand.

on your way out, both of you passed by madja and rhys assured her that he would bring you back home in a few hours.

the old healer felt more at ease knowing that you would be safe with your friends and despite the worry that filled her heart, she couldn't help but let out a chuckle at the sight of you on the high lord's shoulder. 

maybe this was exactly what you needed — a night out with your friends.

hope replaced some of the worry that she had been carrying these last few days, that after tonight, you would come back happier.

you would come back as the niece she knew.

••• 

"seriously, rhysand? are you going to carry me like this the whole way?" you asked with annoyance in your voice.

"yes," a hint of embarrassment crossed the male's face at the use of his full name. 

several curses were muttered in a low voice as the eyes of the citizens of velaris focused on you and the male who carried you, one of your arms still trapped in his hand. 

some citizens looked curious while others laughed, but they all whispered about the reason for such a view. 

"rhysand, people are looking." you mumble with a pat on his back.

"i know," were his words as he sent smiles and slight waves in the direction of his citizens, as if this were some kind of show — one he was enjoying too much for your taste.

using his daemati powers, rhysand sent a message to his family — a message warning them to prepare themselves.

••• 

"well, this is a new view." you heard cassian's voice when you and rhys finally entered the townhouse's living room.

rhys stopped in front of the couches where his family sat, some of them with drinks in their hands, "sorry it took so long. i had to walk." 

a tap on rhys' back sounded through the room followed by a small murmur of "prick" coming from you. 

"hey!" rhys tried to scold you at the same time you said "does my ass look good from back there?"

rhys sighed loudly, earning a few chuckles from the people in front of him.

they had been talking about rhys's warning before you arrived but they couldn't deny that your actions were funny despite the situation. 

"was this really necessary, rhys?" feyre asked with a small smile gracing her lips.

"believe me, it was." rhys began to gently place you on the ground before rising to his full height again and placing his hands in his pockets. 

you turned to face the rest of your friends and managed to catch the surprise that crossed their eyes when they saw you in your new outfit.

"hello," you greeted them with a slight nod. 

"you're late, girl. did you lose track of time?" amren asked you while drinking from her glass of wine.

"no, i just didn't want to come." you replied before grabbing the glass of whiskey that cassian was passing to rhys and sitting on the couch between nesta and elain. 

nesta turned towards you and said softly, "i've been trying to talk to you these last few days." 

"i've been busy." you said while lookinh away.

nesta furrowed her eyebrows at your behavior. 

she had received rhys's warning just like the others but she really thought things would be different with her.

that even though you were different with the others, you wouldn't be with her and that she would be the person to go through you, just like you did for her a year ago. 

when you saw nesta opening her mouth with the intention of speaking again, you were quick to cut her off "so, are we going to start this meeting or not? since i was dragged here like a sack of potatoes." you mumbled the last part.

the high lord cleared his throat before beginning "i had a meeting with eris the other day. apparently beron allied himself with the human queen briallyn who in turn allied herself with koschei." 

"we need to know beron's plans are with this new alliance and that's exactly what eris is doing. i'm going to meet with him again in two days and that's where you come in, y/n."

at the mention of your name, you looked at the male who was already looking at you. with a raise of your eyebrows, he continued "i need you to come with me to the meeting and read eris. i need to know if he is being honest or not." 

you chuckled "why would he lie?" 

"he has lied before." azriel spoke for the first time since your arrival.

you looked at him with a cold look, and everyone else could have sworn that the temperature in the room dropped when your colorless eyes met his.

"so have you." you didn't hesitate to respond.

you saw him flinch and stared at each other for a few more seconds before he looked away and you continued "so has everyone else in this room. except elain of course. perfect, sweet and innocent elain would never do that."  

you looked at the female with a fake smile and it was at that moment that you realized what was in front of you.

azriel and elain sitting on different sofas far from each other without any kind of physical or visual contact.

as you exchanged glances between the two, a smile began to form on your lips at the realization. 

lifting a finger you gestured between the two of them before trying to express your curiosity "what's wrong with the love birds?"  

when no one responded, it didn't take long for you to speak again. "trouble in paradise? oh, wait. i know. you finally remembered lucien." 

you saw azriel's jaw throbbing in frustration and as you were really enjoying this new view, you decided to continue.

you moved closer to elain and placed your arm around her shoulders before telling her loud enough for everyone to hear, "in my opinion, you should choose lucien. you know that rumor that autumn males have fire in their veins and also fuck like it?"  

you heard rhysand swear in the background, giving you a new smile and encouraging you to continue. "well, it's true. eris proved that to me the other night."  you winked in her direction. 

"y/n," rhysand called you out with his high lord voice. 

"what? it's the truth," you laughed and started to get up to leave.

upon seeing you get up, feyre was quick to gently grab your wrist and turn you towards her, she held your hand with both of her hands and said calmly "did you receive our letters?"

you looked at your joined hands before answering her "i did."

with a slight nod, she asked again "did you read them?" 

you looked at her and when you saw your friend's face, you let your guard down for a second and tried to read her emotions instinctively.

but then a movement in the corner of your eye caught your attention. 

azriel was filling his glass and in sight of the male, you remembered why you did what you did to protect yourself.

for that same reason, you moved away from her touch and with a cold voice you gave her the answer she didn't want to hear.

"no, in fact, i throw them away with the exception of your letter, azriel," you turned to the male who froze in his place with your voice addressing him, "i burned yours." 

and with that you started to make your way to the front door with Rhysand behind you to take you home, just like he had told your aunt, leaving your friends shocked without knowing what to say about this new version of you. 

cassian followed you to the door and stopped you before you could open it. "you never came back to the house of wind."

upon meeting the general's eyes, after your interaction with feyre, you realized for the first time that where affection and love for your friends used to be was now empty. 

"i moved out. i'm living with my aunt again." a shrug accompanied your response. 

"why?" He asked you. 

the truth is that you felt embarrassed. 

embarrassed about that night.

embarrassed that you cried in front of your aunt and your friends.

embarrassed that you fell in love with a male who had no interest in you.

embarrassed that you let a male make you feel this way, that you gave him so much power over your emotions.

embarrassed by how weak you felt. 

but not anymore.

now you feel nothing.

and that's exactly how you wanted it. 

you didn't bother to answer him before turning your back on him and disappearing into the darkness of the night with rhys by your side.

••• 

the office door opened softly letting the light of the faelights fill the hallway. 

feyre slipped inside before spotting her mate standing in front of the desk with a book that by the looks of it must be very old as he inspected the pages.

"what is that?" feyre's voice echoed through the silent office, making her mate's violet eyes meet her light blue ones.

"it's a book about rare powers, it has several chapters about empaths. i borrowed it from helion after y/n came to the house." he explained with his eyes returning to the yellow pages.

feyre laughed lightly as she recalled how her friend had arrived at the residence. "you mean when you had to carry her here?"

rhys tried to laugh but a weak smile was all he could muster. the small gesture did not go unnoticed by the high lady, nor did the concern on the male's face.

"you're worried about her, aren't you?"

with a long sigh, rhys stood up to his full height and faced his wife, "very, something happened to her and we don't know what," as he crossed his arms over his chest, he leaned against the wall before continuing "she's different, she's insensitive and arrogant. that's not our y/n."

the last sentence made feyre's heart tighten a little — she felt it too. they all did and they all missed their friend. 

"did you notice the way she looked at azriel?" feyre asked, when she saw how you looked at the male, she thanked to the mother that she wasn't the one on the receiving end of it "it was like she never felt anything for him, like she hated him. It was scary actually."

rhys's eyes widened as the realization made its way through his mind. "like she didn't feel. . ." he muttered softly and approached the book again.

confused, the female approached the desk trying to figure out what Rhys had just realized, as he started flipping through the pages faster and faster.

feyre was surprised the pages didn't tear considering how old they were and how quickly they were being flipped through. 

"rhys?" 

the high lord stopped at a page and after reading it and rereading it several times, feyre heard his heart starting to race.

very slowly, rhys raised his head to meet his mate's eyes and with a low voice he finally revealed the reason for his reaction. "she turned them off."

"what?" 

his heart started to beat even faster "her emotions. she turned them off," rhys ran a hand through his hair making it even more uneven, "y/n turned off her emotions."

shock began to course through the high lady's body and she didn't hide it when she was invaded by it. "is that possible?"

at her question, rhys turned the book towards her and let her read the information he was still trying to process.

everything started to make sense.

"the way she talks, her clothes and the fact that she doesn't care about anything. . .all of this because-"

"because she doesn't feel anything." rhys completed for her.

as he opened his mouth to speak again, several knocks on the wooden office door interrupted him.

clearing his voice, rhys gave the order for the person behind the door to enter. 

it was quite late, with most of their family having gone to their respective rooms a few hours ago, but the couple couldn't hide their surprise when the person knocking on the door turned out to be Nuala.

"nuala? is everything okay?" feyre asked.

the half-wraith stepped forward and without revealing anything in her features, she replied "i'm not sure, high lady. i came to inform you that lady madja is in the living room and has asked to speak to the inner circle immediately."

even more confused than before, they both questioned why would madja be here in the middle of the night.

nuala continued "lady madja said it was urgent. it's about y/n."

at the mention of your name, two sets of chills went down the couple's spines and rhys was quick to give nuala a new order "wake everyone up." 

••• 

the inner circle met in the living room with madja among them.

rhys proceeded to explain what he had discovered about you just moments ago.

the book now sat on the old healer's lap as she reread what her niece had done with tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

madja knew something was wrong with you but she would never have guessed that this was the reason behind it. 

"so, she doesn't feel anything?" nesta asked. 

if this matter had been about anyone else, she wouldn't have bothered to show her sadness but you weren't anyone else.

you were her best friend — her sister.

"yes," feyre said with a lump in her throat.

the room fell silent as everyone tried to process this new information. 

in the corner of the sofa, cassian blamed himself for not having noticed sooner and not having done anything to help.

elain kept looking around the room with the feeling she was being judged and azriel was rethinking all the signs you had given him that he hadn't noticed.

"it's no one's fault," rhys' voice caught their attention but his attention was only on cassian, "we had no way of knowing this without that book we wouldn't even know this was possible."

the general hadn't even realized that his shields were down but his brother's words brought him comfort. 

"what do we do?" mor spoke for the first time since entering the room "how do we get her back?"

hurt flashed across rhys's face and before he could respond, madja did it for him. "we can't," all eyes turned to her and for the first time since they had known the healer, they saw her cry.

"y/n is the only one who can turn her emotions back on. it's up to her and only her," with new tears falling down her cheeks she concluded, "there's nothing we can do." 

feyre placed a hand on the old female's shoulder. "i'm so sorry, madja." 

madja let out a long sigh and before she could hesitate any further she said "that's not all. there's a reason i came here tonight."

"what do you mean?" cassian asked.

"y/n's personality isn't the only thing that has changed."

the room became tense and several breaths were held.

"what's that supposed to mean?" amren asked and if madja knew her better, she would have sworn she had just heard a hint of fear in amren's voice.

"i've been trying to figure out why for several days but this. . ." she pointed to the book, "this explains everything."

with all eyes focused on her, the old healer begin to explain "a few days ago i put y/n to treat a boy's knee. she grabbed one of his leg and when she put it down there was a bruise in the same place her hand was. she assumed she just hadn't seen the bruise before but that was because the boy didn't have any. i was the one who sat that boy in the chair and the only thing he had was the wound on his knee and nothing else. i would have noticed the bruise if he had it." 

"what are you trying to say, madja?" rhys asked, he could feel that with every word the old female spoke, everyone became more nervous. 

"after the boy," madja continued, "she attended to a male who had ingested a poisonous plant by mistake. when she used her magic to heal him, he started spitting blood from his mouth and became very pale. y/n thought that the poison was stronger than she thought but when i came to help the male. . .i managed to cure him without any problems." 

"madja, what are-" nesta tried to ask.

"i think. . .," madja ran a hand through her black hair, "i think when she turned off her emotions, i think it affected her powers too. when I saw her trying to heal that male, her powers weren't emitted by a white light like all healers." 

mor's voice shook as she asked "what was it?"

madja stared at the blonde female before telling her "darkness."   

several curse words passed through the room, increasing the tension that was already in the air.

"i think y/n gave the boy that bruise and i think when she tried to take the poison out of the male. . .i think she ended up spreading it." 

"over the next few days, each time y/n used her powers to heal the patients. . .they all got worse. eventually, i had to put her to work behind the counter so she couldn't hurt anyone else."

this new revelation of your powers only made a bad situation even worse and much, much more dangerous.

it is already quite dangerous for a person not to be able to feel anything as this means that they cannot distinguish right from wrong just as they cannot understand when to stop but to have their powers changed?

amren set down her glass of wine before speaking "if you think about it it makes sense," she began drawing all the attention to her "when she turned off her emotions, she turned off everything that was a part of her, including her own person."  

"what does this mean?" nesta asked with fear on her face not only for what this could mean but also for you. 

azriel was the first to realize with amren's words being the last piece of the puzzle he needed  "mother help us. madja, you're not trying to say that y/n is now a. . ."

the male couldn't find the strength to finish his sentence but it wasn't long before cassian continued where he left.

"a what?" he asked, eyes bouncing between his brother and the healer. "she's a what?" 

with a long sigh, madja said "she is no longer a healer."

no one was prepared for madja's next words.

they didn't know what to expect when she came to their house in the middle of the night but they never would have thought of this turn of events.

they would never have guessed that their friend's pain was so deep that it would cause this to happen. 

"she is a necromancer." 

a/n: thank you for reading!

general taglist: @emryb @fantasyandshit @azrielover @shadowsingercassia @littlelou22 @brieflyclassymortal @lilah-asteria @meul-a @lure-of-writing @pruvii @olive-main @mybestfriendmademe @anuttellaa @mrsjna @lively-potter @meul-a @mrsjna @avajustreads @littlelou22 @talesofadragon @circe143 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @dark-chaos-314 @tequilya @scoliobean @saltedcoffeescotch @charlotteintumbleland @dark-chaos-314 @agirlwithwifiandalaptop

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*if you asked to be tagged and you weren't, it's because i couldn't find your blog.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[happy74827]

He’s Got The Fire

[Johnny Lawrence x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: To your surprise, Johnny shows up at your window unannounced, but it doesn’t take long to realize it’s not for kicks {GIF Creds: pilvimarja}.

WC: 2076

Category: Slight Hurt/Comfort, Slight Fluff, Introverted(ish)!Reader

Honestly, I’m surprised I haven’t started writing this franchise earlier given how it’s about equal with my love for BTTF

『••✎••』

The sun had already gone down a while ago, the air was crisp, and the sky was starry. It was the perfect evening to watch the moon rise. The wind carried a chill, and the trees were almost bare, swaying in the breeze.

With a sigh, you closed the book you had been reading and stretched your legs, looking out the window of your room. By now, everyone had been asleep for a few hours, and you worked on upcoming assignments to pass the time. But when you had gotten to your last one, you just couldn't be bothered anymore, so you set it aside.

The quietness was nice, and the light from the moon cast a blue-ish glow on everything around you. You were so calm, but there was still something that had you feeling off.

Johnny.

He was never around much lately. It wasn't surprising, but it was disheartening. Ever since that championship loss a while back, he had been training even harder, and when he wasn't training, he was out doing god-knows-what.

You understood how important Cobra Kai was to him, but the fact that he was putting everything else on the back burner really had you worried. He had a tendency to go down the wrong path and not think about the consequences until after the fact. You hoped that wasn't what was happening this time.

Pulling your knees up, you rested your head on them and looked out at the night. There was a full moon, and you wondered if Johnny had noticed. He used to love taking walks at night just to see the moon and look up at the stars.

He had changed so much since then. That fire inside of him burned so brightly that sometimes you wondered if it would burn him, too.

Sitting like that for a while, you lost track of time. It was easy to get distracted and drift away from reality when your mind wandered. It was something you were trying to work on, and you were actually doing pretty well.

Until you heard a pang on your window.

Sitting up, you looked around, wondering if a bird had flown into it, but you saw nothing. Your mind immediately went to a branch falling or something like that, and you were ready to dismiss the strange noise and go back to daydreaming.

But the pang came again, and your heart leaped in your throat. You stood and cautiously moved toward the window. At the same time, a face popped up from below, and you shrieked.

He motioned for you to open the window, along with attempts to hush you. It was a very frantic gesture, and you felt your heart rate rise. You quickly opened the window and stuck your head out.

"Johnny?!" You whispered-yelled, and he was pulling himself up. "What are you doing?"

"Shhh!" He held a finger to his lips and looked behind him, and your eyebrows furrowed.

"Johnny-"

"Do you want the whole neighborhood to know I'm here? Let me in!"

You stared at him for a moment longer before helping him through the window. It didn’t go as smoothly as one would expect, like the movies, but he managed to tumble in. You stood there, arms folded, as he dusted himself off.

You haven’t seen him in so long, and the day you choose to miss him, he shows up out of nowhere. You would’ve called yourself psychic if it weren’t for the fact that Johnny always did the unexpected.

He looked… good, to say the least. The red jacket still fit him perfectly; his blonde hair was combed and fluffy, and his eyes were still focused and alert, even if his body language seemed a little sluggish.

To be honest, Johnny was the most beautiful person you had ever laid eyes on. His sharp jawline, his toned muscles, and that cocky smile of his. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed and the way he always looked at you like you were the only girl in the world.

For a while, you didn’t understand why he chose to pursue you, of all people. He could have anyone he wanted. You weren't exactly a social butterfly, and you always got nervous and shy in the presence of others.

Johnny was the opposite of you. He was outgoing, and his charisma attracted everyone to him. And the way his voice was so smooth and deep. He could be the most annoying person on the planet, but when he said your name, you would melt.

So when he asked you out, you thought it was some sort of joke. I mean, he was the hottest guy in school. And you were just… you.

But then you realized there was more to him than just the bad boy exterior. He had a sensitive side, and his vulnerability was endearing. His family was… well, a lot. His mom was nice, but she had her fair share of issues, and his stepfather was a piece of work.

It only took one date to realize the Johnny you were accustomed to wasn’t the real him. The real him was like you… except he could kick ass and had some pent-up anger issues.

And yet, here you were.

"Johnny-" You began, but he stepped toward you and wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head. You stood stiffly, arms at your sides.

"God, I've missed you."

That was the last thing you expected him to say. You felt your face heat up, your chest warm up, and your shoulders slumped. You melted into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him.

"I've missed you too."

You could feel him grin against the top of your head, and he squeezed you a little tighter. He was so warm, and it made you forget the fact that he was literally climbing through your window at almost midnight.

After a minute or so, he pulled away and held your face in his hands. You were looking into those piercing blue eyes, and you could feel butterflies in your stomach.

"Why are you here?" You asked, your voice a little above a whisper.

He hesitated, and that was the moment you knew something was wrong. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"I, uh… I needed to see you."

You raised an eyebrow, but you didn't say anything. You were waiting for him to elaborate, but when he didn't, you sighed and grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards the bed. You sat on the edge, and he followed.

"Johnny," You said, turning toward him and placing a hand on his knee. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

"Nothing, I just… wanted to see you."

You didn't say anything. You knew better than that. So you waited.

"Okay, okay," He sighed. "Look, I'm not gonna lie to you, but I can’t tell you why."

"That's reassuring."

"It's just… things are… well, I just needed to get away. It's nothing, I'm fine, don't worry."

You were silent. You didn't really know what to say. There was so much going on, and it was hard for you to believe him when he told you not to worry.

"Is it… Is it Sid? Your mom?"

"Just…” He shook his head and stood, rubbing the back of his neck. He started pacing, and that was when you knew he was really upset. “Just drop it, alright? Everything's fine."

“You ignored me for the past two weeks, Johnny. Something is wrong."

He stopped and glared at you, and you froze. You were taken aback by the expression on his face. He seemed frustrated and almost angry.

The look… you knew it wasn’t directed at you, but you couldn't help but feel a little intimidated. He was always so hot-headed and stubborn, and when his mood shifted, you had a hard time knowing what to do.

He seemed to realize his expression and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh.

"Sorry, God, I'm sorry, it's not you. I'm just-" He sighed and plopped back down on the bed next to you, running his hands over his face. "I'm a fucking mess, okay? Just forget I came."

It was weird how, in certain situations, you could completely shift into a different person. You’ve seen it in movies and TV, and it was a cliche. You didn’t think it would ever happen to you.

And yet, the second you heard the words come out of his mouth, you were hit with an overwhelming urge to turn his head towards yours, grab his face in your hands, and kiss him.

So you did.

You couldn’t really tell him why you did it. It just felt like the right thing to do, and it was an impulse. You figured it was the best way to let him know that you were here and he wasn’t alone.

The second your lips met, he was leaning into you, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer. You could feel the passion and desperation behind the kiss, and it took you a moment to match his energy.

He was rough and intense, and he pulled away after a few moments, moving to your neck. You gasped and gripped the collar of his jacket, feeling the heat of his lips on your skin.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say. And it was true. You had missed him more than you had thought. You had almost forgotten how much of a force he was to be reckoned with.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to form words, but failing. Instead, you tugged on his jacket and pulled him towards you, hoping he would get the message.

And he did.

His lips found yours again, and he was pushing you back, holding himself above you with one hand. His other was moving up your shirt, his fingers grazing your stomach, causing goosebumps to rise.

Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers danced across your ribs. His lips were rough, but they moved with such grace and delicacy it was hard to keep up.

He pulled away for a moment, and you looked up at him, catching your breath. His blonde hair was messy, and his eyes were a little hooded. He looked like a mess, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

You reached up and brushed his hair back, giving him a soft smile.

“Is that…” His eyes peered away from you, and you raised an eyebrow. "Do you still have that damn elephant?"

Your eyes followed his, and you spotted the elephant in question. It was a gift Johnny had given you back when things were different. Come to think of it, you weren’t even sure you were together at that point.

"Why wouldn't I?" You asked, and he chuckled. “Ozzy's special."

"You named it? What are you, ten?"

You swatted his arm, and he laughed again. His eyes found yours, and you couldn’t help but smile at him. It felt like old times.

"Don't make fun of him. You gave him to me."

"Yeah, whatever," He rolled his eyes, but his smile remained. "Can't believe you kept him."

"I keep a lot of stuff, Johnny. Especially when they're meaningful."

He was silent for a moment, his eyes still focused on you. The moonlight was shining through the window and casting a shadow on his face.

"I keep a lot of things, too."

Before you could say anything, he was leaning down and kissing you again. You could tell this one was different, more meaningful, like he was pouring his heart and soul into the kiss.

And he was.

He wanted you to know how he felt about you without actually saying it. And although you weren’t really sure what was going on, you had a feeling this was what it was.

The fire inside of him was burning again, but finally, after so long, he realized that he needed to take a breather every now and then. Add some water to the flames.

It was a delicate balance. And although he may be bad at showing his feelings, talking about them, or acknowledging them, you were there to make sure he didn't lose himself in the heat.

And maybe, just maybe, the flame was a little more subdued, and the burn a little less harsh.

[itsallyscorner]

And They Were Roommates | MV1

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

summary: Max just wants to have some sexy time but you have adorable unwanted visitors in the bedroom.

warnings: none! Suggestive topics via Max. Possibly some spelling errors..

author’s note: I’ve been busy lately and have been struggling to write, so pls take this drabble/short fic as a peace offering☺️

It was a lazy day in Monaco.

The sun beamed through the curtains of your window in your shared bedroom. The covers enveloped your and Max’s bodies, your legs tangled together, and your back flush against his. His head was shoved into the crook of your neck, one arm underneath your neck, and the other snaked tightly around your waist.

As helpful the comforter was at protecting you from the AC that had been on all night, Max was the perfect human heater you could ever ask for. You didn’t have to worry about getting too cold at night because Max helped balance your body temperature with how warm he got. Throughout the night, his arms somehow stayed wrapped around you. His nose was often nuzzled against your neck, your hair, and sometimes your chest when he’s managed to become the little spoon overnight.

Just a few minutes ago, you had woken up to the scents of Max and fresh linen filling your senses. Something that always sent a warm feeling in the pits of your stomach, much similar to butterflies. The two scents mixed together meant your love was home after weeks of traveling and finally sleeping peacefully beside you—a feeling both you and Max took great pleasure in.

You tried to stretch as best as you could in Max’s hold, though your actions only caused the man beside you to squeeze you tighter. You reached behind your head to gently run your hand through his hair. A small groan, almost similar to a whine, emitted from your boyfriend.

His body tensed against yours as he attempted to stretch the sleep out of his bones, his head only burying further into the crook of your neck.

“Don’t get up yet, schatje.” He mumbled against your skin, his voice still rough. You hummed in response, bringing the hand he had around your waist to your lips and pressing a soft kiss on the back of his hand.

“I’m not planning on getting up anytime soon, Maxie.” You turn in his arms, finally facing him. He truly looked adorable in his current state. His hair was ruffled, sticking in a couple of different directions. His lips were in a slight pout and his eyes were puffy from sleep.

His eyes remained closed but his arms were quick to wrap tightly around you. You smiled seeing him so relaxed. Often after race weekends, especially the ones you were not able to attend, Max came home very clingy. He wanted to spend every waking moment with you, holding you at all times, and being in your company. You never had a problem with it, in fact, you found it extremely endearing. It was a side he saved for you and only you. He was your giant, cuddly, teddy bear.

You pressed light kisses against his face, causing the corner of his lips to rise in a smile. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before looking down at you.

“Hi, schatje.” He greeted softly, crimson lips set in a sweet smile. You giggled at him, “Good morning, Maxie.”

You squealed as he suddenly forced his body on top of yours, pushing your back against the mattress. His sudden burst of energy nearly knocking the wind out of you.

“Oh my god, I missed this.” He mused, resting his body weight atop yours and shoving his face into your chest. He dug his face deeper, his nose basically between the crevices of your breasts.

“I missed you too, you goof.” You laughed, lovingly running your hands through his hair. Max reciprocated your actions by stroking your sides with his rough hands, pressing tiny kisses above your breasts and any other surface of your skin he could reach.

“Just wanna stay in bed all day.” Max said against your skin, talking between his kisses. “No paddle *kiss*, no driving on the sim *kiss*, no working out *kiss*, no work emails *kiss*, nothing!”

“We need food.” You interjected, quickly adding, “You also need to feed the cats.”

Max huffed, he’s managed to reach your stomach now. Resting his chin on the soft surface of your tummy, he looked up at you with his addicting blue eyes, shades of turquoise and grey bursting in them.

“Jimmy and Sassy can wait a few minutes longer.” He grumbled, one of his hand searching for yours. When he finds it, he places a kiss into your palm, and guides your hand to his hair. Taking the hint, you run your fingers through the strands again.

“I don’t think they’ll mind if I eat first.” Max’s voice dropped an octave, an underlying tone of arousal—in more simpler words—horniness.

He began to kiss on the exposed skin beneath your (his) lifted shirt, his thumbs stroking circles into your hips, as he drifted lower beneath the sheets. Your hand remained in his hair, pulling lightly at the strands. It was a habit of yours that he liked, but something he craved even more during intimate moments. Especially when you roughly tugged on it, encouraging him and his acts of love.

“Your cats are persistent.” You hummed, Max finally inching closer towards your lower region. You bit your finger in amusement, glancing at the two Bengals hanging out in their cat tower behind Max.

As much as you wanted to have sex with your boyfriend, you were not going to do the nasty while your shared cats stared at the both of you, waiting to be fed.

“I’m persistent too, schatje.” Max claimed, squeezing your bum with one of his hands. Still unaware at the two cats glaring daggers at him. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Not as much as Jimmy and Sassy, baby.” You shook your head, adjusting yourself to sit up. Max whined at you moving away from him. He was beginning to wonder why you were so concerned with the cats, especially while he was trying to go down on you.

“They’ll be fine, schat, I’ll even put some more food in their bowls for waiting.” He assured you, trying his best to keep the built up tension.

“Baby please I need you.” He crawled up your body until you were face to face. You placed a teasing kiss on his pouted lips before cradling his jaw, “Trust me Maxie, I need you too.”

You gently turned his face to look behind him, “But we are not fucking in front of the cats.”

You felt Max deflate against you, “Oh, for fucks sake!”

He groaned and dramatically threw himself on the mattress beside you. You bursted out laughing, very much killing the sexual tension.

You tried to pry off Max’s hands from covering his face, “Aww, it’s okay Maxie.”

You were still fighting off some giggles, not helping Max’s situation. Max refused to take his hands off his face. Only rushing to grab the decorative pillow beside him to cover his hard on.

“Baby.” You cooed. Max huffed in response.

“Maxie.” You sang, poking his side. He jolted, but smacked your hand away from his side, “No.”

“Maxie, I promise we can get some me and you time later.” You reassured him, stroking his stomach. He finally took his hands off his face, revealing a very flushed faced.

“I just wanted some morning sex.” He pouted. You chuckled at him and moved to kiss his cheek.

“Me too, baby. But we can’t always get what we want.” You teased him, patting his warm chest, and hopping out of bed. Max continued to pout, watching as you sauntered out the bedroom.

“I have the hottest girlfriend in the world and I still managed to get cockblocked under my own roof.” Max said to himself, staring at the ceiling.

He sat up, pillow still covering his boner.

Jimmy and Sassy remained in their cat tower, waiting for Max to get out of bed.

“You guys are the worse roommates ever.” Max announced, causing you to burst out laughing from the kitchen.

[norrisluv]

THE SURPRISE - LANDO NORRIS

warnings: fluff

lando norris x zak brown's daughter!reader

english is not my first language, so I apologise if any words are spelt wrong!

this is a request!!

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The crisp morning sun poured through the window as you scrolled through the adoption website on your phone. Lando had been dropping hints about wanting a dog for months now, though it always came with the caveat of, "But I just don’t have the time, you know?" You could see the longing in his eyes every time he saw a dog during his travels or in fan posts. He wanted one, even if he didn’t let himself believe it was possible. So, you decided to make it happen—for him and for you.

After weeks of planning, you found the perfect little yellow Labrador puppy from a reputable rescue. She was playful but calm, a bright-eyed bundle of joy. You’d spent days researching everything about puppies, from training to travel logistics, knowing how hectic both your lives were. And now, the big day had arrived.

Lando was due back from a simulator session at McLaren HQ later in the afternoon, so you had time to prepare. You’d set up a cozy little dog bed in the corner of the living room, a basket of toys, and bowls already filled with water and kibble. The puppy, who you’d named Sunny, was napping on your lap, her tiny chest rising and falling with each breath.

When Lando walked through the door, his hair slightly tousled and his McLaren hoodie slightly oversized, you could tell he was tired but content. "Hey, love," he called, kicking off his sneakers.

"Hey," you replied, a mischievous smile playing on your lips as you stayed seated on the couch.

His eyes narrowed. "What’s that look for? You’re up to something."

"Me? Never," you teased, shifting slightly so Sunny’s little head peeked out from under your arm.

Lando froze. "No. Way."

You grinned as Sunny stirred, her big, soulful eyes opening and landing on Lando. The moment he saw her, his tiredness evaporated. "Oh my God! Is she… Is she ours?"

"Surprise! Meet Sunny," you said, gently placing her on the floor. She wobbled on her tiny legs before padding over to Lando, tail wagging furiously.

He dropped to his knees, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Hi, Sunny! Oh, you’re so cute! Look at you!" His voice was an octave higher as he scooped her up, cradling her like the most precious thing in the world. Sunny responded by licking his face enthusiastically, making him laugh.

"You’ve been talking about wanting a dog forever," you explained, sitting beside him. "I know we’re busy, but I’ve figured it all out. I’ll handle most of the care, and she can travel with us whenever possible. I’ve even spoken to my dad about it—turns out, McLaren’s totally cool with her being around."

Lando looked at you, his eyes soft and full of emotion. "You did all this for me?"

"Of course. I know how much you’ve wanted this, and I’ll make sure you don’t have to worry about anything. You just get to enjoy her."

He leaned in and kissed you, lingering for a moment before pulling back to look at Sunny. "She’s perfect. You’re perfect. But are you sure? She’s a big responsibility."

"I’ve got it covered, trust me," you reassured him. "And let’s be honest, Sunny’s about to be the most well-traveled dog in the world."

Lando laughed, hugging Sunny close. "Alright, then. Sunny’s officially part of the family."

The rest of the evening was spent watching Sunny explore her new home, with Lando snapping pictures and videos to share with his family and a select few friends. You could tell he was already smitten, constantly doting on her and giving her belly rubs.

Later that night, as Sunny snoozed in her bed and you curled up beside Lando on the couch, he kissed the top of your head. "Thank you for this," he whispered. "For her, for everything."

"Anything for you," you replied, your heart full as you watched him glance back at Sunny with a look of pure happiness.

✧⸻✧

The atmosphere at Silverstone was electric. Fans cheered from the grandstands, the smell of rubber and fuel filled the air, and engines roared to life in the garages. It was a big race day for Lando, and this time, Sunny was part of the action.

You arrived at the paddock early, Sunny trotting beside you with her McLaren bandana tied neatly around her neck. She was a natural at stealing hearts, stopping every few steps as team members, fans, and even rival drivers paused to coo over her.

As you made your way to the McLaren garage, your dad, Zak Brown, spotted you from across the paddock. "There’s my girl," he called out, his sharp eyes softening when they landed on Sunny. "And who’s this little superstar?"

"Meet Sunny," you said, kneeling to let the puppy greet Zak. "She’s officially part of the family now."

Zak crouched, letting Sunny sniff his hand before giving her a gentle pat. "Well, she’s already got the whole paddock charmed, hasn’t she? Lando, this was a good call."

Lando grinned, hands in his hoodie pockets. "I can’t take the credit. This was all her," he said, nodding toward you.

Inside the garage, Sunny had her own little setup—a custom McLaren dog bed and a small water station. Zak checked in occasionally, offering a lighthearted comment here and there. "You know," he said at one point, "if she keeps this up, I might have to put her in some team promos."

As the race approached, Zak joined you and Sunny on the garage. The crowd was buzzing with excitement, and a few fans held up signs dedicated to the puppy like "SUNNY FOR TEAM PRINCIPAL!"

Zak chuckled, glancing at the signs. "Looks like she’s already more popular than me."

"She’s got that Brown charm," you teased, earning a playful eye roll from your dad.

When the race began, Sunny sat beside you and some people you know in the McLaren hospitality suite, her ears perking up every time Lando’s name was mentioned. People couldn’t help but narrate Sunny’s reactions. "See that tail wag? That’s pure confidence in her dad."

It was a nail-biting race, but Lando drove brilliantly, crossing the finish line in second place. The garage erupted in cheers, and Sunny barked excitedly as if she understood the significance of the moment.

After the podium celebrations, Lando returned to the garage, still in his race suit and champagne-drenched shoes. "Sunny! Did you see that?" he exclaimed, dropping to the floor to hug her. Sunny greeted him with enthusiastic licks, her tail wagging furiously.

Zak appeared shortly after, clapping Lando on the back. "Solid drive out there. I think Sunny’s got a future as the team mascot."

Lando grinned, scratching Sunny behind the ears. "She’s already the heart of the team."

As the evening wore on, the three of you sat outside the motorhome, watching the sunset over the paddock. Sunny curled up between you and Lando, her soft snores filling the quiet. Lando glanced over you and smiled. "This," he said, "is what it’s all about. Family, racing, and a little bit of chaos."

You leaned your head against Lando’s shoulder, your heart full. "And just think—we get to do it all over again next race."

Lando chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. "As long as you and Sunny are there, I know it’ll be amazing."

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

A/N: please let me know if you like it! requests are open!

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: You’ve Got Sleeping Issues

ᶻz Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

‎܂ ｡ ༢ medicine isn’t enough i need someone to knock me out with a shovel (for all my insomniacs <3)

Ghost

Oh, what do two insomniacs do with each other on restless nights?

He used to be alone on these nights, listening to the ticking of the clock as the hours cruelly pass by without granting rest

Now you both sit in silence watching the reborning sun and it’s kind of enjoyable now

Pulls out a bottle of NyQuil and takes turns taking shots until either you or him or both simultaneously pass out

Soap

When he’s with you he wants to do everything with you; including sleeping

He’s visibly upset that you can’t sleep but he’s not mat at you, he’s mad at whatever prevents you to cuddle next to him under a heap of blanket and pillows at night

You’re often tossing and turning in bed, fidgeting with your hands as you pace around the bedroom that it wakes him

You try and coax him to go back to sleep but he’s up and determined to stay up with you bingewatching tv shows, trying weird snack combinations, etc…

Gaz

Tries out everything to get you to sleep

From adjusting your routine to diet choices before bed

He knows you hate taking pills and it’s the last thing you resort to by doctor’s orders

He adjusts your pillows and blankets on your side of the bed, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as you drift off to sleep

Gently cradles your head as he lays you down on your back

And doesn’t sleep until he hears your breaths change and the pulsation of your heart, at ease knowing you’re finally resting

Alejandro

You have terrible nightmares that prevent you from getting a peaceful sleep

Anytime you awaken in a panic; cold sweat, hands seizing and tugging at your shirt, feeling your heart thumping wildly in your chest

He wakes up right away upon hearing your quickened breaths

“It’s alright, I’m right here cariño”

Touching foreheads, light touches on your arms and neck to sooth you, holds you close to him, intertwining fingers

Taking you to the window where you can observe the moon, “see the moon? Look at how she shines… focus on her lustre.”

Phillip Graves

Turning over in bed, his arms searching for you only to find you in a slouched position

“Hard time falling asleep doll?” He drags out his words, words slurring together from having just woken up

When you whimper and nod he pulls you down with him, his hands pulling you against his chest and placing sweet and comforting kisses on your head as he caresses your hair, softly humming

Spooning you is one of his fave ways to feel your body against his, wants to feel as if he’s protecting you and wishes he could lull your mind

Keegan

Knows you’re likely to fall asleep at random times of the day due to fatigue

With a tap of his finger on your wrist he’ll signal for you to rest your head on his lap

He’ll take to trailing his hand up and down your back, following the outline of your spine with his index finger, slower and more deliberately

Speaks very low and softly to give you reassurance he’s there, leans down and places a soft kiss on your cheek once you’ve fallen asleep

König

He takes one look at you and immediately knows you did not sleep

And yet, even if you watched the moon descend and the sun rise your cherub eyes are as loving and warm as they meet his

Whilst he was asleep, you inched closed and wrapped his strong arms around your body

Now he’s awoken to holding what he considers dear, you, enfolded in his arms gently

Cuddles and stays curled up next to you until you drift off to sleep, even if it’s only for a little bit

Horangi

At night, before bed he prepares teas, warms milk and anything else he can think of to get you to sleep

As daybreak enfolds he finds you yet again with dimmed eyes, signaling you did not sleep

You feel as if a river rushes through your bones as he strokes your back in circles, whispering softly in your ear

The soft, golden glow of the sun makes this scenery seem dreamy as your eyelids feel heavier

He watches until you fall asleep and subtly slips out of your arms, tucking you into bed and closing the curtains to let you sleep in and catch up on your sleep

Nikto

He’s either out like a rock or is tossing and turning unable to quiet his mind

In the silence, thinking you’re asleep, he reaches out to your form to engulf in your warmth only to find you awake when he glances at your face

You open your eyes and he freezes, already starting to retreat before you clutch his hand close, not letting go

“Sorry…for waking you” he mumbles, before you tell him you can’t sleep either

He’s silent for a moment before he softly says, “come closer” so he’s spooning you as you inhale his scent and fall asleep, your body rising with every breath; you’re like his stuffed animal 〜(⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄ ·̭ o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝)♡

[natalievoncatte]

Alex rolled onto her side, and was a little surprised to see Kelly Olsen laying next to her, turned away and curled up the Egyptian cotton of her bed

(their bed)

snoozing softly in the morning light. Alex took the time, as one does, to admire the vulpine curves of Kelly’s back and the elegant sweep of her shoulders. She wanted nothing more but to lean in and plant a soft kiss on the back of her neck and wake her, which would hopefully lead into a glorious Saturday morning of sun-kissed, gentle lovemaking that would result in an forgotten breakfast and breathy declarations seared into hot skin with caressing fingers and tasting lips.

Unfortunately her fucking phone was going off.

Alex rolled out of bed and snatched it, relieved that she hadn’t disturbed her girlfriend. She threw on a button-down as a makeshift robe and plodded out into the kitchen.

She wasn’t expecting a call from…

“Lena?”

“Alex?”

“Yeah, what’s up? You don’t call me often.”

“I need help. It’s an emergency. Sort of.”

Alex glanced back at Kelly’s languid form and one long leg slipping out from under the sheets.

“Where’s Kara?”

“I can’t talk to Kara about this. It has to be you, Alex.”

“Okay, sure,” Alex said, warily. “We can grab a coffee later at-“

“Alex, it has to be now and at my place. This is serious.”

Alex bit her lip. There was a compelling urgency to Lena’s voice. Alex didn’t have Kara’s super senses but she could pick up the nervous energy and hint of feed behind the words.

“Okay,” said Alex. “I’m on my way.”

Alex pulled on her cleanest pants and most readily available tank top and scribbled a note for Kelly (encouraging her to either stay in or be back in bed by the time Alex returned, as their business was unfinished) and grabbed her car keys.

Rising her bike would have been… a sore subject, as it were.

Morning traffic was surprisingly light and she made good time. Lena buzzed her up and she walked into Lena’s weirdly cold penthouse, and found her sister’s best friend pacing rapidly back and forth, dressed in a hoodie and hugging herself.

“Okay,” said Alex. “I’m here, Lena. What’s going on?”

“I’m pregnant,” Lena blurted out, before Alex had finished speaking.

Alex stared at her.

“Funny, I always thought you were a virgin.”

Lena glared at her. Alex knew why Kara was so fascinated by her- she had those big pretty eyes that radiated sadness and set off Kara’s protective instincts. Alex had figured out a long time ago that these two dipshits should just bang it out, but it wasn’t really her place to tell them, especially if it meant outing Lena, or dealing with Kara’s baggage from her weirdly fascist home planet and its bizarre ideas about sex.

(One example of said baggage being her sister’s heart breaking over the alien fuckboi from the asshole planet. If only Kara had realized that her gorgeous kind billionaire best friend was in love with her… you know, before the whole world domination Kryptonite laser thing)

(People who aim orbital fusion cannons at their friends should not cast stones, Alex had decided)

“Alex?”

Oh. Lena was talking. Alex pretty much blue screened there.

“Right, you’re pregnant. Are you sure?”

“I’ve taken two tests, and I’m late.”

Alex rubbed at her chin. Lena looked like a drowned rat, more than a little terrified.

Alex swallowed hard.

“Okay, first question. Did someone hurt you?”

Lena looked up sharply. “What? No.”

Standing to pace the room again, Lena rubbed at her arms as if she were cold.

“So um,” said Alex. “Do you need my help with…”

“I just need someone I can talk to that isn’t Kara. I can’t tell her yet.”

Alex swallowed. Hard. “Okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

Lena sighed and stared out her balcony window.

“Do you remember that game night where we all got sloshed, last month?”

“Yeah,” said Alex. “You hosted. As I recall, Kara was the last to leave.

“She didn’t leave. I… I did something stupid. I tried to seduce her, clumsily. I was drunk off my ass.”

Alex tensed, the hairs on the back of her neck rising.

“Oh,” said Alex. “She brushed you off and you went out for a hookup? I’ve done worse. Are things okay between you?”

Lena stared at Alex as if she’d just grown a second head.

“No, Alex. Kara spent the night. She insisted we not do anything intimate until we both sobered up, but I talked her into staying in bed with me.”

Alex sighed. “You got any of that expensive single malt? Your dad’s brand?”

“It’s eleven in the morning.”

“Well, it’s not like you can drink it. You can have juice.”

Lena glared at her. “Cabinet by the fridge.”

Alex ended up pouring two glasses of cranberry juice and sat down at the kitchen island, pushing one over to Lena.

Lena sighed. “I don’t want to get into the details but we were definitely sober when we woke up.”

“And?” said Alex.

“We, um, we had sex,” said Lena.

“And then she got weird and brushed you off and you went out for a hookup?”

“What? No! Just let me finish telling the story.”

Alex sipped her juice, enjoying the bite on her tongue. “Okay.”

“We’ve been sort of seeing each other ever since. Quietly, keeping it to ourselves. Kara is…” Lena sighed, “she’s very protective and she’s afraid that you’ll get upset if you find out we’re together.”

Alex’s fist closed tightly around her glass.

“Lena,” Alex explained, “I’ve forgiven and forgotten a lot from you, but I’m having a hard time understanding how this happened if you’re with my sister. Did you cheat on her?”

Lena looked up sharply from her glass. “What the fuck, Alex? How could you even ask me that? God, am I ever going to be good enough for your sister? I know I fucked up. I know what I did was wrong. Hurting her was the worst thing I have ever done and I would trade anything to take it back, but we are in…”

“Okay,” Alex cut her off. “Fine. Our lives are fucking weird, so I’ll give you the benefit of tbe doubt. But usually you being pregnant would imply that a man was involved somehow.”

Lena blinked. “What?”

“You’re pregnant. There has to be a father.”

Lena stared at her in abject confusion.

Then she said, “Alex, Kara is the father.”

Alex looked at her for too long a moment.

“I’m sorry but what the fuck, Lena? What did you do?”

“What did I do?” Lena demanded. “It’s not my fault! I mean it is as much my fault as it is hers, but we weren’t worrying about protection the first morning and after that neither of us brought it up. I know, I’ve been stupid, I just…”

Alex’s mouth fell open.

“Protection? You and her? What the fuck?”

Lena took a long pull of cranberry juice and winced at the tartness.

“You didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Apparently, under a yellow sun, Kryptonians can, um, adapt to a sexual partner’s body.”

“Okay, okay, okay!” Alex snapped, “okay fine my little sister… with you… and you’re pregnant. Fine, we’re on the same page. What now?”

Lena stared at her, biting her lip as she sought answers.

“Are you going to keep it?”

“Keep it?” said Lena. “It’s Kara’s. Of course I will. That’s not even a question. I’m just… I’m scared, Alex. What does this mean? How is she going to react? What if… Jesus, I’m carrying a half-Kryptonian baby. Is that even safe?”

“It worked out fine for Lois and Clark. Twice. You’ll be okay, if having the baby is what you want.”

“It is,” said Lena. “Kara makes me deliriously happy, Alex. She was like a knight in shining armor that night and she was so kind and gentle the next morning and it’s like… like this was natural. We both fell into it so easily that it was like it had always been this way. I love her. I love her so much.”

Lena was red faced, looking embarrassed as she cast her eyes down. Alex reached across the table and took her hands.

“Well, I’m glad you dipshits figured it out. Watching you two blush and stammer at each other for another five years would’ve killed me.”

“ALEX!”

“If you want my blessing, you have it. I’m sorry I doubted you, but in my defense, I didn’t know she could… do… that.”

“Uh, right,” said Lena. “I want to call her and ask her to come over now so I can tell her. I know this should be a private moment but… can you stay? It just feels like you belong here for this.”

“Yeah, Lena. I’ll stay.”

Lena smiled.

[bucketbueckers]

ALL THE SMALL THINGS

pairing: azzi fudd x fem!reader

content: devious amount of fluff, devious amount of dialogue, mostly teasing and banter, maybe a little suggestive (light allusions if anything, no details bc im a coward), nonexistent plot

wc: 1.8k

synopsis: As two booked and busy athletes, you and Azzi always relished in those slow, lazy mornings you got to spend together before the world woke up and you had to return to reality. The morning after winning your first national championship together was no exception.

notes: i love azzi fudd. that's it that's the post!!! all jokes aside, she was phenomenal this weekend and im so glad we get another year of her in a uconn jersey 😩 one of her steals against sc actually had me jumping out of my seat and yelling which i dont usually do but i was so geeked on sunday 🙏 per usual i hope y'all enjoy because i have two more weeks of classes & then finals so i fear i will be dropping off of the face of the earth 🫶

The warmth of the Tampa Bay sun streaming through your hotel window pulls you gently from the throes of slumber, its rays pressing against your eyelids and rousing you in a way not too dissimilar from how your girlfriend would trace the contours of your face in the mornings. You wake slowly, your mind barely catching up with your body as you blink sleepily, trying to adjust to the new light in the room. Your body feels heavy, not because of Azzi sprawled out across your chest, but because of the lingering exhaustion from the day before.

Memories return to you in quick flashes – the intensity of the game, powering your way to the bucket for layups, the way the confetti rained down upon you and your team and how Azzi clung onto you like she was afraid it would all disappear. You don’t forget the way she cried into your neck, nor do you forget the way you’d cried into hers. The both of you had been through so much together – the team, too, but you were by Azzi’s side for every injury, every surgery, every grueling second of rehab. The fact that you’d made it here, to the national championship, and the fact that you did it together, feels more monumental than the win itself.

The soreness of your body isn’t solely from giving the game your all. The afterparty was wild, rambunctious, and if it wasn’t for your girlfriend, you’d probably be nursing an insane headache right now. The more that you think about it, you’re kind of terrified to see what lies in your TikTok drafts or what’s already been posted while you and Azzi were out cold. You stretch out a little, your body thrumming, and the residual ache reminds you that yours and Azzi’s…private celebration, is probably also why you feel like you could sleep for another twelve hours. You try not to think too much about it, already feeling a flush creep up your cheeks as your girlfriend snoozes peacefully next to you.

You cast a glance down at Azzi, to the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the slope of her nose and the elegant part of her lips as she breathes against you. Her left hand is splayed across your stomach, palm warm against your skin. You can’t stop the soft smile that grows on your face. Azzi Fudd is the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever seen in your life. You could spend years trying to find the words to describe her beauty, but they’d never come to you.

Almost absentmindedly, you bring your hand to her face, swiping gently at the flake of mascara stuck to her cheekbone, trailing down to her dimple. You retract your hand so as to not disturb Azzi, considering getting comfortable again and going back to sleep, but her voice almost startles you. “I can feel you staring,” she murmurs, not opening her eyes.

“Admiring,” you correct her. The corner of her lips quirk into a half smile. Slowly, her eyes open, although she squints slightly as she adjusts to the sunlight in the room.

“I can’t believe we didn’t shut the blinds yesterday,” she grumbles, pressing her forehead into the junction where your neck meets your shoulder.

You laugh a little, raising your arm to cup the back of her head, trying to angle your body so it blocks some of the sunlight. Her smile grows against you as you drop a kiss to her forehead, the flyaway strands of her hair tickling your nose. “I think the blinds were the least of our worries last night,” you say nonchalantly, your fingers beginning to trace comforting patterns on her skin. “Somebody I know wasn’t very patient.”

She opens one eye to stare at you, a brow raising in question, but the way her smile softens in adoration doesn’t make you feel like you’re in much trouble. “So, it’s my fault is what I’m hearing?”

“I never said that,” you retort coyly. You flatten your palm against her skin, letting your hand linger as you make your way down to the curve of her hip. Azzi sighs, stretching out in a silent request for you to keep touching her. You’re all too happy to oblige, but you keep it cordial, not wanting to disturb the quiet intimacy of the morning. You also knew that KK and Paige were rooming together next door and they would never let you and Azzi live it down if they happened to overhear. Then, softly, as if confessing a secret, you whisper, “I might be equally to blame.”

Azzi giggles. “Oh, might be?” Her lashes tickle your collarbone when she peers up at you, doe eyes crinkling at the edges, the warm cocoa of her irises drawing you in until you’re sure you’re drowning in the best way possible. You hum. Your grin is wide and infectious. “‘Cause the way I’m remembering it, I think you were the main instigator.”

“Really?” you ask, faux-shock in your voice, as if Azzi had said something scandalous.

She nods with that soft, devious smile on her face, innocently plotting. Azzi shifts and throws a leg over your waist, adjusting until she’s straddling you fully. Her curls cascade down her chest, perfectly mussed, her eyes still gentle and sleepy, and truly, you can’t help the way you fall just a little more in love with her. Your hands come to rest on her bare hips to keep her in place as her hands find your shoulders. It’s honestly a little hard to keep your gaze respectful and on her face, but something tells you that Azzi finds your struggle amusing as she leans in just a little bit. Humming, she whispers, “You were. I was in the middle of getting another drink when you came up, put your hands on my waist, and…”

A smug grin takes over your features as she trails off, flushing as she remembers what you’d said to her. “What’d I do, Az?” you goad, relishing in the mock-annoyance that flashes in her eyes.

She rolls her eyes, leaning down to kiss you, although it doesn’t last nearly long enough. You make an attempt to chase after her but she presses you back into the pillows with her hands. Azzi clears her throat, her face twisting up as she imitates you. “You were all like, ‘you wanna go back to the room, baby?’” Her tone makes you snort as she deepens her voice comically, taking the heat out of her words. “‘I know you need it. Most Outstanding Player, huh? Know you want me to take care of you. Let me show you–’”

You laugh again, covering her mouth with one of your hands as you interrupt her. “Okay! Okay, I get it.” Your smile turns a little mischievous as you brush her hair away from her neck to appreciate your handiwork. “It worked, didn’t it? Got you into my bed and away from our drunk ass teammates.” Azzi swats your hand away, grinning as you let your hand fall to grip her waist again.

“You’re incorrigible,” she mutters.

“Can you blame me?” you ask, letting your gaze drop down, smiling to yourself. Your conversation is mostly banter, but your features soften when you truly take her in. You love her so much that you’re sure that’s the only thing you know most days. “I’m so lucky.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m naked and on top of you,” she retorts, but she’s grinning, the affection clear as day on her face.

“I’d say it if you were wearing a moldy trash bag,” you promise. “Although the whole being naked and on top of me thing is really nice, too. Should do it more often.”

She shakes her head, amused as she rolls off of you, returning her head to your chest. “And you just killed the mood.” You sigh in feigned defeat, scratching lightly at her scalp.

“My girl’s a national champion and the most outstanding player,” you mumble, mostly to yourself. “Guess I have to get better pick up lines.” That gives her pause. She doesn’t respond for a beat, and when you glance down to check on her, you find her staring into space, deep in thought with a soft little smile on her face. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, her tone easy. “We’re national champions.” She says that like it’s finally dawning on her. You knew you were winning the game at the end of the second quarter when Ashlynn sunk a three, beating the buzzer and giving the Huskies a ten point lead going into halftime. Then, that lead turned into twenty points by the end of the third. Twenty-three by the end of the fourth when the buzzer echoed. Knowing that you were winning the game feels a lot more different from knowing that you were national champions. It hadn’t sunk in for you at the afterparty, not when Paige was parading around with the net around her neck drunk off her ass. It hadn’t sunk in when you’d taken Azzi’s hat off of her head, twisting it backwards so you could kiss her without the hat brims hitting you both in the forehead. Still, the knowledge has yet to set in, even when you glance over at the desk, where you can see yours and Azzi’s pieces of the net tied together surrounded by blue and white confetti.

Maybe it sets in when you meet Azzi’s eyes, taking in the glimmering awe in her pupils and the way her face glows with excitement, a deep relief, and gratitude. Your girlfriend’s a national champion – so were you, but knowing that Azzi did it, that she won despite everything she’s been through, makes your throat tighten with emotion. Countless hours of healing, of enduring, of getting better led her here, and she’d capped off this tumultuous journey with twenty-four points against one of the toughest teams in the country. She was coming back to bring the 13th national championship to UConn. You’d be right there with her for your senior year.

You smile at her, your expression a little wobbly as you try not to cry from the knowledge that you’ve got everything you’ve ever wanted right in front of you. “We are,” you agree. You brush your fingers through her curls again, pressing your lips to her forehead. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m glad I got to do it with you,” Azzi murmurs, her smile just a little brighter.

Yours is crooked, softening the intensity of the moment with a bit of mischief as you ask, “Let’s do it again next season?”

Azzi grins, sticking out her pinky finger. You link yours with hers and you seal the promise with a deep, lingering kiss, one that makes you feel more like a winner than the cool metal of the trophy in your hands ever did.

Next season could wait. For now, you’re content to curl back up with Azzi, to ward off the rest of the day and enjoy the last remnants of this perfect morning.