#and so from then on he just didn’t get any

[sheisoverhere]

Peeta Mellark is an integral member of the four D12 victors. He is literally the sunset on the reaping! How is this not clear? I’ve never wanted to report people for bad literary analysis more and I’m only half joking. It has forced me to commit a cardinal sin: analyze in anger!

1. Him being chosen by absolute accident is the point. Not only does he represent every single other tribute who simply gets chosen because they live in a messed up country but he represents how even with some odds being in your favor (older siblings, merchant family, being white, being popular, etc.) you are still very likely to be victimized by the oppressive structure of Panem.

2. When Haymitch says, “But she was smarter than me, or luckier” - the luck is all the people around Katniss who created the circumstances for her to lead a successful revolution (her father teaching her to hunt, the arena having woods, Rue healing her with leaves, Thresh not killing her, Haymitch consistently giving her support, her mother teaching her aspects of medicine, on and on and on) and Peeta is the number one, most important part of her luck in the first book. She has someone in the games actively putting her life before his… are you kidding? There is legitimately no better luck than that.

3. Even if we take Katniss out of it, Peeta is so impactful as a victor because most of his scenes would not be cut/doctored. What’s there to edit out? Instead, the viewers get a full view of him loving a girl so selflessly, using trickery and strategy instead of violence, keeping himself alive through art, joking on literal death’s door, and sharing so much of himself with the audience it becomes harder for them not to see him as a real human boy. How rare do you think that is for the games? Haymitch and LGB are caricatures of themselves in the games, playing roles that flatten them down. Even Katniss becomes one dimensional on screen without Peeta (and Rue, of course). It is also heavily implied that he does not kill anyone during the games (in a straightforward way) and even if you count Cato or the girl from 8 or even foxface, it’s never him hunting them or seeking out a kill - again how rare do you think that is to see on screen for Games viewers?

4. I didn’t think this needed to be said but: Katniss dies without Peeta in the first games. a) she goes for the bow and dies in the bloodbath; b) she is hunted and killed by Careers; c) she is killed by game makers because there’s no love story angle to keep them from just burning her entirely; d) she dies from tracker jacker stings or Cato because Peeta doesn’t defend her or tell her to run… I could go on…

5. But even if she does win and wins alone - the victory means as much (I would argue less than) any other rebellious victor winning, certainly less than Haymitch’s win. The biggest rebellion for their games is that two of them win! This is legit the only thing that distinguishes them from any other sympathetic, kind child who would have won the games. Like if Haymitch or Finnick or Wiress winning isn’t jarring enough for the Games to end… why do you think Katniss killing Peeta and winning solo would be? It would not.

6. And finally, I cannot stress this enough: There is no peaceful end to the rebellion or the trilogy without Peeta. “Peeta’s a whiz with fires” (HG) for a reason! Collins, over and over, shows us how fire can get out of control and destroy even those who are innocent and who you love (Gale, Beete, Peeta’s family, Haymitch’s family). If everyone really burns, there’s no one to clean the ashes. The reason not everyone burns is because of people like Peeta who can coax the flames in a way that is nurturing and consistent. I mean…. “Peeta fashioned some kind of incubator” is such an obvious detail. Those goslings don’t hatch without Peeta, life does not go on in peace and joy without Peeta.

It is no coincidence that when Maysilee says Lenore Dove got the “jump on us all” (in being a rebel), she is referring to LD using orange paint to make protest art!

We must stop pushing Peeta Mellark out of the narrative! He is literally the sunset on the reaping!

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 47: The Reunion

Summary: You get to spend some time with your family after a surprise reunion

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,363 words

Warnings: Alpha/beta/omega dynamics, a/b/o, Alternate Universe, slight angst, emotions, language, family stuff, a little rehashing of the reader's past

A/N: Well, here it is. I'm not very proud of this one but I just don't have it in me to try to do more. This chapter has drained me so much. I didn't think it would be this hard to write it when I was planning out this part. Oh well. Also things do get a bit descriptive when it comes to the reader's age for plot reasons.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

Sugar cookies.

She smells like sugar cookies. Just like you remember.

The scent floods your nose, seeping into the back of your brain, seeping into memories that you thought you had forgotten. Warmth fills your body, flowing through your veins to your limbs, from the top of your head to your toes. It’s cold outside, but you can’t feel it, too caught up in the moment to care that you’re in nothing but a t-shirt.

Her arms are warm around you, squeezing you in an embrace so tight it almost hurts. You’d never complain. You want her to squeeze you tighter, never let you go.

Tears wet her jacket, soaking into the fabric as you desperately cling to her like she might disappear any second. It hardly feels real, but she is real. She’s really here. She’s really with you.

“Mama…” You sob, fingers gripping her jacket, clinging to her in desperation.

You thought you’d never see her again. You thought she was gone forever from your life.

Now she’s here. She’s really here.

“I know,” She sniffles, crying just as hard as you are. Both of you are shaking, clinging to each other. “I know, baby, I’m right here.”

No words come to your mind as you stand there, hugging your mother for the first time in years. You thought you’d never get to see her again, that the image of her heartbroken face as you were ripped away would be your last memory of her. You’d spend the rest of your life wondering where she was, if she was okay. You’d wonder about the rest of your siblings, what became of their lives. You’d be alone, cut off from all of them, just as your father wanted.

He didn’t get what he wanted in the end.

Something about that feels satisfying.

Your mother slowly pulls away from you, cupping your face in her hands. “Look at you.” She says, still teary-eyed. Her thumbs are soft, gentle as they wipe the tears from your cheeks. “My little girl all grown up.”

She still looks just as you remember. There’s still the warmth behind her eyes she never lost, not even in the worst of times. Some might call omegas soft, weak, vulnerable, but you know better now. There’s a strength to omegas overlooked by most, a strength you’ve always acquainted to your mother. She never lost any of her strength, even after she lost you.

“I missed you.” You say, leaning into her touch.

“I missed you too.” She says, giving you a soft smile, unchanged from what you remember. “More than you know.” She releases your face to wipe the tears off of her own.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” You say, wiping your nose.

“We thought the same.” She says, turning slightly to the man that had accompanied her.

“Jeremy?” You blink in disbelief, staring past her.

“Hey, sis.” He says, opening his arms.

You hug your brother tightly, breathing in his strong scent. Woody and warm like a campfire. Just like you remember. Jeremy’s only two years older than you, the brother you were closest with due to being so close in age. Though you missed all of your siblings, Jeremy was who you missed the most. Despite being an alpha, he wasn’t like your dad or your older brothers. He was kinder, softer, less willing to bend to your father’s expectations.

It’s a relief to see him. Very much a relief.

You pull away, staring up at them both. You can hardly believe it. They’re really here. They’re really with you again.

“I missed you both. So much.” You say, blinking back tears again. You’ve moved into the house, your pack making themselves scarce after introductions were made. You’re seated on the couch in the living area with your mother, Jeremy taking the chair.

“We missed you too.” Jeremy says. “You have no idea how much of a relief it is to see you’re alright.”

“We tried to contact the institute after your father died, but they wouldn’t give up any information.” Your mother says.

“Dad died?” You blink in disbelief. You had a feeling, considering the fact your mother was here at all, but hearing it was something else entirely.

“Mhm.” Your mother says, taking your hand. “Almost two years ago. It was when your youngest brother Darren presented as an omega. He got so mad, ranting and raving and carrying on. You could see it in his face, how worked up he was getting, then he just...dropped. A massive heart attack, the doctors said.”

You should feel sad. You should be upset at the news of your father’s death, but in the end, there’s a sense of relief there. He’s gone from the world, from your lives, your mother’s life. His steel hand and influence have died and with it all the abuse you endured. A deep part of you almost feels glee that he got what he deserved.

“It was a long time coming.” Your mother continues. “He was never the same after he sent you away. I think deep down he regretted it, but he never would have admitted to it. His health declined steadily. He had to retire due to heart issues but you know him, he refused to listen to the doctors. There couldn’t be anything wrong with him, just like there couldn’t be anything wrong with the family. I thought he was going to go when your youngest sister Sarah presented as an omega.”

“He sent her to an institute too, didn’t he?” You ask quietly.

Your mother nods, tears gathering in her eyes. You squeeze her hand, your heart aching for your little sister.

“We tried to get her back after he died, but...you know how institutes are.” Jeremy says.

“Yeah,” You say, leaning your head on your mother’s shoulder. “Maybe someday soon we’ll get to see her again. I mean, you found me after all this time.”

“Well, in a way you found us.” Your mother says, kissing the top of your head.

She’s not wrong. John found her for you. Even though it was Kate that had brought them, you know it was John that put in the request.

“What happened after dad died?” You ask, curious as to how things got to where they are now.

“I left not long after dad sent you away.” Jeremy says. “I couldn’t stand that he did that to you. I went no contact with him but stayed in contact with mom. I was the first one she called after it happened.”

“I kept Darren with me.” Your mother says. “I wasn’t going to lose another child to an institute. I moved in with Jeremy after the service. David and Brandon both rescinded that responsibility. They’re both still in the military with their own packs now. They didn’t want me to still be in that life. So Jeremy took me in.”

“I refused to join the military.” Jeremy says. “I didn’t want to wind up just like dad. I went to college and now I work in marketing.”

“You always were good at convincing people to do things.” You say jokingly.

Jeremy laughs. “I was. Still am too.”

“Jeremy has his own pack too.” Your mother says proudly.

“Did you marry Jane like you said you were going to?” You ask playfully.

Jeremy gets a bashful look on his face. “Yeah.”

“No way!” You blink in surprise. Jane was your brother’s high school crush. He talked nonstop about her, constantly regaling you with stories about how she looked each day and how smart she was. You had no idea they had even started dating.

“I’m so happy for you.” You say, giving your brother a big smile.

“Thank you.” He says, beaming with pride.

“What about the others?” You ask curiously.

“Hannah went to college,” Your mother starts. “I think your dad was willing to be a little more lenient with her being a female alpha. She’s a CEO now.”

“She always was bossy.” You say.

Your mother chuckles. “She was. Alex got into West Point. Despite your father’s distaste for the Army he was proud of him.”

“Little genius boy.” You say, remembering just how smart your little brother was from very early on.

“He is that.” Jeremy says. “Darren still lives with us. We’re giving him a chance to take his time in finding a pack.”

“He deserves it after everything that happened with you and Sarah.” Your mother says.

“I’m glad he’s getting that chance.” You say honestly. “At least one of us gets a chance to be normal.”

Your mother cups your cheek, giving you a sad smile. “I’m so sorry. I should have fought harder, for both you and Sarah.”

You shake your head, leaning into her touch. “It’s not your fault. There was nothing you could have done. Dad had his mind made up and there was no changing it.” You lean into her, resting your head on her shoulder. “I don’t blame you. I know if it had been your choice, you wouldn’t have done it. Besides, if it hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have wound up here.”

Your mother rests her cheek against your head. “Are you happy?”

You smile softly. “I am.”

“They seem lovely. I can tell they care about you a lot.”

“They do. They wouldn’t have done this if they didn’t.”

“I’m so happy for you.” Your mother kisses the top of your head. “It’s a relief, knowing you’re well taken care of. I’ve worried about you since the day you presented.”

You smile softly, relief flooding through you. You’d never tell her the truth, at least all of it, about what happened to you. You’re not entirely sure you can. She doesn’t need to know all of the details. All that matters is her knowing you’re happy and well taken care of. That is the truth. You are happy. You are being well taken care of. Sure there have been bumps and hurdles, but that’s expected. There always would have been those moments regardless of what pack you found yourself in.

You’re just lucky you found yourself in such a good pack. They may be a bit dense and ruled by their jobs, but they are good to you. They’ve made more of an effort over these past couple months than you ever would have expected. Things have changed for the better, and despite everything, you know they will continue to get better.

They’re trying and that’s what matters.

Reuniting you with your family shows you that the most.

The nine of you go out to dinner in town that night. The restaurant was mostly empty, since it’s not tourist season, but you can hardly complain. You know your pack was relived as well. Despite the fact Shepherd is dead, that instinctual need to constantly look over their shoulders is still deeply ingrained in their heads. They can never be too careful, too cautious when it comes to you and your safety.

It should annoy you, but instead you feel charmed by their deep desire to keep you safe.

Your mother and brother are staying in town for a few days. You can hardly contain your excitement at the prospect of getting so much time with them. This half a day would be enough to last you a lifetime.

Her scent still lingers in the air when you return to the cottage. It has comfort and warmth spreading through your entire body. Your mom really was here, she really is here in England with you.

It feels almost surreal.

You sink down onto the couch, curling up in a ball, pressing your face into the pillow your mother had been leaning against. Her scent floods into your brain, your omega purring contently. It takes you back to the simple times when you were still a pup, being held by your mother, her gentle touches when you scraped a knee, her protective embrace when your brothers got too rough. The way she’d tuck you in and kiss your head even when you grew into a teenager. She did it for all of her kids, even though your brothers complained about it when they got older.

Tears blur your eyes again and you squeeze them closed, pressing your face into the pillow.

“Ye alright?” Johnny asks, standing near the fireplace. He had been halfway through lighting it again.

You sniffle, nodding into the pillow.

“What’s wrong?” Kyle asks, his fingers brushing over your head.

Your response is muffled by the pillow, inaudible to their ears.

“What?” Kyle asks, leaning closer.

You turn your head to free your face just a little. “I’m just so happy.” You cry.

“Aww, love.” Kyle coos, brushing his hand over your head. “I can only imagine how this must all feel.”

You sniffle, resting your cheek against the pillow. “I never thought I’d see her again.”

“We would have found a way for you to see her again.” John says, taking a seat on the other couch, facing you. “I’m just sorry it took this long to happen.”

A small smile forms on your face, but the tears keep falling. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Well, I at least understand a little.” John says, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You deserve to have your family in your life.”

Kyle continues stroking your head, sinking his fingers into your hair to massage your scalp.

“Too bad your dad’s dead. Would have liked to kill him myself.” Simon grumbles, sitting next to John on the couch.

You can’t help but laugh, morbid as the statement is. You don’t doubt your pack would have gone after your father given the chance. Once more showing their desire to protect you. There is a part of you that’s glad your father is dead. It’s what he deserves after everything he did to you and your family. Your mother is finally free and living happily without being in his shadow. Part of you feels sad, though. He was your father and deep down you cared for him. He was family after all, no matter how badly he treated you. As much as you wished he could have suffered, deep down you’re glad he died quickly.

You know you wouldn’t have gotten this chance had he still been around.

You also don’t doubt your pack would make good on their promises.

It shouldn’t fill you with glee at the thought of your pack being so protective, yet you can’t deny your omega preening happily at the thought.

It’s late. You’re tired yet you’re far too worked up from the excitement of the day to sleep. There’s a happiness, a content feeling deep in your soul. For the first time in weeks, months even, things feel like they should, like you’ve dreamed they would. Lying in your bed at the institute, you were guilty of daydreaming, picturing what life would be like with a pack, if they’d be nice and let you see your family again, if you’d be well taken care of.

What you got was far from what you had imagined, but despite all of the hurdles you’ve had to overcome, you’re beginning to fell more and more like you’ve finally made those dreams a reality. You have a pack that loves you, even if they are bad at showing it sometimes, you have your family again, you’re well taken care of.

You may not be able to get anything you ask for, but still they would walk over fire for you. They have, in a way. They went to such great lengths to keep you safe, such great lengths to save you when you were in danger, such great lengths to allow you to heal in a place you’d find ideal. Even John leaving when he did no longer hurts quite so much. You know he did it for a reason, a good reason. He’d have left no matter what. He had to do it. He had to ensure Shepherd really was dead, otherwise he’d never be able to truly rest and allow you to live your life as you deserve. As he thinks you deserve.

You were well taken care of while he was gone.

Your hand lifts to trace your fingers over the soft scars on your left shoulder. Given to you just over a year ago now. How time has flown yet how it has dragged on.

The hand shifts over to the right side, feeling the rough and ragged skin from the still-healing mark on your right shoulder. How far things have progressed in such a short amount of time.

How far things have come from where you were a year ago. You never thought you’d be here, but then again, laying in your bed at the institute, you could have never imagined this would be how your life would play out.

You truly are lucky.

Footsteps thud quietly on the steps, breaking the silence in the house. You hold your breath, listening as they get closer to your door. You pull your blankets up to your chin, watching. There’s nothing to be afraid of, yet you can’t stop the nervous twisting in your stomach. No one got in, no one is coming to hurt you. The threats against your lives are gone, wiped out. You’re free from that worry now.

There’s nothing that can hurt you.

The door slowly opens, darkness seeping in through the slowly growing gap opening itself up like a mouth waiting to devour you. A familiar face appears through the darkness, illuminated by the soft glow of your nightlight.

“Still up?”

You nod, slowly relaxing and lowering the blanket from your face. “Can’t sleep.”

John hums, slipping in before closing the door behind him. “Any particular reason?”

“Just thinking too much.” You say. “As usual.”

He smiles softly, lowering himself down on on the edge of the bed. “Your mind does like to wander.”

“It’s a character flaw, really.”

“That’s what Simon would say.” He leans on his arm, staring down at you. “How are you?”

“Fine.” You say, shrugging. “Happy.”

“Good.” He smiles. “I’m glad you feel that way. If it were possible I’d have it so you’d felt that way from the start. But the dedication to our jobs blinded us to the reality of the situation. When you spend years dedicating your life to the machine of war, it’s easy to forget how much it affects those around you.” He reaches for your hand. “It wasn’t fair to you, but we can’t undo it.”

“We can only move forward.” You say, quoting what Dr. Keller used to say.

“We’re going to do better by you going forward.” He says, brushing his fingers across the back of your hand. Just as rough and calloused as you remember them being despite the fact he hasn’t handled a weapon regularly or trained regularly in months. “I’m going to do better by you going forward.”

You hum at his words, shifting your hand to press against his palm. His hands are so big compared to yours, his fingers so long. Hands that have done unspeakable things in the name of keeping the world safe. Hands that have wrought violence against other humans, hands that have killed.

Hands that have cradled you so delicately.

“You know you could join me in here.” You say, lacing your fingers with his.

“Wasn’t sure you’d want me to.”

“Why not?” You ask, releasing his hand to press yourself up to sit.

“I know you’re not exactly happy with me.”

“Well, that’s true. But reuniting me with my family does give you a leg up from where you were.” You say, pulling the blankets to the side. “But it still doesn’t forgive you entirely.”

“Fair enough.” He says, maneuvering himself so he’s next to you.

You roll yourself so you’re next to him, staring up at him as he lays on his back. He shifts his arm over your head, offering. You take that offer, wiggling up against his chest. You wrap an arm around him, squeezing him gently. He’s softer than he used to be. He’s always been soft, but he’s lost more of his muscle mass in the time away from the military. All of them have gotten softer, something you can’t bring yourself to complain about. You like them like this, well fed and relaxed. There’s something so domestic about it, such a contrast to the harsh sterility of life on base.

John sighs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You press your nose into his chest, breathing in the deep, damp earthy scent of him. It sinks into your mind, starting to quiet the thoughts racing through your head. They dampen to a dull drone, your eyes slipping closed as you lay there in your alpha’s warm embrace.

The wind whips around you, blowing salty air around you. It’s sunny out, but the wind is cold coming right off the ocean. You stand right on the edge of the wet sand, watching the waves flow in and out.

“It’s beautiful here.” Your mother says.

“It is.” You say, staring out at the horizon in the distance.

“You seem happy.”

“I am happy.” You turn to glance at her, meeting her gaze. “I’m very happy.”

“Good.” She pats your hand where it rests on her arm. “I can rest knowing you’re somewhere you’re well taken care of and happy.” She goes quiet for a moment, staring out at the sea. “They really love you. I can tell just by looking at them. Those boys would burn down the world for you.”

“You think so?” You ask, even though you already know she’s telling the truth.

“Of course.” She says, squeezing your hand. “I always hoped you’d come to be free of the military, but of course we can’t always control what happens. I suppose it was wrong of me to judge every service member based on those your father chose to surround himself with.”

“He did have a bad taste in friends.” You murmur. You’d never tell her about Phil and how you were reunited. You’re not sure you could tell her.

“Birds of a feather…”

You hum, watching the waves flow in and out across the sand.

“What happens after your vacation is over? Do you go back to living on base?”

“I suppose so.” You say, swallowing thickly. You’ve been trying not to think that far ahead, but now that Shepherd is gone, there’s nothing forcing your pack to stay at the cabin. You’ve always assumed as soon as things were safe, they’d go back as soon as they could. It’s their livelihoods, their life missions to serve in the military. No matter how much the idea makes you twitch, you know in the end it’s not up to you. You’ll follow them like you’re supposed to. It’s not like you have any other choice.

If you’re lucky, maybe they’ll get a house close to base and let you live a semi-normal life outside of the barracks. You’re not sure you could ever return there after everything that’s happened.

Then again, you might not have much of a choice.

“What would you want to do, if you had the choice?” She asks you, breaking you out of your thoughts.

What would you do? Your instinct is to follow them, all of your institute training tells you to be happy wherever they take you, to make a life out of what you’re given and ignore what you would prefer.

“I’d stay here forever.” You say, voicing exactly what it is you want. You’d live in that small cabin for the rest of your life if it meant you got to live somewhere like here.

“And they know that?” She asks.

You turn your head to glance back at them. Simon is lurking like a shadow, watching you as he leans against a rock. Ever attentive and watchful.

“You should tell them.” She continues. “You have a good pack. I think they’d be more willing to listen to what you want than you think.”

You turn back around, leaning over to rest your head against her shoulder. She is right. You can voice your thoughts and desires to them. Maybe this time they’ll listen and take you into consideration.

“Tell them.” She leans down, kissing the top of your head. “Don’t get stuck like I did.”

“We brought some stuff to cook, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not in the slightest. Make yourselves at home.” John steps aside for your mother so your mother and brother can enter.

“What did you get?” You ask, stepping up to them to try and look in the bags.

“Eager little thing.” Your mother says, wrapping an arm around you. “Thought I might make some of your favorites.”

“Aw, mom you don’t have to do that.” You say as she guides you towards the kitchen.

“I know, but I want to.” She kisses the side of your head before releasing you. “What am I here for if not to spoil you a little.”

Jeremy sets the bags on the kitchen table before starting to unload them. You pick up a tin of cocoa, staring at it for a moment.

“Mom, are you making brownies?” You ask.

“Of course.” She says. “They are your favorite.”

You can’t stop the tears pooling in your eyes as you hug her again, holding her tightly. “I have missed your brownies.”

“Brownies and enchiladas.”

“Mom you don’t have to do this.” You say.

“Of course I do. I want to spoil you while I can.” She says, running a hand over your head.

“At least let me help you.” You say.

“I suppose I can allow that.” She says, winking at you.

The two of you head into the kitchen, getting started on cooking. Jeremy takes a seat at the table, striking up a conversation with Johnny.

“That could be dangerous.” You say, glancing at them.

“Let them have their fun.” Your mother says with a smile.

The two of you continue to cook, talking quietly while the conversation at the table gets more and more animated. Both Johnny and Jeremy are speaking loudly and laughing, and paired with the sounds of you and your mother cooking, are making the cottage seem more and more domestic. It reminds you a lot of life before the institute, at home with your family. Your brothers always loud and rambunctious, the younger kids playing in the living room, the TV playing some show in the background while your mother cooks away in the kitchen.

It has a warm feeling spreading through you, this glimpse of normalcy.

What you wouldn’t give to have this all the time.

“Smells good.” Dr. Keller says, entering the kitchen.

“Thank you. You’re more than welcome to have some once it’s done.” Your mother says.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m actually heading into town for the evening.” She says.

“To see Ashley?” You ask, wiggling your brows.

She gets an almost bashful look before clearing her throat. “Yes.”

You grin. “Don’t have too much fun!”

Dr. Keller gives you a smile before stepping out of the kitchen.

“Ashley is Kyle’s sister.” You explain to your mother. “Her and Dr. Keller have a...thing going on.”

“I see.” Your mother says with a smile. “I can only imagine what Ashley must be like after seeing Kyle.”

“They’re both absolute angels blessed with good genetics.” You say.

“Lucky them.”

You continue to cook, mixing the brownie batter while your mother pops the enchiladas into the oven. Kyle joins the pair at the table, Simon taking a seat as well, but as usual he stays distant from the conversation. Instead his eyes are on you, watching as you cook with your mother. Sometimes you wish you could sink into his brain and hear his thoughts. Is he thinking about his own family? You know he’s not exactly close with them, or at least he keeps himself at a distance. You’d like to meet his own mother sometime, but you’re not sure he’d be up for that.

You’d like to meet the rest of your pack’s families eventually. Considering you are family to them as their mated omega, it only seems right to meet their families. You don’t know much about their families outside the basics, and it would be fun to get to see what shaped them into being who they are today.

Cooking goes by quickly and before you know it you’re sitting at the table in your usual spot, across from John. The others are squeezed into the small space, your mother and brother on either side of you and Johnny, Simon and Kyle squeezed next to John. It’s a tight fit but it reminds you of home, a full table with delicious food. It makes you miss it, having a big pack surrounding you. A smaller pack is easier to manage, but you do miss the chaos of a big family.

“This might be manna from heaven.” Kyle says, his eyes closed as he swallows another bite of enchilada.

“Fucking delicious.” Johnny moans in agreement.

“Thank you, boys.” Your mother says.

You’ve hardly come up for air, inhaling every bit of food you can. It warms you to your core, the familiar taste of one of your favorite meals growing up. It’s just like you remember, perfect in every way.

Kyle and Johnny insist on doing dishes, the rest of you settling in for tea while the brownies cool.

“How much longer do you think you’ll be here?” Your mother asks John as she sips her tea.

“Not much longer.” John answers. “We have to go back to real life eventually.”

You’re not sure how much John told her. They’d spoken the previous day on the beach for a while, and you’re still curious as to what the conversation had entailed.

“It’s nice here.” Your mother says, looking around the cabin. “Cozy.”

“I’m sure we’d all like to stay here if we could.” John says. “I know someone in particular would.” He gives you a look.

Your face warms and you look down into your teacup bashfully.

“She always did like it when we lived close to the ocean.” Your mother says. “She’d go every day if she could.”

“She still would.” John says. “She’d go in bad weather if we’d let her.”

“Not if it was raining.” You say, trying to defend yourself.

“You sure that would stop you?” John asks, lifting a brow at you.

You try to convince yourself to say yes, but you know he knows you’d go even in the worst weather. Maybe not during a storm as that could be dangerous, but you’d still go and watch it at least for a while. “No,” You admit honestly, lifting your mug to your lips.

The occupants at the table all chuckle at your answer, all of them knowing what it would be. You’d sat outside in the rain enough times they know by now it wouldn’t stop you from doing much of anything.

“I’ll go dish up some brownies.” Your mother says, rising from her seat as Kyle and Johnny finish dishes.

“Let me.” John says, motioning for her to stay seated. It warms your heart a bit, seeing your alpha willing to do something so your mother doesn’t have to.

John dishes out brownies, Kyle helping him carry them to the table for everyone. The sweet smell of them has filled the cottage, hanging in the air making your mouth water. You’re excited, refraining from immediately stuffing your piece in your mouth as soon as it’s in front of you. You’re sure no one would complain, but the last thing you want is to draw attention to yourself in case you cry.

Just smelling them you might.

They’re still warm and gooey in your fingers as you lift the brownie slowly, bringing it to your lips. The sweet, rich flavor explodes on your tongue as you take your first bite, your eyes closing as you savor the taste you’ve been missing for years. You missed having brownies after your last heat and this has just healed that desire ten fold.

You really could cry.

“I’ve never tasted anything so good in my entire life.” Kyle says, earning satisfied groans of agreement around the table. “Don’t tell my mom I said that.”

Your mother chuckles. “Thank you, honey. Your secret is safe with me.”

“I can see now why you’ve been craving brownies, kitten.” Johnny says, his mouth full of chocolate.

“I missed these so much.” You say, taking another bite.

“I’m glad everyone is enjoying them.” Your mother says.

“Fantastic.” John agrees, wiping the chocolate from his fingers with a napkin.

You’re not quite so polite, licking the gooey chocolate from your fingers. A low rumble vibrates in your chest and suddenly your skin prickles. You glance up, finding all of the eyes at the table on you. You lower your hands, clearing your throat. “It was really good.”

“Good.” Your mother runs a hand over your head. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I don’t know how you read in such low light.”

You glance up over your book at John. “Because I’m not old.”

“That’s rude.” He says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I’m not that old.”

You look him up and down before giving him a look. “Could have fooled me.”

John leans over, wrapping an arm around your waist. “C’mere.” He drags you across the bed to where he’s sitting, making you giggle and drop your book. “Little brat.”

You brush the hair out of your face, staring up at him. There’s a box in his hands, something you hadn’t noticed when he came in.

“Here.” He hands it to you. It’s not very heavy, and taped closed.

“What is it?” You ask.

“Something I think you’ll like.”

You give him a look before opening it. You wrap your fingers around the cold metal, pulling it out of the box.

“A phone?” You ask, turning it in your hands.

“No point to you not having one now.” He shrugs. “This way you can keep contact with your mother.”

You smile, hitting the on button. The screen lights up, already set up of course. You wonder what they downloaded on it before they gave it to you. “Thank you, John. This really means a lot.”

He smiles softly, brushing a hand over your head. “This way we won’t have to worry about you either.”

“Does that mean you’re leaving me by myself now, too?” You ask.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” He says. “You’d be hard pressed to convince Simon to allow that.”

“But there’s no threat anymore.” You say.

“Doesn’t mean something won’t happen in his mind. He’s very protective of his pack, especially you.” John says, brushing his fingers across your cheek. “He’s grown a lot from how he was at the start. I never thought I’d see him go that soft for anyone. Not even Johnny.”

“Johnny can take care of himself.” You say, already having figured out Simon’s thought process. “I can’t. Not fully. Especially not now, so out of practice.”

“We’ll get you back into shape. Not that you’re not still in shape, but back to practicing again.” John says.

Your stomach clenches a bit at his words. That must mean you’re headed back to base soon, back to the way things were before. They’ll continue on with their jobs and you’ll always be the one left behind. It makes you feel disappointed. John voiced how he knew you’d want to stay here, or somewhere like here. You thought maybe that would change his mind, or at least make him think about other possible options.

Looks like you weren’t going to be that lucky.

“It’s been so good seeing you.” Your mother’s voice is muffled in your shoulder as you hug her tightly. “A wonderful gift I’ve been given, having you back.”

“I don’t want you to go.” You mumble into her jacket.

“I know.” She says, pulling away. She cups your face gently. “I wish I could stay here forever, but we have to go back to the real world eventually.”

She’s not wrong. Your time here in this quiet retreat is coming to an end as well. There’s nothing necessitating you stay in hiding anymore. Part of you hates it. Part of you wishes they’d never found Shepherd and you’d have to stay hidden forever. But then you would have never been reunited with your mother.

“Call me.” She continues. “I want to hear about everything.”

“I will.” You say, fighting tears as you stare at her, memorizing her face. It’s the face you remember, albeit a bit older now. Then again, you’re older than she remembers too.

A small smile pulls at her lips, tears gathering in her own eyes. “I love you so much, baby.”

You pull her into one last hug, breathing in her scent to commit it to memory once more. “I love you too.”

She kisses your head before pulling away. She cups your cheek, taking one last look before she steps away. Jeremy takes her place, pulling you into a tight hug.

“It was good to see you, sis.” He says.

“You too.” You say, squeezing him tightly.

He pulls away, patting your head. “Don’t give them too much trouble, alright?”

“I try.” You grin through your tears.

“You need anything, you call alright?” He gives you a pointed look.

“I will.” You nod.

“Good.” He kisses the top of your head, giving you one last squeeze before he heads for the car.

You stand there in the gravel watching it pull away. A couple tears slide down your cheeks, cooled by the light breeze blowing. You’re lucky it isn’t raining, though that wouldn’t have stopped you from standing out here. Warmth presses in against your sides and your back as you stand there, watching the car until it disappears around the bend.

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[firewasabeast]

I wanted to write a little something with Chimney, Hen, and Tommy. Also decided to make it a fix-it fic. Enjoy!

Chimney clapped his hands together. “Look at us,” he said, smiling over to Tommy, then back at Hen. “The original gang, back together.”

“The original gang?” Hen questioned, her voice staticky through the mic.

“Yeah! Me, you, Tommy, all on a mission to save the world… or LA, at least.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow and shrugged, otherwise staying quiet.

“Wouldn’t ‘original’ indicate I was there from the beginning?" Hen asked. "I’m not part of your original gang, Chim.”

“Yeah, and technically neither of you are part of mine,” Tommy added.

“Okay, party poopers,” Chimney huffed. “I’m talking about my original gang that I started hanging out with first.”

“Hm,” Tommy hummed. “Wouldn’t that have been Eli?”

Chimney glared. “You know what, I’m not talking to either of you the rest of the time we’re up here.”

Hen rolled her eyes, but reached up to give him a pat on the shoulder. “We’re just messing with you, Chim. We get it.”

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed. “The 118 was a very different type of gang until you guys came around anyway.”

Chimney perked back up at that. “See! Like I said, the gang is back together.”

“Trying to prevent terrorists from blowing up half the city,” Hen reminded him.

“And trying not to make ourselves targets in the process,” Tommy added.

“Once again, party poo-”

“So,” Hen interrupted, “Tommy. How’s life been lately?”

“Fine,” Tommy replied, immediately suspicious.

Chimney pulled a fresh piece of gum from his pocket and popped it into his mouth. “We heard about your little tryst with our lover boy Buckley."

Tommy sighed. “Oh good. I was hoping my private life would be a topic of discussion for you all.”

“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m married to the guy’s sister.”

“Yeah,” Hen said, “and I can’t help it if I sit in an ambulance with a guy who can’t keep a secret to save his life.”

“Ignoring that.” Chimney looked over at Tommy. “What’s going on there?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay." Chimney cleared his throat. “I’ll ask again, and we’ll try the truth this time,” he said, just like he was talking to Jee. “What’s going on there?”

Oh, how Tommy wished they weren’t still ten minutes out from their location. He could use a nice bomb threat as a distraction right now. “Nothing,” he repeated. “There’s nothing going on. I- I thought… it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing.”

“And you’re good with that?” Hen asked.

“I have to be,” Tommy replied honestly. “Evan… Buck made it clear that he didn’t have feelings for me. It was just a one night thing.”

Chimney and Hen shared a look.

“Wait a minute,” Chimney said. “Buck told you he didn’t have feelings for you? Firefighter Evan Buckley of the 118?”

“Yes, Howie. Can we drop it now, please?”

“Absolutely not. We’ve suffered through months of this man moping over you being gone, and you’re going to tell me that he said he didn’t have feelings for you?”

If only helicopters came with parachutes.

“I don’t know anything about that,” Tommy said, his grip a bit tighter on the pitch stick.

“You don’t-” Chimney let out an exasperated sigh. “Have you tried buying flour lately? Sugar? Sticks of butter?”

“Howie, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m pretty sure Buck created a shortage with how much he’s been baking.”

“He’s not wrong,” Hen cut in. “Probably spent half a damn paycheck on eggs alone.”

“I still don’t know what either of you are talking about. Can I fly this bird without distractions, please?”

Chimney waved him off. “You’re doing just fine with the distractions. What we’re talking about is the fact that Buck is, for some reason, lying like an insane person!”

“Yeah, you’ve been the topic of most of his conversations since the breakup,” Hen said. “There was a brief window where he was upset about Eddie leaving, but then it was back to you.”

“Every time he thought about calling or texting you, he’d whip up some new recipe,” Chimney explained. “Most of them weren’t any good. I get triggered by the smell of bananas now.”

“The cinnamon swirl muffins were delicious though,” Hen reminded him.

“Oh, yeah, those were a hit.” He shook his head. “But that’s not the point. The point is, Buck is an idiot, and if he’s telling you he has no feelings for you, then he’s lying.”

“Or you misunderstood,” Hen added.

“Guys, this is…” Tommy sighed. “This is a lot of information to take in right now. Why don’t we focus-”

“It’s not like we were much help though,” Hen continued. “We did all kind of keep telling him not to call.”

“But that’s because we thought Tommy dumped him.”

“Tommy did dump him.”

“Tommy is right here,” Tommy reminded them.

Chimney crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you not have feelings for him?”

“What?!” Tommy exclaimed. “I never said that.”

“Well?”

“Ugh! O- Of course I have feelings for him. I wouldn’t have gone home with him that night if I didn’t still have feelings for him. I wanted to get back together.”

“He said no?” Hen asked.

“So you guys got the whole rundown on us hooking up, but the rest of the stuff gets left out?”

“I don’t get it, Hen,” Chimney said, turning to face her. “They both care about each other, both want to be together, but they’re both too stubborn and stupid to talk it out.”

“Hey!”

“It’s like a bad movie,” Hen muttered.

Somehow, they were still three minutes out from their location, and Tommy felt like he was going to go insane. “Listen,” he said. “Evan is… I’ve never had someone like him in my life. He’s funny, and smart, and hot, and he cares about people, and he’s just a genuinely good person. That- That’s why it wouldn’t work. He’s too good for me. He deserves better.”

Chimney stared at him, mouth hanging open with a confused expression on his face.

“Oh my God,” Hen said, shaking her head. “Chimney’s right. You’re both stupid.”

“Guys,” Bobby’s voice suddenly echoed over the line. “Did you all forget you’re on an open channel right now?”

A beat of silence, the group glanced at one another, then Tommy responded. “So, everyone could…?”

“Could hear this riveting conversation? Yes.”

Chimney sucked in a breath. “And everyone includes?”

“Well, the entire LAFD, LAPD, then you’ve got the FBI, NSA, and DHS.”

Another, unrecognized voice came over the radio. “The U.S. Coast Guard is here as well.”

“Oh yeah, and the Coast Guard.”

“And me.”

Buck’s voice caught Tommy off guard, and the chopper dropped a few feet before Tommy quickly regained control. He ignored the yelps from Howie and Hen.

“E- Evan, I-”

“They’re right, Tommy,” Buck began, getting right to the point. “Listen, I- I was angry that morning, and I said some things that I didn’t mean, but I- I wasn’t talking about you. You left before I could explain and I’m not… I don’t even know if I could have explained it right then, but, it’s not true that I don’t have feelings for you. I feel everything for you. You… Tommy, i- it scares me just how much you mean to me.”

Tommy didn’t know what to say, so he stayed quiet until both Hen and Chim reached over and smacked him on the arm.

“E- Evan," he stuttered, "I- I really wish we weren’t having this conversation with hundreds of government officials listening in. Do you think my fake mouth static could get me out of this?”

Buck laughed. “I told you, Tommy, it’s not that great.”

Tommy grinned. “When I’m done here, and our shifts are over, I’d… Evan, I’d really like to talk to you in person.”

“What are you doing Saturday?” Buck asked in response. “You free?”

Tommy took in a shaky breath. “I’m free.”

“Then be safe, Tommy, and come back to me.”

Tommy nodded, blinking away tears. “Copy that.”

[st7rnioioss]

𓂅 ♥︎ ❛❛15 MINUTES❜❜

⋆ ˚ .ೃ ࿔ * pairing... skater!chris x girly!reader

𓂃 ֹ ᮫ in which... skater!chris and girly!reader really should be on their way to a birthday party... but she's got other plans.

warnings... smut, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, grinding/dry humping, swearing.

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟ “oh, my god. stop, y’know we gotta be out the door in like.. fifteen minutes, doll.” chris whined, his larger hands running down the sides of your waist, steadying the swirling of your hips on top of his, his eyes gazing at your tits that were pressed together in your tight top, basically spilling out of the delicate fabric.

chris was rock hard, his cock obviously tenting through the dark material of his jeans. the restraint of his boxers only made it worse, the material already sticky from his precum, and clinging to his flushed cock. not only were you grinding on top of him like there was no tomorrow, but he now he had to change his clothes too.. yeah, you were gonna be pretty late for your friends birthday if he had to even get you off his lap.

you shook your head, biting even harder down on your lip to conceal any noises that threatened to leave, which you eventually gave up on. “n-no.. it’ll only take a second. i can do a lot with fifteen minutes, chris.” the soaking fabric of your panties creating a dark, moist patch on his jeans, every word that left his lips, that were glistening with your saliva, making you gush even more.

your pussy was aching and needy for him to fill you up, and you decided to act on it, despite the pressure of time. he just looked way too good dressed up, his hair styled. “wha- baby, what are you doing?” chris asked when you started undoing his belt, the rolling of your hips coming to a stop.

“m’not doing anything… just wanna make you feel good, please?” even though you asked so nicely, you didn’t really care what he answered. you dragged his pants down, staring at the damp patch on his boxers. “woah. all this, from that..?” you tried not to stare too much out of respect, looking up at him with a proud smile, giggling softly.

“yeah, whatever.. jus’ keep going, we don’t have a lot of time.” he murmured shyly as his cheeks turned a light pink, helping you maneuver his underwear down his thighs, just enough for his erection to spring free. chris’s face was bright red in embarrassment from how ridiculously, painfully hard he was—he knew he wouldn’t last long, and it didn’t exactly stoke his ego too much.

his length was throbbing, obviously aching in a pleasurable sense of pain, his tip red and flushed. glistening too—the whole head of his cock sticky, and trickling precum from his tip. yeah, he definitely wouldn’t last long. “i don’t need time, christopher. only gonna take two to make you finish,” you could’ve been gaping at the sight of his needy cock, but you decided there was no time for that, already in a hurry.

oh, he wished you were lying. the second he moved your panties to the side, revealing your sloppy cunt under your skirt, and he had your warmth wrapped around him, he knew you were right about what you said. every single inch of your pussy stretched out around his fat dick made him lose his mind, his eyes stuck to the back of his skull.

“holy shit- y’feel so fucking good.. mhh- m’not gonna last long..” he whimpered, the relief of finally having you on top of him making him edge closer, and closer to fill you up by the second, even though you barely even got started yet.

a sharp gasp fell from your lips when you felt the girth of him stretch you out, your nails digging into his shoulder through his shirt. “fuck- me neither.. you’re so big, feels so good,” you nearly drooled at the pure stretch of him, the words coming out hurried.

carefully, you started grinding your hips into his with a loud whine, your clit brushing against his pelvis as you desperately tried to hold on and savor the moment for a second or two, but you knew you had run out of patience long ago. “d-don’t stop— that’s good, baby.. you’re so pretty like this,” he groaned, his blunt fingernails pressing into your waist while you tried to keep up your pace.

you felt every ridge and vein of his dick rub against your insides, his tip kissing you g-spot every time your body smacked against his. “n-not gonna last, chris.. need t’cum,” you moaned, your face flushing from arousal, your cunt fluttering around his length.

you were both a mess, chris’s fingers sneaking up your body to cradle your face in his hands, pulling you in for a kiss. every moan the two of you let out harmonized, swallowed by the kiss. it didn’t take long before you were clenching around him, struggling to kiss back as you reached your high, your sensitive, swollen clit rubbing against his pelvis with every thrust.

chris helped you ride out your high by bucking his hips up into yours, watching you as the waves of pleasure took over you, a wet squelch emitted from where your bodies connected.

chris’s mind turned to haywire, completely entranced by the sight of your face scrunching up in pleasure, moan after moan of his name falling off your tongue like you had no care in the world.

“j-jesus christ.. m’gonna cum— “ chris barely got to warn, before the white stripes of his warm released coated your insides, painting them white. you were way too out of your mind to realize, until you felt the sensation trickle down your inner thighs when he pulled out of you.

“are you kidding me? chris!” you whined, watched the mess that was sticking to your skin. he looked guilty, almost like a kicked puppy, until a smile grew on his lips.

“sorry! i just- i didn’t have time to pull out, you looked too good!” he defended, but you eventually gave up and laughed along with him, leaning into his body. “we’ll definitely have to clean this up,” you mumbled, quickly checking the time on your phone while he nodded, carefully raking his fingers through your hair.

“what did i say! only took me two minutes,” you proudly showed him the time with a big smile, proving you had in fact only spent two minutes and probably a couple seconds. “fine, whatever.. let’s get you cleaned up then,” he changed the subject with a smirk, giving your ass a quick squeeze when you both got up to run off to the bathroom.

more skater!chris x girly!reader here!

˚𝜗𝜚 notes... siiiiigihh i hate my own writing. someone else also made a fic based on this song, but i forgot who!

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @sturnvxz @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @toftomgmf @emely9274 @sturnioloangell @blushsturns @sierrraaaaxz @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @sophand4n4 @sturnihoelooo @unknvhx @chrisslut04 @sturniolossss @slvtf0rchr1s @blahbel668 @starkeysturniolo @miolos @user1smvtysturniolo @lizzyzzn @sturnslutz @decimatedxdreams @chrissturnioloswife88 @sturn777 @sturniolonationsblog @frankoceanfanpage @priscillaog @courta13 @sweetrelieef @loverboysturn @sturns-mermaid @cutseylady @sofieeeeex @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @mattsturnii @conspiracy-ash

❛❛ © ST7RNIOIOSS est. 2023 ❜❜

[grimmsbride]

𝄃𝄀⠀⠀best time ⠀╲ sinister!mark ֤ࣨ🫀𖥔 ݁ ˖

summary an opportunity presents itself that your beloved mark grayson simply can’t give up.

somnophillia (everything is purely consensual and was alluded to being talked out between mark and reader.) | pain kink | mark is a dick | spooning sex position | collapsed doggy style | pet names | use of the word slut, whore, etc. | degradation | ooc characters (sinister mark is not this nice) | dub-con (ish? just in case) | if somno isn’t for you just leave the fic | reader is chubby coded | hair pulling | rough sex | slight overstimulation | mentions of blood |

authors notes i had this idea cause truly sinister mark is probably the freakiest of the variants, lenseless being a close second (/j). again if somno isn’t for you, please don’t read and as always please excuse any grammar mistakes.

Night consumed your bedroom, the only light being the moon shining through your window. You were currently tucked under your blankets, enjoying the mixture of warmth and cold as you slept the night away. Soft snores escaped you as your body sunk into the comfortable mattress, your pillow cuddled close to you.

So deep in sleep you didn’t even hear your window open or close, nor wind entering your bedroom. A tall figure stood over your body, shadow covering you like some sort of comforting blanket.

Markus Grayson, stared down at you, a little smile covering his half covered features. The yellow of his costume was slightly stained red, a result of his previous endeavors. The man didn’t expect you to be awake at all, it was late after all. He wondered if you tried to stay up for him, probably forcing yourself to stay busy with some random show or even book.

The thought alone caused his smile to deepen, though that sickeningly sweet feeling seemed to travel lower the moment his eyes took in your body. You weren’t completely covered by the blanket, lower half peeking out whilst your chest and stomach was covered. You wore a pink muumuu, he believed you called it, the fabric resting shy of your waist and revealing your bare legs and ass barely covered by your black panties.

“What a tease.. bet she went to sleep like this on purpose.” Mark muttered to himself, feeling his pants magically tighten the longer he greedily took in your appearance. Within minutes the man was tearing his suit off, caring less if it got ripped in the process. Once completely free from its confinements, Mark was going knee first onto the bed, hand raising to drag across your plush form.

He watched in excitement the way goosebumps pricked in the wake of his touch, a soft shiver even emitting from you that nearly caused the man to giggle. Dragging his fingers from your arm, side, waist, and finally your ass; Mark not so delicately allowed his appendages to trace your barely covered slit, rubbing the pads against you slowly.

Mark took you in, watching that pretty face twitch; still completely asleep though your eyebrows pushing a little close. With a single flick his fingers were intruding your underwear, two of them gliding across your pussy for a moment before pushing into your awaiting hole.

A soft grunt escaped you, Mark lifting himself close until your back was flush against his front. Soft squelches surrounded the air as his fingers curled and thrusted, the man grinning the moment you began to squirm.

“Can’t believe you’re letting me do this to you while you sleep..” The man muttered, pushing his lips right against your ear as a sweet, “Didn’t know you could get this slutty..” escaped him.

Soon enough Mark was growing impatient, pulling his fingers from you before going for his boxers. Easily he tugged the underwear, revealing his hard length dripping with sticky excitement. The man gripped his dick, gliding his hand up and down for a moment before pushing his hips close.

The tip nudged your entrance, gliding across your wetness for extra lubrication before he began to push past the first ring of muscle. Slowly, you sucked him up; Mark glancing between the two of you and watching the way his dick disappeared inside you.

So focused on that, the man noticed you waking up last minute— only being alerted the moment a confused sound escaped you.

“Ma—mark..” You mumbled softly, blinking tiredly for a moment before a soft groan crept from your mouth. Your fingers clung to your pillow, shifting a bit as you attempt to accommodate his size. The man did little prep due to his impatience, causing the stretch to burn just a tad— a delicious, but understandably hard to get used to feeling. You whined softly, shifting once again only for a strong arm to tighten around your waist, pulling you flush to his body.

“Don’t fucking run.. You can take it, you’ve don’t it so many times before.” Mark hissed against your ear, pushing his hips even closer. He couldn’t help but smile at your little pathetic moans or the way your pussy clung to him, coating his dick in your mess so easily.

“See? Your slutty little pussy wanted it just as bad.” He chuckled to himself, hand traveling between your plush thighs to your clit, tapping his fingers against the little button just to hear you whine even louder.

You hadn’t expected your sleep to get cut off by your lover’s own horniness, but you weren’t complaining one bit. It was a simple conversation the two of you had before, something Mark had mocked you for in the moment yet here he was— soaking up the opportunity.

A drawn out cry of his name escaped your lips the moment the man moved, pulling his hips back before pushing right back in, slamming his dick so perfectly inside. You had zero chance to recover before Mark’s hips started a rough and fast pace as if you hadn’t just woken up from your sleep.

The hold he had on you was tight, refusing to let you run away and simply making you take every, single, thrust. Tears were pricking at your eyes as the pleasure swarmed your stomach, pretty pussy clenching around him, as if scared of letting him go.

You shoved your face into the pillow, only for Mark’s free hand to grip your cheeks roughly, tilting your face away from the pillow whilst allowing his fingers to press into your face, refusing to allow you to cover your moans.

Mark glared down at you, giving such pointedly thrusts his irritation was plenty clear. “Quit moving your face, let me see how much of a whore you really are.”

Mark was practically drilling into you at this point, releasing your face to instead grip your thigh, lifting it to hit your walls at a different angle; tip brushing against your sweet spot with each thrust. Your lips were parted as a melodic string of moans escaped your aching throat, tears spilling over and trailing down your warm cheeks.

“Fu..fuck..! Mark, Mark!” Pretty cries escaped, hurried breaths shortening each word as he knocked the wind out of you. Mark always fucked you so greedily, as of wishing to kill you with his dick alone. Never allowing you to breathe, think, or even blink; such a ruthless cycle that you’ve unfortunately gotten addicted to.

“That’s it.. what a good girl. You like my name that much, huh?”

His mocking words dripped with confidence and his usual condescending nature— the man even mocking your moans right into your ear for good measure.

Your peak was arising, stomach clenching as you felt yourself draw closer and closer. You couldn’t help but meet his thrust, ass pushing flush against him as you desperately chased your end. Such actions had Mark groaning, pushing at your body until you were lying on your stomach.

Mark’s hands pressed against the plush mattress on either side of your body, resting on his knees as he thrusted into you so mercilessly you were seeing stars.

With every thrust you were clinging to your pillow for dear life, sobs escaping your body as you shook and gasped from the pleasure. A hand moved from your pillow to reach blindly for the man currently wrecking you, finding his wrist and latching on.

Mark could only chuckle, fucking you so relentlessly with no sign of growing tired.

“Close aren’t you? Can barely even move with how much you’re clenching me.. fuck..” The man lowered himself, thrusts becoming shallow and deep as his breath fanned across the shell of your ear.

“Go on, then— make a fucking mess, but I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

His words were enough to push you over the edge, clenching him like a damn vice as you came, your arousal trickling down his dick and onto your poor blankets. You desperately tried to catch your breath, tried to relax; calm down— you simply couldn’t with the way his thrusts did not waver in the slightest.

You pinched your eyes closed, face dropping into your pillow for a split second— only for a loud yelp to escape the moment a tight hold came upon your hair.

Easily Mark lifted you onto your knees and hands, fingers laced with your pretty tresses in a perfect hold he refused to let go of.

“Is that whore brain of yours too fucked out to follow simple instructions?“ His hips slammed against your ass, loud slaps that echoed throughout the room and bounced off the walls. Despite his question you couldn’t even think to answer, desperately trying to breath but only releasing rushed breaths and throat aching moans.

The man hissed, pulling you up and leaning down until he could see your face. You were ruined, cheeks reddened and eyes glossy, tears staining your features so perfectly the man could feel himself getting hard all over again.

“Answer me.”

You searched for the words, babbling nonsense for a complete second that caused Mark to grin, other hand lifting to grasp your chin and gently shaking your face— the only gentleness he’s shown you in the past hour.

“Don’t go dumb, use your fucking words—“

“I—i’m sorry! I won’t..” A particularly hard thrust had you see stars, nearly tumbling over if it wasn’t for his tight hold on you. A hand of yours rose, clinging to his wrist; fingers trailing the veins beneath his skin.

“I— won’t do it again! Fuck, Mark, please..!”

Mark seemed to be satisfied with your answer, given the way his lips practically slammed against your own, a messy kiss that left you even more breathless than before. Your teeth knocked against each other’s emitting harsh groans from the pain, a metallic taste filling your mouth shortly after. A mess of tongue, teeth, and lips— the only way Mark liked to kiss, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip to pull at, enjoying the way you whined so sweetly.

Hammering into you without a care, your second orgasm erupted from you so suddenly, causing you to break away to release a strangled cry of pleasure, head going slack you shook from the aftershocks.

Before you could go completely slump, the man was snatching you up in strong arms, keeping you tight against him.

“Nah.. don’t tap out on me just yet, sweetheart. Let’s see if I can fuck you back to sleep..”

[5sospenguinqueen]

No Boys Club | Dad! Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando Norris has a very public freak out when his daughter comes home with flowers from a boy.

Warnings: fluff, pregnancy, overprotective dad behaviour 

Requested: yes by anon. i made them about 5 instead of 3 because the pictures i found are a bit older

F1 Masterlist

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landonorris just posted

liked by danielricciardo, alex_albon and others 

landonorris someone tell this little lady to stop growing up

189,856 comments 

carlossainz55 wait, what happened to the little baby you used to swing around the paddock? who allowed this to happen?

→ landonorris don’t get me started. i keep telling y/n to figure out how to make it stop 

georgerussell63 still have no idea how you ended up with such a cute, calm kid

→ its_yn that was all me

→ landonorris hey, i contributed 

→ maxfewtrell for like two seconds liked by its_yn

→ landonorris you take that back! 

user1 i love how every pic of little norris with y/n is really cute and serene but any time we see her with just lando, it’s chaos 

→ user2 she matches each parent’s energy perfectly 

maxverstappen1 i might need you to teach me how to do hair bows 

→ landonorris bring P over, we’ll have a hair afternoon

→ user3 i love girl dad lando so much 

→ its_yn me too 

oscarpiastri were the hair bows y/n’s choice?

→ its_yn nope. lando made a whole drawer just for her hair bows, and he picks them out the night before so i have to plan her outfits around them 

→ mclaren guess who’s telling the design team to start making hair bows asap 

its_yn posted a new story

alex_albon replied you didn’t put a bow in her hair today? → lando is going to freak → its_yn he’s too busy freaking out about his little girl getting flowers off a boy  → alex_albon i know 😂 he was in the middle of the paddock having a fit  → i’m sure you’ll see gifs of it later on twitter 

alexandrasaintmleux replied of course they were orange flowers  → its_yn setting me up for a lifetime of orange → alexandrasaintmleux at least little norris’ new boyfriend has taste  → its_yn reacted with “😂”

charles_leclerc replied has lando seen this yet? → never mind. i’ve just heard a high-pitched screech come from the mclaren garage  → i’d like to thank you for sabotaging lando in this way, so ferrari can get ahead in the constructors  → its_yn forza ferrari sempre → just don’t publicly thank me 

landonorris posted a new story

carlossainz55 replied why are you threatening children  → landonorris because they’re trying to take my baby away from me → carlossainz55 how you managed to get a woman pregnant, i will never know 

maxverstappen1 replied do you want me to help you beat up a child?  → landonorris thank you. you’re the only one understanding my crash out  → maxverstappen1 i don’t think that’s the defence you think it is 

its_yn replied baby, you can not attack a child → landonorris why not → its_yn well, for one, you’re on the other side of the world → landonorris hence why i’m learning how to teleport!  → i thought we understood each other → its_yn i thought i understood how insane you are → but every day you show me new levels of crazy 

its_yn just posted

liked by lilymhe, carlossainz55 and others 

its_yn when dad’s away 

76,334 comments 

landonorris wtaf, babe

landonorris when i told you to take care of my girls, that meant keeping the both of you away from the male species 

landonorris can’t believe this is what you do when i go away for a race 

landonorris this is why i didn’t want to go 

landonorris gonna throw myself in front of max’s car

→ maxverstappen1 i’m not cleaning you off my visor  

user4 i can’t tell if it’s the style but yn’s top seems to stick out a bit 👀

→ user5 ugh. don't be one of those people

mclaren we’ve seen enough. little norris can have lando’s seat next year 

→ its_yn so i can listen to him whine about that? no thanks 

charles_leclerc i hear the italian anthem calling me

→ its_yn shhhh. we had a deal 

landonorris i’m actually going to end it all

→ its_yn i gave you a baby. what more do you want 

→ landonorris for my baby to never look at another man

→ its_yn i’m leaving you 

→ landonorris i’d like to see you try. you won’t run very far 

maxfewtrell it’s nice to see she didn’t inherit her father’s talent. she smoked me

→ landonorris is my suffering a joke to you? have i not been punished enough?

→ maxfewtrell yes

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requests open

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury  @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25 @sillyfreakfanparty @justaf1girl @piastri-fvx

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: Gaslight, Gatekeep, Get Married || Deuce Spade

You get isekai’d into a garbage novel as the villain, so you take it as a sign that morality is optional now. So, you do what any reasonable person would: you set the world on fire (metaphorically… mostly) and somehow bag your knight, Deuce Spade in the process.

Series Masterlist

You sat in absolute silence. Reeling. Processing. Dissociating. The book lay in your lap like the aftermath of a terrible crime, and you were its sole witness.

This was it. This was the literary phenomenon your friends had been screaming about. The novel they had sworn up and down was “life-changing,” “revolutionary,” and “the best thing since sliced bread.”

They had lied.

You had just spent the last twelve hours raw-dogging the most deranged piece of fiction known to mankind.

Your soul had been ripped from your body. Your IQ points had been forcefully extracted like an amateur lobotomy. You were but a husk of your former self.

A single thought floated through your shattered psyche:

I will never know peace again.

With shaking hands, you closed the book. The sound was deafening. A death knell for your last two remaining brain cells.

And then, like a corpse freshly risen from the grave, you stood.

This could not go unanswered. This could not go unpunished.

Your friends would explain themselves.

You stomped through the dark streets like a vengeful ghost, guided by pure, unfiltered spite. It was 1 AM. Civilization had long since gone to sleep. You didn’t care.

Your mind replayed the sheer buffoonery you had just endured.

The heroine: an overpowered dumbass with the survival instincts of a chicken nugget. She was supposed to be a Saintess, and yet she spent 80% of the book actively making things worse. Entire villages burned because of her holy powers, and she had the audacity to be shocked every time it happened.

"Oh noooo, I accidentally summoned divine lightning again!"

AGAIN. AGAIN.

Then there was the Crown Prince, the supposed male lead. A menace. A plague upon this world. He was in love with the villain but too emotionally constipated to deal with it, so instead, he had chosen the path of delusion. This man pursued the heroine not out of love, but out of sheer desperation

"If I can’t be happy, then no one can."

That was his entire character arc.

And let’s not forget the second male lead. The butler. The SPY. He was somehow working for both the villain and the heroine at the same time while also being madly in love with the heroine for reasons that science could not explain. This man switched allegiances like he was flipping through TV channels. You were convinced he woke up every morning and rolled a die to decide whose side he was on that day.

And then. The villain.

Your one hope. Your one saving grace.

A man who started the book as a calculating mastermind and ended it as a broken shell of a human being. You did not blame him. You were right there with him.

By the final chapter, he had stopped trying to kill the heroine. He had stopped plotting world domination. He had stopped everything.

He just sat there, staring into the abyss, wondering how his life had gone so, so wrong.

And honestly? Mood.

You reached your friend’s house.

You did not knock. No. That was for reasonable, rational people. You grabbed a rock from their garden and hurled it at their window with the force of a person unhinged.

A light flicked on. Your friend’s groggy, half-conscious face appeared.

“Holy shit, what the hell—”

“EXPLAIN YOURSELF.”

You pointed an accusatory finger at them, your eyes wild, your soul fractured beyond repair.

“Explain WHAT?” They blinked, rubbing their eyes.

“The book.” Your voice was hollow. “The—thing—you made me read.”

Their face lit up. “OH MY GOD, YOU FINISHED IT?? WASN’T IT AMAZING??”

You had never before in your life wanted to commit a homicide.

You took a deep breath. A slow, shuddering inhale.

Then, in the most broken, haunted voice imaginable, you whispered:

“…I need you to pay for my therapy.”

You stomped down the street, vibrating with pure, unfiltered rage. That book—that war crime bound in paper—had single-handedly destroyed your brain cells, faith in storytelling, and will to live. You couldn’t let your other friend get away with this. No, you were going to kick down their door too and demand compensation for the IQ points you lost.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

Just as you turned the corner, a man—no, a menace to society—came hurtling toward you at ungodly speeds.

On a unicycle.

Juggling three live pigeons and a tray of scalding hot coffees.

His face was locked in an expression of sheer, manic concentration, like a circus performer who had just realized—mid-act—that he had made a terrible career choice.

You had exactly 0.2 seconds to process this before he crashed into you at full force.

The pigeons exploded into the sky, shrieking like war victims.

The coffee—boiling, lava-hot coffee—doused you from head to toe, scalding your skin and soul simultaneously.

And the unicycle? Oh. The unicycle was the true villain here.

Because as you staggered back, reeling from the assault on your dignity, the wheel rolled perfectly under your foot.

And then—

You flipped.

Like a medieval peasant being yeeted off a catapult.

You did a full midair somersault, knocked over a trash can, ricocheted off a parked bicycle, and crashed directly through the window of a sketchy pawn shop, where you landed face-first into a display of cursed porcelain dolls.

Your last conscious thought before darkness took you?

This is less painful than reading that book.

At first, you thought it was a dream.

Someone was shaking you. Like, aggressively. Like a demonic chihuahua trying to alert its owner to impending doom.

"Five more minutes," you groaned, swatting at the offending hands.

But then your barely-functioning brain remembered something very important.

You lived alone.

Unless the dust bunnies under your bed had finally formed a rebellion and achieved sentience, nobody should be waking you up.

Your eyes snapped open.

A person.

A man, actually. A very serious-looking man in full medieval armor, staring at you like he was expecting you to start speaking in tongues.

You blinked.

He blinked back.

Your first thought: Wow, the Ren Faire is getting really immersive these days.

Your second thought: WAIT A GODDAMN MINUTE.

Your hands flew to your face—your very much not-your-face face. Your voice, when you gasped, wasn’t your voice. The tailored nobleman’s coat draped over your body? Not your clothes. The ornate bedroom you were in? Definitely not your apartment, where your furniture was 70% discount IKEA and 30% “found on the sidewalk.”

Dread settled in your stomach like a badly microwaved burrito.

Slowly, with the growing horror of a person realizing they've walked into a live horror movie, you turned toward the giant antique mirror across the room.

And fuck your life, you recognized the face staring back at you.

It was him.

The villain.

The villain from that absolute garbage fire of a novel.

You whipped around so fast you almost took yourself out on your own cape.

"You," you pointed at the knight, brain desperately catching up to reality. "What happened?!"

The knight—Deuce Spade, if you remembered correctly—winced.

"Uh," he started, rubbing the back of his neck, "the Crown Prince tried to lean on your shoulder, but, uh… tripped and accidentally drop-kicked you across the ballroom."

Silence.

Absolute, dead silence.

Your eye twitched.

"…What."

You almost died because some love-obsessed dumbass with main character syndrome missed your shoulder???

Your soul nearly left your body, and it wasn’t even because of an assassination attempt, a duel, or a curse—but because the male lead had the motor coordination of a newborn giraffe?!

Your knees buckled. Deuce lunged forward like he thought you were about to die again.

Honestly? Not off the table.

Fine.

Fine.

If the world wanted you to be the villain, then so be it. Who were you to deny fate when it had already drop-kicked you into this absurd, brain-cell-destroying mess of a novel?

Because that was the only way to describe your new reality—an unhinged disasterpiece where the male lead had the grace of a giraffe on roller skates, the heroine had the problem-solving skills of a concussed pigeon, and the villain—you—was doomed to suffer through all of it.

At first, you'd been horrified. Who wouldn't be? One moment, you're in your normal, rational world, and the next, you're waking up as the antagonistic nobleman of a bargain-bin romance novel. The kind of villain who existed solely to sneer in the background while the male lead juggled his misplaced affections and the heroine flailed through life like a lost duckling.

And now?

Now, you were done.

If this world wanted a villain, then you would give them a villain.

You had wealth. Enough to singlehandedly disrupt the economy if you felt like it. And honestly? You were tempted. Imagine the chaos. The sheer financial devastation. Maybe you’d buy every bakery in the capital just to make sure the male lead could never have a romantic “we bumped into each other while buying bread” moment with you. Not on your watch.

You had power. Both in social standing and in actual, real-life magic. The kind that could level mountains, summon storms, or—more importantly—discreetly trip the male lead every time he tried to monologue. And who were you, really, if you didn’t abuse that privilege just a little?

And, most importantly, you had a loyal knight.

Deuce Spade. Unreasonably devoted, painfully adorable, and more earnest than a golden retriever at a job interview. The kind of guy who would probably cry if you gave him a gold star for effort. It was almost enough to make you feel bad about your impending villain arc. Almost. But hey, if you were going to be the villain, at least you had one (1) extremely dedicated dumbass on your side.

So.

Why not cause some chaos?

Why not live your best, most dramatic villain life?

You could weaponize rumors so ridiculous that even the nobility wouldn’t know what to believe anymore. “Oh, the male lead? I heard he serenades his pet goldfish every night.” “The heroine? Trained in mortal combat by a secret society of warrior nuns.” “Me? Oh, I eat diamonds for breakfast and only cry during perfectly aesthetic thunderstorms.”

You could throw lavish, over-the-top parties where instead of dancing, people had to duel for your amusement. Invitation only. Dress code: Regal Menace.

You could buy every single black horse in the kingdom just to ensure that only you could have a proper dramatic villain entrance. What would the male lead ride? A mule? A cow? His own sense of self-importance? You’d pay money to see it.

If you were going to be stuck in this nonsense world, then you were going to make sure it regretted ever summoning you.

The original villain was a man of principles.

And those principles included:

• Never lowering himself to the chaotic cesspool of idiocy that was the crown prince and his tragically uncoordinated heroine.

• Never attending frivolous social gatherings, especially ones that involved said heroine falling into desserts face-first every five minutes.

• Never acknowledging the crown prince’s deeply repressed and painfully obvious feelings for him.

But you? Oh, you were going.

Why decline when you could make things so much worse? Why ignore a golden opportunity for chaos when you could embrace your inner agent of destruction and ruin someone’s day?

So, with Deuce Spade in tow, you marched into battle.

And the game began immediately.

The second you sat down, the crown prince shoved a cup of tea toward you.

You blinked at it. Then at him.

He looked too casual. Too composed. Like he hadn’t been hovering near the tea table for the last five minutes, perfecting a custom blend like a barista going for his final promotion.

Oh, this was rich.

“Oh,” you said, already locked and loaded. “I don’t like tea.”

The prince, who had definitely memorized your preferences in secret, froze.

“Give it to the heroine,” you added, voice laced with malicious delight.

There was a moment of pure, unfiltered suffering.

He recoiled. He made a noise. The tea remained exactly where it was.

And then, after one (1) full-body existential crisis, he stood up, walked away—

And returned.

With coffee.

Which was exactly how you liked it.

“Oh,” you said, even sweeter. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t,” the prince snapped, gripping the cup with white-knuckled desperation. “I was just—there was extra.”

Sure.

Deuce, the most bafflingly wholesome person present, leaned in conspiratorially.

“You know,” he whispered, “I think he likes you.”

You turned and stared at him.

It was a look that said: Deuce. Buddy. Companion. Do you have even a single brain cell dedicated to social awareness?

“You don’t say,” you muttered, astounded.

“Yeah,” Deuce nodded. “You should put him out of his misery.”

You considered it.

You truly, deeply, wholeheartedly considered it.

And then you did the exact opposite.

With all the deliberate grace of a seasoned actor, you picked up a fork, cut a tiny, delicate piece of cake, and hand-fed it to Deuce.

With the most lovesick expression you could summon.

Deuce, completely missing the emotional warfare in progress, chewed thoughtfully. “Oh, it’s good.”

The crown prince dropped his cup.

The sound was deafening.

He stood up so fast his chair screeched.

And then he stormed away like a scorned Victorian widow.

Checkmate.

The night was young, the chandeliers were gleaming, and the ballroom floor was filled with nobles pretending they liked each other. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, political marriages, and deep-seated dissatisfaction.

And you? You were bored.

So, naturally, you decided to ruin some engagements.

You adjusted your cuffs, took a sip of your (hopefully not poisoned) champagne, and set your sights on your first target.

Victim #1: Some Poor Fool with a Fiancée and No Survival Instincts.

He was standing beside his beloved, smiling like a man who had never known fear. So you approached him, flashing your most dazzling smile.

“You know,” you said, leaning in just a bit too close, “I always thought you’d end up with someone a little… taller.”

His fiancée, standing right there, gasped.

The surrounding nobles gasped.

He gulped. “W-What?”

You tilted your head, studying him with faux admiration. “It’s just—you have the posture of a man who could sweep someone off their feet. It’s tragic that you’ll only ever lift one person.”

His fiancée immediately looked down at her shoes like she’d just realized she was, in fact, shorter than him.

Engagement status: Cracking.

Victim #2: A Woman Who Was Already Looking for a Way Out.

She was sipping champagne and ignoring her fiancé, which meant she was exactly the kind of person who would enjoy a little trouble.

“Lady,” you greeted smoothly, plucking the glass from her fingers and taking a sip. “You have the eyes of a woman who’s tired of monogamy.”

Her fiancé, standing beside her, choked on his drink.

She laughed.

“You’re terrible,” she purred.

Her fiancé, pale, tried to recover. “H-Haha, what a joke—”

“It’s a shame,” you interrupted, brushing a nonexistent speck off her sleeve. “If things were different, perhaps I’d be the one at your side.”

Her fiancé turned a frightening shade of red.

She sighed dreamily.

Engagement status: Shattered.

Victim #3: A Man Who Looked Too Loyal to Be Swayed.

He stood with his hand in his beloved’s, looking like he’d rather die than betray them. But that had never stopped you before.

You smiled. “It’s rare to see a man so committed.”

His fiancée beamed.

You reached out, lightly tracing your fingers over his palm. “A hand like this… was meant to hold many hearts.”

His fiancée’s smile disappeared as the man leaned into your touch.

The crowd held their breath.

And then.

His fiancée fainted.

Engagement status: Annihilated.

At this point, Deuce—your ever-loyal, increasingly horrified knight—had begun to sweat profusely in the corner.

You waved at him.

He did not wave back.

But just as you were about to go for your fourth victim, you noticed something strange.

The prince—the male lead—was staring at you.

And not in the way one should stare at their supposed rival.

No.

He was staring at you like a man who didn’t understand his own feelings and was handling it terribly.

Deuce noticed before you did.

“Oh no,” he muttered. “Oh no no no.”

The prince stalked toward you, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with repressed emotion and possibly indigestion.

“You,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

You raised a brow. “Me?”

“You cannot go around—” He waved his hands wildly, struggling to find the words. “—charming people!”

You blinked, feigning innocence. “Oh? Why not?”

He twitched.

A noble gasped. “Is he… jealous?”

The crowd whispered.

The prince turned red.

Deuce, watching from the sidelines, looked like he wanted to fling himself off the nearest balcony.

Then, just as the tension reached its peak—

“MARRY ME!”

The man whose fiancée just fainted, caught up in the whirlwind of drama and avant-garde societal rebellion, had dropped to one knee and grabbed your hand.

Silence.

Deuce inhaled so sharply he nearly passed out.

The prince’s eye twitched.

And you?

You smiled.

But before you could say yes, no, or something that would make the situation worse, Deuce lunged forward, grabbed your wrist, and hauled you away.

“YOU CAN’T JUST GO AROUND SEDUCING ENGAGED PEOPLE!” he hissed, physically dragging you out of the ballroom.

“Why not?” you grinned. “The nobles love it.”

“I—BECAUSE IT’S WRONG?!”

You hummed, thoughtful. Then, because you were a terrible person, you tilted your head, looked him dead in the eyes, and said:

“You’re kind of cute when you’re flustered.”

Deuce short-circuited.

The prince looked ready to challenge the concept of marriage itself.

And the night was, truly, a resounding success.

Deuce was the perfect knight.

Reliable. Strong. Steadfast. He never faltered in his duties, never hesitated to follow your orders, and—most importantly—he never questioned your absolutely necessary purchases, even when they were, objectively, not necessary at all.

Which was precisely why he was the perfect person to accompany you to the market.

The morning sun hung high in the sky, warming the cobbled streets as merchants called out their wares, their voices blending into a lively symphony of haggling, bartering, and excited chatter. The scent of freshly baked bread and spiced apples drifted through the air, wrapping around you like an old, familiar comfort.

And there was Deuce, ever-dutiful, ever-loyal, ever-patient.

The bags he carried had long since doubled in number, hanging from his arms like trophies of your victorious shopping spree. He bore the burden without complaint, as expected of a knight sworn to your service, though he did glance down at the latest purchase—a third bag of sweets—and furrowed his brow.

“That’s the third bag of sweets you’ve bought.”

You shot him a look, hugging your ill-gotten gains like a dragon hoarding gold.

“And?”

He sighed. “Nothing, I guess.”

Good. That was the correct answer. This was a judgment-free zone.

Everything was going well. The two of you meandered through the market at an unhurried pace, pausing to browse through silks, admire trinkets, and—most importantly—glare at the latest portrait of the crown prince displayed in the town square. It was a routine you had come to enjoy, something almost peaceful in its predictability.

And then—

Deuce stopped.

It wasn’t a gradual pause. It was sudden, abrupt, a full-body halt that nearly sent you crashing into his back.

“Hey—?” you started, but he was already moving, already reaching for his own coin pouch, already stepping toward—

A flower stall?

You blinked, watching as he carefully selected a single bloom, one of the freshest ones in the bunch, its petals full and vibrant. You stood there, bewildered, as he handed over a few coins, nodding his thanks to the merchant.

And then—

Before you could even begin to process what was happening—

He turned and held the flower out to you.

The world tilted.

You stared.

At the flower, at Deuce, at his outstretched hand.

At the way he looked at you, open and earnest and so painfully sincere that you felt something deep in your chest twist.

“…Why?” you asked, voice caught somewhere between confused and breathless.

Deuce tilted his head slightly, a sheepish sort of smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I dunno,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just—thought you’d like it?”

Thought you’d like it.

That was it. That was the entire reason.

Not out of duty, not because he had to, not because of some unspoken obligation—but because he wanted to.

Because he saw something and thought of you.

Your fingers curled around the stem almost too tightly, as if the delicate flower might vanish if you weren’t careful. The petals were impossibly soft beneath your touch, fragile and fleeting, and your heart did something suspicious in your chest.

Deuce had already turned away, already resumed walking, already moved on as if he hadn’t just unknowingly unraveled you.

And you—

You lingered a second longer, staring at the flower in your hand, your face growing entirely too warm under the summer sun.

Then, swallowing against the sudden tightness in your throat, you hurried after him, grateful that he wasn’t looking back to see the ridiculous, helpless smile you absolutely couldn’t fight off.

It started with a passing insult. Something entirely unoriginal, really—one of those tired, rehashed attempts at wit that nobles regurgitated when they had nothing better to do.

You weren’t even offended.

But you were bored.

So, naturally, you smirked, sighed dramatically, and placed a hand over your heart.

“Wow,” you mused, voice dripping with mock despair. “If only I had a loyal knight to defend me. Sigh.”

Deuce didn’t hesitate.

He didn’t even pause to think.

He just whipped around, locked eyes with the offender, and threw down the most aggressive glove slap in recorded history.

“DUEL ME.”

The noble flinched. The entire gathering flinched.

Even you, for a moment, wondered if you’d just summoned an unstoppable force of nature.

Deuce stood there, rigid with unwavering loyalty and violent intent, hand hovering over the hilt of his sword like an Old West gunslinger about to end someone's bloodline.

The noble stammered, looking around as if waiting for someone to intervene. No one did. The nobles had all collectively agreed to stand back and watch this disaster unfold.

You, however, recognized an issue.

“Deuce,” you started carefully. “Buddy. Pal.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture meant to calm him down.

It did not calm him down.

If anything, his conviction doubled.

“You don’t actually have to fight for my honor—”

“Yes, I do.”

He didn’t blink.

You blinked for him.

The realization sank in with all the subtlety of a grand piano dropping from a three-story window:

Deuce would throw hands for you. Without question. Without hesitation. It was pure muscle memory at this point.

You had too much power.

The nobles were whispering.

The prince was watching.

Some fool in the back had already started placing bets.

And Deuce?

Deuce was ready to kill a man.

“Okay,” you muttered under your breath, “I may have created a monster.”

The noble, sweating profusely, waved his hands. “I—I think there’s been a misunderstanding—”

“There’s no misunderstanding,” Deuce gritted out, stepping forward. “You insulted them. Now, we settle this properly.”

By all accounts, Deuce had just challenged a man to medieval combat over you.

It should have been a simple duel.

Just a normal, everyday case of your overly loyal knight throwing hands because someone vaguely insulted you.

A Tuesday, basically.

And yet, somehow, by the time you arrived at the dueling grounds, it had turned into a full-blown public event.

The stands were packed. Nobles gossiped in hushed whispers. Vendors had set up food stalls. Some particularly enterprising soul was selling commemorative handkerchiefs embroidered with Deuce’s face.

And standing right in the middle of this absolute circus were Riddle and Ace—your reinforcements, arriving at maximum velocity to make your life more interesting and significantly more stressful.

Riddle’s expression alone had the same effect as a guillotine blade. His hands were clenched into fists, his face a vibrant shade of red, and the moment his sharp, judgmental gaze landed on you, you had the distinct feeling that your days were numbered.

Ace, meanwhile, looked like he was having the time of his life.

“You. Absolute. Menace.” Riddle bit out, his words dripping with disappointment and barely-contained rage. “I leave you alone for one week and suddenly you’re challenging people to duels, seducing engaged nobles, and destabilizing the entire social order?!”

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t challenge anyone. That was Deuce.”

“Because you provoked it.”

“Debatable.”

“No, it’s not!”

Ace clapped a hand on your shoulder, beaming. “Don’t listen to him. In fact, I’ll actually pay you to keep this up.”

Riddle’s head snapped toward him, betrayal written across his features. “You’re paying them?! You’re encouraging this?!”

“Duh?” Ace grinned. “I’ve never had this much fun in my entire life. If it means watching them do more insane things, I’ll move the entire city to accommodate them.”

Riddle made a noise that was somewhere between a strangled scream and an impending aneurysm.

You, feeling very smug, turned back to the main event.

Deuce, your knight, your absurdly loyal human wrecking ball, was already standing in the ring, eyes burning with righteous fury.

The poor noble who insulted you was sweating bullets.

The duel started.

The duel lasted five minutes.

The duel ended spectacularly.

Deuce dismantled the guy so thoroughly, so efficiently, that entire bloodlines were probably questioning their place in the universe.

And then, with a smoothness you had not thought possible, Deuce turned, knelt before you, and bowed his head in silent, knightly devotion.

Which was horribly unfair.

Because, up until this moment, you had been so certain that nothing in this world could ever make you weak in the knees.

But this?

This was a problem.

Because the combination of Deuce being stupidly strong, stupidly devoted, and now stupidly attractive in the aftermath of his absolute annihilation of a noble in your name was doing something deeply unsettling to your brain chemistry.

You, a seasoned chaos gremlin, had not been prepared for the sheer level of attractiveness that came from watching Deuce absolutely demolish a man in your honor and then kneel like you were some kind of divine ruler.

And absolutely no one in this arena could be allowed to witness that.

Which is why you did the only logical thing—

You grabbed Deuce by the collar and dragged him the hell out of there.

“We’re leaving.”

Deuce, stumbling after you, genuinely confused: “Wait—? But—?”

“No questions.”

Behind you, Ace hooted.

Riddle yelled something about propriety

The crowd was whispering in scandalized awe.

And the noble who insulted you?

He was probably questioning every life choice that led him to this moment.

Congratulations.

You had once again caused a spectacle.

You had always known that your butler—the tall, brooding, vaguely tragic second male lead—was spying on you.

You just hadn’t expected him to be this bad at it.

At first, you thought he was just terrible at being subtle. The way he lurked behind obvious cover, like a potted plant that was two sizes too small for him, was almost insultingly blatant.

But then, after watching him trip over his own feet and drop his little spy notebook in front of you, you had a stunning realization:

He wasn’t just bad at this.

He was disastrous.

And you—being the responsible, morally upstanding villain that you were—decided that it was your duty to take full advantage of this situation.

So when he inevitably got caught, you gaslit the absolute hell out of him.

“You failed the test,” you sighed, shaking your head with deep, world-weary disappointment.

He froze. “Test?”

“Yes, a test,” you said, folding your arms. “Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice one of my own subordinates spying on me?”

He blinked. “I—I don't work for the heroine.”

You smiled dangerously. “Don't you?”

The silence that followed was long, painful, and deeply existential.

“…I don't?,” he said, but there was now a distinct lack of confidence behind his words.

Deuce, who had been standing off to the side, vehemently disagreed with everything that was happening.

“You knew about this?” he asked, looking at you like you were a criminal mastermind unveiling your latest scheme.

You ignored him.

Instead, you rested a hand on the butler’s shoulder, offering him a kind, understanding smile.

“Since you are so clearly loyal to me,” you said, gently, “I’d like you to deliver a very special report to the heroine.”

Deuce let out an exhausted groan.

The butler stared at you warily. “…What kind of report?”

“Oh, you know,” you mused, smirking. “Just a few details about my daily routine. The way I conduct myself in my estate. My methods for staying eternally youthful.”

The butler squinted.

“What do you mean, eternally youthful?”

You grinned.

The heroine stood in your ballroom, pointing an accusing, trembling finger at you.

“You’re a witch.”

You grinned.

Then you turned to your butler—who looked increasingly uncomfortable—and hummed, “I see you did your job well.”

Deuce pinched the bridge of his nose. “What did you make him tell her?”

The heroine narrowed her eyes at you, vibrating with righteous fury.

“You—you bathe in your servants’ tears to stay youthful!”

You tilted your head.

“That’s an odd way to phrase ‘providing an excellent workplace with fair wages and health benefits,’ but okay.”

The heroine was not having it.

“And—and you drink phoenix blood to maintain your strength!”

“Well, now, that’s true,” you admitted. “It pairs nicely with a dry red.”

The heroine let out a horrified gasp.

Deuce stared at you like you had personally betrayed him. “You made him tell her you drink what?!”

“I was curious to see how far he’d go.”

The butler, now pale and visibly sweating, looked like he had experienced a crisis of faith during his conversation with the heroine.

And when she reached the final, most egregious offense, he seemed to finally, fully break.

“…And I was told,” the heroine whispered, voice trembling, “that you—” she took a deep breath “—have personally seduced your own knight, corrupting him with your villainous ways.”

You glanced at Deuce.

Deuce turned bright red. “What did you tell her?!”

Your butler, who had finally reached his limit, just turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

“I quit,” he muttered.

Success.

You had been accused of many things since you woke up in this absolute joke of a world as the villain.

Corruption? Sure.

Scandal? Naturally.

Inducing moral panic in the aristocracy because you decided to flirt with engaged people at a ball? Absolutely.

But today was new.

Today, you had apparently brainwashed Deuce Spade into a life of crime.

"You’ve brainwashed him!"

The heroine’s voice rang out across the royal gathering, loud and full of self-righteous fury, as if she had just caught you mid-scheme, cackling over a bubbling cauldron, weaving a spell to turn Deuce into a mindless delinquent henchman.

You, who had been mid-sip of your expensive champagne, slowly lowered the glass.

Deuce, who had been standing beside you like a human wall of pure knightly devotion, blinked in further confusion.

The heroine took a dramatic step forward, looking at him with heartfelt sadness, like she expected him to suddenly start frothing at the mouth and looting everyone in your name.

“Sir Deuce,” she said, voice trembling with emotion, “It’s not too late. I can save you.”

Deuce tilted his head, utterly lost. “Save me from what?”

“From this!” She gestured wildly at you, as if you were some demonic manifestation of lawlessness, corrupting poor, innocent knights into a life of wanton villainy and casual public indecency.

The male lead, who had been hanging around in the background like a disgruntled ex, suddenly perked up at this. “Wait, are you saying we can steal Deuce?”

“Not steal,” the heroine corrected, with the solemnity of a saint bestowing divine mercy upon a lost soul. "Rescue."

And then, in a stunning display of completely unfounded confidence, she pulled out a golden envelope and extended it toward Deuce.

“A direct invitation,” she declared, eyes shining, “to serve under His Highness.”

There was a deafening silence.

Then—

“No.”

The refusal was instant.

No hesitation.

Not even a single second of consideration.

The heroine’s jaw practically dislocated.

The male lead looked personally victimized.

Ace, who had been standing off to the side with Riddle, slowly turned to face him, nudging him with his elbow before whispering something so profoundly stupid that Riddle physically winced.

Then, as if processing a truth he had been avoiding all this time, Riddle sighed, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Ace, meanwhile, had the absolute audacity to look like he was having the time of his life.

The heroine, still struggling to process this complete failure, managed to find her voice again.

“I—I don’t understand.” She looked between you and Deuce, visibly distressed. “Why? Why would you refuse?”

Deuce gave her the most straightforward, obvious look in existence.

“I don't want to.”

The heroine gasped.

The male lead looked like he had been personally slapped.

Ace, meanwhile, had the absolute gall to let out a quiet, knowing cackle, like he had figured out the ending of a dramatic novel before the characters did.

“I fear he’s too far gone,” the heroine whispered, mourning the loss of Deuce Spade as if he had already perished.

You, meanwhile, had been too busy enjoying the absolute disaster unfolding in front of you to process what just happened.

Not until much later, when the two of you were walking back from the gathering, and you finally turned to him with a frown.

“Wait,” you said, still trying to wrap your head around it, “Why didn’t you take the offer?”

Deuce looked at you like you had just asked him why fire was hot. “Because I’m your knight.”

Oh.

That was—

That was kind of—

Warm.

An unpleasantly warm feeling spread in your chest, like you had just accidentally drunk an entire cup of molten sentimentality.

You didn't like it. You didn't like it at all.

ABORT. ABORT. ABORT.

You cleared your throat, deadpan as possible, and said, “Right. That makes sense.”

Then, with all the grace and subtlety of a spooked alley cat, you turned on your heel and walked away at high velocity, because you were absolutely not dealing with this today.

It doesn’t matter what you do.

You could ignore him. Insult him. Dramatically throw a glass of wine in his face and accuse him of high treason.

Nothing works.

The male lead only seems to fall harder.

And tonight?

Tonight, it’s worse than ever.

Now, he was finding excuses to touch you.

You had arrived at the royal ball with the intention of causing mischief—maybe ruining a few engagements, maybe flirting with people’s spouses just for the fun of it, maybe convincing a few nobles that you were an ancient demon cursed to live among them in disguise—you know, the usual.

What you hadn’t planned for was the crown prince himself swooping in like a predatory falcon, seizing your wrist, and dramatically pulling you onto the dance floor.

There was no escape.

And the worst part?

The entire room was watching.

Which meant you had to grit your teeth and endure it.

The music began.

You stepped forward. He stepped forward.

You tried to maintain a respectable distance.

He?

He did not.

Instead, he pulled you closer—his grip firm, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable as he held you just a little too tightly.

And then—oh, and then.

You felt it.

The slight intake of breath.

The subtle tilt of his head.

The near-invisible shudder that ran down his spine as he inhaled deeply, as if committing your scent to memory.

Your entire body locked up in horror.

What. The. Hell.

Was he—

Was this bastard—

Was he sniffing you?

You immediately tried to pull away, but his vice-like grip did not relent.

“I—” His voice came out a little strangled, and his eyes darted away suspiciously. “You—” He swallowed. “I was just making sure you didn’t smell like poison.”

You stared at him.

Poison.

Poison.

He said that with his whole chest.

Like it was a normal thing to do.

Like it wasn’t the most deranged, lovesick, absolutely unhinged thing you had ever seen in your entire life.

“You think someone poisoned me?” you deadpanned.

“Yes,” he said, nodding a little too quickly. “I thought—I thought maybe one of your enemies slipped something into your drink.”

“So your first instinct was to smell me?”

“YES.”

The sheer delusion in his voice was astounding.

You pushed him off you the moment the song ended, practically flinging yourself across the room in search of sanity, reason, and possibly a priest.

The moment you reached Ace, Riddle, and Deuce, you collapsed into their presence, gasping like you had just escaped the jaws of death.

Riddle took one look at your disheveled state, grimaced, and immediately handed you a handkerchief, as if he could wipe the entire experience off you.

You snatched it up and aggressively scrubbed at your neck.

Ace?

Ace was dying.

He was bent over in laughter, hands on his knees, completely losing his mind.

And Deuce?

Deuce looks like you just drop-kicked his puppy off a bridge.

He is staring at you like you personally betrayed him, his ancestors, and the entirety of knighthood as an institution.

Ace sees an opportunity and takes it.

With zero hesitation, he grabs Deuce by the shoulders and shoves him closer to you.

“You gonna let that slide, man?” Ace teases, grinning like a madman.

“I—” Deuce blinks, still looking dazed and vaguely devastated.

Ace pushes him again. “Dude, do something! Your boss just got publicly defiled.”

Deuce finally snaps out of it, reaching for his own handkerchief—the one with his knightly crest embroidered on it—and gently, carefully wipes at your neck.

It was different from Riddle’s.

Riddle had handed you his like a noble disgusted by filth.

Deuce, however?

Deuce was careful.

His touch was light, his eyes too focused, too serious as he dabbed at the place where the prince’s lips had nearly brushed against your skin.

He was not just cleaning.

He was removing.

It was as if the very idea of another man touching you physically revolted him.

So, in a desperate attempt to make the moment less weird, you forced out a mocking smirk and teased,

“Aw, Deuce. What’s wrong? You don’t like it when he touches me?”

Deuce, sweet, earnest, painfully loyal Deuce, did not hesitate.

“No."

Oh no.

Bwcause something in your stomach flips and your face feels suspiciously warm.

It was bound to happen.

Honestly, with the way you had been leaning on him lately, whispering too-close teases in his ear, and throwing casual flirtations like daggers at his heart, it was only a matter of time before he cracked.

But you—oh, you hadn’t expected it to be like this.

You were lounging on him again today, your head resting against his shoulder, basking in the solid warmth that only Deuce could provide. He had long since stopped complaining about it—stopped stiffening up every time you got close—and instead, he had simply accepted his fate as your personal resting post.

Which, of course, meant it was your duty to push your luck.

So, you did.

With a slow, lazy grin, you tilted your head, let your lips brush a little too close to his ear, and murmured,

“Y’know, Deuce… you’re kind of my favorite.”

It was supposed to be a joke. (kinda)

It was supposed to be just another tease, another drop of fuel onto the fire just to see him sputter and turn red like he always did.

But this time?

This time, he didn’t laugh.

Instead—

He froze.

His entire body went rigid beneath you, his hands clenching into fists, his breath coming sharper, heavier, like he was wrestling with something too big to contain.

And then—he exhaled.

“Are you playing with me, too?”

The words were low.

Rough.

Like he had been holding them back for too long, like they had been simmering inside him, growing heavier with every glance, every touch, every stupid, careless flirtation.

You blinked. “What?”

Deuce shifted, just enough to look at you head-on, and oh.

Oh.

There was something in his eyes—something raw, something vulnerable, something that made your stomach flip in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“You keep doing this,” he muttered, his voice tight, frustrated. “You flirt with me like you do with the other nobles. You—you act like it’s all just a game. But I—”

His breath hitched.

And then, with a quiet, almost desperate laugh, he whispered,

“You know I love you, right?”

Your heart stopped.

“I—”

“I do,” he interrupted, the words spilling out like he couldn’t hold them back anymore. “I do. I’ve been trying to ignore it, trying to be just your knight, just your friend—but every time you look at me like that, every time you say stuff like this—” His jaw clenched. “—I feel like an idiot. Because I know you don’t mean it. I know you’re just playing around. But I—”

He swallowed hard.

“I can’t take it anymore.”

The air between you went still.

Your heartbeat was too loud, your pulse a slow, insistent drumbeat in your ears, and oh.

Oh, this was real.

He was serious.

Deuce squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled sharply, and then met your gaze once more, firmer this time.

“The next time you flirt with me,” he said, voice low, steady, “I’m going to take it seriously.”

“I mean it,” he continued, as if warning you. “You—you don’t get to joke about this anymore. Not with me. Because I’ll—”

His fingers trembled at his sides.

“I’ll take responsibility for it.”

It took you a second to process the words.

Oh.

Oh, he was adorable.

Because even now—even after basically confessing, after baring his heart to you like this, he was still looking at you like he was waiting for permission.

Like he needed you to say it first.

Like he needed to be sure.

And, well—

Who were you to disappoint your favorite knight?

With a slow, lazy grin, you grabbed him by the collar, pulled him close, and whispered,

“Deuce.”

His breath hitched. “Yeah?”

You leaned in, close enough that your lips brushed against his cheek, and murmured,

“Do you want my last name?”

The moment the words left your mouth, his entire body locked up.

And then—

Then he kissed you.

It was clumsy, heated, desperate in the way only Deuce could be—like he had been holding this back for too long, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t take you now.

And you—

You melted into it.

Because of course he was serious.

Because of course you had always known what you were doing to him.

Because—

Because you wanted it, too.

The ballroom is packed, glittering, expectant.

The chandeliers glow like stars, the music swells in the background, and every noble in attendance is on the edge of their seat, waiting for whatever ridiculous display you’re about to put on this time.

And, oh, are you about to deliver.

You stand tall, your hand resting comfortably in Deuce’s as you make the grandest announcement of your life.

“We’re engaged.”

The room erupts—gasps, whispers, the sharp clink of dropped silverware.

Deuce, standing proudly beside you, looks both smug and overwhelmed, like he’s still processing the fact that you actually said yes and also fully prepared to duel anyone who disagrees.

Ace is counting coins, no doubt because he made a bet about this happening.

Riddle looks like he’s two seconds away from both congratulating you and strangling you for causing another scene.

And the male lead—

Oh, the male lead is not handling it well.

He’s standing there, frozen, his eye twitching ever so slightly, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to form a sentence but can’t because his brain just blue-screened.

The male lead—in all his tragic, oblivious, love-stricken glory—then has the nerve to act like he’s concerned.

“I just think it’s irresponsible, the difference in your status.” he says.

The words hit you like a divine insult.

Like the heavens themselves have chosen this as your actual villain origin story.

There is a moment of stillness.

It’s the kind of moment you read about in dramatic novels—the eerie, anticipatory silence before an executioner swings his blade. The nobles are motionless, caught between the sheer audacity of your engagement announcement and the dawning horror of whatever is about to come next.

Because they can feel it.

They can feel the storm brewing inside you, the kind of apocalyptic fury usually reserved for fallen kingdoms and plagues of locusts.

Deuce grips your hand a little tighter, as if sensing the catastrophic levels of rage that are about to explode from your very soul.

And then—it happens.

You let out a slow, incredulous exhale.

And then, at the top of your lungs—

“OH, MY GOD.”

The chandelier shakes.

Somewhere in the back, a noble collapses onto a couch.

A waiter drops an entire tray of champagne glasses.

The heroine, bless her soul, gasps like she’s just watched someone get impaled.

And the male lead?

The male lead flinches.

But he does not back down.

Which is his second biggest mistake tonight.

His first was being born.

You take a deep, suffering breath, and then—oh, you absolutely let loose.

“JUST SAY YOU’RE JEALOUS, YOU PATHETIC, EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED DISASTER.”

There is an echoing thud.

Ace has fallen to the ground.

He is actively pounding his fist against the marble floor in a fit of laughter so violent that one of the nobles attempts to call a doctor.

Riddle is gripping his temples, already mourning the loss of his peace.

And Deuce?

Deuce nods along.

Like, yeah. That makes sense.

But you are nowhere near done.

You take an intimidating step forward, pointing aggressively at the male lead’s absurdly symmetrical face.

“Do you think I don’t know?!” you demand. “Do you think I don’t notice when you materialize out of thin air whenever I so much as sigh?? Do you think I don’t see you hiding behind pillars, staring at me with the same expression as a neglected golden retriever!?”

The male lead opens his mouth—probably to deny it.

But you immediately cut him off.

“DON’T EVEN TRY ME, YOU NOBLE IMBECILE.”

The heroine physically recoils.

A duke mutters a quiet prayer.

Ace has fully ascended to the next realm.

“I have proof!” you declare, waving an accusatory finger. “Every time I enter a room, you’re already there, lurking in the shadows like a deranged, overgrown bat. Do you think that’s normal behavior?! Do you think people don’t notice?! I HAVE SEEN THE TOWN CRIER TAKING NOTES.”

Riddle’s entire body twitches.

Because, unfortunately, that is not an exaggeration.

The town crier really has been chronicling the male lead’s unhinged pining in weekly installments.

You take another step forward, voice rising.

“Just admit it! Admit that you have absolutely lost your mind over me, and you’re just mad that I don’t give a single, microscopic shred of a damn!”

The male lead is visibly sweating.

But you are still not finished.

“Listen to me,” you say, voice lowering into something cold, absolute, and devastating. You step forward until the male lead is cornered against a column, towering over him like a vengeful god.

Then, with as much venom as you can possibly summon—

“I value you less than a piece of moldy bread.”

Carnage.

The room erupts into madness.

The male lead physically staggers.

His soul leaves his body.

His knees tremble like he’s about to collapse.

Ace is choking on laughter, beating the floor like a medieval peasant begging for mercy.

Riddle has his hands over his eyes like this is the most humiliating thing he’s ever been forced to witness.

The heroine is looking at the male lead like he’s a dying animal.

And Deuce—sweet, loyal Deuce—just crosses his arms, nods approvingly, and says,

“Yeah. What he said."

You smile, victorious.

You dust off your hands like you’ve just completed a particularly satisfying chore.

Then, you turn back to Deuce, loop your arm through his, and promptly walk out of the ballroom with your beloved knight at your side.

The sun melts into the horizon, casting the ocean in gold and rose, waves curling onto the shore. A warm breeze rolls through the open balcony, carrying the scent of salt and flowers and Deuce Spade trying to subtly overthink again.

Which is unfortunate.

Because you had expressly banned thinking on this honeymoon.

Yet here he is—Deuce , your devoted, beautiful, terminally self-doubting husband—standing by the railing, arms crossed, jaw clenched, deep in Thought.

You know that look.

It’s the look of a man about to say something stupid.

And indeed—

“Do you regret it?” he asks.

You blink. “Regret what?”

Deuce doesn’t look at you. His gaze is on the horizon, all noble knightly brooding, except it’s Deuce, so it just makes him look like a golden retriever contemplating the meaning of life.

“Choosing me,” he clarifies. “I mean, you—you could’ve had anyone. A prince, a noble, someone with status. Someone who actually deserves—”

You physically grab him.

Like, you latch onto him like a barnacle and manhandle him around to face you, because this is quite possibly the dumbest thing he’s ever said, and you refuse to let him say another word.

Deuce, being Deuce, just lets you do it.

He stares at you, startled, lips slightly parted, eyes big and blue and breathtaking.

And you sigh.

“Sweetheart,” you say, voice dry, “you are the densest person I have ever met.”

He blinks.

You take his face in your hands.

“I love you, dumbass.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Deuce grins.

It’s small at first, hesitant, like he’s still processing the words—like some part of him is still convinced he’s dreaming, that any moment now, he’s going to wake up in the barracks and realize none of this is real.

But then, you thumb over his cheek, gentle, certain, grounding him in reality.

And that’s when it happens.

That’s when his grin breaks into something helpless and bright, something that crinkles the corners of his eyes, something that is so very Deuce that your heart trips over itself.

He hides his face against your shoulder.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, muffled against your skin, voice warm, embarrassed, happy.

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him closer.

“Make me.”

His arms tighten around you, and for a while, neither of you move—just standing there, on the balcony of some faraway villa, wrapped up in each other, with nothing and no one to interrupt.

No scheming nobles.

No pushy male leads.

No ridiculous duels or political scandals.

Just you, Deuce, and the rest of your lives ahead.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

[classyrbf]

classmate!gojo part 3!

classmate!gojo who has been watching you from afar for the past week now. His eyes are always gravitating towards you in class, trying to catch any other possible connection. He’s try so hard to convince himself that you’re not his mystery girl, but at this point he should just accept it. The photo of your nails was proof enough, not to mention how much of a rush you were in. Neither of you have texted or exchanged photos since then, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t driving him crazy. Every single day since then he can’t get you off of his mind, getting so hard from the thought of you that he has to sneak away to rub one out to your pictures or videos. He just can’t help himself.

He watches you in class, in the cafe area, even sees you walking on campus, doing normal things. He would have never guessed in a million years you were the one he sought after so badly. You hide it so well. But he knows deep down under that good girl persona you have, there’s a slut waiting to caught, waiting to be fucked and used like you told him all those times over text. He’ll make you break. He sees you sitting on a bench on campus just scrolling through your phone, knowing this is the perfect time to execute his plan.

He finally breaks contact, sending you a video he took of himself last night.

gojo: i miss you

it was simple, but he was hoping it’d work. He watches intently, a small smile spreading across your face, though he’s unsure if it’s because of him

gojo: send me something, yeah? miss seeing you, baby

and like clock work, he sees you get up, heading towards the bathrooms inside one of the campus buildings. What else to do but follow. He sees you slip into the bathroom, and now he finally has you where he wants you.

you enter the bathroom, riddled with excitement that he finally texted you. Maybe he didn’t catch on that you were the one sending him photos. Good, it means you can have more fun. You enter the stall, replaying the video of him jerking off, putting the phone close to your ear so you can his moans. You smile, your hands finding themselves under your skirt, rubbing your clit through your clothed pussy. Little do you know he’s standing right outside the door, waiting for you.

You unbutton your shirt and grab onto your tits, massaging them in your hand while you send him a video. Quickly, you send him another of your wet panties, still rubbing your clit.

you: missed you too. can you tell?

and gojo can’t believe it when he receives the videos, chuckling to himself at how slutty you can be. He saves the videos nonetheless and puts his phone back in his pocket, the bathroom door opening, you walking out, completely caught off guard. Your heart thumps against your chest, mouth hanging open like you want to say something but nothing is coming out. All you know is that you can’t stop staring at him. He’s smirking at you, eyeing like a piece of candy as he moves closer towards you, leaning over to whisper in your ear, “I know you’re little secret.” You’re frozen, unable to do a thing. You couldn’t even deny it at this point. “Give em to me,” he demands.

“W-what?” You blink, voice barely above a whisper. He moves back, a smug smile on his stupidly pretty face. God, he smells so good. And his whispering? You’re even more wet than before. He knows what he’s doing to you.

“Your cute little panties. Give them to me.” He’s so casual about it and makes you even more nervous yet more intrigued. You turn to go back into the bathroom but he grabs your arm. “No, no, no. Do it right here.”

“But—” you look around to see if anyone else is around.

“What? Scared of getting caught? Sure weren’t thinking about that when you sent me all these videos and pictures. So, hand them over.” He watches as you slightly bend over, reaching under your skirt and gently pulling your panties down, letting them fall to your ankles. You sheepishly pick them up, they’re coated in your slick, an embarrassing sight. He grabs them from you, chuckling at the wet stain. “Wasn’t so hard, right?” He shoves them into his back pocket.You shake your head no, unable to keep eye contact with him. All the confidence you had over text has completely disappeared in the presence of him. What were you even thinking? He’s Gojo Satoru. “Thank you for these, baby.” He steps closer towards you, cornering you against the wall. “Send me something else later on tonight. Oh, and make sure to stop hiding that pretty face of yours too, okay? I wanna see everything.” He grabs your chin, tilting it up so you were looking at him.

“Why don’t you just fuck me already? We’ve both been waiting long enough,” you abruptly ask. It was taking everything in you not to drop on your knees and let him fuck your face.

“I can fuck you right here if I wanted to. You know how’ve riled up you’ve gotten me for all these weeks? I get so hard thinking about you that it hurts. I can’t fucking cum if it doesn’t involve you. You’ve taken over my mind, made me go on this chase to figure out who you were. So, if I wanna make you wait a little more, then I’ll fucking do it.” He gritted his teeth, gripping your chin slightly tighter. “Remember, only good girls get rewarded.” He smirked, pulling away from you before walking out of the building like nothing happened.

previous part

[luveline]

i just saw someone on tiktok say “behind every girl that always wants to be around their partner is a little who’s dad didn’t choose her.” with aaron pls :(( and reader reveals her daddy issues? xxx

—hotch comforts you when you worry you depend on him for the wrong reasons. fem, 2k

You were aware of the irony. Girl who hates her father latches onto the first older man to give her any positive attention: the framing isn’t complimentary to either of you, and it’s not true, really. You love Aaron because he’s kind, and he’s handsome, and because he loves you first. You won’t pretend he’s perfect even if he might say that about you. He doesn’t have to be. 

Aaron is kind where all the other men in your life have been cruel. He is the person you go to when things go wrong, even if you don’t expect him to fix things for you. You know you have ‘daddy issues’, and you don’t want them to affect how you and Aaron are when you’re together, but it’s obvious to the both of you that you crave being looked after. The way Aaron takes care of you absolutely factors into why you love him. 

He wraps the tail end of your scarf into your coat and flattens the lump of it until it’s under your chin. “Alright?” he asks, not expecting an answer as he turns away to grab his own scarf. “Will that coat be warm enough? It might be a few hours.” 

“Fine. We’ll be inside most of the time.” 

“Mm,” he hums, reaching back to pinch your side. You laugh and he smiles but doesn’t say anything further, pulling open the front door, and holding it for you until you’re on the porch. 

“You know you don’t have to… spoil him, so much,” you say lightly. 

“It’s not spoiling, he only wants a few things.” 

You’d personally felt that Jack’s birthday wish list was a bit long, but you don’t care. You don’t have a vendetta against Jack's happiness. If Aaron wants to spend half a paycheck (alright, a quarter, if that) on some toys, he should do it. But he probably knows already that Jack won’t care if he doesn’t get all of that stuff. “I didn’t get half as much for my birthdays,” you say. 

“Believe me, honey, neither did I.” 

“One year someone’s mom got me a full box set of movies though. That was a good one.” 

“One year, I got two different pagers.” He snorts. “And now they’re useless.” 

“I never used a pager.” 

Aaron goes a bit red, self-shame or something silly like that. “Don’t tell me that.” 

“Cradle snatcher.” 

“Stop, that’s not funny.” 

It’s funny. You aren’t shockingly younger than Aaron but it’s definitely enough time to see the difference (not that you care, you quite like him with his permanent wrinkle between his brows and his big, big hands). “I really haven’t. I know what they are, of course, but I went straight to a cell phone.” 

He grumbles something unheard. Together, you get into his car and drive to the shopping centre nearest the house, a maze of storefronts with outdoor entrances, like a mall that’s been shaken and thrown out over two streets. It’s not entertaining but in a way, it’s good. Aaron holds your hand and you can walk around with your head held high, proud to be a well-dressed, in love-looking partnership. See, your face says to anyone who’ll look, I’m well-loved. 

After an hour or two he kisses your cheek and decides aloud that you need dinner. He doesn’t ask if you’re hungry, he just chooses, and you love it. 

“Thank you for letting me come today,” you say, sitting across from him behind a dinner plate and a towering glass of lemon water. 

“Did I let you?” he asks, distracted by his steak and fries, though he sounds as loving as usual. 

“You could’ve said no.” 

“I have no reason to. I like when you’re with me. Thank you for letting me bring you, then, and boring you half to death.” 

“Freezing me the other half.” 

“Ah, so smart, so clever,” he murmurs. 

“Witty.” 

“Always, aren’t you?” 

You wonder about the dessert menu, find your mouth working of its own accord. “It doesn’t feel believable, sometimes. That you want me around so much.” 

He pauses, resting his knife across his fork. With a free hand, he gestures to your hand. “Would you like more proof?” 

You aren’t sure what he means, the tennis bracelet he got you for your first anniversary, or the engagement ring that sits heavily on your marriage finger waiting to be traded for a golden band. Maybe he means the teeny silver bracelet that falls down your arm whenever you move, that one just for fun. 

“Not,” he says slowly, his eyes squinted to tell you that you’re caught, “that jewellery should be your sole proof.” 

“Would you like to prove it to me now?” 

He reaches over to squeeze your hand. “I want you around all of the time. If I could I’d have us sewn together at the hip.” He’s grinning, thumbing against your knuckles. “It might not be comfortable at night when you’re trying to climb all over me.” 

“You climb all over me, Hotchner, don’t lie.” 

Aaron nods appreciatively. “That’s right. You’re the second most important thing in my life, and that’s not your fault, only Jack is so endearing.” 

“He’s a lucky kid.” 

“No, he’s not,” Aaron says gently, “but I really do love him.” 

“Of course he’s lucky. He has a dad who loves him to pieces, his Aunt Jess is like, superwoman, and– you know, I know I’m not the same as that, but I love him.”

“You look after him,” Aaron says. 

“It’s honestly just nice that you seem to like him. You don’t act like he’s an annoyance for you, you aren’t angry to have to come out today to get him his presents.” 

“Well, no. It’s not something to be angry about. When you have kids, you’re signing up for every part of having them.” 

“I know.” 

He takes a sip of his drink and puts it down beside your own in what you know to be him buying a little time. “Honey, is there something… I don’t know, something you want to talk about? Is it Jack's birthday…?”

You feel your heart fall into your mouth, as though it began life somewhere else, heartbeat mortified on your tongue. He sees you fluster and immediately softens, turning your hand in his to stroke along the inside of your wrist. 

“Nevermind,” he says. 

“No.” You clear your throat. “It’s not about Jack’s birthday. It’s just… you know you weren’t always the best father you could’ve been.” 

He nods. “I do.” 

“But you are now. You’ve made sacrifices, you– you chose Jack.” 

“I couldn’t not.” You’re quiet. He understands. “Sweetheart, we don’t have to talk about it now. Would that be better? You can think about what you have to say, and I promise I’ll listen without judging you when you’re ready to tell me about it. Okay?” He gives your wrist a squeeze. “You aren’t upset, are you?” 

“I’m just thinking.” 

“Are you too distracted for dessert?” 

You let Aaron pick one for you. Let him pay the bill, he’d be insulted if you even asked about splitting it, and he might genuinely get annoyed if you offered yourself. You usually love it. Someone loves you enough that money is practically immaterial. Just last month he had to have the roof of the house redone, and you know his money isn’t infinite, as does he, and yet it didn’t stop you from being spoiled, because any money he has was money shared. You know if he suddenly turned pauper he’d still spoil you, same way you’re spoiled with soft touches and less chores than you should take. 

“You know I don’t think of you as my father, right?” you ask. 

Aaron chokes on a startled laugh. “Of course I do,” he says, coughing, clutching your elbow. 

“So if I tell you that sometimes the way you treat me reminds me of my father, you won’t take it the wrong way?” 

“No.” He smiles where he should frown, wraps an arm behind your back when he should be judging you. “Men are still men. And I am a father, so it makes sense that you’d have those connotations in mind sometimes.” 

“I don’t want you to be my dad, but I do wonder… I wonder if I want to be around you so much because my father didn’t want to be around me. Does that make sense?” 

“I think it makes sense to wonder about it,” he says diplomatically. 

You’re nearly back to the car and this is a strange place to bare your heart, but it’s not so dramatic, you suppose. “I just think that sometimes I cling to you so much, and it must be– I’m insecure about you.”

“Mm, but you have no reason to be,” he says, pulling you closer still, his fingers aligned against your ribs and warming through your layers. 

“My father didn’t like me, not like you like Jack. There were things that were far more important to him. But with you, I’m important, and– and I know it’s not the same relationship, but–” You groan, not sure what you’re trying to say to him, or what you want him to understand. 

“My father didn’t like me, either,” Aaron says, encouraging you to keep walking to the car. “He was not a nice person. And it absolutely affected how I feel now, even if I don’t always think about him. The way he treated me when I was young influenced the person I am now. And looking for the things I wish he was, looking for kindness, for a gentle partner, it doesn’t mean that I need a placeholder for him, does it? I know what you’re saying to me. Don’t think you’re wrong for wanting to be looked after.” 

You can’t help breathing out a sigh of relief. “Right.” 

“I’ve never been a young woman, and I don’t have a daughter, but it’s not hard to imagine how you felt. It’s okay to wish you’d been loved properly.” 

“I was never a daddy’s girl,” you confess. 

“It’s not fair. Everyone wants to be treasured when they're a kid. And it makes sense that you’re still looking for that feeling. We both know it’s not the same, but I really will look after you.” He smiles. “Okay?” 

“Okay. Sorry if it’s too weird.” 

“It’s not weird to want someone who takes care of you.” 

You bring your hands to his face. They’re smaller than his, you’ve shorter fingers with softer palms, but they fit perfectly on his cheeks. You tease the scratchy hill of his chin with your thumb before closing your eyes, reaching up for a kiss. The bags hanging from your elbows crack, crushed as Aaron gets his hands behind your back to hold you. 

“You’re too good to me,” you say softly, returning flat to your heels. 

Aaron pulls your face back to kiss your cheek. “You deserve everything you get, honey. I promise.” 

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Payment » Bucky Barnes (AU)

Pairings: Mechanic!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You pay Bucky in a different way for fixing your car.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, blowjob, little bit of fingering, unprotected sex, office sex, praise kink, pet names

A/N: There’s an auto shop like 2 minutes away from where I live called Barnes Auto Barn. Also, Bucky has tattoos on his left arm in this. Enjoy!

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

“Thank you so much for fixing my car.” You smiled.

“You don’t have to thank me. I enjoy fixing your car.” Bucky smiles back.

You got your wallet out of your purse to pay Bucky for fixing your car. You groaned to yourself when you realized that you forgot to go to the bank before going to pick up your car.

“I completely forgot to go to the bank before coming here.” You say. “Is there any way I can pay you tomorrow?” You asked.

“Don’t worry about it. You’ve been bringing your car here for a few years. It’s on the house.” Bucky says.

“Are you sure?” You asked.

“It’s fine.” He smiles.

“I’d feel much better if I paid you. I’ll do anything.” You say.

“Anything, huh?” He muses.

You nodded. Bucky bit his bottom lip when something came to his mind. He walked closer to you, closing the distance between the two of you. He caressed your cheek and rubbed his thumb against your bottom lip.

“I suppose there’s a different way you can pay me for fixing your car.” He almost whispers. “Let me lock up first.” He says.

You bit your bottom lip as he walked out of the garage to lock up everything. When Bucky came back, he grabbed your hand and led you to his office. He closed and locked the door behind him. He then kissed you hungrily. You moaned against his lips. You tugged on the white tank top he’s wearing, want it off. Bucky pulled away to take it off.

“Get on your knees.” Bucky orders.

You submitted to him and sunk down to your knees. You looked up at him innocently and bit your bottom lip. You then unbuckled his belt and undid the button and zipper on his jeans. Bucky helped you by pulling his jeans down to the middle of his thighs. You licked your lips at the sight of his hard cock. You wrapped your hand around his cock, stroking it a few times before kitten licking his tip. You moaned at the taste of his precum. You wrapped your lips around his tip and slowly began bobbing your head, taking as much as his cock as you could. Whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth, you stroked in your hand.

“Fuck…” Bucky moans. “I always knew you had an amazing mouth.” He says.

Bucky put his hand on the back of your head, gently guiding your head on his cock as you sucked it. You took a few deep breaths through your nose before attempting to take his whole cock in your mouth. You gagged a bit when his cock hit the back of your throat, making your eyes water. You tried your best to relax your throat. You brought your hands up to his thighs, holding onto them to steady yourself.

“Shit, baby.” He moans. “That’s a good girl. Just like that.” He praises.

Bucky bit his bottom lip as he watched you suck his cock. The sight below him is so sinful and hot.

“I might have you pay like this from now on.” He says.

You moaned around his cock in response.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby? You wanna pay me by having my fat cock down your throat?” He asks.

You moaned again. Bucky couldn’t hold back anymore. He thrusted his hips, making his cock thrust into your throat. You gagged at the sudden and new sensation, but you’re not complaining.

“Relax your throat for me, pretty girl.” He says softly. “There you go.” He coos.

Bucky’s hands gathered your hair and held it as he fucked your mouth. Your eyes watered even more. Tears started to roll down your face, but you didn’t mind it one bit. Saliva began to pool in your mouth and a little bit of it rolled down your chin.

“God damn, baby…” Bucky moans. “You’re gonna make me cum sooner than I like to. That’s what you’re trying to do, isn’t it, baby girl?” He pants.

You moaned around his cock and tried your best to nod your head. Bucky was right too. He’s going to cum sooner than he would like. He stopped thrusting his hips and pushed you all the way down on his cock, your nose touching just above the base of his cock. His eyes fluttered shut and tilted his head back, moaning your name as he came in your mouth. Bucky slowly pulled his cock out of your mouth and took a step back so you could stand up. You swallowed his cum and opened your mouth, sticking out your tongue to show him. He put his hand on the back of your head and brought you in for a hungry kiss.

Good thing Bucky cleaned his desk earlier before you came in today. He turned you around and started kissing along your neck, his teeth nipping on your skin to mark you up. His hands pulled down your pants and panties, letting them pool at your feet. One of his hands found its way in between your legs and started rubbing your clit, spreading your slick around. You moaned softly. He then slid two fingers inside of you, making you gasp.

“Oh fuck, Bucky!” You moaned, dropping your head against his shoulder.

His fingers thrusted in and out of your pussy, getting you ready for his cock. Bucky’s free hand went underneath your shirt, cupping one of your breasts over your bra.

“Bucky, please…” You begged. “Please fuck me.” You begged desperately.

“Such a needy girl for my cock.” Bucky says, lightly chuckling.

Bucky took his fingers out of your pussy, making you whine. He bent you over his desk before he lined his cock at your entrance, slowly sliding it inside of you. Your mouth fell open, moaning softly.

“Oh my god…” You moaned softly.

Bucky gave you a moment to adjust to his size before he started thrusting. His hands slid up and down your sides as he fucked you. He then grasped the bottom of your shirt and pulled it over your head, dropping it on the floor next to the desk. One of his hands expertly unclasped your bra, letting it fall from your chest.

Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you upright so your back was against the front of his body. His hands found their way to your breasts, cupping them. His thumbs rubbed over your nipples before giving them a pinch. You gasped and arched your back, pressing your breasts more into his hands.

“Please don’t stop!” You moaned.

“I fucking won’t, baby.” Bucky practically growls.

The sound of your moans was music to his ears. Bucky sped up his thrusts. The sound of skin slapping filled the office. Good thing you two are the only ones there.

“You’re being such a good girl for me, aren’t you, princess?” He whispers in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Mhmm yes!” You moaned, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

You tilted your head to the side just enough for Bucky to kiss along your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut. You were enjoying the feeling of his stubble scratching your skin.

One of Bucky’s hands slid down the front of your body. His fingers found your clit with ease and started rubbing it.

“Oh god! Yes, Bucky!” You moaned.

You put one of your hands on his tattooed arm, digging your nails in his inked up skin on his left arm. Your head leaned back against his shoulder. You could feel your orgasm building up.

“Oh fuck! I’m gonna cum!” You moaned.

“Me too, baby.” Bucky pants. “Cum for me, pretty girl.” He says softly.

His fingers sped up the rubbing on your clit. Your toes curled in your shoes when your orgasm came crashing down on you. You scratched his tattooed arm as you came on his cock. Bucky fucked you through your orgasm. His fingers gave your clit one last rub before focusing on his own orgasm. His hands held onto your hips tightly as his orgasm was about to make him fall over the edge. A grunt left his lips as he came inside of you. His thrusts came to a stop after a few more thrusts.

After a couple minutes, Bucky pulled out of you and got dressed. He then grabbed you by your hips and kissed you one more time. You moaned against his lips.

“Maybe I should pay you like this every time you fix my car.” You say with a grin.

“Maybe you should.” Bucky grins back.

You two exited his office and walked out of the building to the parking lot. Bucky, being the gentleman he is, walked you to your car.

“I believe these belong to you.” He says, holding your car keys.

You giggled softly and took your keys out of his hand. You unlocked your car and opened the door.

“Do you want to go out for drinks sometime?” He asks.

“I would love that.” You answered with a smile.

Bucky smiles back and kisses you once again.

“Stay safe, baby. Let me know if you have anymore car problems.” He says.

“I will.” You smiled.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[spurbleu]

police man john price is just so !!!!

god im eating him up, hes just so grumbly and daddy and forehead kisses and 🥰🥰

please, if you want to, more of that will be happily and greatly appreciated

based on this. pardon my turn of phrase, i am a a little bit kinda sorta inebriated.

you’re shy, john can tell that much.

nail dig themselves an early grave in the sandy cushions of the passenger seat. quieter than a mouse, aside from the occasional sniffle. eyes trained forward, like somewhere in the pitch glass rain, you’ll find answers.

likes them like that, he’s found.

fawn legged, skittish and helpless, clay before it’s fed to a fire that solidifies it (fits well in his palms. collects the bullets instead of screaming at them).

“how am i gonna get my car back.”

so she does speak.

“ill drive you to it in the morning.”

your face doesn’t move, but he notices the way your shoulders tilt forward. anxious, skeptical. smart, not enough that you didn’t get in his car, though.

“i don’t want to be any-“

“trouble? you hit my car sweet’eart, we’ve crossed that line,” he glances at you from his periphery, “although, seems like you, too, have had enough of it tonight.”

your lips wobbles.

you let quiet thread between the two of you. when there’s an effective, thick wall of yarn, you whisper through it.

“how can i pay you back?”

john suppresses a grin.

you will never find him at a local, licking the barstool of a pretty bird. or downloading one of those shallow, chivalry-death dating apps. or hiring a stranger during a dry spell.

he’s too proud for any of that. old fashioned. never chases, only prays.

to that thing that he stopped believing in a decade ago. asking if they’ve got any goodwill, they’ll make it easy. he’s been put through the ringer in the uglier world, make the softer one fall into his lap.

and he’ll be damned, here you are.

he hums like he hasn’t made up his mind. “join for me coffee before we get your car.”

you finally look at him. seamless shock, and a honest, cute fluster. john squeezes the wheel.

“but I…you don’t…I can’t…”

he shrugs, “nothing committal darlin. coffee and conversation. ill pay.”

he’s disappointed when you look away. “why?”

he doesn’t hide his smile this time. “always liked a damsel.”

[urmum-lovesme]

Bunny (P5)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: its been tough day today y'all #Ihateexams (projecting in this chpt idk if you can tell BAHAHA). Also I'm sorry for the late update 😬. My poor girl y/n idk if things can get any worse than this tbh..? (or can they....)

warnings: smoking, weed, drinking, a strip club, naked women, harassment, mention of sex, crying, aggressive behaviour (shoving/shouting), mentions of domestic abuse.

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5)

Y/N stood at the sink, scrubbing at a plate with slow, methodical circles. The warm water ran over her hands, the sound of it filling the quiet kitchen. It was almost unsettling... the quiet. Usually, the house was filled with slurred shouting, breaking bottles, slamming drawers or the heavy silence of a man passed out on the couch. But today?

Today, Luke was standing right next to her, drying the dishes.

Just a towel in his hands, stacking plates in uneven piles as she placed them onto the drying rack. It wasn’t much- but it was sober. He was sober. Maybe a little hungover, his face drawn into a small tired frown, but he wasn’t slurring his words, wasn’t swaying on his feet. That alone made her stomach twist.

“You been out a lot lately,” 

“I’ve been working.”

Luke commented, voice rough from sleep or whiskey- probably both she couldn't differentiate between the two anymore. Y/N hummed, placing another plate on the drying rack. He let out a low exhale, rubbing the towel over a glass. 

“That’s good… keeping busy.” 

A pause. 

“JJ doin’ alright?”

Her hands faltered just slightly before she continued clearing her throat, “Yeah. He’s- good.”

Luke nodded, setting the glass down with a quiet clink, running a hand over his face. It was such a normal thing, a simple chore, standing here washing dishes with her dad. It should’ve been a small moment like it was for so many other people, something forgettable, something easy. She could feel the way her chest ached, feel the way she wanted to hold onto this moment, just for a little while- mind floating back to when she was younger and he’d take her and JJ on fishing trips with him, make them crappy, burnt pancakes for breakfast. But she couldn’t help the instinct of keeping her walls up, watching him from the corner of her eye, waiting for the moment the calm shattered, for reality to crash back down.

Because with Luke, it always did.

The kitchen was now quiet, except for the clink of dishes and the hum of the old ceiling fan overhead. The dim light cast long shadows across the counters, stretching out between them. Y/N wiped her hands on the rag, dishes now washed, her gaze still flickered to Luke drying the last dish. The silence had been hanging heavy; she could feel it pressing down on her shoulders, waiting to crack open. And then, without looking up, Luke muttered, 

“Better not be lying.”

Y/N’s hands froze still gripping onto the rag in her hands, she blinked once, twice, before glancing over at him. 

“What?”

Luke finally looked at her, his eyes sharp, unreadable, “about working”. Y/N felt her pulse quicken. She forced herself to keep her expression neutral, even as she slowly pulled her hands towards the sink, wiping it with the rag. 

“I work at the country club.”

Luke huffed, tossing the dish towel he was using onto the counter. “Yeah-” He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

“You sure?”

“Yes- you think I’m dealing dru—?”

“-I think you’re my kid, and I know what it looks like when someone’s keeping secrets.” 

He cut in but his voice wasn’t raised, it didn’t need to be. It was threatening enough as it was. Y/N inhaled sharply through her nose, her grip tightening around the cloth in her hands. She wanted to snap back, wanted to tell him to fuck off, that shes the only reason they still had a roof over their heads and food in the fridge- but there was something in his tone, in the way he was watching her, that made it harder to breathe. She swallowed hard. 

“I told you,” she said, voice quieter now, “I’m a waitress and sometimes... I clean”

 “I hope so.”

Luke stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he let out a slow exhale, shaking his head. Y/N’s stomach twisted. He dropped the dish cloth onto the counter and walked over to the fridge, cracking it open and grabbing a bottle of beer. Then he walked away without another word, leaving her standing there, heart pounding, hands fisting the material of her t-shirt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The club was louder than usual tonight, the air thick with sweat and smoke. Y/N felt the exhaustion settling deep in her bones, dragging at her every step. It had been a long week- too long. She picked up an extra shift at the country club and seemed to be coming to the club every evening, so all she wanted was to get through the night without any more bullshit but, of course, that was too much to ask.

“Aw c’mon sweetheart, give me a smile.”

Y/N barely suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She forced a tight-lipped grin instead, just enough to appease the drunk tourist slouched in front of her. He looked like the type who had never stepped foot in a place like this before, all sunburnt and sloppy, his polo shirt wrinkled from a day of drinking. “Just trying to get past sugar” she said, voice smooth but empty. The guy let out a loud, obnoxious laugh and leaned in closer. 

“And I’m just trying to have a little fun, sugar”

Y/N’s fingers twitched at her sides. She could feel the sweat sticking to her skin, the air suddenly feeling too thick, too suffocating. She spoke out to the man, keeping her tone light even though she could feel her patience fraying.

“I’m sure there are plenty of other girls who’d love to entertain you,” 

The man clucked his tongue, tilting his head as his eyes went down to stare at her chest- tits being pushed up by a leopard print bra- before noticing the slight frown on her brow. 

“Don’t be like that. You’re too pretty to have a face like that.”

Her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head at his comment. She didn’t want to deal with this tonight. Not after the week she’d had. Not after— the man reached out, just barely brushing his fingers against her waist. It was light, barely anything. But it was enough for Y/N to take a sharp step back, her bracelets jingling at the sound, heart kicking up into her throat. She said, her voice sharper now,

“Don’t touch me”

“Whoa, relax, baby. No need to get all worked up.”

The guy raised his hands like he was innocent, like she was the one making a scene. Y/N swallowed hard, forcing herself to take a deep breath. Her nails dug into her palms, her entire body stiff as she fought to keep herself together as she walked over to an empty booth but she wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. She sank into the empty booth, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes- trying not to smudge her mascara- as she tried to shake off the lingering tension from the encounter. Her pulse was still thrumming too fast, her body coiled tight. She just needed a second- just a second to breathe.

“Hey”

A soft voice pulled her back. Y/N blinked up to see Bambi standing there, arms crossed loosely over her chest, her head tilted in concern.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Y/N exhaled, nodding quickly. Bambi didn’t look convinced. She slid into the seat across from her, watching her carefully. “Maybe you should take a break Bunny…” Y/N shook her head before she could even think about it. 

“No, he was just an asshole. I’m fine.”

Bambi sighed, reaching out to rub Y/N’s arm lightly. Her voice dropped, softer now. “C’mon, don’t be like this, okay? Just take the rest of the night off. It’s dead in here anyway.” Y/N hesitated, her gaze flickering up to the small digital clock on the wall.

1:37 AM.

She could technically leave. The money tonight hadn’t been great, but she wasn’t sure she had the energy to keep pushing through either. “I don’t know…” she muttered. Bambi didn’t wait for her to make a decision. She just stood up, nodding her head toward the back. 

“C’mon.”

Y/N followed her into the dressing room, the fluorescent lights making everything feel a little too bright. Bambi shuffled through her bag, muttering under her breath, until she finally pulled something out and turned back to Y/N. She watched as Bambi pressed a small joint into her palm.

“Take the night off” 

Y/N stared down at it for a moment before her fingers curled around it. Maybe just this once couldn’t hurt? Y/N stepped out of the club, her bag now  slung over her shoulder as she zipped up her hoodie against the cool night air. The parking lot was mostly empty, the neon glow from the club’s sign casting long, eerie shadows across the pavement.

It was one of those rare nights that Rafe didn’t show up, and for once, she felt relieved. The last time she saw him was at the country club that night- so it's not like she was eager to see him again. But it was odd, him not being there. In all these past few weeks he’d been getting under her skin more than usual, and she didn’t have the energy to deal with his shit tonight anyways. Always in the background, always watching, always pushing- she couldn’t deny that it was starting to get to her. So maybe it was good that he wasn't there... She let out a slow breath as she made her way towards her car thinking about getting home, showering, and forgetting this night- this week- ever happened. But then she saw it.

Something fluttering against her windshield. Her brows pulled together as she got closer, her stomach twisting in irritation before she even knew what it was. And sure enough—

“What the fuck?”

A goddamn parking ticket

Y/N snatched it off the glass, scoffing as she scanned over the bullshit fine. She always parked here. She never got ticketed. But apparently, one of her tires was inches over the line, and that was enough for some asshole cop to give her a fine?

“Fucks sake” 

She muttered, shoving the ticket into her bag as she yanked her car door open. She threw herself into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut a little harder than necessary. Just one more thing, one more headache. She dumped her bag into the passenger seat before her hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles tight, her jaw locked.

She just needed to get out of here.

Yet she couldn’t figure out if she was thinking of the club parking lot- or the island in general. Y/N let out a slow breath, her head falling back against the headrest. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, just long enough to let the exhaustion settle in her bones. Surprisingly, sitting alone in her car with the world muffled behind closed doors was hitting her all at once. She exhaled again, longer this time, before reaching up to tug at her earrings. The hoops clinked softly as she dropped them into the cupholder. Then came the rings, the thin ones stacked over her fingers, and finally the bracelets- the million little silver chains and beads that lined her wrists.

Her eyes flickered down.

A deep, ugly bruise was forming just beneath the faint imprints the bracelets had left behind. It had been a few days, but the color was still harsh- fading from deep purple to that sickly yellow-green. A reminder of her father's hold over her life, even when he wasn’t around. Her fingers ghosted over it and she swallowed looking away. Her gaze landed on the joint in the cupholder instead, its paper crinkled slightly from being shoved into her palm earlier. She thought about it. Thought about lighting up, about just forgetting for a little while and falling into the muffled haze she hasn’t been in for a while, but before she could, the screen of her phone lit up in her lap.

JJ (10)

She sighed, unlocking her phone with tired fingers.

JJ  :  yo 

JJ  :  are you coming to the bonfire tonight y/n? 

JJ : I literally told the gang ur coming

JJ  :  bruh 

JJ  :  answer ur phoneeeee

JJ  :  seriously?????

JJ  :  i've seen you like twice this week and its literally Saturday 

JJ  :  where are you 

JJ  :  you never spend time with me anymore what is going on with you

JJ : ?

Her grip tightened on the phone slightly before she groaned, tossing it onto the passenger seat and dragging a hand down her face. JJ was having a go at her- she was the older sibling wasn’t it meant to be the other way around? Did he really think she was choosing to distance herself from him- she’s the only one keeping their family afloat and now she’s getting punished by him too. She shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek as she jammed the key into the ignition, shifting the car into reverse.

The tires screeched slightly against the pavement as she pulled out of the parking lot, gripping the wheel a little too hard. She sighed through her nose, stretching her fingers along the steering wheel. The hum of the engine was the only thing filling the silence, and it was too heavy, so she reached for the radio flicking the knob with her thumb. Nothing. She twisted it again but still nothing. Her eye twitched as she muttered, smacking the side of the console in frustration. 

"Stupid piece of shit" 

Yet the radio stayed stubbornly dead, leaving her with just the sound of her own breathing and the occasional rattle of the engine. The Cut blurred past her windows as she drove, the streetlights casting flickering shadows across the road. Her fingers drummed against the wheel, her body still buzzing with the exhaustion of the night. As she sat in silence driving she couldn’t help but mull over the question in her mind- and then it hit her

She didn’t want to go home.

Why the hell would she? Home was where all her problems were. Where her dad’s temper sat in the walls like cigarette smoke, where she could still hear the echoes of slammed doors and broken bottles. No, she couldn’t go back there- she didn’t want to. Her fingers tightened around the wheel, knuckles paling as she made a sharp turn, diverting from the usual route. 

She knew exactly where she needed to be.

The road stretched longer as she drove toward the beach, the town fading behind her, the air growing saltier. When she finally pulled into a small parking lot—one that was never busy, never full, one that she used to bring JJ to when they were younger and Luke had too much to drink. She let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. Looking out through the windscreen she could see the dark ocean stretched out in front of her, endless, the waves crashing against the shore in a slow, steady rhythm. She killed the engine, sitting there for a second, just staring and she let out a small sigh, eyes looking down at the joint still sitting in her cup holder.

For a second, she just stared at it, debating.

Then, with a quiet sigh, she grabbed it, fingers brushing against the lighter beside it as she slipped out of the car. The beach was almost completely dark, save for the glow of the distant streetlights casting long shadows across the sand. The wind rolled in off the water, cool against her skin as she walked a little further down. She sat down, legs bent, one arm wrapped around her knees as she pulled the joint to her lips, sparking the lighter. The flame flickered for a moment before catching, the tip burning red-hot as she inhaled, holding the smoke deep in her lungs before slowly blowing it out.

The tension in her chest didn’t ease, not really, but at least it dulled the sharp edges.

She took another drag.

Then another and before she could stop it, before she even realised, her vision blurred.

The tears came out of nowhere.

Hot, quiet, slipping down her cheeks, dripping onto the sleeves of her hoodie. She rubbed at her face roughly, sniffling as she took another pull from the joint, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She hated crying- Luke always told her it was a sign of weakness- she wasn’t weak. But she was just so fucking tired. Of working her ass off just to barely scrape by. Of dealing with her dad. Of feeling like she was letting everyone down, like JJ was slipping away.

Like she was letting him down. 

Y/N wiped her sleeve under her eyes again, sniffling hard, trying to force herself to get it together. The waves rolled in, soft and steady, the only sound filling the silence between her sniffles. The joint burned between her fingers, the cherry coloured tip glowing faintly in the dark. She brought it to her lips again, inhaling slow, the warmth spreading through her lungs, through her limbs, settling somewhere deep in her bones. Her eyes stayed locked on the water, mind hazy, thoughts swimming.

She barely even registered the sound of a car approaching in the distance. Not until the glow of headlights swept over the sand, catching the edge of her vision. Her head turned lazily, gaze trailing toward the parking lot just as a car pulled up right next to hers. She blinked at it once, twice, before looking back at the water, unfazed.

Probably just some kids hooking up.

No one ever came here. No one even knew about this spot. She rubbed at her cheek with the sleeve of her hoodie, feeling the dampness of the material. The joint between her fingers had burned down about halfway now, the fuzzy warmth settling into her muscles, making her limbs feel heavier. She took another slow drag, exhaling through her nose, ignoring the sound of an engine cutting off behind her. Whoever it was, they weren’t her problem.

The bright glare of the headlights blinked off and the sound of a car door slamming shut echoed.  

She stayed still, unmoving, her gaze fixed on the water. Whoever it was, she didn’t care. Not enough to turn around, not enough to pull herself out of the haze settling over her, even when footsteps crunched against the sand.

A little uneven.

A little slow.

Whoever it was, were clearly coming her way. Her fingers tightened slightly around what was left of the joint, bringing it to her lips again just as the footsteps stopped.

Someone stood there, still as stone, eyes locked on her.

He hadn’t even recognized her at first- too caught up in his own head, too wired from the line he’d done before leaving Barry’s, his thoughts still tangled up in the mess of the night. He’d just wanted to clear his mind, let the salt air knock some sense back into him. But then he’d seen the curve of her shoulder and the delicate seashell inked into her skin, peeking out on her shoulder blade where her hoodie had slipped down. His jaw tensed, the buzz in his veins sharpening, his body instinctively pulling him closer before his mind could catch up.

He knew that tattoo.

And now, he wasn’t going anywhere- because what was she doing on his side of part beach?

“What are you doing here?”

His tone was unexpected- like he’d been caught off guard, like she was an intruder. But why wouldn’t he be? She doesn’t belong here. Not on this stretch of sand. This place was his mother’s. 

Their place.

Before everything turned to shit, she’d bring him here on Sundays, just the two of them. She’d pack fresh fruit in a cooler, spread out a towel, and run her fingers through his hair while he sat between her legs, half-asleep from the warmth of the sun. It was the only place he'd ever cherished. 

And now she was here. 

Sitting in his sand. 

Smoking on his beach. 

Y/N doesn’t even look up, her voice sharp, cutting through the thick silence.

“Sorry is this your beach, Rafe?”

She almost laughs at herself, because it’s fucking ridiculous—the whole situation. She was supposed to be alone. Sitting in peace. But then he showed up. Just like her goddamn father. Just like every other man in her life who couldn’t let her fucking breathe. She hears his steps before she sees him, the uneven drag of his shoes against the sand. Then suddenly, he’s towering over her, and she feels it—the shift in the air, the pull of something inevitable. Her fingers drop the burnt-out joint into the sand, and she moves to stand, to leave, to get the hell away from him, but—

Rafe blocks her.

She collides into his chest with a quiet oof, stumbling back slightly, her balance thrown off for just a second. Y/N exhales sharply, shaking her head, before trying to move past him again. But this time, Rafe doesn’t just stand there. His hand comes out fast, gripping her upper arm- not hard, but firm enough to stop her in her tracks. She has to take a step back, her pulse spiking, annoyance flashing hot in her chest as she lets out a small scoff even in her drugged haze.

“Don’t be a bitch, Maybank.”

The words land like a slap. A slow-burning ember turning into a wildfire. It’s not even just the insult- it’s the way he says it. That low, condescending drawl. Like he’s above her. Like he thinks he can control her, that she’s just another thing for him to mess with, to push and pull whenever it suits him. And she doesn’t know if it’s the anger which has been building for weeks now, or the fact she was high.

But before she even fully registers the movement her hands shove into his chest 

Forcefully 

Enough that Rafe actually stumbles back, his balance thrown for a split second. And he just stands there, staring at her. Like he’s trying to process what just happened. For once, there’s no quick comeback. No smug remark. Just stunned silence as he looks at her like she’s someone he doesn’t quite recognize.

But then—just as quickly—his expression shifts. That smug fucking smirk creeps back onto his face, eyes flickering with something almost amused. Y/N feels her blood boil.

“YOU'RE THE FUCKING BITCH!”

Her voice cracks with frustration as she yells the words out at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She doesn’t even recognise herself- doesn’t care that she’s causing a scene, doesn’t care that her whole body is vibrating with anger. She’s shaking as she points her finger at him jaggedly and loudly slurs out,

“You’re the stupid fucking bitch”

Her breath comes in ragged bursts, chest rising and falling too fast, her whole body trembling with the weight of everything she’s been holding inside. Her chest tightens, a lump forming in her throat, and she knows—knows—she’s about to break. But she can’t stop herself now.

Rafe’s eyebrows shoot up, taken aback. Not just by what she said, but how she said it. Her voice isn’t steady like always. It’s cracked, uneven, shaking as much as her hands. The words come out slower, slurred, not just from the blunt but from the exhaustion, she’s unraveling right in front of him, drowning in everything she’s tried so hard to keep buried.

She can’t take it anymore so with a harsh, desperate push, she shoves him back- harder this time. "What do you want from me, huh?" Her voice cracks as she spits the words at him, and her body shakes with the force of everything she’s holding in. 

"What do you want from me?.... Why won’t you just fucking leave me alone?!"

Her breath hitches, and her voice breaks completely in the middle of her sentence. It’s too much, and the tears she’s been fighting back spill over, streaking down her cheeks. They roll freely down her face now, mixing with the salt from the sea breeze, soaking into her already damp skin.

She stands there, trembling, her hands balled into fists, her chest heaving as she stares at him like she’s ready to either fight or run. For a moment, Rafe’s gaze softens but just as quickly, that softness vanishes, replaced by the cold indifference he wears so effortlessly.

He steps closer, his presence towering over her, filling the space between them. She can feel the weight of him standing there, like he’s waiting for something—and then, in his usual, dismissive tone, he speaks.

“You’re a fucking mess.”

It stings. The way he says it, like it's just another observation, like it means nothing to him. But it cuts deeper than anything he's said before.

Because she knows it true.

Her voice shakes with the anger which is still there, but now it’s mixed with something else- something raw and vulnerable.

“You’re so fucking selfish.”

She spits the words at him like they’re poison, her eyes flashing with something fierce, but he just stands there, watching her, as if it’s all some kind of show. She shoves him again, but this time he reacts faster, his hand shooting out to catch her wrist with surprising force.

“Don’t fucking push me.”

He holds her there, and the moment his fingers close around her wrist, she winces. It’s an instinctive reaction, and she can’t stop herself. The pain flares in an instant. Her bruised wrist—the one that’s been aching since her father grabbed it—feels like it’s being crushed.

Rafe notices. 

He sees the way her face contorts with the slightest touch, the way her breath hitches as she struggles to keep her composure. Her pulse quickens as she yanks her wrist free, glaring at him with a mixture of fury and desperation.

“Get off of me” 

She snaps, her voice breaking with frustration. He doesn’t say anything at first, but she can see the way his eyes linger on her, studying her like he’s piecing something together. It doesn’t take long for her to realize he’s noticed the bruise, and that just makes her snap harder.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” 

“Maybank—” 

But she cuts him off, her frustration pouring out in a torrent of words She points at herself, her finger trembling in the air before she repeatedly jabs it into her chest aggressively. 

“D'you think I want to work in that fucking club, huh? HUH, RAFE?!”

The words fly out of her like she’s been holding them back forever, her voice cracking slightly at the end. There’s desperation there now, unfiltered and it’s not just anger anymore. She’s screaming at him because he’s been tormenting her—trapping her in the world she’s trying to claw her way out of. Stuck between trying to survive and trying to hold onto a shred of dignity. The silence lingers between them, suffocating in its weight, and for the first time, it’s not charged with anger or frustration- it’s something else, something she can’t quite place. Her voice is quieter now, the anger draining out of her, leaving only exhaustion.

“Just leave me alone.”

The words are like a plea, but they still hold a sharp edge. She shoves past him, not bothering to spare him a glance as she walks towards her car, her body moving with purpose, as if every step is an effort to desperately escape from this moment, from him.

Behind her, Rafe watches her walk away, his eyes fixed on her retreating figure. His jaw clenches, and he gnaws at the inside of his cheek, unsure of what he’s feeling. There’s something there- it’s almost as if the walls he’s built around himself, the ones that keep him from caring about anything or anyone, are starting to crack. Why does he feel like this? Why does he feel this nagging sense of... 

Regret

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[timmydraker]

Tim who is scarily good at the Hitman games.

Everyone is good with it mostly, excluding Cass who won’t play it, with everyone having completed the first few missions at least during a training exercise made by Jason who was hiding an injury and came up with the idea on the spot.

This is how they find out that not only does Tim already have all the games, he’s finished them all, got all the achievements and has over 2,000+ hours.

Turns out it’s what he plays when he feels his mind is running too rampant and needs reigning in. He knows all the secrets and has a spreadsheet made up of all the ways you can complete a mission per chapter. He has a strategy for each type of assassination from getting someone else to do it, killing everyone, making it look like an accident, ect. He’s even managed to kill every soldier in some chapters without getting caught and somehow managed to save Diana from being shot by 47?

It’s kind of scary watching him seamlessly navigate around any new map that comes out and complete all missions under a self imposed time limit.

(His record is 1 minute and 27 seconds)

Bruce is naturally worried and it isn’t helped when the response to these concerns is, “would you rather I do it in real life?”

Tim can do it in real life, came closest with Captain Boomerang, and he has at least thirty ideas of how to kill everyone in his life subconsciously. He doesn’t want to, nor will he ever act on it, but it’s sort of… fun.

It’s like puzzle solving but with higher stakes and Hitman is a good way to test his theories without actually killing anyone.

If playing Hitman made him test how sneakily he could drug people by putting sugar in peoples drinks at Galas when he was nine, that’s just childish curiosity. Plus, it made him put out a campaign when he was older to prevent drugging because he himself knows how easy it is, so win win.

At least he didn’t shave his head like he thought about, though that was only because a certain acrobat did it and made Tim realise how unstylish it was if it wasn’t natural.

At the end of the day playing Hitman made him a better Robin and helped him sneak around the League of Assassin’s base that was filled with people even 47 would struggle against.

And he won the training exercise.

[okwonyo]

ROLE MODEL ❞ PSH ！

g fluff bsf2l ੭୧ kissing 1100 ─── hi @hoonquette library

“i can teach you.” sunghoon’s voice is well heard, despise the sound of the drama playing on the television. even if you want to act as if you didn’t hear him, it’s well too late— you wipe your head towards his direction as soon as he talks.

you stay in flabbergast for a moment. mouth agape, eyes wide, you stare at your best friend sitting on the opposite corner of the couch. it’s quite comedic, how his eyes haven’t left the screen while you are staring at him in shameless surprise.

you try to formulate a proper answer, you fail miserably. instead, you huff in pure disbelief. sunghoon, for his part, seems pretty chill about what he just said. you follow the direction of his gaze to see the two main leads of the romantic drama you forced him to watch doing what he assured he could teach you:

“kissing?” is all you can manage to say. contrary to you, he seems nonchalant about it. when he finally stops staring at the television to stare at you instead, his humourless look makes you nervous, for some reason.

“you never kissed anyone, right?”

“i never said that,” you make sure to accentuate on the ‘never’. it’s true, though. and sunghoon could tell by the way you were staring at the television a few seconds prior.

“but i know it,” he sighs as if he was keeping track of the people you have ever kissed. not that it would surprise you if he did. something about the look on his face tells you that he feels like it is his mission and that here, in this specific situation, he is your knight in shining armor. “so, i will teach you.”

when did ‘i can’ turn into ‘i will’ is what you should ask. why do you want to teach me so bad? as well. however, all you can think about right now is your handsome best friend, who is at an arm’s length distance away from you, telling you that he is going to teach you how to kiss.

even if you did know how to kiss already, which is embarrassingly not the case, you wouldn’t refuse to find out what kissing sunghoon feels like. “okay.”

sunghoon’s eyebrows shoot up, as if he is not the one who offered his help in the first place. he is surprised, perhaps. there is a slight grin on his lips. he is pleased, definitively.

“nice,” his tone surprisingly enthusiastic, as well as the smile he arbors and that you can’t keep yourself from mirroring. he scoots a little bit closer than he was before. his gentle features are too pretty for you to not stare, and he has to talk for you to react: “come here.”

you listen to him without thinking much, purely out of instinct. you move closer to his circle of warmth. so much, that his shoulder brushes over yours at some point, until your arm is downright pressed against his. he doesn’t move, only stares at you when you are done. the more he does so, the wider your smile gets. you feel like a teenage girl talking to her crush when you ask, “what?”

the fondness shining in his iris gets worse, translating something you can’t quite describe. it slowly shows something more, and before you can wrap your head around it, he looks at his laps. “i’d rather have you there,” is what you get.

“wha—! why?”

he shrugs, “better angle.”

you could scream right now, but you don’t. the blush slowly rising to your cheeks is already embarrassing enough. your eyes don’t meet his during the embarrassing amount of seconds it takes you to climb on top of him. the ceiling, the door at your right, the window at your left seems weirdly interesting at this exact moment.

“are you nervous?” your knees digs into the sofa, his hands are burning hot on your hips although there is clothes between your skin and his. you don’t give him any answer if it’s not the privilege of laying your pretty eyes on his face.

looking down you realise how close you are to each other. his sombre gaze lingers on your lips, making you even more nervous than you already were. sunghoon leans in and whispers, close enough that his breath rests on your lips, “don’t be, i’ll be nice.”

his mouth is warm against your own. although, he starts with a quick peck, leaving you barely anytime to reciprocate, your heart skips a beat. it’s nothing, however it makes your eyes flutter open when he pulls away and you feel hot when you see him staring up at you. he looks beyond ethereal from this angle— sitting there while you contemplate his face, sitting on his laps, the closest you have ever been.

weirdly, you only realise how starstruck you look when he smirks. then he kisses you again, his hand cradles on your back for a much more exploring kiss. it’s hard to follow his movement, to keep up with his rhythm, especially when he hums into your mouth like that.

his hand cups the back of your head, his fingers run in your hair as he bites your lower lip ever so gently. with his other hand on your back, sunghoon pulls you closer to him. warmth blossoms in your chest, his tongue slipping in whereupon you part your lips.

you grip in his shirt, fearing that you might crumble if you don’t. it shows, how experienced he is about that. in the way his soft, almost silken lips move against your own. in the way his tongue explores your mouth with such care and lust. electricity runs down your spine when his thumb caresses the back of your neck before resting on your cheek.

sunghoon straightens up a little, to kiss you even better. your heartbeat rises as the kiss goes on. you feel your soul going somewhere else when he tilts his head to the side. the sounds of your lips together dies under the sound of the television playing behind your back. you miss the taste of the strawberries he ate a few minutes prior when he pulls away.

he doesn’t go very far. just a few inches away from your lips when he asks, breathing heavily and lips red, “are you sure it’s your first time?” you nod, swallowing hard to make your chest heave less, “i think you should only kiss me from now on.”

taglist open rbs ˊᯅˋ feedbacks please ! daily

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

ephemeral pt.2

Pairing: Batfam x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k words

A/N: I'm pretty sure I tagged everyone who asked, really sorry if I missed yours if I did

part 1

Six months ago, when you awoke in the hospital after an attack on Gotham by the Witch Boy, Klarion, the nurses informed you that you had given birth to a beautiful baby boy. The only problem was: you couldn’t remember ever being pregnant.

After multiple rigorous tests, you were told that you’d sustained amnesia from a head injury during the chaos. It sounded insane—you couldn’t even remember the baby’s father.

You carried your newborn through the hospital halls, lost and overwhelmed. You had no idea what was about to become of the two of you—you didn’t even know where you lived, and the building where you’d been found had been reduced to rubble.

On your way out, you had the misfortune of passing a specific corridor, clutching Thomas—you didn’t know why you picked that name, it just felt right—to your chest. You watched strangers cry over the loss of their children, their partners, their parents.

You soothed Thomas' soft whimpers into the wisps of hair on his head, covered by a cap one of the nurses had kindly lent you. You didn’t know who you were. You couldn’t remember anything. But Thomas was your son, and regardless of everything, you loved him. You were grateful for him.

At least… you didn’t have to know the pain of losing a child.

And yet—for some reason—you felt like you had lost a child...

That hollow ache in your chest returned as you stood frozen, watching the Bats fight on the rooftop across from you. Killer Moth and Firefly, wreaking havoc with their signature chaos and flames. You were stuck on the roof, having barely escaped with Thomas in your arms when the lobby of your building had caught fire, trapping you above the inferno.

You watched as Red Hood tried to subdue him, cowering at the edge of the rooftop, holding Thomas so tightly that he began to squirm in discomfort but you didn't yield your grip.

The flames were slowly crawling up the building and you were beginning to sweat, feeling tears well in your eyes and a punch to your stomach every time you watched Red Hood receive a punch from Killer Moth.

And then—everything happened—all at once.

Red Robin landed on the rooftop in a blur of red and black, his voice sharp yet calm as he called out to you, “I’m here to get you both out of this. Stay with me.”

But before you could even process his words, Killer Moth lunged—his grotesque figure diving straight for you and Thomas.

It happened in slow motion.

A sharp intake of breath. The weight of Thomas in your trembling arms. The sickening realization that you couldn’t move fast enough.

But then, a streak of leather and metal crashed into Killer Moth mid-air. Red Hood tackled him with brutal force, the two of them colliding before tumbling over the edge of the building.

A scream left your mouth before you had any idea what was going on—

"JASON!"

You wanted to scream and cry in Red Robin's grasp as he carried you off to another building, grappling away. You needed to see if Red Hood was okay—you didn’t know why, but you had to make sure he was unhurt. You couldn't lose him—not again.

If it wasn’t for the crying baby in your arms, you would’ve kicked and wailed.

You don't know what happened in the next couple minutes, it felt like you had been blown in every direction by the wind until you found yourself in the Batcave surrounded by the remaining bats.

Even though they were trying to be subtle, you could still hear their whispered discussions. You weren’t supposed to—after all, they were the Bats, trained in the art of silent communication—but somehow, you could pick up on their words with ease. It was almost like you had been trained for it yourself.

Batman was asking Red Robin how he could bring you here, and Red Robin responded without hesitation, How could I not?

You clutched your baby closer to your chest, seeking comfort in his warmth as an odd sense of familiarity settled over you. The Batcave, with its cold metal and dim lighting, should have felt foreign, but instead, it gnawed at the edges of your mind like a memory just out of reach.

Your eyes flickered around the cavernous space, noting little details that made your stomach twist with unease.

Someone had moved the giant coin. It was supposed to be behind the dinosaur.

Wait.

How did you know there was a coin there?

You looked around, your gaze bouncing between faces, between artifacts, between things that all felt like pieces of a puzzle—except you had no idea what the completed picture was supposed to be. You could only sense when two pieces fit together.

Then, Robin stepped forward.

“Ummi?”

Your brows furrowed. That word—Ummi—why did it feel like you had heard it so recently? Your mind waded through the fog, and behind the haze, a vision emerged. A small figure in green, no taller than the boy standing before you. Sharp eyes. Determined stance.

Where had you seen him before?

Your gaze drifted again, sweeping over the others.

Nightwing. Red Hood. Red Robin. Robin.

Four boys.

Four Robins.

Why did that feel so familiar?

Robin hesitated, his usual sharp confidence laced with something vulnerable.

“Ummi… do you recognize me?”

Your mouth opened—then closed.

Your lips trembled as your heart pounded against your ribs.

You wanted to say yes.

But the words wouldn’t come.

"Ummi! It's me!" He stepped forward again, grabbing your hand and this time it was Red Hood that stopped him, grabbing him by the shoulder.

"Robin, stop it, we shouldn't force mo—her."

"Damian." You whispered and the cave fell silent. All of the boys—your boys—turned to you with expressions of shock. Damian had frozen in his place, watching you with stinging eyes that had widened behind the domino.

"You were—" You gasped, "You were the boy at the park."

He took a step closer to you and it was like all your memories had began to flow back into your brain, like something had finally been unlocked after so long.

Damian reached for you but stopped himself short, almost like he was afraid that you would evaporate into thin air if he touched you.

"I knew it," You gasped, choking on tears, "I knew I had known you from somewhere. My soul knew my baby's precious face anywhere."

His expression that had been so full of longing that day, looking painfully at the person that he wanted but could not have.

You remembered not that long ago, he had been staring up at you with a very different expression...

"Ummi!" Damian ran up to you, a photo frame clutched in his arms. Before you had gotten pregnant, he would have collided with you like a rocket, giggling if you managed to catch and lift him in time or breaking into peals of laughter if he ended up knocking you off your feet.

Since your bump had become noticeable, he had been extremely gentle, refusing even to hug you too tightly. As he neared you, he slowed his sprint in the last few feet, his smile bright with excitement as he clutched his gift to his chest.

"I have a gift for the baby." He announced.

You smiled down at him, gently running your fingers through his hair and scratching his scalp. He leaned into your touch, standing on his tiptoes as you bent down to press a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Oh, really? May I see it?"

He handed you the picture frame, revealing a beautiful watercolor painting of a group of robins perched on a branch. At first glance, they looked nearly identical, but upon closer inspection, each one was unique. The largest of the four had a lone white feather on the top of its head. Another had soft yellow shading on its wings. A third, with a faint blue tint in its shadow, gazed at the others as if watching over them. And finally, the smallest robin, speckled with green, soared through the air, as if looking down on the remaining three.

Your fingers gently traced over each robin, and in them, you saw the faces of your sons superimposed. Turning to your youngest with a grin, you said, "It's beautiful, Dami."

His smile turned a little shy, "I was hoping you'd hang it in the nursery, so the baby always has his brothers looking over him."

Your eyes misted, and while Damian might have blamed it on the hormones, his thoughtful gesture was what truly moved you beyond words. You hugged and kissed him once again.

"Why don't we find the perfect place to hang it right now?" You suggested.

Hand in hand, he followed you to the nursery, his excitement matching your own.

It felt like you were underwater, body feeling weightless all of a sudden that you couldn't control your shaky legs and you tumbled to the ground.

Luckily, Jason was there to catch both you and Thomas, always there as a reliable shadow your you and your youngest to rely on. You looked up at him, realizing how painful it must have been for him to stand back and watch you walk away that day in the rain.

A memory trickled back to your head...

"I'm sorry I couldn't attend the baby shower, Ma." Jason apologized, sitting beside you on the couch. Your hands were neatly folded over your bump and you gave him a gentle smile, running your hands through the cute little white streak in his hair. Jason insisted he had them before the viral 'money pieces' began making waves on social media and that he was the 'OG'—whatever that meant.

"It's okay, baby. It was just for PR anyway. I know you wouldn't have had fun around all those fuddy-duddies."

Jason gave you a half-grimace, half-chuckle. Ever since you had found out you were pregnant, you had insisted on avoiding bad language, claiming that the baby could hear you—or at least pick up on the bad vibes. Alfred had taken to this with great pleasure, always the promoter of the idea that "swearing shows you have poor verbal skills."

"I'm just lucky I was able to play the pregnancy card and turn in early. Your poor father is still entertaining them."

"Oh, yeah I was wondering where he was; he's usually stuck to you like a barnacle unless he's on patrol."

You chuckled at this; he wasn't wrong. Ever since you found out you were expecting both father and sons have been following every single step of yours. You'd be heavily disturbed if you didn't know this was their way of showing you their love and devotion. In fact, the only reason Damian wasn't currently beside you was because it was past his bedtime.

"Anyway, I just came here to give you this." Jason placed his gift onto your lap and you glowed at the sight of the adorable baby blanket. It was grey and patterned with bats. You chuckled, looking it over and feeling the soft material, wondering if he had tried and failed to find one with his own logo on it.

"It's wonderful, Jace, thank you. We love it." You smiled, patting your belly. Jason returned your grin, pecking your forehead instead of reaching for a hug to prevent you from moving. He knew just how long it would've taken you to find a comfortable position.

"I monogrammed it too." He revealed, unfolding the blanket and showing you the corner of the blanket that had a neat 'T.W.' embroidered into it. Your fingers daintily traced over the letters. Currently, only family knew that you were having a yet another son and that you had already picked out his name. 'Thomas Wayne' after Bruce's father, of course.

"I did it myself." He admitted bashfully, scratching his hot cheeks and you simpered, holding it to your chest.

"I love it."

A fresh wave of tears came to your eyes as you realized the blanket was probably burned to ash along with your other belongings. Thomas began crying in your embrace but your hands were shaking too much for you to soothe him.

"I've got him, mom." Dick lulled, taking the baby from your arms. Usually, you wouldn't have handed over your baby to just anyone. But this was your son, your oldest.

He held him to his chest, rocking his baby brother in his arms, "Hi, Thomas. I'm Dick, your biggest brother. It's so great to finally meet you."

Dick released a shaky breath, pressing his nose to his chubby cheek. Thomas didn't fret or fuss, holding onto the pocket of Dick's shirt in a tight fist, staring up at his big brother with wide, curious eyes.

Your heart clenched at the sight of his muscles subtly flexing as he fought the instinct to hold Thomas too tightly. It saddened you that he was only meeting Thomas now, especially when you remembered just how excited he had been to meet his little brother...

Dick stared at you and Bruce apprehensively as you both gave him nervous grins.

“Dickie, we have something we want to tell you, and since you’re the oldest, we wanted to let you know first.”

Before you could get another word out, Dick was already interrupting.

“Oh my god, tell me you guys aren’t getting a divorce. I know I don’t live with either of you, but I couldn’t stand it.”

Your brows furrowed. What on earth gave him that impression?

“What? No, baby, we’re not getting a divorce.”

Dick let out a dramatic breath of relief, placing a hand over his chest—only for his expression to shift into horror a second later.

“Oh my god, please don’t tell me you’re inviting a third into your marriage. I know I don’t live with either of you, but I really couldn’t stand that either.”

“What on earth—no! Nothing of the sort is happening,” you said, exasperated.

Bruce sighed beside you, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Richard.”

You pointed at Dick before he could launch into another wild theory. “Richard Grayson Wayne, let us finish what we have to say.”

Bruce finally spoke up, “You’re getting another younger sibling.”

Dick blinked. His mouth opened, then closed as his brain processed the words.

“You’re adopting another kid?!”

“Not quite,” You replied.

His eyes narrowed as he turned to Bruce, suspicion laced in his voice, “Someone else stole your DNA and made another bio kid?”

Bruce gave him a flat look, but before he could answer, you smirked, “I wouldn’t say stole it… more like he gave it to me.”

You watched as the gears turned in Dick’s mind. His sharp blue eyes drifted downward, finally noticing the way your hand rested on your stomach.

The realization hit him like a truck.

His expression morphed from confusion to absolute bewilderment, “Ew! You both have sex?!”

You and Bruce gaped at him.

“Richard!”

Bruce groaned, running a hand down his face, while you sputtered out a laugh.

Dick’s horrified expression held for only a second longer before it cracked, melting into a wide grin. He let out a laugh, shoulders shaking.

“I’m just messing with you guys.” His voice softened as he stepped forward, pulling you into a hug, “I’m so happy for you! Congratulations, Mom.”

You hugged him tightly, your fingers running soothingly through his hair as you kissed the top of his head.

“You’re such a great big brother already. I just know this baby is going to love you.”

You caught a glance of Timmy standing beside him, waiting patiently for his turn with the newest member of the family and you sobbed into your hand recalling the way he watched you through the rear view mirror of your car that day at the grocery store.

He was always left on the sidelines, just waiting.

"Why didn't you tell me then, my baby? Why didn't you bring us home?" You cried, pulling him into your arms and running your hands through his hair.

"We thought you'd be safer this way." Tim explained, "Klarion was going to stop at nothing to get to us. We didn't want to push you away, but when you woke up with no your memory of us, we thought—we thought—"

Your poor baby, always thinking of others, always thinking of what was best for you...

You should have known.

The one day your husband and sons were given a rare, mandatory day off—to relax, take care of themselves, and maybe catch up on much-needed sleep—you should have known Tim would go the other way.

With the Batcave under strict lock and key for the night unless there was an emergency, it was only a matter of time before he got restless. Which was precisely why he stormed into the theater room, tablet in hand, while you were curled up against Bruce’s chest.

“Okay, so I did my research, and I’ve optimized the most optimal hospital bag for when you go into labor.”

You lifted your head off Bruce’s chest in surprise, barely registering the way he paused the movie. If you were being honest, you weren’t really watching it anyway. You had been too focused on the steady rhythm of your husband’s heartbeat, the warmth of his arms around you, and the quiet intimacy of just existing together.

“Tim, honey,” You said gently, “we don’t need a hospital bag yet. I’m only four months along.”

“You can never be too prepared,” He countered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “Now, experts recommend having a detailed but brief birth plan so any emergency doctor can read it and get caught up quickly. We should probably discuss what we’re going to do.”

You shared a glance with Bruce, amusement flickering between you.

Then, turning back to your third son, you opened your arms invitingly, “Come here, Timmy. Let’s look at it together.”

Tim made no qualms about settling into your lap, angling the tablet toward you as he began scrolling through his meticulously compiled notes. You hummed softly, your fingers carding through his hair, rubbing gentle circles against his scalp.

At first, he kept talking, rattling off statistics, expert recommendations, and contingency plans—but soon, his words began to slow. His blinks stretched longer, and before you knew it, he had completely passed out, his breathing deep and even against you.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, looking at Bruce, whose lips curled into a knowing smirk.

“I hope the new baby is as easy as him,” You whispered.

Bruce pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice low and amused, “Not a chance.”

Tim swallowed painfully and you brought him back into the hug, patting his back gently as he inhaled deep breaths. Despite everything, you still wore the same perfume, even though your clothes and hair held onto the smell of smoke, underneath it all was the scent of his mother.

Damian joined you on your place on the floor, sliding to his knees in front of you to join in on the hug, the three of you enveloped by Jason's towering figure. You peppered kisses and apologies to their faces, wiping each of their tears dutifully but letting your own skate down your cheeks.

Finally, your gaze turned to the last man standing in the room.

Bruce.

Your breath hitched as you took a shaky step forward. Then another. And another.

You had missed him. You hadn’t even realized how much until this moment. Bruce, your boys—your family—had filled a hole inside you that you never knew was there. And now, standing before him, the father of your children, the love of your life, that emptiness was suddenly unbearable.

The second you reached him, your hand lifted to cup his face, desperate to feel his skin. Then, just as quickly, you smacked him.

Hard.

The sharp crack echoed through the room, snapping him out of his stupor.

“How could you?” You choked out, your voice thick with emotion, “How could you let our boys go without their mother? How could you let me have Thomas alone? How long were you planning to let this go on? You inconsiderate, horrible, stubborn oaf!”

Each word was punctuated by a fist against his chest—not truly meant to hurt him, just a desperate attempt to make him feel everything you had endured.

Bruce didn’t move. Didn’t defend himself. He only stared, his blue eyes wide, as if he was afraid that if he blinked, you would disappear.

You grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward, crashing your lips against his. Tears streamed freely down your cheeks, making the kiss taste of salt and sweet.

“I missed you.” You sobbed against his mouth, “I missed you so much.”

A broken sound rumbled deep in his chest as he kissed you back, fiercely, desperately. His arms wrapped around you like he was afraid to let go, like if he held you tightly enough, he could make up for all the lost time. You squeezed your eyes shut, reveling in the feeling of being held after so long.

Then Thomas’s babbles grew louder, turning into a full-blown whine. His tiny arms flailed as he struggled against Dick, demanding attention.

You pulled away, breathless, as you turned to your baby, scooping him up into your arms. He fussed, wriggling, still unsatisfied with even your touch.

With a teary laugh, you turned back to Bruce, your smile wobbly but bright.

“Bruce,” You whispered, voice full of love, “Meet your son. Thomas Wayne.”

Bruce’s breath hitched, and for the first time since you stepped into the room, his mask cracked. His hands trembled slightly as he reached forward, brushing his fingertips across Thomas’s chubby cheek.

Thomas grinned up at him, giving him a gummy smile as he began kicking his feet in joy. You were barely able to keep your hold steady on him when Bruce held out his arms and you readily passed his son to him.

He looked down at the baby in his arms, every bit his father's son and Bruce felt the dam break.

His family was whole again.

***

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[heartmaddie]

MICHAEL KAISER’s arms wrapped around you, tugging you closer. More recently now, you had been spending the late hours of your night within his bedsheets, and leaving just as it became an hour too unsafe for you to be alone. Your warmth would escape him as you slipped out of his arms, and he would be left alone. He didn’t like the whispered goodbyes and rushed kisses you would leave behind at his apartment door.

His back was pressed against the headboard with you resting against his chest. Gentle fingers tracing down your spine, tender kisses peppered against your temple. His heart opened at full bloom, petals falling to rest upon your palms. 

“It’s getting late, you should call a cab soon.” He murmured against your skin, arms restricting you against his body. He was hesitant to let you go, to venture further than his eyesight. 

Your hum, a sweet melody against his eardrums as you shifted your head to gaze up into softened, light eyes. 

“Will you drive me home?” A tired voice, innocent and lazy. Michael couldn’t help but let the chuckle vibrate from his lungs. 

“I’m not your chauffeur,” he replied teasingly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Lips pulled into a slight smirk as his eyes grazed over your tired expression and slumped body. He wanted you to rest eternally against the swell of his chest, with angelic breaths escaping your lips. 

You let out a light groan of protest, burying your face into his body as you let out a sigh, gathering your last energy to push from his mattress. But as you shifted to move away from him, he retaliated, tightening his grasp around your body. 

“Stop that,” he huffed, almost exasperated at the audacity. You gazed up at him, a bristle of confusion and affection to be seen within your eyes. The way you were so carefree and unguarded in his presence, it was almost cute to him. He leaned a bit closer, revelling in your features. You smiled up at him softly, lips tugged into a lethargic beam. Michael’s breath hitched, heart melting.

“You may as well stay for the night,” he let out a faux irritated sigh, but he couldn’t deny the way his pulse would patter ever so faster. “There’s no point in you leaving and getting hurt on your way home, hm?” 

You nodded, an agreement, but more a nuzzle against his chest.

It would’ve been a lonely night without you, any night is. Michael didn’t let his eyes close until dawn, the first sign of day. Azure was too busy, inseparable from the rise and fall of your sleeping figure. He ran his lips against your skin, constellations painted upon your cheeks, your arms tighten against his body instinctively.

An angel, wrapped around him.

©heartmaddie all rights reserved. please do not repost my work.

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