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theetherealbloom · 6 months ago

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You Got Me So In Love, I've Never Been This Possessive

Summary: While on a scenic boat trip along the coasts of Malta, you bask in the crystal-clear waters, and laughter with Pedro’s cast and crew. Despite his injured arm keeping him on the boat, Pedro can’t keep his eyes off you.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Nudity, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Swimming, Bikini, Flirting, Teasing, Cast, Pedro Fell Down The Stairs, ER visit, Hurt-To-Comfort, Mild Spice, Banter, Idk Spanish so the terms might be wrong but I'm trying my best

Word Count: 5K

A/N: GOOD MORNING CHICKENS!!! Y’know how I said there would be a part two? Yup. Also, I know no one asked, but back in High School, I fell down the stairs… A LOT. Like every year for six years. No major bones were broken, only a sprained ankle every time I fell down the stairs, so in a way I guess I was lucky. PSA to always hold the hand railing, and like Pedro said, it can happen to anyone!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Te Quiero by KISS OF LIFE

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PASCAL RESIDENCE, CHILE — AFTERNOON

The sun bathed the Pascal family home in a golden glow, the air filled with the scent of freshly baked empanadas and the gentle hum of conversation. You were seated on the patio, your legs tucked under you, watching as Pedro animatedly retold a story from his teenage years. His siblings—Javiera, Lux, and Nicolás—listened with rapt attention, their laughter bubbling over when Pedro’s dad chimed in with his version of events, insisting Pedro had exaggerated again.

“Exaggerated?” Pedro placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “I would never! Everything I say is 100% true and scientifically proven.”

“Scientifically proven to be full of nonsense,” Nicolás teased, earning a round of laughter.

You couldn’t help but grin, soaking in the easy camaraderie of the family. Pedro’s hand found yours under the table, his fingers lacing with yours in a way that felt like second nature. He glanced at you, his dark eyes soft with a love so deep it made your chest tighten.

“Tell them,” Pedro said, turning to you with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “Tell them I’m not lying.”

You bit back a laugh, tilting your head in mock consideration. “Well… the story did sound a bit too good to be true.”

“Et tu, mi amor?” he groaned, but the corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

Javiera, ever the ringleader, stood and declared, “Enough storytelling! Let’s put her to the test. If she’s going to be part of this family, she needs to learn brisca.”

Pedro leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Fair warning: They’ll gang up on you.”

“Good thing I’ve got you on my side,” you murmured, a soft blush rising to your cheeks.

“I’ll always be on your side,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple that sent a shiver down your spine.

A FEW HOURS LATER…

The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the yard. Pedro had wandered inside to grab more drinks for everyone while you stayed on the patio with Lux, discussing her latest project.

The sound of a crash shattered the peaceful air. You froze, the glass in Lux’s hand slipping and shattering on the ground.

“Pedro!” you gasped, bolting toward the house.

Inside, you found him crumpled at the base of the stairs, his face pale and contorted in pain. Nicolás was already at his side, his hands hovering uncertainly as if afraid to make things worse.

“Call an ambulance!” you shouted, your voice shaking as you knelt beside Pedro.

He looked up at you, his breaths shallow and uneven. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” he said through gritted teeth, but his wince betrayed him.

“You’re not okay,” you said, your hands trembling as you gently brushed the hair from his forehead. “What happened?”

“I missed the last step,” he muttered, trying to manage a weak smile. “Guess I’m not as graceful as I thought.”

“Pedro, this isn’t funny,” you whispered, tears pricking your eyes.

Javiera appeared with the phone pressed to her ear, speaking rapidly to the emergency dispatcher. Lux crouched beside you, her face pale as she reached for Pedro’s uninjured hand.

“Help’s on the way,” Javiera assured you, her voice steady despite the panic in her eyes.

Minutes felt like hours as you waited for the ambulance. You kept your focus on Pedro, your hand gripping his tightly. “Just breathe, okay? I’m right here. You’re going to be fine.”

THE ER — EVENING

The antiseptic smell of the hospital hit you as you paced the waiting room, your heart pounding in your chest. Pedro had been whisked away for X-rays, and you felt helpless, the absence of his hand in yours leaving you cold.

When the doctor finally emerged, you rushed to meet him, Javiera and Nicolás close behind.

“Mr. Pascal has a broken arm,” the doctor explained. “It’s a clean break, but he’ll need surgery to set the bone properly. We’re scheduling it for late January.”

Relief and worry collided in your chest. “Can I see him?” you asked, your voice small.

The doctor nodded, and you followed the nurse to Pedro’s room. He was sitting up in bed, his arm in a temporary sling, his face pale but his smile still intact.

“Hey, troublemaker,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

You crossed the room in a few quick steps, perching on the edge of his bed. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” you said, your voice breaking as tears spilled over.

Pedro reached for your hand with his good arm, his thumb brushing soothing circles over your knuckles. “I’m sorry, mi amor,” he murmured, his eyes glistening.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his. “I thought… I thought something worse happened. I couldn’t breathe until I saw you.”

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice steady despite the pain. “And I’ll be fine. Especially with you by my side.”

You kissed him gently, pouring every ounce of love and relief into the touch. As his lips moved against yours, you felt the fear begin to fade, replaced by the overwhelming gratitude that he was still here with you.

“I’ll take care of you,” you promised, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Pedro smiled, his gaze tender. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said, brushing a tear from your cheek. “You deserve the world.”

And in that moment, surrounded by beeping monitors and the sterile walls of the hospital, it felt like nothing else mattered but the two of you.

FORT RICASOLI, MALTA — DAY

The sun was high over Fort Ricasoli, the Mediterranean breeze carrying a salty tang as waves crashed against the nearby shore. The reconstructed Roman Colosseum loomed grandly in the fort, its grandeur a perfect backdrop for the epic Gladiator II production. You stepped out of the transport van, sunglasses shielding your eyes from the bright Maltese sun, a bag slung over your shoulder filled with Pedro’s essentials—medication, snacks, and a cold water bottle you knew he’d try to avoid drinking unless reminded.

As you walked toward the set, Pedro spotted you first, his face lighting up in a way that made your heart ache with affection. He was seated in the shade near the makeup tent, his left arm encased in a royal blue cast that made him look both ridiculous and endearing.

“Hi,” you called, setting your bag down beside him. “I’m here to be your nurse.”

Pedro’s grin widened, his dark eyes softening. “You’re more than my nurse. You’re my lifesaver. And I love you so much.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his forehead. “How’s the arm?”

“It’s humiliating,” he muttered, holding up the cast as if it were a mark of disgrace. “Everyone keeps staring at it. Or laughing. Or both.”

“There’s nothing humiliating about needing help once in a while, my love,” you said gently, brushing a curl from his forehead. “Besides, it’s a great conversation starter.”

“Oh, yeah. Real smooth. ‘Hi, I’m Pedro Pascal, and I fell down a flight of stairs like a medieval jester.’”

You smothered a laugh just as Joseph Quinn sauntered by, pausing dramatically to give Pedro an exaggerated salute. “How’s the mighty warrior today? Still battling gravity, I see.”

“Go away,” Pedro groaned, waving his good arm dismissively.

“You’re a walking PSA now,” Fred Hechinger added as he passed. “Don’t text and walk down stairs, kids!”

Denzel Washington approached next, shaking his head with mock solemnity. “And here I thought I was the one who’d pull a stunt like that.”

“Traitors,” Pedro muttered, pulling you closer as if you could shield him from the teasing.

Coco, his ever-sassy hair stylist, smirked as she fixed his curls. “Just make sure she doesn’t trip over your ego next.”

“Coco!” Pedro whined, but his cheeks flushed, his pout making him look boyish and undeniably adorable.

Ridley Scott ambled over, his tone a mix of concern and exasperation. “Take it easy, Pedro. You’re not 25 anymore.”

“Gee, thanks, Ridley,” Pedro huffed, pulling you against him as if seeking comfort.

The day pressed on, the heat making Pedro’s clinginess somehow both unbearable and heart-meltingly sweet. Despite the steady teasing from the cast and crew, he stuck close to you like a second shadow whenever he wasn’t on set, his blue cast drawing as much attention as his ever-present pout.

During a break, he tugged at your hand, a soft whine slipping from his lips. “Go with me?”

You glanced up from the book you were pretending to read. “Go where?”

“Craft services,” he said, gesturing toward the shaded area where snacks and cold drinks awaited. “I’m starving, and I need moral support.”

“You literally just had a protein bar,” you teased, but stood anyway, slipping your hand into his.

“As long as you hold my hand,” you added with a smirk, letting him lead the way.

His good hand entwined with yours, his thumb brushing lazy circles over your skin as you walked. “You know I’m not letting go, right?”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Reaching the craft services tent, Pedro made a beeline for the iced lemonade, his cast making the process comically awkward. You reached over to help him hold the cup steady as he poured, ignoring the amused glances from the crew around you.

“I got it,” he insisted, though his pouty tone betrayed his frustration.

“Sure you do, Mr. Dexterity,” you teased. “Here, let me.”

As you steadied the cup, Paul Mescal appeared beside you, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. “What’s it like being Pedro’s personal assistant and cuddle therapist?”

Pedro narrowed his eyes, his body shifting slightly as if to shield you from Paul’s teasing. “She’s an angel,” he declared, his tone defensive. “Unlike all of you degenerates.”

Paul laughed, grabbing a handful of chips. “Touché.”

Connie Nielsen joined the growing group, her warm smile softening the teasing atmosphere. “An angel with the patience of a saint,” she agreed. “He’s lucky to have you.”

You squeezed Pedro’s hand, glancing up at him with a playful glint in your eye. “Oh, I know.”

Pedro leaned down, his voice low and sweet in your ear. “Remind me to buy you something shiny and expensive later.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” you whispered back, brushing a kiss to his cheek just as Coco walked by, her ever-present smirk firmly in place.

“Are we making out by the lemonade now?” she quipped, adjusting Pedro’s wig as she passed. “Just don’t knock over the drink dispenser, Casanova.”

Pedro groaned, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitching, betraying his amusement.

When Pedro was shooting, you stayed nearby, perched under an umbrella with a bottle of water and a timer set for his next dose of medication. He’d been restless all morning, constantly checking in between takes to make sure you were still there.

The moment the director called cut, Pedro scanned the area until his eyes landed on you. A small smile tugged at his lips as he made a beeline toward you, his costume slightly dusty from the action sequence.

“Hydrate,” you ordered the moment he reached you, holding out the water bottle.

He wrinkled his nose but took it, his good hand struggling to unscrew the cap. You wordlessly reached over to help, earning a sheepish look from him.

“You know,” he said after a long sip, “you’re bossier than Ridley.”

“You love it,” you countered, wiping the sweat from his brow with a small towel you’d tucked into your bag.

Pedro’s lips curved into a soft smile, his gaze lingering on you. “I do,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “A little too much.”

Your heart squeezed at the tenderness in his tone, and you reached up to brush a stray curl from his forehead. “Good. Now go back to work. Ridley’s glaring at us.”

He glanced over his shoulder, spotting the director gesturing for him to return. “Fine,” he grumbled, but not before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

As he walked back toward the set, Ridley shook his head, a faint smile on his face. “That woman of yours has you wrapped around her little finger.”

Pedro shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t I know it.”

THE XARA PALACE RELAIS & CHÂTEAUX, MALTA — EVENING

The day had taken its toll on both of you, but by the time you returned to the cozy luxury of the hotel suite, Pedro’s exhaustion only seemed to amplify his need for affection. As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, he flopped dramatically onto the small couch, casting a forlorn look your way.

“Come here,” he said, his good arm extended toward you like a lifeline.

You chuckled, slipping off your sandals. “I thought you were tired.”

“I am,” he replied, his lips twitching into a pout. “But I’ll sleep better if you’re right here.”

Shaking your head fondly, you joined him on the couch, only to be pulled down against his side the moment you were close enough.

“It’s too hot for this,” you teased, trying—and failing—to push against his firm hold.

“Don’t care,” Pedro murmured, nuzzling into the curve of your neck as if you were the only source of comfort in the world. “You make everything better.”

You sighed softly, your resolve melting as your fingers found their way into his curls. They were still slightly damp from his post-shoot shower, and you gently combed through them, marveling at how they always seemed to spring back into place.

“I think that’s the heatstroke talking,” you quipped, though your voice was warm with affection.

“No,” he said, his voice muffled against your skin. “That’s the love of my life talking.”

Your hand stilled for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you like a gentle wave. You pulled back slightly to look at him, but Pedro didn’t let you get far. His warm brown eyes met yours, brimming with sincerity that made your breath catch.

“You’re insufferable,” you said, though the tremor in your voice betrayed how deeply his words had affected you.

“And you’re perfect,” he countered, his tone so soft and certain it made your heart ache in the best way.

Your cheeks warmed, and you leaned down to press a tender kiss to his temple. “You’re lucky I love you,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his skin.

Pedro grinned, his good arm tightening around you as he pulled you even closer. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

For a while, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, the soft hum of the air conditioning blending with the distant sounds of the Maltese evening outside. Pedro’s breathing began to slow, his head resting heavily against your shoulder as he drifted off. His cast was awkwardly propped up on his chest, and you carefully adjusted a pillow beneath it, not wanting him to wake up sore.

As you gazed down at him, his face relaxed and peaceful in sleep, your heart swelled with a familiar ache—one born of overwhelming love. He might’ve been clingy and dramatic, prone to complaints about his cast and the heat, but he was also tender and selfless, with a way of making you feel like the most cherished person in the world.

You traced the curve of his jaw with the tips of your fingers, marveling at how even in his sleep, his hold on you never loosened. He was steady and constant in a way that made you feel safe, loved, and utterly at home.

He might’ve fallen down the stairs, but it felt like you were the one falling—deeper in love with him every single day.

Later that night, as the two of you lay tangled together in the king-sized bed, Pedro stirred, his voice groggy but laced with warmth.

“Are you still awake?”

“Barely,” you murmured, your head resting against his uninjured shoulder. “Why?”

He shifted slightly, his fingers grazing over your arm in lazy circles. “Just wanted to say… thank you.”

“For what?”

“For taking care of me. For putting up with me being clingy. For loving me even when I’m ridiculous,” he said, his voice soft but earnest.

You smiled in the darkness, pressing a kiss to his chest. “It’s not putting up with you, Pedro. It’s just loving you. And it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

His breath hitched, and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his words carrying the weight of unspoken emotion.

“You deserve everything,” you replied, your voice firm despite the tears prickling at your eyes.

Pedro’s arms tightened around you, and in that moment, the world outside the four walls of your suite seemed to fade away. There was only the two of you, tangled together in love and gratitude, the promise of another day together stretching out before you like a gift.

And as you drifted off to sleep, cradled in his embrace, you couldn’t imagine a place you’d rather be.

COASTS OF MALTA — MORNING

The morning sun bathed the harbor in a soft, golden glow as you and Pedro stepped onto the pristine deck of the yacht, greeted by the lively chatter of his castmates and the crew. The day promised adventure—an exploration of Malta’s dazzling coastlines, including the famed Blue Lagoon, Crystal Lagoon, and the secretive caves on Comino. The air smelled of salt and freedom, and the water, impossibly blue and inviting, stretched out like a gem-laden carpet before you.

Pedro lingered close to you, his blue cast slung in a casual sling, though it didn’t stop him from giving your hand a light squeeze. He leaned down, his voice low and teasing.

"Don’t get too excited," he murmured with a grin, his dark eyes gleaming. "You’ll make me look bad."

You bumped your shoulder into his, rolling your eyes. "I can’t help it if I’m more fun than you."

"More fun? Or more distracting?" His gaze flicked briefly to the bikini peeking out from your cover-up, his expression bordering on predatory before he quickly masked it with a playful smirk.

“Behave, Pascal,” you teased, your cheeks warming under his intense stare.

As the boat cruised toward its first stop, the Blue Lagoon, the mood was light and cheerful. Connie and Fred lounged near the bow, animatedly swapping stories with the crew, their laughter carrying over the soft sound of the waves. Coco flitted around like a hummingbird with her camera, capturing candid shots of the lively group. Near the railing, Paul was attempting to teach Denzel a ridiculous dance move, the two of them tripping over their own feet and causing more chaos than rhythm.

You stood near Pedro, feeling the sun’s warmth on your skin, the gentle breeze teasing at your cover-up. A playful grin spread across your face as you untied the knot at your waist, sliding the fabric off and tossing it onto a nearby lounge chair. The vibrant bikini beneath was perfectly chosen—bright and bold against your skin, hugging your curves in a way that made you feel confident and beautiful.

Pedro, seated comfortably in the shade with his injured arm resting on a cushion, froze mid-sip of his drink. His gaze locked onto you, his eyes darkening as they traced every inch of your form. Appreciation was clear in his expression, but it was the simmering heat in his stare that sent a thrill down your spine.

You stretched your arms over your head, feigning oblivion to his attention as you joined Coco and Paul in their antics. The movement made your waist curve just enough to draw a quiet groan from Pedro’s lips, which didn’t go unnoticed by Coco. She smirked, leaning down to whisper as she passed him.

“Subtle,” she teased, her voice dripping with amusement.

Pedro didn’t even attempt to hide his grin. His eyes stayed glued to you as he shrugged, unapologetic. “Can you blame me?”

Coco snorted. “Not one bit. But maybe cool it unless you want everyone else to notice how thirsty you are.”

“Let them,” Pedro muttered, mostly to himself. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he watched you laugh with Paul, the way your body moved under the bright sun making it nearly impossible for him to look away.

When you caught his eye and shot him a playful wink, his good hand flexed against the armrest of his chair, the urge to pull you back to him almost too strong to resist.

Later, as you leaned over the edge of the boat, peering down at the water with Paul pointing out fish, Pedro’s voice rumbled low behind you.

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

You turned to find him standing close, his cast resting awkwardly at his side. “I am. The water’s beautiful,” you said with a smile, but his eyes weren’t on the water.

“They’re not the only thing,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist.

Heat bloomed on your cheeks, but you couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips. “Pedro Pascal,” you teased, stepping closer. “Are you flirting with me on a boat in front of all your castmates?”

“Flirting?” He scoffed, his voice rich with amusement. “I’m just admiring. Can’t a man admire his girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend?” you repeated, arching a brow.

He smirked, leaning in just enough for his breath to ghost over your skin. “The girlfriend,” he corrected, his voice dropping into a tone that sent a shiver racing through you despite the heat.

You bit your lip, glancing around at the others, who were too distracted to notice the charged moment. “Behave yourself,” you whispered, though your heart raced at the way his good hand brushed lightly against your hip.

He grinned, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m trying, but you’re not making it easy, sweetheart.”

The way he said it, rough and low, had your stomach doing flips. The teasing sparkle in his eyes told you he knew exactly the effect he was having on you—and he wasn’t the least bit sorry about it.

When the boat anchored near the Blue Lagoon, you practically bounced with excitement. “I’m going in!”

Pedro chuckled as you grabbed your snorkeling gear, pausing to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Try not to miss me too much,” you teased before hopping off the boat with an elegant dive.

“Not possible,” he called after you, his voice tinged with laughter.

The water was cool and crystal clear, every ripple catching the sunlight like scattered diamonds. You swam alongside Coco and Paul, laughing as he tried to outswim everyone only to splash clumsily when Coco teased him about his lack of grace. Schools of fish darted around you, their silvery bodies glimmering in the lagoon’s shallows, and the thrill of the moment made you forget the world beyond the sparkling blue waters.

Pedro watched from the deck, his good hand cradling a drink as his cast rested on his lap. He smiled softly, his heart swelling at the sight of you. You were so effortlessly kind, so radiant, laughing and splashing with his friends as if you’d known them your whole life.

“She’s really something,” Ridley remarked as he joined Pedro at the shaded table.

“Don’t I know it,” Pedro replied, his voice warm with pride.

“She’s good for you,” Ridley said simply, his tone laced with a rare softness.

Pedro glanced at the director, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. She’s my soulmate.”

Later, you clambered back onto the boat, droplets of water clinging to your skin, sparkling in the sunlight as they traced lazy paths down your arms and legs. Your grin was infectious, the kind of radiant joy that could light up an entire room—or, in this case, the deck of the boat. Pedro’s eyes were glued to you, as though the rest of the world had faded into the background.

“Having fun?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement but warm with affection.

“The best,” you replied breathlessly, grabbing a towel and wringing out your hair. “You should’ve come in with us. The water is incredible.”

He raised his cast dramatically, pulling a mock grimace. “In case you forgot, I’m a bit handicapped here.”

“Oh, poor baby,” you teased, crouching beside him. You leaned in to press a playful kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering just long enough to make him sigh. “Next time, I’ll stay on the boat with you. We can sulk together.”

Pedro’s good hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer before you could stand. “Don’t you dare,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “Watching you have fun out there is the next best thing to being in the water myself.”

You arched a brow, motioning to your bikini with a teasing grin. “You mean you like the view.”

Pedro’s lips curved into a slow, devilish smirk. His mouth brushed your ear as he whispered, “I love the view.”

The heat of his words sent a shiver down your spine, making your cheeks flush. You swatted at his chest playfully before standing and tossing the towel over your shoulder. “Careful, Pascal. You’re not supposed to overheat with that cast on.”

The boat anchored near the caves on Comino, the turquoise water shimmering like liquid glass. Pedro waved you off with a mock sternness, insisting you go explore while he stayed behind.

“I’ll hold down the fort,” he said, settling back into his chair with a small smirk. “Don’t get lost in there.”

You rolled your eyes, blowing him a kiss before diving into the water with Paul and Fred. The group swam toward the darkened entrance of the caves, their laughter echoing off the limestone walls. Inside, the sunlight filtered through cracks, casting dancing patterns on the rocky surfaces.

Pedro, stuck on the boat, didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. His gaze followed you like a shadow, lingering on the curve of your body as you moved effortlessly through the water. Every so often, you glanced back at the boat, catching him watching you. He didn’t even pretend to look away, his expression soft, adoring, and entirely unguarded.

When you returned, dripping wet and exhilarated, you plopped down beside him with a dramatic sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“You’ve been staring at me all day,” you teased, your tone light but your heart pounding at the intensity of his attention.

Pedro turned his head slightly, brushing his lips against your temple. “Can you blame me?” he murmured. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You tilted your head to meet his gaze, your hand finding his on the armrest. “You’re laying it on thick today,” you joked, though your voice wavered just slightly.

“It’s the truth,” he countered simply, his thumb brushing across your knuckles.

Your moment was interrupted by Paul’s exaggerated wolf whistle from across the deck. “Get a room, you two!”

Fred chimed in with a loud groan. “Some of us are single and fragile!”

You laughed, your head falling back briefly before you turned to Pedro, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “They’re just jealous.”

“Damn right, they are,” Pedro said, leaning in close. “You’re all mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone was playful but sent your pulse racing nonetheless.

Later, as the boat rocked gently in the open waters, you sat on Pedro’s lap, his good arm wrapped securely around your waist. The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold.

“Pedro,” you said softly, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his thigh. “Can we stay like this forever?”

His eyes softened as he looked down at you, his smile tender. “I’d stay here with you forever if I could,” he replied, his voice filled with quiet certainty.

The weight of his words settled over you, grounding you in the moment. You bit your lip, leaning in closer until your noses brushed. “Please just kiss me already.”

Pedro didn’t need to be asked twice. His lips captured yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, full of unspoken promises and a depth of feeling that took your breath away. His hand splayed across your back, pulling you impossibly closer as the world around you seemed to disappear.

When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours, and he let out a soft laugh. “I think you might be my soulmate,” he said, his voice a mixture of awe and certainty.

Your eyes searched his, and for a moment, the noise of the others and the gentle lapping of the waves faded entirely. “I think you might be mine too,” you whispered, sealing the moment with another kiss.

Laughter and chatter echoed around you, the boat a hub of joy and togetherness, but for you and Pedro, time seemed to stand still. In his arms, surrounded by the beauty of Malta and the warmth of his love, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.

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babeyun · 7 months ago

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fool me three times... ✩ s.jy [m]

synopsis: you've come home late twice this week, and for the third time to be on jake's birthday is not as charming as they say. genre: established relationship, pwp (sigh...), angst/smut/tiny bit of fluff pairing: sim jaeyun x fem!reader word count: 3.3k rating: 18+. minors do not interact. warnings: swearing, angry?jake, mentions of jay (poor guy). petnames (baby..sir [free me!!!!]), mentions of voyeurism/3way. biting, spitting, a singular slap (below the belt), oral (f.rec), fingering (f.rec), squirting, degrading, no aftercare (but it's fine i promise) listen to: fallin' - dawn, pH-1 ; abyss - dawn ; meddle about - chase atlantic author's note: i wrote this on a whim, and i'm not entirely happy with it (smut is not my forte nor do i love writing it.) i'd originally planned to take one of my ideas out of the vault and write it in advance, but i got slammed with schoolwork. i am so, so tired as i write this note. happy birthday, jaeyun. i love u.

It's twelve-forty-two in the morning.

This is the third time this week that Jake finds himself sitting on the couch, alone in your shared apartment. He's turned all the lights off, legs crossed over one another as he checks his phone for the fifth time. Nothing.

He sighs inwardly, leaning further into the soft cushions of the couch. You'd picked this out together, and it was one of your favorite places to spend time together that wasn't your bedroom. The soft brown suede had seen the two of you in many situations – cuddling under a soft white blanket Jake's mom gave you for Christmas last year. Sharing a bowl of cereal because you were too lazy to get up and make your own, but you gladly stood up and refilled his bowl. Holding hands tightly when a scary scene came on the television, crashing on the couch after dancing around together to Fallin' by Dawn and pH-1.

Kissing like two desperate lovers, unable to even take your clothes off to fully feel each other's skin. This couch had seen you in every position imaginable, the cushion on the far right the usual place for your face if Jake was too excited to make it to the bedroom.

You were so busy these days. You hadn't had a date night in three weeks, hadn't had sex in two…and unfortunately – it's making him a little insane.

Recently…the couch had seen more and more of Jake, alone. Jake sitting alone, popcorn bowl in his lap as he waited for you to come home from work. Jake, laying down while wearing the oversized hoodie you'd worn the day before, engulfed in the soft grapefruit notes of your perfume. Jake, letting Layla up on the couch to snuggle with because he can't feel your warmth at that moment.

Jake, missing you.

He sighs again, flipping his phone over.

12:45AM.

No new messages from you, no missed calls. Just the soft sound of Abyss by Dawn.

Where have you gone? You were his best friend. His best friend wrapped gently in the sheets of his love, filled to the brim with his soft words and loving caresses. You were his best friend, his lover, his everything. He saw himself in you, his whole purpose was you.

"Shh, he's probably asleep." He hears your voice from the other side of the front door, before hearing you try to gently slide your key in the lock. His eyes widened, pressing pause on the song before bolting for the bedroom. He doesn't make it in time, the door opening and his ears picking up on a familiar laugh.

Jay.

"Jongseong, for the love of God." You grit, and Jake watches as the two of you carefully toe off your shoes, loads of bags in your hands as Jay snickers to himself, carefully tiptoeing to the kitchen in the dark. The hallway light illuminates the back of you, and you suddenly stiffen, lifting your head to meet Jake's eyes.

He scoffs inwardly, watching as you try to fumble with the lightswitch in the living room just as he slides into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He locks it, hearing you start an argument with Jay in the kitchen as you shut the front door.

Unfortunately, Jake only stews in his anger. He doesn't know why you're late today, but it seems Jay has your attention more than your boyfriend does. Your boyfriend of three years, pushed to the side the day before (and day of) his birthday for a friend you made through Jake.

Jake flips onto the bed, a frustrated groan from his lips as he hears the two of you rustling around in the kitchen. The fact that you haven't even come to the bedroom to let him know that you're home is even more infuriating, and Jake feels his throat start to burn as he holds back angry tears.

Jake had always been good at setting boundaries and putting feelings first, despite being somewhat of a more logical thinker. You were an incredibly emotional person, hidden behind layers of shitty relationships and hurtful friendships, was your tired heart trying to patch itself up. Jake knew that if it was him that did this – not texting you when he'd be home late, letting you agonize over your whereabouts, coming home with one of your friends in tow and giggling like they had some sort of secret…

You'd make a fucking scene.

But Jake can't bring himself to do that. Even in all his anger, his frustration…his hurt, he can't confront you like that. It's not fair, to either of you (or Jay, but who's talking about that guy right now? Not Jake.)

He takes a deep breath, feeling a tear slip down the side of his face. He wipes it away quickly, only standing up from the bed to unlock the door. He takes your hoodie off, the grapefruit perfume making his chest ache. He knows you could just be planning a surprise for him. He knows that, but his mind can't help but wonder as he pulls back the comforter.

Why three late nights, in one week? Why no messages, why no phone calls? You wouldn't even kiss him hello when you arrived, just a tired smile and a soft hey. Your hair was always in disarray, and he knew it was because you liked to drive with the windows down. He knew that.

Sighing, he slips under the covers, facing away from the door. He hears you laugh loudly, before hearing your soft footsteps make their way to the bedroom. He wipes at his eyes, feeling a few more tears trickle down his fingers as he hears the door open gently.

He doesn't turn to face you, instead choosing to squeeze his eyes shut when he hears you sigh gently.

"I know you're awake." You murmur, but he doesn't respond. He doesn't turn around, choosing to breathe through his mouth to hide the fact that your behavior drove him to tears. You click your tongue, and he hears the zipper of your pants. You're moving around, undressing from the pretty pink blouse and grey slacks he chose for you that morning.

He pulls the covers up further, covering his bare shoulders before feeling your hand on the back of his neck. Your fingertips are warm, your thumb gently circling his pulse point. "Jake." "What?" He mutters, the bite of his tone not going unnoticed. You sigh, and he peels open one eye to look up at you. "What, Y/N?" He sees your eyes scan his face, before your hand on his neck gives a soft squeeze. "I love you." He doesn't like how quickly the knot in his stomach goes away at your words, or the way you can tell his cheeks and ears are tinging pink. He scoffs, closing his eye and moving from your touch. "I love you, too. Keep it down."

"Mmh." You hum in response, but he feels your hand card through his hair. He huffs, before feeling your lips press gently on his temple. "I miss you, my baby." You say against his skin, and pull away entirely. He hears you open his dresser drawer, and the rustling of his clothing being pulled onto your body. He opens his eyes to see you tug on a random shirt of his, pulling your hair out of the neckline before opening the door.

"Y/N, where is your butter?!" Jay calls, and you quickly shut the door, scampering down the hall.

He can hear the two of you bickering before you groan frustratedly, and he can hear Jay say he's going to the store. You argue that you don't even really need the butter for the cake, but Jay's words take Jake by surprise.

"Maybe go spend some time with him while I'm out of here. You know, I love you because you're my friend, but you're really dense today. Sometimes your boyfriend just needs you."

You didn't reply, or at least Jake doesn't think you did as he hears the door open and close. He hears you groan, and he's out of bed before he can even realize it. He grabs the hoodie back off the top of the dresser, shoving his head through it before yanking the door open.

"Y/N." He calls from the threshold of the bedroom, and you poke your head out of the kitchen. Your eyes are wide, but he can see how tired you are by the bags under your eyes. You probably took it off during your overtime, you'd been doing that a lot lately.

He sighs, closing the bedroom door behind him as he walks towards the kitchen. You step out, shaking your head. "You can't go in there, Jake. I'm…we…" "I'm just going to get the butter for you." He rolls his eyes, pushing past and looking away from all the stuff on the counter – but not before catching a glimpse of baby blue frosting in a bag. There were egg cartons stacked neatly, and three gallons of milk. Too many bags of flour to count, and Jake opens the freezer to pull out the butter he'd put up there earlier.

He'd gone grocery shopping by himself, because you weren't able to get off work. He wasn't upset about it, but he remembers you liked to freeze the butter until you had to use it. He doesn't remember why, but the habit stuck with him.

Just like all of your other little habits.

Your eyes are wide as he slides it onto the island, before worming back out of the kitchen. He doesn't say anything to you, only slinking past your tired shoulders when you manage to grab his fingers. He stops in his tracks, sighing as you skirt around to face him. He looks down at you, a tense clench in his jaw as he moves his brows in query.

"Don't be mad." You breathe, both your hands now holding his wrist and fingers. Your eyes search his face, finding the anger in the twitch of his brows before he shakes his head. "I'm not. I'm just tired." "I'm tired too, but I'm not looking at you like that." Jake feels his head swim as he takes in the tinge of guilt in your voice. He knows you're trying to do something nice for him, even if you're shitty at keeping secrets. He knows you're not doing anything to hurt him, you just have a horrible way of executing things.

He appreciates you nonetheless, because he knows that you're trying your best. Your schedule is jam-packed – your days are long and frustrating, full of people that need your help constantly, full of you having to make decisions for everyone else.

Jake being someone who values quality time clashed with that. He remembers how he'd squeeze in seeing you during your lunch break when you first started dating, just to have a moment alone. He remembers even waking up early to drive to your old apartment and sit in your bedroom while you got ready for work, just for a chance to give you a good morning kiss.

He made time. You're making time.

"I'm sorry." You speak again, your hands squeezing his arm lightly. "Yeah?" He shakes his head, but you nod quickly, your hands floating to his face.

"I am, I'm sorry. I know I should be–" "Prove it." He cuts you off, his face just inches from yours. Your eyes are glued to his lips, before they flicker up to his. He furrows his eyebrows at you expectantly, your tongue wetting your own lips just slightly. "How?" "You know how." His response is curt, and you swallow hard. "...Can I kiss you?" He doesn't respond, opting to answer physically. His lips press to yours gently, hands snaking around your waist to pull you closer to him. He craved your presence, in any way he could have it. He feels you sigh into his mouth as his fingers slip under your shirt, pinching at the soft skin.

"Bedroom." You mumble against his lips, and he shakes his head. "Right here." His lips move down your jaw, before his teeth catch your earring, tugging it gently. You groan as his hands move under your sweatpants, palming at your ass as you struggle to speak. "Jay-" He growls against your neck, his teeth nipping at the skin before running his tongue over it. "I don't give a shit about Jay. We can give him a show if he wants to watch."

He reconnects your lips, tongue sliding into your mouth as he moves the two of you back to the couch. His fingers push your sweatpants down as the back of your legs hit the cushion, and you look over at the door, seeing it slightly ajar and unlocked. "The door–" "Fuck the door." He groans, tugging your underwear down in one go. He pushes you gently back against the couch before kneeling in front of you, tugging the clothing off your bottom half before yanking you closer to him by your ankle. You yelp before feeling him bite at your inner thigh. "Jake!" "That's for being late on Monday." He mutters, before sinking his teeth into your other thigh, a whimper from your throat catching his attention. "That's for being late on Thursday." "I'm sorry, I was just–" "I don't want to hear it." He interrupts, shrugging. He lowers his head again, watching you brace yourself for the sharp pain of his teeth, smiling to himself before spitting on your pussy. You jolt, but can't say anything as he quickly drags his tongue through your slit. He laps at you like a dog, messily collecting your arousal on his tongue as you breathe heavily.

His nose bumps your clit as he avoids touching it with his tongue entirely, opting to thrust the wet muscle into your hole as you whine his name out desperately. "J-Jake, please, I'm sorry–" He pulls away, his lips and chin covered in your slick as he runs the tips of his cold fingers through your folds. "You know, you could've texted me."

You shudder as his thumb makes contact with your clit, the pressure light as he circles it. "I know, Jakey, I'm–" "Or called. I paid the phone bill, and I got the confirmation email. Your phone works." He interjects, nodding his head as he eases the tip of his middle finger into you, smiling to himself as your head lolls back. "I'm sorry." You breathe out, Jake's finger curling inside you to brush that spot that makes your eyes roll. He only hums in response, feeling you cover his hand in your arousal as he slowly adds another finger, relishing in the wet sound of your pussy against his hand. "You're going to prove it to me, right? Gonna cum all over my hand, right? That's all you're good for, anyway." His tone is condescending, making you clench around his fingers. His eyes widen, before a low chuckle slips through his lips. "You like that? Being nothing but a hole for me to use?" You whimper, hiding your face in your hands as your hips meet Jake's fingers, only for his hand to slip out and land a sharp smack against your clit. You gasp, your legs threatening to close as Jake bullies his shoulders between them, his fingers slipping back into you with practiced ease.

"You can't call, you can't text, and now you can't speak. Forgive me for thinking your brain would work for anything." He rolls his eyes, feeling his cheeks flush at his own words. The two of you had never explored this, only sweet nothings and soft praises expressed between you, even a soft slut thrown in if the night was especially raunchy.

"I'm sorry, Jake, I'm sorry." Your thighs are trembling on his shoulders, and he scoffs against your skin. "Yeah, yeah."

He lowers his head, lips latching onto your swollen clit. His eyes flutter shut at the taste of you, his knees weak at the idea of having gone so long without it. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he curls his own upwards, the tug of yours making him moan into your wet cunt. Soft gasps of don't stop hitting his ears, and he knows he should be upset at you but it would take an entire army to pry him off you at that moment.

He feels you clamp down on his fingers, your back arching off the couch as he feels your release soak his face and hoodie, dripping down his fingers onto the carpet. He slurps at you eagerly, his fingers overstimulating you as you try to pull him away by his hair. "J-Jake, s'too much…" You trail off, not able to finish your sentence as he tongues at your clit with vigor, your thighs clamping shut around him. "One more, c'mon. One more, show me how sorry you are."

He hears you cry his name out softly, eyes looking up to see your head thrown back against the couch, chest moving up in shallow breaths. He kisses up your stomach, nipping as he moves up, his fingers never slowing their pace as he pushes your shirt up with his free hand, cool fingers palming at your chest. His fingers gently toy with your nipple, a soft groan from you as your thighs start to shake a bit harder.

"You're sorry, right?" He lifts himself to meet your face, your eyes glistening with unshed tears as you nod. "You'll call or text when you're going to be late, right, angel?" "Yes." You whisper as his lips ghost over yours. "Yes, what?" "Yes, sir." Your eyes flutter shut, and he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Open."

Your lips part with a pathetic whimper of his name, before he gracefully spits onto your tongue. His lips press to yours quickly, suppressing your moans as his fingers pick up their pace, feeling your release drip all over his hand and the couch. "I love you, okay? I just get worried." His mumbles are soft in comparison to the degrading words he'd said earlier, and you can't bring yourself to speak back as you nod against his lips. You kiss him back slowly, putting all your energy into it. "I'm sorry." "It's okay. Are you okay? Let me get a towel, okay?"

You shake your head, carding your fingers through his hair and holding him close. His fingers slip out of you, a dull ache between your thighs as he taps your knee. "Baby, c'mon." "Please." You murmur against his lips, and he feels a flustered smile taking over as he shakes his head. "Jay'll be back soon–"

"Oh, come on." Jay's voice rings through the air, and Jake looks up to see the guy covering his eyes as he runs into the kitchen. Jake's ears burn in embarrassment, only to feel you tug on the sleeve of his hoodie. "Please, Jakey." "Jay–" "You said you didn't care earlier. Why do you care now?" You pout, canting your hips against the tent in his shorts, watching his eyes flutter shut and his lip tucked between his teeth. "You're so–" "Can you guys please take it elsewhere?" Jay whines from the kitchen, and you snort. Jake sighs inwardly, awkwardly rooting around for your sweatpants before finding them just beneath him, entirely soaked.

"Fuck." He shoves the material up your legs anyway, before wrapping your legs around his waist, lifting you up carefully as Jay peeks out the kitchen. "I assume I'm in here alone for the rest of the night?" You smile at him over Jake's shoulder, "Unless you want to join."

Jake stops, looking over his shoulder at one of his oldest friends. Jay's face looks a bit conflicted, his brows furrowed but cheeks pink with embarrassment. Jake's throat clearing garners the older man's attention, a small smile on Jake's lips.

"You wouldn't say no to your best friend on his birthday, would you?"

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katnipp · 1 month ago

Note

Hey. Can I request fluff with Lara where she crashes y/n’s stream on twitch and the viewers find out they’re dating? Thanks

YOU GUYS?!?— lara raj

genre: FLUFF FINALLY

synopsis: when lara raj crashes her girlfriend y/n’s twitch stream, the internet finds out they’re dating—and instantly falls in love with them, too

warnings: NONE I THINK

—

y/n was deep into her third hour of streaming—halfway through a competitive valorant match, hyper-focused, mic on, chat going wild every time she pulled off a clean headshot. she was in the zone, which meant she didn’t notice the soft sound of her bedroom door opening, or the quiet steps behind her.

she did, however, notice the sudden warmth of someone wrapping their arms around her shoulders.

“you’ve been ignoring me for two hours,” came the familiar, teasing voice—sweet and laced with just enough mock offense to make y/n’s heart skip. “are you cheating on me with valorant again?”

and just like that, y/n went absolutely still.

her mouse hand froze, her screen character got immediately sniped, and her chat—oh, her chat—exploded.

chat:

WHO SAID THAT??

“cheating on me”??? HELLO???

WHO IS SHE

SHOW HER FACE Y/N STOP HIDING HER

THAT’S LARA.

LARA RAJ.

CHAT. I’M FREAKING OUT.

“lara…” y/n groaned under her breath, spinning in her gaming chair to face the grinning girl now very much in frame.

lara raj—international pop star, one-seventh of katseye, and y/n’s absolutely smug girlfriend—was looking entirely too cozy in y/n’s hoodie. her hair was in a bun, her cheeks soft and flushed from sleep, and she looked at y/n like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“hi, chat,” lara said sweetly, resting her chin on y/n’s head and giving a tiny, mischievous wave. “i’m the neglected girlfriend. she’s been ghosting me for pixels.”

chat:

LMAOOOO NOT “neglected girlfriend”

I KNEW THERE WAS SOMETHING GOING ON

GUYS THEY’RE LITERALLY DATING

THIS IS NOT A DRILL

y/n covered her face with both hands. “lara, i haven’t posted anything yet. they didn’t know!”

lara blinked. “oh.”

then she smiled.

that smile. the one that always got y/n into trouble.

“oops,” lara said, very much not sorry. “guess they know now.”

chat:

THE SMIRK

ma’am you can’t just SOFT LAUNCH YOURSELF

i feel like i walked in on something sacred

y’all are so cute i’m crying???

y/n peeked through her fingers and gave lara a long look. “you did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

lara had the audacity to laugh and kiss her on the temple. “you were too cute not to interrupt.”

y/n was pink to her ears now, and the stream delay meant there was no salvaging this.

“fine,” y/n muttered, defeated, but her lips were curling into a smile anyway. she looked at the camera. “this is lara. yes, that lara. we’ve been dating for a while. i was gonna tell you guys… eventually.”

lara leaned closer to the mic, still snuggled against her. “she wrote me a song on stream once and told you it was for a ‘friend.’ that was me.”

chat:

AHHHHH

NOT THE SONG

I LISTEN TO THAT EVERY NIGHT

I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU GUYS

can lara do the ‘gf reveal’ dance now pls

y/n gave her an exasperated look. “you happy now?”

lara kissed her cheek, then down to her jaw in a way that made y/n squeak. “very.”

chat:

girl is SMITTEN

drop the couple playlist. drop the pet names. DROP IT ALL.

y/n sighed. “fine. you want more? she calls me ‘honeybun’ when she’s sleepy and once texted me mid-concert just to say she missed me.”

lara grinned. “she keeps a photo of us in her wallet. printed. like it’s 2003.”

“you made me print that,” y/n shot back.

“and you did it.”

chat:

this is literally the best stream i’ve ever watched

i’m naming my future child after this moment

⸻

after the stream ended (with lara refusing to let y/n finish her match and pulling her to the couch for a cuddle instead), y/n’s notifications exploded with edits, fan art, and sweet messages.

and later that night, under a shared blanket with lara curled into her side, y/n scrolled through them all—heart swelling at how loved they felt, both by the person next to them and the chaotic little corner of the internet that now knew the truth.

sophia:

just wait until i catch you guys…

—

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pushingitdown-andpraying · 5 months ago

Text

Mind of Mine // i just want to watch you take it off - joel miller

Joel Miller x female! reader

read on AO3 here.

summary; "You got 'nother one, sugar?"

Joel knows exactly how to get you wetter than ever. or this is the work you get when the author listens to the song 'TiO' off of the album 'Mind Of Mine' on repeat. for five hours.

warnings; smut (MDNI); unprotected p in v; oral (f receiving); mostly soft!joel; actually all soft!joel, so much praise

word count; 1.3k (it's my first joel fic, ok?)

You’re swaying to the music while Joel’s behind you, cooking as always.

He usually ignores you – not because you’re necessarily a distraction – but instead, because giving you the attention you crave doesn’t end well. For either of you. Last time he gave you attention, your wrists were secured to the headboard as he fucked your brains out, giving you too many orgasms to count and forgetting about the food.

Oops.

You live to be a tease, though.

It excites you too much to stop.

Mainly because it lets him plan how he’s going to punish you. Or praise you.

Whichever he’s in the mood for.

Based on his current mood – which is subject to change – he’s most definitely going to praise you.

And after the day you’ve had, it’s definitely what you need. Working for a publishing house can be stressful. And today was one of those days.

Good thing Joel loves to make you feel light – weightless, actually.

Not to mention how safe you feel. And when you feel safe, the softer side comes out.

Like all relationships, you just need to feel safe to show it.

“Darlin’,” his rough, Southern drawl interrupts your music, and you turn it off.

“Yes?” you ask, teasingly. Trying to rile him up.

But you never succeed. He knows you too well for that.

Turning away and holding a hand out, he murmurs a simple, “C’mere.”

So, you take it, letting him drag you and lift you up – right into his arms. Bridal style, of course.

You groan as your thighs clench, trying to hide your soaked cunt.

“Poor baby,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead.

“Fuck off,” you mutter while he carries you to the bedroom. Since he insists, he needs his fill of you before he can think about anything else – or dessert, as he likes to call it.

He kicks the door open and lays you down, playing with the hem of your skirt.

Your hips buck into his touch. He’s teasing you – you realize.

“Joel,” you moan as he hooks his fingers into your waistband, pulling your skirt down, and revealing the soaked black lace covering your cunt.

He pulls the lace aside, running his fingers against your swollen pussy, and he groans deep in his throat. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, pretty girl.”

Your brain goes blank as his index and middle finger both sink inside you, curling towards your g-spot.

“Fuck, sir.”

“N’ne of that sir shit tonight, baby.” He grabs your ankles, placing them on his shoulders as he sinks to his knees and licks a stripe up to your swollen - and aching - clit.

Your head falls back as your eyes roll into the back out your head. “Fuckk.”

You’re so close. If he would just curl his fingers against your g-spot just one more time, you’d be there.

He lets out a gruff chuckle that reverberates though your body as his other hand finds you shirt, pushing it up to find your nipple, pinching it.

That sends you over the edge. “Fuck, Joel,” you moan as the orgasm hits, crashing you into waves with each one more intense than the one before it.

His tongue doesn’t stop lapping at your clit even as you try to buck him off. “I can’t. I can’t- “

He cuts you off before you can repeat it again, “You can and will give me ‘nother one, sweetheart.”

“Fuck,” you groan as he pulls his fingers out, thrusting them back in while your back arches.

In. Out. In. Out. Your fingers curl into the sheets.

His fingers thrust faster as your thighs start to wrap around his head, trying to keep him there.

The second orgasm is faster than the first. You let out a silent scream as the waves rush into you for the second time in less than ten minutes.

“Good – fuck – good fuckin’ girl,” he groans, his tongue still swirling around your clit as the waves subside.

The strength from earlier leaves you almost immediately, making your legs fall. You’re boneless, but you also know he fucks you regardless of just how boneless you feel.

“You got ‘nother one for me, sugar?”

He slowly pulls his fingers out of you and brings them up to your mouth, “Taste yourself.”

You happily oblige, opening your mouth to take his fingers and tasting your cum mixed with his skin in a fucked up symphony.

His groan reverberates off the walls as you suck on his fingers – the same way you always have his cock. That’s when he starts to pull your panties down your legs, giving him better access.

Since that’s what this is all about, of course. And better access usually means better orgasms.

Speak of the devil – that shit must hurt. He looks painfully hard.

He interrupts your staring. “You like what you see?”

You slowly start to nod, but he slowly pulls his hand away, fingers leaving with a pop.

He leans down towards you, as you lean up and play with the hem of his shirt before you decide to pull it off.

Next is his belt as you hurry and rip it off, trying to get to his jeans.

“Woah,” he lets out a low chuckle, “’u’re a feisty one tonight, aren’t ya, beautiful?”

“No,” you whine as he starts to stop your frantic hands. “Just need you,”

“Where ya need me?”

“You know where,” you sass with everything you can muster.

“Need to hear ya say it, baby.”

“Fuck,” you moan as his jeans lightly graze your cunt. “Need you in me – fuck – now.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, pulling his jeans and boxers down – as fast as he can. “’U’re g’nna be the death of me, pretty girl.”

“I – fuck –“ His thrust cuts you off as he bottoms out. “I live to please.”

“So I can tell,” is the hiss you get back while he waits for you to adjust.

“Move already,” you whine before you can stop yourself. “Break me for all I – fuck –care.”

He slowly finds the pace you’re accustomed to – hard and fast.

“Look at ‘cha. You’re takin’ me so well.”

Your cunt clenches around him as he continues. “Aw, does my good girl need to be reminded of how good she feels?”

“You-“ you start, “you keep doing that and I’ll finish faster than I ever have.”

“Good girl,” he purrs. “Is that a promise?”

“B-better be,” you stutter as his thumb finds your clit. Again.

“Fuck.” Your head falls back again. Everything is sensitive.

You’re not even expecting the orgasm when it washes over you.

“Good – fuck. You’re such a good girl f’r me, sugar,” he praises, not taking his thumb away.

“Fuck.” It’s somewhere between a moan and groan. “Fuck, everything’s so sensitive.” Now that’s definitely a groan.

He ignores you, continuing his praise. “Fuck. Good girl. God, Good fuckin’ girl.”

You softly whine as he slowly speeds his pace up, trying to find his own orgasm.

After more futile moans, whimpers, and whatever else he can pull out of you.

“Fuck, you’re g’nna make me cum so fuckin’ fast, pretty girl. Goddamn-“ And that’s when you feel his orgasm crash into him – violent and unforgiving.

The orgasm lasts so long that neither one of you can keep up with how much time has passed. It isn’t until he flips you two over, so you’re on top and he’s not crushing you, that you know it’s done.

“Fuck,” you softly laugh, pressing your ear to his chest and listening to his heartbeat as he holds you tightly. You kiss his chest while he hums.

“Poor baby,” he murmurs kissing your forehead, “u’re all fucked out, aren’t ya?”

“Maybe,” you tease while he gives you a look.

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.”

Eventually, after Joel made sure you were okay in every aspect, you two make your way back into the kitchen, attempting to get your appetite back after all that.

You’re standing behind him with your head laying on his back when you murmur, “I love you forever and always, baby.”

You can hear the soft smile in his voice when he says, “I love you more than anything else, darlin’.”

#joel miller smut #joel miller #ao3 fanfic #smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x f!reader #dom!joel miller #praise k!nk #reader insert #soft!joel miller #inspired by a song

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justwinginglife · 2 months ago

Text

The LADS Men As Drivers

Caleb

Caleb is a road rager but he’s subtle about it. He’ll squeeze your thigh reassuringly, flash that dazzling smile, and then point to a peculiar cloud in the sky and ask you to guess what he thinks it looks like. He passes it off like it’s just a fun, little road trip game that he wants to play, but really, he’s distracting you so you don’t see him cut off the asshole in the truck and then make the most menacing eye contact with the driver that a human can possibly make as he passes by them. Then he resumes his smiley self shortly after, with you none the wiser. If you somehow manage to discern the slight increase in speed and ask him about it, he’ll simply say he was speeding up to get you a better view of the clouds you were so preciously naming for him.

He definitely loads the car up with lots of snacks before a big road trip and STILL gets you more snacks whenever he needs to stop at a gas station because he loves spoiling you and stuffing you full. And speaking of gas, it’s a while before he has to load up because he already filled up the car the day before the trip so he was immediately ready to go. He’s excited for any time he can get with you; he’s not going to let a low tank ruin that.

If the car gets a flat, you can be sure he’s replacing it himself. You’re not lifting a finger. And if the car needs fixing, you best believe he’ll be splayed out beneath it in an instant, examining all its parts with a keen eye, and in no time at all, it’s good as new. Sometimes you fake that your car needs fixing just to see him all greased up with oil, muscles tense as he cranks away with his tools.

He definitely lets you pick whatever channel you want on the radio. And when you get tired of listening to ads, he passes you his phone and the aux, and reveals he’s already made a playlist for you with all your favorite songs on it. You didn’t even know you had that many songs you liked, but little do you know, every time you even somewhat enjoyed a song, even if you didn’t say you liked it aloud, even if it was just a bop of your head or a swaying of your hips to show you enjoyed it, he’d already saved the song. He can’t have his princess getting bored. Hell, he’s even got all the lyrics to your favorite songs memorized so he can enjoy himself with you.

On a rare occasion, if he somehow gets into a car accident (in which case it’s definitely the other driver’s fault, not his; dude can pilot a plane, there’s no way he’s fucking up a car ride, and especially not when you’re in it), he’s very respectful and responsible about exchanging information with the other involved party, but inside, he’s slowly seething that they had the audacity to crash into him with you in the car. Don’t they know you’re precious cargo?

************************************************************************

Rafayel

Rafayel is a road rager as well, but unlike Caleb, he has no poker face. Or poker mouth. He’ll go on and on about how “they wouldn’t know what a turn signal was even if it got crammed up their butt” and then he’ll call Thomas to continue whining about it. He probably even has their license plate number to give to Thomas. Thomas has no idea what the fuck he is supposed to do with this information but he has to come up with something to satisfy Raf.

He’s definitely the type to roast what someone’s car looks like. “Who thought that shade of bright yellow was a good idea on a rusty, tin bucket like that?” “I hope they didn’t pay a lot of money for that custom license plate because then they’d be stupid and broke.” “Do you think their windows are so ridiculously tinted that they can’t see my eyes rolling? Because that’d be a shame.”

He definitely over uses his horn even if he’s in the wrong. He also never thinks he’s in the wrong. If he hits a curb, it’s the curb’s fault for being there.

He also makes up traffic laws that only apply to him. Like how he’s allowed to go 20 over the speed limit if he’s trying to get a good view of the sunset so he can paint it before it goes down.

He usually lets you be the passenger princess, but when you do drive, he just gazes at you lovingly, tucking the hair away from your face so you can drive safely. He’ll even sketch the way you look so he can immortalize the picture of you smiling as the sun streams in through the window. If you get bored while you’re driving, he’ll entertain you by telling you stories or by describing the scenery on his side of the window. Sometimes, he’ll even combine the two. “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess. One day, she went into town and she met an…upside down scarecrow.”

“An…upside down scarecrow?”

“I think someone’s scarecrow just got blown over in the wind. I thought it’d make for a compelling plot point.”

If the weather is bad, he insists on driving. He knows it stresses you out to drive when you can’t see clearly. If you’re at work and the weather is bad, he’ll pick you up. If he’s away on a trip but he knows you’re driving through a storm, he’ll keep you company on the phone to make sure you get home safe. “Just focus on the sound of my voice. Imagine that there’s a big rainbow waiting for you at the end of this storm. It’ll paint the skies in beautiful, bright colors, and you’ll forget there ever was a storm. Just keep talking to me until it passes. Can you do that for me, cutie? You’re almost home, you can do this. And when I get back, maybe we can go look for whatever is at the end of that rainbow, yeah?”

He teased you the first time you got in his car and kept adjusting the settings on his passenger seat, a little higher up, a little lower down, a little farther back, a little farther forward, until it was just right for you, “What are you, Goldilocks?” But once you decided on the most comfortable position to keep the chair in, he didn’t let anyone mess with it from then on. If Thomas or anyone else got in his car and tried to adjust the settings to their liking, he’d tell them to suffer or get in the backseat. He wants you to rely on him more, he wants to be able to pick you up from work or take you out on spontaneous drives, and he can’t do that if you’re uncomfortable in his car, constantly trying to adjust it to the way it was before.

************************************************************************

Sylus

Sylus is a fantastic driver. He has to be; he has a million vehicles at his disposal. And sometimes he needs a speedy getaway.

He definitely knows all the shortcuts and speed traps. And he smoothly weaves in and out of traffic whether he’s on a bike or in a car. He loves when you fall asleep in his passenger seat because he knows it means you trust him to get you home safely and he’s happy he can provide that comfort for you.

He also travels for work, so he has the traffic laws for multiple countries memorized. Just because he’s not a law-abiding citizen doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to fly under the radar as one, should he wish it. He even knows the languages of the countries he frequents so he can read the street signs with ease and smooth talk his way out of a ticket if a cop decides to pull him over (not that he couldn’t just pay the ticket a million times over in any currency, but he likes to appear unassuming- or as unassuming as one with his height and build can be). He doesn’t draw attention to himself if he doesn’t need to.

That being said, he does love to speed. It reminds him of flying, with the wind flush against him, and the hum of his bike as calming as the beating of his wings. And now that you’ve begun riding with him, pointing out every mountain and valley and river with nothing less than awe and excitement in your voice at every twist and turn, he’s begun to realize he also loves the way the scenery melts all around him like one, big, oil painting that’s just for his and your viewing as you chase the horizon together. He’s even begun to take the scenic routes more frequently on purpose, just to give you something to smile at. Of course, he’ll deny it if you accuse him of taking the long way just to make you happy. He’ll say something stoic like, “I simply had the time to kill and the means to kill it.” But when you thank him and rest your head on his shoulder as you watch the cherry blossom trees fly by, his heartbeat thunders louder than the motor on his bike.

Sylus doesn’t see the point -or maybe he just doesn’t really understand- how roadtrip games work, but he shakes his head and gives you a small smile, as he agrees to a million rounds of “I Spy” just because he can’t get enough of the way your eyes light up with glee when you correctly guess what he’s thinking of. Or maybe he’s just amused that such a small thing can bring you such joy.

Sylus has ONE car that he puts all the stickers you give him on. He can’t very well be driving around town, going to meet his high end associates and business partners, with multiple, doe-eyed crow stickers all over his windows and bumpers, now can he? But he also can’t throw away something you gave him, so what does he do? He deposits them all on one car and uses that car to drive you around, smiling to himself when you’re swinging your feet all cutesy and happy in his passenger seat as you busy yourself examining all the stickers to make sure they’re in tip-top condition.

************************************************************************

Zayne

Zayne is such a safe driver that you sometimes accuse him of secretly being a grandma in disguise. He won’t start driving until he knows you’re seatbelted and if you jokingly refuse to put the seat belt on yourself, he will do it for you. He’s not leaving the driveway until he knows you’re safe.

Zayne almost always goes the speed limit and on the rare occasion when he does speed, it’s only for emergencies at the hospital; even then, he only just barely goes over the speed limit. Even if he’s in a rush, he’s as careful as can be because he doesn’t want to cause an accident that will land yet another patient in his operating room. And if you’re in the car? He wouldn’t dare speed and risk your life. Plus, he’d be embarrassed if he got a ticket in front of you anyway; you’d never let him live it down. Breaking News: Grandma Zayne got pulled over for going 5 over the speed limit.

There is one rule that he will break when driving though. He definitely eats while he’s driving, especially if it’s sweets. He tries to save the snacking for red lights and traffic jams, but sometimes the fresh box of pastries on his passenger seat is just too tempting for him to wait any longer. It’s lucky that as a surgeon he’s so proficient with using both hands, because it’s this skill that allows him to eat with one hand and drive with the other. It’s because of this snacking habit of his that he also keeps his car stocked with plenty of napkins and wipes for when he’s finished eating.

Zayne always calculates how much time it’ll take for him to arrive somewhere including a rough estimation of traffic, and he STILL leaves before the time he is supposed to so that he arrives early. He also gives you advice on your commute, calling you when he notices the traffic is heavier than usual to warn you to leave ahead of schedule.

Zayne almost never carpools on the way to work because he doesn’t know how long he’ll get stuck at the hospital and he doesn’t want you to get stranded, waiting for him to finish. But that only makes the moments where he does get to ride with you all the more enjoyable. He loves the way your nose scrunches up when you’re annoyed that someone cut you off in traffic. He loves the way you cycle restlessly through the radio stations because you can’t decide on one channel. He’s used to chaos at the hospital, but somehow your chaos is comforting.

He’s not that much of a road rager himself. He might mutter under his breath that someone was being “utterly ridiculous” but he usually keeps his thoughts to himself. It’s only a drive and he doesn’t feel like wasting the energy it would take to lash out at someone, and he certainly doesn’t want to ruin the mood for you. If he gets the chance to have a moment alone with you, even if it’s just the drive to the store, he will take that chance and he won’t waste it. He’ll ask you how your day has been, how work has been, how life has been, all while you’re sitting in traffic together. If anything, he might pray for the traffic to last longer so he can steal another minute more by your side.

He loves to tease you about which route is faster. If he tells you to go left and you raise your eyebrow at him and decide to go right because you swear you know better, he will chuckle to himself and just wait for the moment when you cuss under your breath after hitting a particularly large patch of traffic that seemingly came out of nowhere. “You know, I also frequent this grocery store. So I believe I am familiar enough with the road to get there.” He says it so simply, but you know he’s having fun with the whole situation. “I suppose if a certain hunter wasn’t so focused on being right, we might’ve avoided this issue altogether.” A hint of smirk plays on his lips and you decide right then and there that he’s buying all the groceries. Smug bastard.

************************************************************************

Xavier

(There is like one tiny minorly mature not explicit line)

Xavier usually takes public transportation; he prefers it because it allows him to zone out when he wants to and it’s less of a hassle than worrying about gas and repairs. But he’s noticed lately that there are things you want to do and things he wants to take you to that would be much more convenient with a car so he finally ended up buying a car for himself. When he first showed it to you, your eyes lit up like the stars and he knew in an instant that it was the right choice. Of course, once you were actually on the road and he saw you make the same face at someone else’s car, he definitely sulked to himself as he drove. But then you made a comment about what a cool feature his heated seats were and he quickly snapped back, proceeding to show off the other cool features in his car until he was satisfied that you weren’t going to go ogle someone else’s car after this.

Xavier doesn’t usually road rage if he’s driving by himself. He doesn’t have the energy for it. But if you’re in the car, he will glare guns and daggers at whoever dares to tailgate or cut you off.

When you need to get gas, he’ll get out and pump it for you. Partially because he wants to do something for you and partially because once he saw a man hitting on you at the pump when he went in to buy you snacks and he had to restrain himself from getting in the car and running the guy over.

Some people keep a change of clothing in the backseat of their car, some people keep snacks, Xavier keeps blankets back there. Ever since he discovered his car is fairly pleasant to sleep in, he has kept the car stocked up in case he decides to wait for you after work or running errands and sneak a quick nap in while he waits. He likes it even more when he gets to pull up to a lake or a park and lay the blanket out for the two of you to cuddle beneath while you enjoy the scenery. He could never do that when he was taking the train. He even got a car with a sunroof so you could both look up at the sky together.

Xavier also fixes your car for you when you need it fixed. Besides the fact that he doesn’t trust the people at the shop to not scam you for every penny you have, advertising new tires and new windows and new wipers and new filters, he also just somehow happens to have a degree in engineering among all of his other skills and he enjoys taking apart pieces and putting them back together in a more efficient way. He enjoys it even more if it helps you.

Xavier definitely argues with the GPS even though it can’t hear him. “Really? You want me to take a right here? Even though I could’ve sworn there was no right turn here? Interesting. I don’t recall paying so much for a fault system.”

Xavier definitely gets it on in the backseat, front seat, just all over his car really.

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @minasfwoopyponytail @ouiouimochi @tbaluver @inkytypewriter

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pleasantlycrazyworld · 2 months ago

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This is so self-inserted but don't mind me

Apparently when i crash out i write lmao

Frank castle is my new love at this point so please send in request! I'm also taking request for bucky barnes and Logan howlett still <3

Frank Castle dealing with you while you study

Frank hates when you overwork yourself, so he started to just observe you.

It started small he would come home at an actual reasonable time for once and you were at the kitchen table working away. The first thing that crosses his mind is Oh shit it must be serious. You warned him when you first started seeing each other that if you were at the kitchen table that meant you had a huge amount of work to do. He's never seen it in action before but now that he's face to face with it...he kind of wishes he was still out working.

NOT THAT HE DOESN'T WANT TO SUPPORT YOU! but at first, you scared the shit out of him with how intense you were working. You had such an angry look on your face, and music was blaring in your headphones, loud enough he could hear the song from where he was standing and loud enough he was concerned for your hearing.

Usually, you raced to him to give him some sort of affection when he got home, now you haven't even lifted your head to meet his eyes. He approached you in the same way he would approach an injured animal.

"Babydoll? Have you been working since you got home?" He cringed at the question as his eyes drift to the clock on the microwave to see that you got home six hours ago. Thankfully his eyes went back to your form in time to see you nod weakly. A harsh sigh tumble past his lips before he could stop himself.

You were fearful that he was going to just close your laptop but instead he walked behind you and opened the fridge. Silently he started to dance around the kitchen and began a quick dinner he knew you'd enjoy and that would help fuel his dolls body.

He does eventually close your laptop, but it is in exchange for a plate of food. Sitting next to you, he eats in near silence as he listens to you rant about your workload and how overwhelmed and unsupported you feel with your college. He nods and gives his short phrases of support that let you know he hasn't tuned you out as he starts to mentally plan a study set up for you.

The following day, you had the day off and had originally planned to just spend the day cooped up in the house working, but Frank had very different plans. He took the entire day off and woke you up with coffee. "I have a few errands to run, sweetheart, nothing crazy, but I was wondering if you could come with me?" He nods along with your protest and mumbles a few I knows before justifying his request. "I know you're drowning in work right now, but you know I don't know everything I need to pick up at the pharmacy and that lady always gives me those dirty looks that you hate...she doesn't do that with you there." He gives his best puppy eyes and squeezes your hips softly to help sway you into agreeing, and he even "agrees" for it to just be the one quick errand.

But...since you're already out might as well get some lunch right? Neither of you had breakfast, and now it's nearly 1. "We need to eat, sweetheart," he says as he pulls into the diners parking lot.

The two of you get home around 3, and you were pissed. He handled the attitude you gave him since he took you out pretty early in the morning, but he was pleased with himself. He knew you got fresh air, some exercise and an actual meal so he backs off for you to work until dinner...which will be at a responsible time he'd be damned if you didn't eat until midnight again.

But this man is a man of observation through and through. He will just wander into the kitchen every few hours to make sure you are still breathing and not having a breakdown. Usually, he is met with you in the same position he left you in the last time he checked in but sometimes there is clear frustration on your face, and those times are when he softly closes the laptop and asks for some attention. "Baby, all I'm asking is 15 minutes. C'mon, how is a 15-minute cuddle break going to kill you?"

He's sneaky. He knows your soft spot for him, and he uses that to his advantage.

And when you are done with all the work and have passed the class, he rewards you in the only way he can, and all of the sudden all the work is worth it when you can hear his soft whispers of praise throughout the night.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle #the punisher imagine #the punisher x reader #the punisher #frank castle imagine #frank castle headcanons #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #ddba #jon bernthal x reader #jon bernthal #frank castle oneshot #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle fluff #the punisher fluff #daredevil born again #daredevil

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loveesiren · 4 months ago

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𝒮𝒶𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒

Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon) x Reader

a/n: see the full request here! I changed it a little, hope you don't mind! I wrote this while kind of tipsy so it's not my favorite, sorry if the proofreading was shit/if there's any mistakes! I hope you enjoy regardless! <3

synopsis: After their fight, Y/n is surprised to hear that her best friend still needs her so desperately.

warnings: angst, language, panic attack, fluff

wc: 3.7k+

Spending time with your best friend has always been your favorite thing in the world. Jiyong was your safe space, your person—the one you could sit in comfortable silence with or talk to for hours on end without ever running out of things to say. But lately, that joy had been overshadowed by a growing concern gnawing at your chest.

BIGBANG’s tour was just around the corner, and their new album was about to drop. It was supposed to be an exciting time, and it was—you were beyond thrilled for them, for him. You had always been his biggest supporter, ready to help in any way you could. But as you sat in the dimly lit practice room, watching Jiyong push himself to his absolute limit, that excitement soured into unease.

His voice was raw from overuse, cracked and strained in a way that made you wince every time he spoke. He practiced his choreography until he was drenched in sweat, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Some nights, he worked himself to the point of collapse, and you were the one left to pick up the pieces—carrying his limp, exhausted body to bed, draping a blanket over his shaking form, whispering for him to rest even though you knew he wouldn’t listen.

Tonight was no different. The music blasted through the studio speakers, and Jiyong was lost in the rhythm, his body moving on autopilot despite the evident exhaustion written all over him. You watched as his steps faltered, his balance wavering. Then, just like that, his legs buckled, and he went crashing down.

“Jiyong!” You rushed to his side, your heart hammering as you kneeled beside him. His skin was clammy, his breathing ragged as he tried to push himself up. You grabbed the water bottle you’d brought for him and shoved it into his trembling hands.

“Drink,” you urged, your voice softer now, laced with worry. He took a few sips, barely able to keep the bottle steady. “Ji, you’re worrying me,” you admitted, eyes searching his for any sign that he’d finally listen, that he’d see what he was doing to himself.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Just have to make sure I’m ready for tour.”

You shook your head. “Ji, you’re overworking yourself. You’ve got everything perfected, okay? Give yourself time to rest.”

He exhaled sharply, pushing himself to his feet despite your hand reaching out to steady him. “You don’t get it, Y/n,” he said, brushing past you, already making his way back to the center of the room.

You stood as well, crossing your arms as you watched him stubbornly reset the track. “I get that you’re tired, Ji,” you said gently, trying again. “You’re just hurting yourself at this point—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snapped, cutting you off as the first beats of the song echoed through the studio.

Your chest tightened. “I’m just worried… I mean, you fainted and now you just want to keep going like nothing happened?”

Jiyong clenched his jaw, his fists balling at his sides. He turned to face you, eyes blazing with something you couldn’t quite place—anger, frustration, desperation?

“Look, Y/n,” he said, his voice cold and sharp, each word like a blade slicing through your chest. “You’re a bartender, alright? You don’t have to be that skilled at anything.”

The air in the room shifted instantly. You felt the words like a physical blow, your breath catching in your throat.

Jiyong must have seen the way your face fell because for a split second, his expression flickered with something softer—regret, maybe? But then it was gone, replaced by a steely determination as he turned back to his practice.

“If I’m not perfect, then I’m done. Alright?” He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “If you can’t handle it, then fuck off.”

Silence.

You scoffed, a bitter chuckle escaping your lips even as you fought to keep the tears at bay. “Wow,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Fuck you, Jiyong.”

You turned on your heel, grabbing your bag with shaking hands as you stormed out of the studio. You half-expected him to call after you, to chase after you and take it back. But he didn’t.

The only sound that followed you was the relentless pounding of the bass as he started the song over again.

The moment you stepped outside, the cold night air hit you, but it did nothing to dull the sting of his words. Your vision blurred as tears spilled freely down your cheeks. You barely registered getting into your car, hands gripping the wheel so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

You had always known Jiyong could be stubborn, obsessive even. But this? This was something else. This was him drowning, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pull him back to the surface.

And worst of all, he didn’t even want you to.

You barely made it into your apartment before collapsing onto your bed, burying your face in the pillows as sobs wracked your body. You cried until there was nothing left, until exhaustion took over, pulling you into a restless sleep.

How is he? You texted Seunghyun, your fingers hesitating for a moment before hitting send.

A few minutes passed before your phone buzzed with his response.

Being a total prick.

You sighed, pressing your forehead into your palm. It had been three days since you last spoke to Jiyong. Three days since he spat those words at you, since you walked out of that practice studio, feeling like the ground had been ripped from beneath you. Three days of silence.

And now, with BIGBANG’s first show of the tour just four days away, all you could do was check in through the others. You had been messaging Seunghyun and Daesung, hoping—maybe even praying—that Jiyong would come to his senses, that he’d realize how badly he had hurt you. But instead, he was still working himself into the ground, still burning himself out, and in return, treating everyone around him like shit.

You bit your lip, debating whether to text him. Your fingers hovered over his contact, but your stomach twisted at the memory of his voice.

"You’re a bartender, alright? You don’t have to be that skilled at anything."

That one line alone still stung like hell.

Jiyong had always been intense when it came to his career, but never—not once—had he spoken to you like that. You had been his best friend for years, his shoulder to lean on when things got too heavy. And yet, the moment you expressed concern, he shoved you away like you were nothing.

Was that really how he saw you? Just some nobody?

You blinked back the fresh sting of tears. No. You refused to let yourself dwell on it anymore. Instead, you did what you always did when life became too much—you threw yourself into work.

Extra shifts, late nights, anything to keep your mind occupied. And it worked… for the most part. But when Saturday rolled around, that familiar ache settled in your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake.

You had never missed one of Jiyong’s home shows. Not once. From his first-ever performance to the biggest sold-out stadiums, you were always there, watching from the V.I.P section, cheering him on. But this time? This time, you weren’t even sure if he wanted you there.

So, you made the decision. You picked up an extra shift at the bar. Saturday nights were always hectic, and if nothing else, at least the tips would be good.

Still, as you got ready for work, your heart ached. It felt wrong not being there.

You glanced at your phone. Zero messages from Jiyong. Nothing. He wasn’t even going to check in. Not even a half-assed apology. Your fingers tightened around your phone, debating one last time if you should reach out.

“Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath before quickly typing out a message.

“I love you, Ji. Good luck at your show tonight.”

Short. Simple. To the point.

You sent it before you could overthink it, shoving your phone into your bag and focusing on finishing your makeup.

Meanwhile…

Jiyong sat in the dressing room, his body slumped against the couch. His vision swam as he stared at his phone, your message illuminating the screen. His hands trembled as he gripped the device tighter, reading and rereading your words.

"I love you, Ji."

God, his chest ached.

His head was pounding, his skin slick with sweat despite the AC blasting in the room. He was exhausted—more exhausted than he had ever been in his life. His entire body ached, his muscles screaming in protest with every movement. He had barely eaten in days, barely slept. And now, the crushing weight of knowing you weren’t here—knowing that he had done this, that he had driven you away—was suffocating him.

She should be here, he thought bitterly.

You were always there. Always in the crowd, always waiting for him backstage with a knowing smile and a bottle of water, telling him how proud you were. No matter what, you were there.

But not tonight.

And it was his fault.

“Jiyong, are you okay?”

He barely registered his stylist’s voice until he felt the cool press of her hand against his forehead.

“You’re burning up,” she muttered, concern evident in her tone.

“M’fine…” he mumbled, swatting her hand away weakly.

She frowned but didn’t argue, instead focusing on finishing his hair, even though the strands were already damp from the sweat clinging to his skin. No amount of styling product would keep it in place—not with the way his body was overheating.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to push through the exhaustion. One hour until showtime. Just one more hour.

But even as he tried to rest, the shivering wouldn’t stop.

“Jiyong!”

His eyes snapped open at the sound of Seunghyun and Taeyang’s voices.

“What?!” he snapped, his patience paper-thin.

The two men exchanged a glance before Taeyang took a cautious step forward. “Dude… you don’t look so good.”

Jiyong scoffed, turning onto his side to face the couch. “Fuck off, I’m fine…” His body trembled violently, contradicting his words. “Just leave me alone.”

Seunghyun frowned. “You’re sweating like hell, and you’re shaking, Ji. You seriously think you can get through a full show like this?”

Jiyong gritted his teeth, forcing himself to sit up. “I said I’m fine,” he ground out, even though the room spun around him.

The others weren’t convinced. They had seen Jiyong push himself too far before, but this? This was different. He looked pale—too pale. And the way his shoulders trembled, the way his breaths came out shallow and labored, sent a deep sense of unease through them all.

“We need to tell the manager,” Seunghyun finally said. “If he collapses on stage, it’s gonna be bad.”

Jiyong let out a bitter laugh. “I won’t collapse.”

“Bullshit,” Taeyang muttered. “You can barely sit up.”

The room fell into tense silence before Daesung finally spoke up. “I’m gonna call Y/n.”

Jiyong’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing with something unreadable. “No,” he croaked, but it was weak, barely a whisper.

“She can help,” Daesung insisted, already pulling out his phone.

“Yeah, good idea,” the others agreed.

Jiyong clenched his jaw, his fists tightening in his lap. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him like this—to see him so weak, so broken.

But deep down, past all the pride, past all the self-inflicted suffering…

He just wanted you.

Because no matter how badly he fucked up, no matter how much he pushed you away…

You were the one person who could always put him back together.

The moment you stepped away from the bar, you broke into a sprint toward the bathroom, your heart hammering against your ribs. Your phone buzzed relentlessly in your pocket, each vibration sending a fresh wave of anxiety through you. Hands trembling, you yanked it out, eyes widening at the flood of missed calls.

Daesung. Seunghyun. Taeyang.

Something was wrong.

You barely had time to inhale before hitting Daesung’s number. He answered on the first ring.

“Y/n, Jiyong needs you.” His voice was tight, urgent.

Your stomach clenched. “What’s going on? I’m at work.”

“I think it’s a panic attack or something. I don’t know—he won’t let any of us help him. Y/n, please, just come.”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching. “I don’t… I don’t think he wants me there, Daesung. We had a fight. He—he said some things…”

“He’s shutting down, Y/n. Our manager is thinking of canceling the show.” His voice cracked, desperation seeping through the line. “You’re his best friend. If anyone can get through to him, it’s you.”

Your fingers dug into the bathroom counter. The things Jiyong had said to you still echoed in your head, sharp and unforgiving. But was that really him talking? Or was it exhaustion twisting his words, pushing him past reason?

He was your person. Your best friend. And right now, he needed you.

“I’m on my way.” You hung up, moving quickly to gather your things, but before you could slip out, your boss caught sight of you.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going? It’s packed out there—we need you!”

“I’m sorry, sir. Family emergency,” you stammered, throwing your apron onto the counter.

“If you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back.”

You met his glare, then—without a second thought—flipped him off and stormed through the crowded kitchen to the back door, heart hammering as you reached your car. You tossed your bag onto the passenger seat and peeled out of the parking lot, heading straight for the stadium. The city lights blurred past you, neon signs flickering against the darkening sky.

Your phone rang again. It was Daesung. “Hey, I’m almost there. Where do I go?” you asked breathlessly.

“You’re on the list,” Daesung said. “Just head backstage.”

You barely parked before jumping out of the car, navigating through the maze of security and flashing lights. The walls of the venue were lined with photos of legendary musicians, their eyes seeming to watch you as you ran past. Your pulse thrummed in your ears.

Then you heard Daesung call your name. “Y/n!” Daesung waved you over, his relief evident.

You didn’t waste a second. Following him down the hall, you turned a sharp corner and stepped into the dressing room. The air inside was thick with tension.

Jiyong sat hunched over, his elbows braced on his knees, his face pale and drawn. A paramedic stood beside him, pressing an ice pack to his head, murmuring something you couldn’t hear.

“Ji…” Your voice came out softer than you intended, your heart twisting at the sight of him. “What happened?”

His head lifted at the sound of your voice. His dark eyes met yours, wide and glassy.

Then, as if gravity had yanked him forward, he surged up from the couch and threw himself into your arms. His entire body trembled against you, his grip so tight it nearly stole your breath.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out, his voice breaking.

You barely had time to steady yourself before he buried his face in your shoulder. His weight pressed into you, as if you were the only thing holding him up.

“Ji…” you whispered, your hands sliding up his back, fingers threading into his hair. “I’ve got you.”

His breath came in shuddering gasps. “I was an idiot. I shouldn’t have said those things. I should have listened to you—I shouldn’t have pushed myself so hard. I—” His voice cracked, raw and desperate. “I’m just so fucking sorry.”

The others watched silently as he clung to you, their faces a mix of relief and quiet concern.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, rubbing slow circles into his back. “I forgive you.”

His shoulders shook as he let out a quiet sob, the dam finally breaking. The weight of exhaustion, pressure, and regret poured out of him all at once.

“Can you guys give us a minute?” you asked over his shoulder, still holding him.

Daesung nodded, ushering the others out. The paramedic handed you an ice pack and a bottle of water, giving you a small nod before exiting.

Jiyong let you guide him back to the couch, collapsing onto it with a heavy sigh. He wiped at his tear-streaked face, sniffling as you handed him the water. You pressed the ice pack gently to the back of his neck.

“Ji, tell me what happened.”

He took a slow sip, his voice hoarse. “I fucked up, Y/n.” He shook his head. “You were right. I shouldn’t have pushed myself so hard. I—” He exhaled sharply. “I’m exhausted. And then you weren’t here, and I just… I don’t know. I lost it.”

You hesitated. “I didn’t think you wanted me here after what you said to me.”

His gaze snapped up to meet yours, guilt swimming in his eyes. “I didn’t mean it. Not for a second. I was out of my head, Y/n. I’ve been beating myself up over it for days, but I was too ashamed to call.”

Your heart softened. You reached for him, pulling him close and pressing a light kiss to his temple. “I know, Ji.” You stroked his hair gently. “I just worry about you.” A quiet pause. “I love you.”

His breath hitched. “Can you ever forgive me?” he asked, his voice small. His big, innocent eyes searched yours, raw and vulnerable.

You let out a soft laugh, brushing a tear from his cheek. “Of course I can. Just don’t ever say some dumb shit like that again.”

A weak smile tugged at his lips. “Cross my heart.”

“Do you feel any better? Do you need to cancel the show?”

He shook his head, squeezing your hand. “You fix everything. You always do. You’re magic like that.” He brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss against them.

Shivers ran down your spine.

“Here.” You tugged him down gently. “Lay back. You have forty-five minutes until the show. Rest as much as you can.”

With a deep breath, he let himself relax against the couch, his fingers still loosely curled around yours. You ran a comforting hand through his hair, cooling him down with the ice pack.

“How’s he doing?” Taeyang and Seunghyun appeared in the doorway of the dressing room, their faces laced with concern but softened by the sight of Jiyong sitting upright.

“I’m fine,” Jiyong muttered, his voice still a little hoarse. He ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling slowly before flashing them a sheepish smile. “Sorry for being such a prick…”

Taeyang let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “We’re just glad you’re okay, man.”

Seunghyun smirked, glancing between the two of you. “Y/n, I think we need to keep you around more often. Seems like you’re the only one who can get through to him.”

You grinned. “Well, I just lost my job, so I’m free whenever!”

“What?” Jiyong snapped his head toward you so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. His smile faded instantly, replaced by guilt and concern.

You waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine, Ji. My boss was a fucking dick anyway. I was gonna quit eventually.”

But Jiyong wasn’t convinced. He looked down, his fingers twisting the hem of his shirt as his jaw clenched. You could see the thoughts racing through his mind—this was his fault. Another thing to add to the weight he carried.

“Hey.” You softened, reaching out and tilting his chin up with your fingers, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “You’re more important, yeah?”

His bottom lip quivered ever so slightly before he muttered, “M’sorry…” His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with emotion.

Your heart clenched. Without thinking, without hesitation, you leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

He froze for half a second, as if his brain was struggling to process what was happening. But then, slowly, he melted into you, his hands coming up to cradle your face as he deepened the kiss.

It was hesitant at first—uncertain, full of unspoken words—but then something shifted. His fingers tightened against your skin, his lips moving with more urgency, more need. Like he had been waiting for this just as long as you had.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made you both jolt apart.

“Uh… show time in five,” Seunghyun said, eyes wide with amusement before he and Taeyang practically ran out of the room, leaving you and Jiyong in breathless silence.

As you pulled back just slightly, your noses brushed, his breath warm against your lips. His dark eyes were searching yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“W-what was that for?” he stammered, voice cracking slightly.

You bit your lip, hoping you hadn’t just overstepped everything. “Good luck,” you whispered, offering him a small smile.

Jiyong blinked at you, stunned. Then, to your surprise, his lips curled into a slow, boyish grin before he cupped your face and kissed you again. This time, it wasn’t hesitant—it was filled with silent promises, unspoken confessions, and years of built-up longing neither of you had dared to acknowledge until now.

You smiled against his lips, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“Now go!” you laughed, gently shoving him toward the door. “You don’t wanna miss your first show.”

Jiyong stumbled back slightly, his grin never faltering. As he reached the doorway, he hesitated, his fingers lingering on the frame as he turned to look at you.

“You’ll be here when I get back?” he asked, almost shyly.

Your expression softened. “I’ll always be here, Ji.”

Something in his eyes shifted, like he was silently thanking whatever higher power had brought you into his life. Then, with a final, wide smile, he spun on his heel and took off down the hall, his energy renewed.

From backstage, you watched him take the stage, his presence electrifying the entire stadium. The roar of the crowd was deafening, but all you could focus on was him.

And as he stood under the blinding lights, microphone in hand, he turned his head ever so slightly—just enough to catch a glimpse of you in the shadows.

A private smile ghosted across his lips.

Your stomach flipped.

This was only the beginning of a whole new chapter in your life.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! :)

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nghtwngs · 8 days ago

Note

how about a bob x reader fic where reader is the receptionist for the new avengers?

scott and zelda

description. sweet bob reynolds has been avoiding you and your daily lobby chats for days now. were your book recommendations that terrible? and then you realize the mistake you’ve made that has had poor bob unable to face you these last few days…

pairing. robert “bob” reynolds x receptionist!reader

genre. fluff, idiots friends to lovers, canon compliant

word count. 1.7k

warnings. set during the post-thunderbolts* timeskip, suggestive themes, allusions to smut, reader on the verge of crashing out at work

author’s notes. named after the newly released bibi (aka my wife) song, which you can listen to while reading! and if you read the lyrics, you’ll understand why i chose it. i managed to keep the reader gender neutral too :) also this was so fun to write so thank u for requesting nonnie!!!

“Hello, you have reached the Avengers’ Watchtower,” you begin in your nicest customer service tone. “How may I assist you?” After a few beats. “I’m sorry. Unfortunately, Congressman Barnes is not available at this number. If you would like to discuss… to send your inquiries to him, you may reach him at his office’s number or email, both of which I can provide for you.” You suppress a long sigh, fingertips typing away at your keyboard. “Which contact info would you like?”

After placing the phone back into its receiver, you finally allow yourself to face plant into the desk when you hear your name.

“Congressman Barnes,” you greet him in a professional voice that makes him grimace, “what a coincidence. I was just on the phone with a woman who was wondering how much she could donate to your next campaign in exchange for spending the night with her…. among other things.” You’re really hoping your face relays the trauma you had just experienced to him.

You think it does because a flicker of disgust appears on Bucky’s face as he asks, “What did you say?”

“Oh, I directed her to your office’s number. She was happy to take it.”

“Jesus,” he mumbles. “I think my job sucks sometimes, and then I remember the things you’re put through down here.”

“Gotta love it, yeah.” You press your lips together, fiddling with your Pilot G2 pen while you work up the courage to ask him, “Have you, um, seen Bob lately perchance?”

He nods and answers, “Yeah, like, whenever I’m here. Which is also everyday. Because he lives here.”

There’s a pointed look on his face that you’d rather not unpack right now. You’re just curious, is all. Bob usually comes down to the lobby to visit you whenever you’re working, but after you recommended him that book four mornings ago, he’s been radio silent. Maybe it was a terrible read, and he’s just been trying to figure out how to tell you he hated it. In a nice way.

“Well, it feels like he doesn’t.” You nearly pout at the man. “I haven’t seen him since Monday.”

“Again, he lives here. You could call him, I don’t know. I’m sure he’ll answer if it’s you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just means he’ll answer. Call him.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Then don’t. It’s not my problem, kid.”

“You do know I’m thirty, right?”

“Well, I’m a hundred and nine, kid,” he retorts, heading for the elevator.

“You been hitting on any of the nursing home ladies that like to come around then, Bucky?” You snicker at him and wave, watching him roll his eyes as the doors shut.

The next few hours in the Watchtower’s lobby are just as boring as the last few, with surprisingly few people coming in and out. Although a couple of people do come in to ask if there’s a restroom.

“It’s down the hallway on your left,” you tell the old lady kindly, pointing your finger in that direction. You’re technically not supposed to let random people use the toilet here, for Ms. de Fontaine’s worry that ‘vagrants’ will linger, but that’s better than them pissing in the streets. When the lady disappears, you make a mental note to tell Bucky he’s just missed his shot with this hot, elderly woman. You can’t help but snicker at your own humor.

That was the only time you laughed for the past three hours, you realize. Normally, you’d be giggling or snorting at some silly joke Bob makes. But of course, he’s not here and hasn’t been since the beginning of the week. You had forgotten how boring working at reception was because he had always come to cure it.

Sure, the new Avengers, like Bucky, would chat with you for a minute or so. Or if you were Alexei, ten to fifteen minutes. Yelena has warmed up a little while Ava remains curt still. John is still as well but also a major asshole, according to Bob, so you generally don’t try small talk with him. Bob was the only one who ever stayed around, trying to cure his own boredom. And eventually, you became good friends.

The job had been a surprisingly chill gig, meaning they really only needed one person in the lobby to handle simple tasks like answering the phone or giving directions. Sometimes, you even got to schedule a meeting or two, which used to be the highlight of your days when you first started out.

You groan to yourself, propping up your hand to rest your chin on. Despite your very tiny developing work(?) (Does it count as a work crush if you technically don’t work with him?) crush on Bob, you just missed his company. He had been so quiet at first, and then you found out you shared a mutual interest in books. Did you really just admit your crush? You couldn’t even say the words out loud to your other friends, much less yourself. You huff out a sad little breath of air, eyes looking around for any stimulus when you remember you left the book you were rereading in your bag. Sat at your feet, you open the bag to grab the novel.

It’s the book you recommended to Bob days earlier, and the only reason you can think of as to why he’s been avoiding you lately. Did you really have that bad of a taste in books? He liked your other recommendation… Oh, but maybe he actually hated it and was trying to spare your feelings. And now, since you gave him another atrocious book to read, he realized he could no longer be friends with someone who only reads awful books.

If, right now, you were at home in your cozy bed, you’d be screaming into your pillow.

Seeing as the lobby is pretty much empty, you crack open your novel to where you left off. This book is very dear to you, considering this is your third time rereading it (this year) and that it’s only May. So it meant a lot when you recommended it to Bob. But maybe you just love shitty books—this one had four and a half stars on StoryGraph though!

‘Won’t you place a bookmark inside of me?’ is the first line you read on the page, and the wheels on your chair loudly screech when you suddenly rise. Laughing nervously when you receive a few looks from around the room, you sit back down with the book you just aggressively shut. Now, you think you’ll call Bucky to fling you into space from the Watchtower’s roof.

In your excitement at recommending Bob a new novel to add to his reading list, you totally forgot about the book-related innuendos and rather graphic sex scenes that were scattered throughout the book. Oh, God, he must think you’re some pervert! No wonder he’s been avoiding you. Or maybe he thought you were trying to hit on him, and now he can’t figure out a way to gently let you down.

Reluctantly, you open the book back up to see just how bad the damage was.

‘Would you wet your finger for me? Would you pinch me?’

‘Would you fold me freely? Would you keep me overdue?’

You close the novel before you see anything else that would make you somehow feel more embarrassed than you already do now. But before you even get the chance to stew in your embarrassment, you hear the voice you’ve been longing to hear for days.

“Is everything okay?” Bob asks with some concern from the other side of your desk.

You sit up stick straight, blinking at him like an idiot. “Bob, hey—hi.”

“Hi.”

It’s not for another five full seconds that you realize you didn’t answer his question at all before blubbering, “Yeah! I’m… I’m alright. Are you? Haven’t seen you in a bit.”

Bob smiles awkwardly, nodding. “Yeah, I’m good. Sorry about that, by the way. I read that book you—“

“God, I am so, so sorry I recommended it to you. I totally forgot about the…”

At your words, a confused frown forms on his face. “About what?”

“The sexual stuff…” you finish quietly.

The recognition takes over his features now. “Oh, that.”

“I’m really sorry. I don’t want you to think I’m a… pervert or something… I really do think the story is good.”

“It is,” he agrees, much to your surprise. “I liked it, but I’ll admit I was surprised by the… other stuff. Suppose I never really had you pegged as the type to read such… dirty books. And then it got me thinking…” He pauses, quieting his voice a little more. “Do you like being folded freely too?”

His question throws you off, not because of the filthiness of it, but how innocent he makes it sound. Like he’s asking you about the weather. But the weather is never really about the weather, is it?

Bob continues like he didn’t just flip your entire world on its axis, “I went and bought the book right after I left you that day. And I haven’t been down here to see you since then because I didn’t know if I could be normal around you when I couldn’t stop thinking about whether or not you liked getting fucked the same way that character in the book does.”

“Does it matter to you?” you ask once you’ve managed to find your voice somewhere in the mush that’s currently your brain.

He shakes his head at you. “No, but it would be very helpful to know.”

You shoot up from your chair for the second time that shift, making such quick haste around the desk that even he’s surprised. You’re then making some poor excuse to the security guard Lenny about showing Bob around the new downstairs renovations, an excuse that would easily fall apart if thought about for longer than two moments. But you’re already strutting towards a random, unused office space where you sometimes take your breaks, dress shoes clicking against the tiled floors, and expecting him to follow.

Bob does, of course, silently thanking Bucky for pushing him in the right direction this morning.

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds imagine #bob reynolds fluff #bob reynolds angst #bob reynolds smut #sentry x reader #sentry imagine #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts imagine

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valeisaslut · 9 days ago

Text

COLLIDE, my final words.

I started imagining Collide the first time I watched The Voice back in 2022. I didn’t know how to sing, not even a little, but that didn’t matter — because in my head, I was a popstar. A girl who made it out. A girl who had the world watching. A girl who walked onstage like she was made for it. And somewhere in the back of that same head, another image popped out on my tumblr for you page: a fanart of Ellie Williams in a band with Jesse and Dina.

And just like that, it all began.

Ellie became a rockstar. Jesse was her drummer. Dina played bass. Their band was called the Fireflies. And somehow, I was a popstar in their orbit — and Ellie and I were in love. The very first scene that ever came to me was the Grammys. I saw it so vividly, like a memory from a life I hadn’t lived yet. Then came the club. Where they met. Where it all began.

Eventually, the popstar in my head detached from me and became her. Her own person. With her own pain, her own spotlight, her own story.

That’s when Collide stopped being a daydream and started being a universe. That’s when it became real.

This story has lived in my mind every time I performed in front of my mirror like I was Beyoncé or Ariana, every time I heard a song and thought, this is so Ellie or this is so popstar. It lived in the way my heart clenched at lyrics, the way my eyes lit up when I imagined the stage lights hitting Ellie’s face.

It lived in me.

The idea to write it all down came one summer afternoon in February. I was bored. My friends couldn’t hang out. And maybe that was fate. That day, I listened to “She” and thought, God, this could be one of their songs.

I opened a Google Doc, named it Collide, and wrote the very first outline.

That doc now has 472 pages.

I don’t think I could’ve chosen a more perfect name. Collide. It’s exactly what this story is — a crash, a spark, a heart splitting open. Her and her. Me and this story. Every single second I spent writing it, every hangout I canceled, every night I stayed up just to get one more scene out — it was all worth it.

When I uploaded the prologue and it got less than 30 notes, I told myself, I don’t care. I would keep writing it even if it got two notes, and one of them was mine. I was doing it for that little part of me that always dreamed of seeing herself plastered across a page. And I did. I really did.

And then something extraordinary happened: you all found it. You turned it into something living. People made moodboards and playlists and fanarts and edits. They sent me essays after every chapter. They set alarms for 4 a.m. in the middle of exam season just to read it with me or even when they had work in 2 hours. They wrote to me about the songs they heard and thought of Ellie and the reader. They cried with me. They screamed with me. They lived it with me.

It became something with a soul. Something that filled people’s minds while they were living their lives. Something that made them feel — deeply, messily, beautifully.

I can’t describe that with words. Not really.

It’s the most vulnerable thing I’ve ever done, sharing this story. But I did it. And I’m so fucking proud that I did.

To every person who walked this journey with me: thank you. For real. For everything.

I wrote this with every single part of myself — my joy, my grief, my hunger, my hope — and now I’m mourning it like a widow in a Greek tragedy. I genuinely need pain medication for my fingers because I typed so much and so fast for 3 months. But I wouldn’t change a single thing.

Collide will never truly end. Not really. It’ll live in us forever. Just like their story will.

Thank you for seeing it. Thank you for feeling it. Thank you for carrying it with me. This was my heart. My soul.

And now — it’s yours, too.

With everything I have, Valentina

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v1sexual · 25 days ago

Text

dive | vi, arcane

drummer & hockey player! vi x reader

based on this request

warnings: cursing, mentions of alcohol, loser lesbians, and author having no hockey knowledge

preface: a quick little blurb (its actually not quick and little) on how you and vi met.

note: okay omg i loved this idea sm thank u anon for this request! i do apologize if this is ass LMAO like all of my fics this was written at around 3am-7am 😔 anyways, should i make this into like a little series or smth also could not think of a title but i was listening to “dive” by ed sheeran while writing this so here we are.

you first met drummer and hockey player vi! during a year-end party on your freshman year of college. it was at a pub called “the last drop” that the student’s from zaun university claimed as theirs. hosting parties, celebrations, wins, and every little victory that they had during the school year at the said pub.

the last dropped was packed. a sea of sweaty bodies, filled every nook and cranny of the place.

you were getting antsy, tucked away in the corner of the booth you and your friends were sitting. as the night dragged on, one by one your friends left the table. some went to go get drinks, some went to socialize, and some went to go dance.

taking that as a sign to leave, you fished your phone from the back pocket of your jeans to text the group chat that you were heading home. but then the loud music stopped, and someone spoke into a mic.

you looked up from your phone, your gaze snapping to the massive stage at the other side of the dance floor. powder, another freshman whom you knew from one of your classes, spoke into the mic. she introduced their band, arcane, and that’s when you saw her.

dark pink hair cut short, she was rocking a black tank top showing her arms as the muscle flexed as she gripped her drumsticks.

“— and lastly we have my older sister vi playing the drums! you probably already knew her she’s pretty popular with the ladies, AND she’s single! but she’s pretty fucking gay though sorry boys.”

you zoned out after that, watching as the band started to play their rendition of a popular song that you couldn’t care less about. the sea of people blended in the background, you kept your eyes on vi watching her every movement in awe. the way she played kept you captivated you swore you could feel every beat of her drums, and then her eyes meets yours.

then she winked at you, her lips stretching into a smile as your heart stuttered against your chest. just as you were about to smile back your best-friend crashed next to you, her body slumping down against your side as she begged you to take her home. sighing, you obliged. you walked out the door supporting your friend’s body weight as much as you can and never looked back.

˚⁎⁺˳ . ⊹ ⋆ﾟ

weeks have passed and you’re back home, you still think about her though. you think about her a lot. you followed arcane’s official instagram account but never followed the members officially, except for powder of course since you two exchanged accounts when paired up for a project.

having nothing better to do, you decided to stalk the band’s instagram. watching reels of them doing song covers, playing pranks on each other, snippets of their original songs, etc.

just as you were about to doze off your door slammed open.

“(name)!!” your five year old sister, andie, shouts. “can you pleaseeee take me to hockey camp?”

you laughed, taking in the younger girl’s appearance. she was wearing full-on hockey gear, her hair in two braid, and she was clutching a duffel bag twice her size in one hand while the other held a hockey stick (that was seconds away from slipping and falling).

you stood up, taking the duffel bag from her, “i thought mom was taking you.”

“she was but i wanted you to go with me,” she shrugged and used her free hand to hold yours. “please?”

you swore your heart melted on sight. you loved your younger sister more than everything in the world, she’s got you wrapped around her little finger from the moment she was born. at first your parents were actually worried at the fifteen year age gap that you and andie had, but fortunately they were worried for nothing when you and your sister became attached to the hip.

“let me know how it goes okay?” your mom says as she kissed the two of you goodbye.

the drive to the rink was fast, only fifteen minutes. it honestly would have been only ten but andie pleaded for you to stop by your favorite café for a pastry and some strawberry lemonade, she was all pouty and batting her eyelashes so who were you to say no. when you arrived, you carried her duffel bag and hockey stick as she held on to the almost empty cup of strawberry lemonade.

andie led you to the locker rooms when she met up with her friends, they were such a cute bunch and you couldn’t help but snap a picture to send to your mom.

“can you help me put my skates on please?” andie asks, her small fingers tugging on your sweatshirt.

“of course you little gremlin,” you grinned and picked her up, setting her down on one of the benches. when you finished, andie hopped down the bench and waddled as she grabbed her hockey stick.

before you let her walk off, you grabbed her helmet and secured it onto her head. she thanked you with a hug then proceeds to hold your hand, dragging you out the locker room and into the rink.

“can you come with me (name)? im really nervous,” she whispered.

you nodded. “of course i will bub, plus i have to talk to your coaches.” andie cheers and hugs your leg as the two of you walked to the rink.

the rink was smaller than you remembered, you swore that it was at least two times bigger two years ago during your last figure skating competition. a smile forms on your lips as old memories began to resurface, if only you didn’t injure yourself then you would have probably still be skating.

“(name)! oh my god what’re you doing here?”

powder’s familiar voice brings you back to the present as she stood up from one of the seats.

“hey pow,” you greeted as she pulled you in for a hug. andie looks away shyly, her small frame hugged your leg as she hid behind you.

“aww, who’s this?” powder asked as she crouched down to andie’s height. your sister peeked at her then buries her face on your leg.

“this is andie, my younger sister.” you said. “say hi to powder ands.” andie detaches herself from your leg and whispered a small “hey”, before running off (more like waddling) when one of her friends called out to her.

you watched as your sister and her friend goes inside the rink with the help of one of her teammate’s parents. once she’s happily skating across the rink, you turned back to powder who dragged you to one of the seats.

the two of you engaged in small talk, asking how each other’s summer were going, the band, etc.

“so,” you started. “why are you here?”

“my sister vi is here! she’s helping coach the kids as a summer job.”

you short-circuited then turned your head to the side of the rink were the coaches are, then lo and behold there she is. violet lanes. she wore a black long sleeve compression shirt, white breezers, and her hair was in a low-bun. she held a clipboard, occasionally writing on it as she talked to the huddle of parents surrounding her.

while you were busy staring at vi, you don’t notice powder as her lips turn up into a shit-eating grin clearly noticing that you’re focus was on something else entirely.

“you should talk to her,” she says casually pulling you away from your thoughts.

“uhm what? no? why would i?” you rambled.

powder laughs at you, clearly entertained as you mutter under your breath. “well for starters she’ll need to talk you about practice schedules, you or your parent’s contact info,”

you let out a small “oh” before sinking back into your chair, holding your head in your hands embarrassed. this only makes powder laugh harder, the blue haired girl clutching her stomach and wiping away an invisible tear.

“oh god you have a crush on my sister!” she exclaims, you only groaned in response.

powder teases you for a good couple of minutes before settling down next to you.

“you know,” she starts. “you’re gonna have to actually talk to her right?”

“yeah i know,” you nodded.

powder hums. “want me to go with you? i can introduce you first, help break the ice?”

“huh, that’s actually not a bad idea.” you tell her. she then stands and pulled you up with her, powder link her arm with yours as she lead you to where vi was.

violet lets out a sigh of relief as the last parent walks off, practice hasn’t even started yet and she was already this tired from just talking to a whole crowd of anxious parents. she checks her clipboard again, eyes flicking through the names of the kids she’ll be coaching today.

“heyyy,” she heard powder call out. vi chose to ignore her sister and continued to check her clipboard, she then stumbles upon a name.

andie (last name).

vi knew that the kid was here, one of the other parent’s mentioned how sweet andie’s older sister was for always showing up to her extracurriculars especially when she was away for university and how she’d always drive the kid around no matter what.

“yo vi?” powder says but this time vi’s younger sister flicks the clipboard she held.

she groans, annoyed at her sister’s antics. “can you not? im busy pow, there’s this kid and i haven’t talked to her guardian yet and i can’t start without—“ your eyes meet and vi stopped talking, from that moment forward she knew she was a goner. she knew you, not personally of course, but she remembered that night from a couple of weeks ago when she first saw you at the last drop.

from the moment you entered her father’s pub, vi could not take her eyes off of you. she debated on wether or not to approach you but her nerves got the best of her so she stayed glued to her seat, pretending to listen to whatever her sister was saying.

“she doesn’t bite you know,” powder said pointing to your direction. “we were paired up for a project and she’s literally the sweetest person to ever exist, talk to her.”

“i don’t know,” vi shrugs and looked at her half empty glass, suddenly finding the half drunken liquor interesting. powder rolls her eyes and decided to talk to their other bandmates, leaving vi alone with her thoughts.

vi downs the rest of her liquor and decided to talk to you, but just as she was about to walk to where you were seated powder grabs her arm. “it’s showtime.” her sister says and violet tries her hardest not to pout as they walked backstage. she drowns the noise out as powder began talking into the mic, to introduce the band. during the time that they were playing she mostly kept her eyes closed or just looking at her drum set, focusing on hitting the right beats.

but then she looked at the crowd, eyes scanning the crowd for you. she wondered if you went home already or if you’ve left with someone or if you’re watching them perform, watching her perform. when vi finally spots you she felt her heart stutter when she found that you were already looking at her, then she winked at you. with a new found energy she played harder, eyes never leaving yours until she saw your friend (who was also powder’s friend) throw herself against you probably drunk out of her mind. vi didn’t take her eyes off you even when you helped steady your friend as the two of you attempted to leave the last drop.

vi thought about that night a lot, she wished she wasn’t such a pussy and approached you. but now you’re here, standing in front of her arms linked with her sister’s. vi opened her mouth and closed it, she didn’t know what to say.

“oh brother,” powder murmured under her breath. “vi this is (name), andie’s older sister.”

“huh?” vi responds which made powder roll her eyes for the millionth time.

“christ on a cracker, remember the kid whose guardian hasn’t talk to you yet? the one you were ranting about two minutes ago? well this is her. (name)’s her older sister and her guardian.”

vi let’s out a small “oh” which made you laugh a bit. “shit im sorry,” she tells you. “i’m just a bit distracted— nervous, i haven’t coached before.”

“oh don’t worry about it,” you smiled. “i’d be nervous too, kids are terrifying.”

as you and vi engaged in small talk, powder took that as a sign and quietly slipped away. she walked towards the side of the rink where ekko was rounding the kids up, she tapped on the glass and pointed to where you and vi were. ekko followed the direction where powder was pointing, he sent her a knowing smile and laughed.

“i didn’t know you play hockey?” you tell her, vi’s eyebrow twitched in amusement. “yeah im actually team captain of our uni’s hockey team.”

you looked at her, surprise and awe evident on your eyes. holy shit not only is she hot, ripped, tattooed, and a drummer, but she’s also the ding dang captain of your university’s hockey team? if you didn’t know you were gay you’d definitely know now.

“guess i’ll have to watch one of your games,” you shrugged. vi grins at you and nodded “guess you should.”

as the two of you talked the more comfortable you became with vi, “how do you manage that though? hockey, school, and the band?” you asked her to which she replied with a shrug.

“i don’t know either,”

you hummed in response as she glanced at her clipboard again. vi cleared her throat and began to discuss your sister’s practice schedule, safety concerns, gear, etc. you happily listened, nodding along and taking mental notes of important stuff you need to let your mom know when you get home.

vi finally looked up from her clipboard and smiled, “so yeah that’s pretty much it.” you replied with a nod.”

“will you be staying?” she asks you. “i mean uhm, are you going to wait for your sister?”

“yeah, im pretty much her chaperone so…” you replied with a smile, your gaze finding andie’s. your little sister waived at you, smiling from ear to ear as you waived back.

if vi wasn’t already smitten with you she definitely would be now as she watched the small exchange between you and your sister. vi has always been a family oriented person, she and her family were close (especially her and powder), and knowing that you were pretty much the same? you just got promoted from being a small crush to her literal ideal woman.

“so does that mean you’ll be dropping her off every practice?” she asks excitedly, which made you chuckle in response. “yeah,” you nodded. “our parents are pretty much swamped with work and my shifts are usually in the mornings sooo, yeah. i’ll be dropping her off and picking her up from practice.”

vi nodded, trying to act as normal as she can when in reality she’s mentally cheering. just as she was about to say something, ekko called out for her. and just like that vi remembered that she was actually supposed to be coaching and teaching the kids hockey.

“i need to help ekko out,” she says. “but uh— can i grab your number?”

“is this you shooting your shot at me or?” you joked. you swore vi’s cheeks became the same hue as her hair, she playfully rolled her eyes at you.

she huffed, “it’s for your sister’s contact information you dummy.”

“sure,” you replied, taking her pen and writing your number down next to your sister’s name in her clipboard.

vi smiles at you and began to head towards the rink, but just before she skated towards ekko and the kids she called out to you. “i lied, that was just me shooting your shot.”

you smiled at her, cheeks heating up. you watched as vi effortlessly skated, her posture and aura changing. watching her demonstrate how to play (with ekko’s help), sent butterflies to your stomach.

oh boy, you can’t wait to actually get to see her play.

note: this is literal ass im so sorry😔 i still hoped ya’ll enjoyed it though.

#vi x reader #arcane #arcane act three #vi arcane x reader #vi arcane #arcane smut #violet arcane #wlw yearning #wlw post #vi league of legends #vi x fem reader #vi x y/n #jinx x reader #powder #timebomb

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wchswift · 22 days ago

Text

── 𝐚𝐦 𝐈 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐲?

pairing! dean winchester x fem!reader

→ summary! Dean Winchester is your best friend and you're so in love with him that you can't even tell if it's just in your head or if maybe he feels the same way. (Inspired by Guilty as Sin from taylor swift) I recommend listening to it while reading. → contents! some angst, pining, unrequited love but not really, best friends who are in love but are too afraid to do something about it, open ending. (idk what I did with this one. not sure if I liked the way I wrote this but while I was listening to this song it kind of just flowed out of me.) → word count! 773

You don’t remember when the line got blurry. Only that now, you trip over it every time you breathe near him.

Dean.

You say it in your head more than you ever do aloud — because when you do say it out loud, it sounds dangerous. Like a gun cocking back. It was like throwing yourself in front of a moving train, knowing what would happen next.

He’s your best friend.

Your person.

Your almost.

And you’ve never touched his skin, but you dream about it anyway.

You dream of cracking locks — tossing your life to the wolves for just one moment where it’s not wrong. Where it's allowed. Where there’s no Sam in the backseat, no case hanging over your heads, no hellhound of guilt pacing behind your ribcage.

Just him.

Just you.

Just the crash of skin and sin and finally.

But instead, you wait.

You smile.

You laugh too loud when he says something stupid, you pretend it doesn’t melt something in your chest when he calls you sweetheart like it doesn’t mean anything.

You’ve kissed him in your mind.

Hard.

Soft.

Messy.

Teeth and tongue and vows unspoken.

You’ve written his name in the fog of your bathroom mirror, like a teenage girl watching it vanish like the chances you never took.

You wonder if he knows. If he feels it too — the slow-burn ache of never letting it slip, even though it’s right there. Teetering on the edge of a look held too long, a touch that lingers at your lower back when he’s guiding you through a bar, the way his eyes always drop to your mouth before snapping back to safety.

You keep recalling things you never did.

How his hand would feel cupped around your throat, not to hurt you — but to hold you in place.

How it’d feel to fall apart under him.

For him.

In your mind, it feels he's already written mine on your upper thigh. Even if not real.

God.

It would be easier if you weren't sane and didn't know that this was just an entertaining dream.

Because you talk to him like you’re fine.

You joke.

You spar.

You watch him talk about other women and roll your eyes as if it isn't making you bleed inside.

You sit beside him on motel beds, knees brushing, and you swallow your desire down like it won’t choke you eventually.

You wonder if you’re bad. Or mad. Or just fucking in love with a man who keeps you close but never close enough.

And you want to ask him — not directly, but maybe in a whisper, maybe in a joke that isn’t a joke:

Am I allowed to want you like this?

Am I allowed to cry for something I never had?

If it's just in my head, why does it feel like a sin?

Does this already feel real to you too?

You lock these longings away in lowercase. Soft, silent letters in the vault of your heart.

You don’t dare write them down in ink. You don’t speak them.

You just carry them.

Because someone told you once — bad thoughts aren’t real. Only your actions matter. Only your restraint.

But you’re so tired of pretending.

You catch yourself staring at him across diner tables, half-listening as he talks about hex bags or whatever hunt you’re chasing. You imagine kissing the sugar off his lip from the pie. Just a little taste. Just once.

You wonder how many other girls he’s kissed like that.

How many of them he touched without thinking.

How it would feel if you were one of them.

But then he looks at you.

Really looks at you.

And something in his eyes feels like a promise you were never meant to hear.

It feels like he knows.

Like he’s just as guilty.

Like you’ve already done it in his head too — a thousand different ways, with a thousand different endings, and none of them ever quite end.

You wonder if he lies awake like you do.

Fingers clenched in sheets.

Breath tight in his chest.

Your name on his tongue, never spoken.

You wonder if he’s ever whispered please to the silence like you have.

If he’s ever played the part of the sinner for a sin he never touched, only imagined.

And what a way to die — never having him, always wanting him.

You’re already damned.

So why do you still feel hope when you look at him?

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

𖤐 main masterlist.

taglist: @rositaslabyrinth @bettystonewell @blossomingorchids @maddie0101 @deansbbyx @sapphic-destiel @lyrarr24 @cowboysandcigarettes @tinas111 @multiversefanfics @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @freeluigihesbae @fuckedupfate @bejeweledinterludes @jaredpadonlyyyy @littlesoulshine @sunsbaby @soldiersgirl @losers-clvb @deansbeer @starzify @h8aaz @vmiina @deansmisha @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @bruisedfig @sacr1ficialang3l @angelicjackles (I really need to make a decent taglist lol, let me know if you want to be added or remove)

#꣖ ີ ꣓ writes.#dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #dean supernatural #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester angst #angst fic #taylor swift fanfiction #jensen ackles fic #jensen fucking ackles #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural dean

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ghostyuri · 19 days ago

Text

surrender to the sound

happy yellowjackets renewal day lesbians!

pairing…post-rescue!natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

in which…your ex picks you up from the bar—when you get too drunk thinking of her.

before you read…angst. misty is here too.

“she said she wouldn’t leave, ya know? and then—she’s fucking gone—just like that? what fucking sense does that make, misty?”

the blonde sits beside you, her fingers tapping nervously on the edge of the coca cola she ordered. all she offers is a hum, and the shaking of her head, her curls bouncing lightly.

she’s been trying to get you out of this place for nearly an hour now, but you won’t give up moping over natalie—it’s impossible.

misty should’ve known better, you didn’t ever invite her to shit. apparently just when you wanted someone to validate the bitter words you spewed about the girl that had taken your heart, then crushed it in her pale palms.

“fuckin’ liar she is…” you mutter, grabbing the glass of amber liquid as soon as the bartender places it before your face with a failed smile. he was probably tired of you, just like misty, but you’re suffering more than the both them combined, so you don’t care.

everything felt like a blur to you.

like you were just punched in the gut and can’t steady yourself and the world is crumbling beneath your toes. the alcohol dulls it enough to where you have no desire to cry, you’re only angry every time her face crosses your mind.

you want to scream.

each day had felt more suffocating, four weeks that had felt blended together, an inescapable nightmare that you could hardly process as a reality.

it wasn’t simple. you two were bonded the mere moment that fucking plane crashed—and every single day afterward. an intense trust in one another because you two had something so crucial in common; the desire to keep your humanity. she had felt safe with you, you had felt protected by her.

because natalie would never hurt you.

you can only laugh at yourself for believing that, and misty turns her body completely on the stool she occupies.

“it’s getting prettyyyy late,” she sing songs, looking at her watch then back to you with a smile too sweet, “i can bring you home…even stop for ice cream?”

“i don’t—” “i know a place open all night—their root beer float is out of this world.”

“i can have a normal fucking beer,” your voice raises with a crack, exhaling deeply when you notice the subtle flinch in her reaction. she expects a sorry, but you don’t bother, swallowing your briefly lived pity with another gulp of your drink.

misty abruptly stands up, a tight-lipped smile before she excuses herself to the bathroom. your head hangs low listening to her steps fade further in the distance, propping your elbow on the counter and massaging your forehead.

it’s surely past midnight, and you’re not sure how much longer misty will put up with your natalie-centered rants—but the idea of returning to your cold and empty bed only cemented you more in place.

you finish the glass in front of your face, just for a freshly opened beer to be placed in front of you by the bartender. something you didn’t order. you don’t think you did, at least.

“guy in the sunglasses,” the man informs you, tilting his head over his shoulder to the counter across from you. your lips are parted with nothing to say, looking at the apparent guy with a slight squint.

who the fuck wears sunglasses in the bar? you scoff but accept the drink regardless.

unfortunately, he takes that as an invitation, sliding out of his chair and approaching you, watching while you keep your gaze straight.

“i see your, uh, friend, took off.”

“clearly don’t see shit cause’ she’s in the bathroom.”

you have yet to spare him a glance, and he begins to shift in place, upset he’s not getting the attention he wants. boo, fucking hoo. you sip on the beer more, taking satisfaction in the small huff that leaves his lips, then the silence that follows.

he dares to try again.

“i got more of those back at my place,” he motions to the tall dark glass in your hand, even having the audacity to lean in closer to the point you can smell his rancid breath. he adds, “and this shithole is about to close, so…”

“so get the fuck out,” you say lowly, oddly polite despite the words and the charge behind them. dealing with some prick was not what you needed right now. if nat was here he wouldn’t have even had the courage to send you a cheap beer. he’d stay still in his stool and let the chewed-up tobacco rot in his gums. you’d prefer it that way instead of right beside you.

where the hell is misty?

not a question you ask yourself often, but you’re now peering at the bathroom door waiting for it to open. not that you needed assistance with the man, he’ll surely connect the dots and walk away.

but seconds pass, and he’s whistling obnoxiously while tapping his drink on the counter. you squeeze your red eyes shut, losing the little patience you have and abruptly get up.

fresh air sounds nice.

except, there’s a large hand tugging at your wrist the moment you stand.

with a hardened face, you stare, picturing how fucked up natalie would have him looking right now. a busted lip, bruised eye, broken nose. you’ve bailed her out for less than being touched by a stranger. sometimes, you thought she was overbearing. a downside to her protective nature that you’ve appeared to take for granted…no…no. you don’t need her.

“sweetheart—”

fuck this.

with force, you pull your hand away, just before balling your fist and throwing it at him. not as effective as nat, her silver rings left violent marks that you’d clean the blood from with loving hands. but, his head swings to the side and he’s clutching the edge of the counter for support; a crowd already forming and pulling you away.

“don’t fucking call me that,” you spit at the man, trying to squirm out of the hold another older woman had you in. you disregard her attempts to calm you down because she had no right—a wide-eyed misty rushing over and trying to take control of the situation.

“don’t fucking…” you trail off with a hushed voice, allowing misty to guide you away. you’re shaking now, and you’re not sure if it’s from the adrenaline, or outrage, or something entirely different. your cheeks are on fire and you’re not thinking about what you just did.

you’re thinking about her. all you fucking do is think about her. it’s a curse.

your legs feel unsteady, but misty has her hand on your back and is gently pushing you out the door, preventing you from stumbling. the cool night air hits your face, shocking the warm alcohol-induced haze you’ve been in, still not as cold as your bed without her. but god is your mattress so freezing.

you stop for a moment, leaning against the brick wall outside, your chest heaving while the tears begin to fall. you hate this—misty watching you like a scared puppy and the incapability you had to just blink them away, show a reassuring smile that you’re alright.

you’re not, you haven’t been, and this night has been so fucking long, it’s hitting you at once.

the pain of everything weighs on your shoulders like it’s the world itself. the abandonment. the thought of how easy it was to just leave you behind, along with every sacred moment you’ve shared with her.

memories that cannot be replicated even in the slightest, there’s only one natalie scatorccio and she’s the only person that kept you sane—kept you alive when you wanted the winter to take you.

you slide down the wall, otherwise you swear you’d just collapse. it’s too much. you bend your knees and bring them to your chest, burying your face into your palms and sobbing. you couldn’t help it and you really tried. the night was meant to be a vacation for your mind, from her, and you feel stupid when she’s probably out there with another girl in her lap already.

moving on from you while you’re stuck in place; you keep crying.

even when the neon lights in the windows shut off and the leftover patrons exit and fade into the distance.

“hey,” you hear misty’s voice, the girl bending down and tapping your knee. with a blurry vision, you peek at her, a proud smile on her face as she points to the left of you.

you turn your head, catching a silhouette of a figure on the sidewalk. even with glossy eyes, it’s not hard to make out the long messily chopped brown hair and leather jacket clinging to her arms.

fucking hell.

“called her when i went potty—well—i went potty to call her,” misty laughs awkwardly, assuming this was some sort of favor, inserting herself in your broken relationship and trying to fix it.

“why would you do that, misty? a-are you stupid?”

she blinks dumbly at you, then at natalie. the brunette is already kneeling before you, using her eyes to tell the blonde to leave. misty does, without a word, because she only seemed to say the wrong things to you. even a ‘bye,’ might piss you off even more than she already has.

you don’t want natalie to see you in this way. weeping over her outside a fucking bar she’s probably banned from. you sniffle, averting your gaze as you dabbed the tears with the sleeve of your shirt.

natalie allows you to catch a breath, glancing down at your trembling hand in the meantime, noticing the swelling and discoloration.

she frowns, reaching out and holding it delicately, afraid to apply any pressure. she is treating you like porcelain that’s already cracked.

“what happened?”

natalie’s tone is gentle, with a familiarity to it that you’ve missed; genuine worry, and almost prying. or more so, subtly asking if you wanted her to take care of whatever or whoever had bothered you. she’s a bit too late here.

“none of your business,” you mutter, retreating and placing your palm in your lap. this isn’t something nat is used to, and obviously so by the way she shudders at your demeanor.

she’s not alone, though, even with the alcohol tainting your system, it’s agonizing to push her away right now. you spent the whole night, no, whole fucking month, wishing for her presence again. even thought up the first words you’d say to her…but now they slip from your brain.

“you don’t have to be like this.”

“like what, natalie? tell me.”

she’s eyeing you like she doesn’t know what to do with you. maybe she doesn’t, you were usually the one cleaning up her messes and tolerating her liquor driven attitude.

the other part of her that isn’t focused on getting you home, is filled with a quiet rage that you had let yourself get so fucked up. especially with misty out of all people.

natalie clears her throat, ignoring your question—it’s not serious anyways, you only want to argue.

“just…let's go, okay?”

“fuck off.”

she takes a deep breath. natalie does not take joy in being mad at you—she fucking hates it. and yeah, you’re not in your right state of mind, but she cannot convince herself that your words are meaningless.

that your newfound resentment isn’t a product of the alcohol, it’s just…you. how you feel about her now that she had done the worst to you. she wants to bash her head into the same brick wall your back rested upon.

she opens her mouth to plead with you but you’re faster.

“you can go, natalie—i actually fucking want you to.”

you had said the opposite the day she did leave you. you’re unsure if the words were coherent through your bawling, but it was something desperate along those lines, just begging her to stay.

she hadn’t listened then.

and still, natalie refuses to listen to you now.

“i’m not doing that,” she informs you, keeping her voice calm though she is on the verge of both snapping and having a similar breakdown.

none of this was easy for her either, not the way you had assumed. hell, it was just a week ago she too was outside a shady place with tears streaming down her face. all because someone fucking smelt like you.

it was the shampoo; a flashback of holding you in your shared bed while her body pressed into your back. she would cling to you and breath you in, peppering kisses on the tender spots of your neck down to the tip of your shoulder and the side of your arm. the last time she felt peace.

she had shaken her thoughts of you away and carried on. something that had become a routine, wishing that eventually, it would just stop—but that was like wishing on a shooting star. only having false hope but it would never become a reality.

you don’t choose your next words carefully.

“i’d rather leave with s-someone—anyone else—instead of y—”

“don’t you fucking say that to me,” natalie cuts you off, jaw clenching in fury while her mossy eyes welled up. you never made natalie cry, and your expression noticeably softens when she turns her head away from you, wiping her face hurriedly like a child.

all natalie did was come here to take you home, now she’s sinking deeper into the hole she dug herself in weeks ago. she rejects her vulnerability and with a flash, her emotions are concealed.

she clasps her hands together and blinks at you in exasperation.

“then i’ll have misty come back and pick your ass up. even spend the night to make sure you don’t choke on your damn vomit.”

with that, nat gets up, but doesn’t leave. she stands there with her hands on her hips, waiting for you to pick yourself off the sidewalk and follow her to her rusting car. your bottom lip is quivering, forcing yourself to accept defeat because natalie always won.

your wobbly legs straighten, and she’s already placing an arm around your torso to help. part of you wants to refuse, the other part melts into her.

both of you don’t say anything. not on the way to the poorly parked vehicle around the corner, and not on the ride to your apartment. she plays her cd with the volume on low, the tension incredibly painful each time a song you associate with each other taunts you through the speakers.

she occasionally steals glances at red lights, but it’s when she parks on your street that she looks again and notices the lonely tear trailing down your cheek. you’ve unbuckled your seatbelt and gripped the door handle, but you were frozen.

natalie says your name softly, and you feel her right hand softly reach for your left one. you don’t react, not even when she gingerly brings it to her lips, kissing the flesh fondly.

you have no desire to speak anymore. your anger had died a few stop signs ago and now you just feel numb. you’re inhaling the scent of the apple car freshener and the cigarette smoke that tainted the fabric, while natalie is studying your desolated yet so fucking beautiful features.

natalie pushes the lump in her throat.

“…i love you…”

when she finally catches your glistening glare, her eyebrows knit in heartache, and she’s the one who may throw up. there’s not an ounce of uncertainty behind the three words, never has been. it’s the very reason she had to hurt you anyway—it was necessary.

nat knows you’re both fucked up, there’s no denying that. but, she will always view herself in a different light than you. a very dim one with a bulb flickering near its death—compared to the halo she envisioned over your pretty head because you still had the warmth of the sun, despite what you two had gone through.

she’s so cold, and she hopes one day you’d acknowledge that and understand her.

“i can’t just…stop that.”

natalie’s thumb is tracing slow circles over your hand, the small repetitive motion keeping her grounded and stopping her from shaking. the words are hard to say, and difficult to hear—because this isn’t natalie regretting what she had done. it’s the total opposite, it’s a bittersweet goodbye. and she keeps going.

“i mean—fuck,” natalie laughs to herself, though it’s hollow and she glances at her lap, “the way i feel about you…that’s a one-time thing for me.”

you’re physically unable to smile; but there is a very slight twitch to your lips, the corners pricking upwards hardly. she’s honest, and she’s holding you so tightly. despite it all, there is a sense of comfort. not at all a sudden rush of freedom from the agony, but it’s something.

and for some odd reason, the rest of the unspoken words you wish to say, no longer matter at all. natalie made a decision and she’s sticking by it.

and you have to be okay with that.

#-🦦#sorry the ending is rushed the edible wore off #natalie x reader #natalie fic #natalie scatorccio fic #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie yellowjackets x reader #natalie yellowjackets fic #natlie fics #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets fanfic #wlw fanfic #lesbian fanfic #why are you still reading this? do you want me??

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bambiblake · 3 months ago

Note

Hey,

Could I maybe request a Lottie x reader where they just crashed into the wilderness, and reader can't sleep at all and Lottie has to figure out how to comfort her? <3

Lullaby - lottie matthews x reader

Summary: Lottie helps you get to sleep after the crash

Genre: fluff

Warnings: mentions of the crash, reader has anxiety but yk I’m guessing a lot of ppl would in that situation either way lol

A/n: sorry this is kinda short and not the best it’s my first post here and I haven’t written in a while and I hope I gave the asker what they wanted :)

Hours. it had been merely hours since they had crashed in the woods and you were a mess. you had gotten used to stressful situations but this was on a whole new level.

anxiety filled your body more and more the longer it took for the rescue team to arrive...if they were even coming, that had crossed your mind once or twice but lottie, sweet sweet lottie, had tried her best to calm your nerves

"they're coming for us....and until then i'll be here" she had told you even if she didn't believe it herself, but of course she'd never tell you that

night had come way quicker than any of the group had expected and they laid down for the night, everyone finding a somewhat comfortable spot to sleep, you had curled yourself up on a softer patch of grass and moss near a tree with the tallest yellowjacket not too far from you

lottie could hear your tossing and turning, she could practically feel the anxiety radiating off you and she didn't think she could stand to do nothing about it much longer. the minute she heard a soft cry escape your lips she sat up instantly turning to you

"hay" she whispered out softly as she moved closer to you, gently moving some hair away from your eyes as you look up at her "can...can i help?" she asks

she knew she couldn't ask you what was wrong or if you were ok, those were stupid questions...but she could offer her help and she would. she'd do anything for you.

looking down at you she saw your breath start to calm as you thought about her question, your brain getting too distracted to focus on your discomfort "could you...." you let out a sigh "could you...sing to me, maybe? it's just i'm so used to noise while i sleep and that could-" the dark haired girl interrupts your rambling with a soft smile "i can sing to you"

you give her a small smile in return as you move to lay closer to her, gently placing your head on her chest as her hand subconsciously made its way towards your hair. once the two of you were comfortable you could hear her begin to softly hum the melody of 'Fade into you', a song she often put on when you would hang out

Listening to her pretty humming and the beating of her heart your body seemed to loosen up, your eyes getting heavy as sleep finally started to take you over

after very softly singing about the entire song lottie realized you had fallen asleep, looking down at your now peaceful expression she couldn't help but feel a swell in her heart

she felt pride knowing she was the one to help you, you had helped her so many times with her issues and she felt so useful knowing she seemed to handle their situation better

she didn't know when they were going to be rescued, but she knew she'd be right there to protect you until then.

#lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews smut #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x fem!reader #Lottie Matthews x gn!reader #yellowjackets x reader

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livlocus · 1 month ago

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Cherries and Vanilla (Jason Grace x Reader)

Pairing: Jason Grace x fem!reader (established relationship)

Summary: Jason is in the reader's dorm room at New Rome University when he hears a crash from the bathroom.

Warnings: reader passes out in the shower (reader is okay), vasovagal syncope, my writing and grammatical abilities

Word Count: 3.3k it just kept going help

A/N: hey guys lol so me in my fanfic era??? i wrote this after i almost passed out in my shower this past week and went what if i did pass out and my bf was here and then went what if my bf was jason grace? and voila magic now we have this?? also i say it in the fic but the reader passes out from vasovagal syncope which is just when your blood pressure drops suddenly (#womeninstem) its happened to me more than a handful of times so this was lowkey just a self-insert lmao sorry if it sucks i haven't written anything like this since like middle school haha but anyway it's all under the cut!

Jason Grace was sitting at your desk reading a novel on the first Punic War when he heard a crash in the bathroom.

About an hour and a half earlier you had been talking about what you described as “the first everything shower of spring.” Jason didn’t realize how big of a deal a shower could be, but after you told him what it entailed he had gotten comfortable at your desk and started reading his book in your dorm at New Rome University to pass the time. For an hour and a half he read his book listening to the sounds of the running water and you singing along to your playlist in the bathroom. He spent most of that time smiling while he read.

The crash consisted of plastic crinkling, metal clanking, and then a thump. Jason jumped out of your desk chair with his heart in his throat and essentially sprinted over to the door that joined your dorm room and the bathroom.

“Uh— hey,” Jason knocked on the door with his ear against it, “Love? What was that?” He tried not to sound panicked, but his head was running through a list of worst-case scenarios as he waited for a response from you.

There was nothing but running water and a song with a guitar that was a little too aggressive for his liking. Maybe there was a groan, but he couldn’t tell over the sounds of the music and the running water.

Jason didn’t appreciate the lack of speaking on the other side of the door and used that to justify him opening it to see what was happening. He felt guilty invading your privacy, but what the hell was that crash?

-_-

You were in the shower and it was hot. Maybe a little bit too hot. But the steam in the room felt nice on your usually cold skin and you were almost done anyway. All you had left to do was shave the little bits of hair that you forgot about above your left ankle and rinse the conditioner out of your hair, and then you would be free. Free to go do homework with your boyfriend who was waiting for you in your dorm room.

You were listening to the new Thornhill album as you bent down, hinging at your hips to keep your leg straight, to shave the hair above your ankle. It was nice, quick, and easy. But then you stood back up, and you felt it.

Shit.

Your head felt too light and your vision started to blur. You heard your heartbeat in your ears and it was getting faster as you braced yourself against the shower wall. You dropped the razor that you were using onto the shower floor, not caring too much about it at the moment.

Just have to rinse the conditioner out of my hair. Then I’ll sit down and this will go away, maybe have a sip of water—

You were wrong. Your head started to spin and your body felt hotter than it actually was.

Then you blacked out.

-_-

Jason opened the door and was hit with a wall of steam and the smell of cherry vanilla (your shampoo that he very much enjoyed when your hair was in his face). The steam quickly fogged his glasses but he was still able to see the outline of your body on the bathroom floor and hear a groan.

Jason quickly entered the bathroom while trying to wipe the steam off of his glasses with his fingers. He saw you on your back on top of the plastic shower liner that was now on the bathroom floor and he felt a pang in his chest. The tension rod that held the curtain up was on the floor too, a little bit too close to your head.

He quickly focused on you, obviously disoriented and your face usually pale considering how hot the room was from the water. Jason quickly kneeled down next to you, gentle hands on your head and shoulder. He could see your eyes, half-lidded and glassy. The water beads on your skin were rolling off of your body to drop on to the shower curtain. His hands were clammy and seeing your face so pale made his stomach turn.

“Hey, love, can you hear me?” He asked, trying to keep his voice steady as he processed that you probably fainted in the shower and took down the shower curtain, creating the crash that he heard. He needed you to respond, he needed to know that you were okay. Jason grabbed your hand, the one that was closest to him, needing to make sure that you were here.

Your ears were still ringing and you could hear the blood pumping in your ears, but you could also hear Jason. You felt him squeeze your hand and you slowly turned your head to the side to face him.

“Mhm,” you hummed, looking up at his face trying to blink your vision back to normal, “don’t think I hit my head.”

“Let’s get you up, okay?” Jason felt the tension in his shoulders leave, he didn’t even realize how tight they had been until he heard your voice, slow and a little clumsy, but it was still your voice.

You were okay.

“Yeah, yeah,” you groaned, slowly starting to feel normal again, “I— I still have conditioner in my hair, though.”

“That’ll have to wait, love,” Jason looked over your face one last time, smiling softly before he spoke again, “Think you can stand?” He was relieved to see the color returning to your face, the glazed-over look leaving your eyes.

“I don’t know if I can get up,” you felt shaky, and your head was feeling better, but you didn’t trust your legs to keep you up right now.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” Jason nodded and stood up. He leaned over you to shut the water off and quickly turned off the aggressive music coming from the speaker. He turned around to grab your towel that hung off of its hook on the back of the bathroom door and kneeled down again. He smiled at you, the little scar above his lip changing shape as his mouth moved into that familiar shape.

“I’ll dry you off and then you can lay down for a bit?” Jason asked, but he already started to dry you off with the towel. His glasses still had condensation on them from when he tried to wipe the steam off.

Cute.

You felt your head starting to return to normal and your body less shaky. It was strange, how quickly you felt bad, passed out, and then started feeling better. But, hey, that’s vasovagal syncope for you.

“Yeah, but I still have conditioner in my hair,” you mumbled, moving the wet hair out of your face. You were annoyed that you couldn’t have waited to pass out until after you were done with the shower. “I passed out because it was too hot in the shower, I’m fine, Jason.”

“I can braid it back for now,” he raised his eyebrows at you, crinkling his forehead, “are you sure? How are you feeling now?”

“I’m alright now, I’m feeling normal. It was definitely from the hot water, I bent down and then stood back up too quickly,” you explained, confident that’s what happened.

“If you insist, love,” he smiled again, more relaxed now that you sounded like normal; steady, and quick.

Jason made quick work out of drying you off. He was so gentle, afraid that if he pressed too hard with the towel you would somehow pass out again. When he was done he sat you up, still on top of the shower curtain and liner, using one hand to hold the back of your neck and head while the other pulled you up and forward. He moved you slowly, looking only at your face, his eyes only ever looking at your own. He needed to know that you would stay okay as he moved you. Most of the steam in the room had dissipated and it was a much cooler temperature now.

Jason scooted on the floor, on top of the shower liner, so that he was behind you, his legs on either side of you as you sat up. He carefully ran his fingers through your still-wet hair, it was slick with conditioner. He did that until there were no knots. Gently, and slowly, Jason began to braid your hair with his calloused fingers, making sure that he never tugged too hard. He tied it off with a hair tie that was around his wrist, he always wore one just in case you forgot. He liked having the things that you needed.

“Okay,” Jason leaned over to grab your towel again, “you’re gonna lay down now.”

“Fine,” you grumbled, still upset that not only you had passed out in the shower in the first place, but also at the fact there was still conditioner in your hair, “I think I’m fine now.”

“You should still lay down, love,” Jason started to move again, crouching down next to you, “at least for a little bit, drink some water? And to make sure you didn’t hit your head.”

“I don’t think that I did, nothing hurts,” you turned your head to Jason as he crouched down at your side. His clothes were wet now, from sitting on the shower liner and braiding your hair.

“Well, that’s good,” Jason began to scoop you up, one arm under your knees and one around your waist, hoisting you up, standing with you in his arms. He held you to his chest thoughtfully, his nose instinctually pressing into the top of your head and breathing in the smell of your conditioner.

Cherries and vanilla. Tart and sweet.

Jason carried you over to your bed, placing you down softly, making sure that your head was on the pillow.

“I’m alright, Jason,” you insisted, truly feeling alright now. Your head was back to normal, you really just felt thirsty and a little embarrassed if anything.

“I know, but you literally just passed out in the shower,” Jason looked at you, eyes wide, full of concern and glasses still smudged from when he wiped them with his fingers, “you should lay down for a bit, I’ll grab you some water? I’m assuming you haven’t had enough today- considering you just passed out in the shower.” He said the last bit with his eyes narrowed at you, his blue eyes almost entirely filled with the black of his pupils as he looked at your face. Your hair was pulled back in a braid so his view was unobstructed, your skin was clean and damp, and he wanted to press a kiss on every square inch of it.

“Okay, Jason,” you looked back at his face, it was full of so much concern that you agreed to his requests just to make sure that he felt better about this, “I’ll stay in bed for a bit, but no more than an hour.”

Jason smiled and nodded, content with your answer. His hand found yours again and gave it a squeeze.

“I’ll grab your water and then clean up the bathroom,” he said as if he was telling you that he was going to check the emails on his laptop. His eyes met with yours through his smudged glasses one more time before he turned around, looking around the room for your water bottle. He brought it to you the second he found it, undoing the lid for you as he handed it your way. He didn’t even wait for you to say thank you when he planted a kiss on your temple and walked back into the connected bathroom.

You could see into the bathroom as you sat in your bed, drinking the water that Jason handed you. You watched as Jason picked up the tension rod that held the shower curtain and liner, looking at the shower and trying to figure out exactly where it went back. His eyes narrowed and his face scrunched a bit as he wedged the tension rod with the curtain and liner back into place. His aquiline nose was more pronounced on his face when he scrunched it like that. You loved that face. Sometimes you would say silly things or reference topics he didn’t know enough on to talk to you about just so you could see him scrunch his face like that. It made his glasses go crooked on his nose and his blue eyes peak through as he squinted.

Jason grabbed another towel and started to wipe the water off of the floor that had spilled out of the shower, he grabbed the razor that you dropped, putting it in its usual place. He walked back out, leaving the door open so that the bathroom could continue to air out.

“I can’t believe that your bathroom doesn’t have a fan in there,” Jason huffed as he sat down in your desk chair and turned to look at you. Your desk was perpendicular to the side of your bed, right next to where your pillow was. Your bed was lofted high enough to fit your shoe rack and two drawers for your clothes that didn’t fit in the closet, so when you laid down in your bed, you were at eye level with Jason when he sat on your chair. “And no window? Do they want you to suffocate in there?”

Jason didn’t have a fan or a window in the bathroom connected to his dorm either.

“I know, maybe I should invest in a dehumidifier or something,” you chuckled out, amused with how Jason was complaining about the poor design of your bathroom.

“Are— are you feeling better now?” Jason rolled the chair closer to the bed, so he could be closer to you. He reached out his hand and took your hand that wasn’t holding the water bottle. You took small, little sips.

“Yeah, I’m fine now,” you reassured him, wanting to finish rinsing the conditioner out of your hair and put clothes on. You started to scoot towards the edge of the bed despite the slight panic you could see growing on Jason’s face. “I can go back in and just rinse the conditioner out—“ Jason interrupted you, not letting you finish your thought, something he always made sure to avoid doing to you.

“I’ll help.”

You looked at Jason, about to laugh.

“You want to help me rinse the conditioner out of my hair?” You couldn’t help but chuckle, “I feel alright now, Jason, really.”

“Let me help,” Jason looked up at you, blue eyes wide and pleading through his smudged lenses, that little scar above his lip stretching as he opened his mouth, “Please, love.”

You let out a huff.

That damn face.

“Fine, Jason,” you conceded, hands up, surrendering to your boyfriend's demands to help you finish showering.

He smiled at you, lips pressed together, his eyes narrowing and his nose scrunching up just a bit.

“Just give me a minute and then I’ll help you get into the bathroom,” Jason shuffled back to the bathroom, turning the water back on and coming back to you on your bed. Without a word, he scooped you up from the bed and carried you into the bathroom, despite your protests that you could walk just fine.

There was a clean towel laid out on the floor, right next to the shower. He set you down gently on top of it and smiled when he heard you grumble about how you could stand on your own to finish showering. He knew that you could, but that didn’t mean that you had to.

“I’m gonna lay you down and I’ll rinse the conditioner out for you,” his voice was so soft, like if he said it any differently you would shatter like glass, but he was still firm enough for you to decide to stop grumbling.

You let Jason unbraid your hair, taking his time, making sure that he didn’t accidentally pull pieces of your hair when they got caught on his hangnails or the rough edges of his hands. He laid your head down in the shower, grabbing the shower head and he began to rinse the conditioner out of your hair.

The water was nowhere near as hot as it was earlier, but it was still warm, it gave you the chills when the water dripped past your hair and down your neck. Jason made sure that the towel that was wrapped around you was tight enough when he saw the goosebumps on your skin. One of his hands held the shower head while the other went back and forth from covering your eyes to make sure that water didn’t drip into them and massaged the conditioner out of your hair. He took his time, not wanting to get any more water on you than he had to.

Soon the bathroom smelt like your soap again, like cherry and vanilla, tart and sweet.

Soon the conditioner was out of your hair and Jason turned the water off, placing the shower head back in its holder.

“All done.”

“Thank you, Jason,” You smiled up at him, he was grinning at you, enjoying how your hair felt in his hands. He liked feeling something so soft in his rough hands. He squeezed the water out of your hair, the water splattering on the shower floor and dripping down his hands. He didn’t care, he was just glad that you were letting him take care of you. He just wanted to make sure that you were alright.

You sat up, looking at your boyfriend's face, his eyes were practically shaped like hearts and it made your own heart flutter. “I can stand up now,” you grabbed his hands with your own and held them tightly, “I’m okay, I promise.”

Jason was hesitant to believe you, but you were squeezing his hands so hard that it was obvious you were okay and he nodded. Jason didn’t let go of your hands as you stood up, but he let you stand up by yourself.

“Get dressed and I’ll take care of everything in here,” he leaned into your ear, his voice soft. You padded back into your dorm room to get dressed with your hair now pulled back and twisted up in a claw clip while Jason wiped up more water on the floor and picked up the towel, he put away the various things that were out of place in the bathroom even if they were like that before your shower today. He just wanted to make your day easier for you, especially after what just happened.

You stepped into sweatpants and were shrugging on a baggy shirt when Jason came out of the bathroom. He walked up to you and without a word he hugged you. He was warm and his arms wrapped around your arms, holding you close to him. His nose found its place at the top of your head, inhaling the familiar smell of your hair.

“I’m glad that you’re okay,” he mumbled, his voice muffled from the way he was pressing his face into the top of your head, “I was scared for a minute there.” His voice was smaller than usual, the confidence and self-assurance that usually came with Jason was gone for a brief moment.

You leaned into him, unable to wrap your arms around him because his arms were trapping your own by your side.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you smiled into his chest, letting yourself absorb the warmth that radiated through the scratchy material of his t-shirt. You pressed your lips into his chest, kissing him through the shirt

He smiled into your still-wet hair, taking a deep breath through his nose.

Cherries and vanilla.

Tart and sweet.

“So, love, I seem to remember that you had an essay on the goddess Mefitis that you needed help with?”

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