#and then i got better and guess fucking what

[sweetonsin]

HEARTBREAK RED

inspired by ethel cains 'fuck me eyes'.

pairings: gentle!joel miller x ruined!reader

summary: you’re all red nails and tiny shorts, bruised up and bored, asking for trouble outside a liquor store. looking just like your momma did before the drugs. joel doesn’t fuck you, not at first. he feeds you, holds you, watches you fall asleep in his bed with your nail polish still wet. he fixes you slow, soft, careful. gives you what you need. including himself.

warnings: nsfw, 18+, fluffy!joel, protective!joel, large age gap implied, unprotected piv, slow burnish?, porn w/ little plot, mentions of domestic violence, reader copes using alcohol, mentions of drugs, deadbeatparents, finger fucking, orgasms, creampies, swearing, female anatomy.

WC: 5.3K

You're posted up on the curb, legs stretched long and lazy in cutoff denim that barely counts as shorts. You twirl a piece of hair around your red-stained finger—cheap polish, heartbreak red— bitten and chipped—and catch your reflection in the glass door. Lip gloss smeared. Tank top see-through in the heat.

Good.

Men come and go. Most don’t look twice. Some stare. You like when they stare.

You catch him in the corner of your eye—rough, broad, beard catching the light like salt and pepper under the sun. He’s weathered. Heavy hands. Sad eyes. One of those quiet, steady men who could break your neck or cradle it just the same.

Perfect.

“Hey,” you call, casual, like you’re not soaked in heat and sin, like your heart isn't rotten under your ribs. “You mind grabbing me a bottle? Forgot my ID.”

You flutter your lashes. Bite your lip. Tilt your head just enough to look harmless.

He doesn’t stop walking, just glances at you—slow, from the bottom of your thighs to the tops of your lashes. There’s something sharp behind his eyes. Not lust. Not yet.

“How old are you?”

You shrug, lazy. “Old enough.”

“Yeah? Old enough for what?”

You grin. “Whatever you’re thinkin’.”

He exhales like he’s already tired of the game. “Not happenin’, sweetheart.”

You watch him disappear inside, chewing your lip until the taste of blood cuts through the gloss. You’re used to yes. But no? That’s rare. That stings.

You roll your eyes, light a cigarette with shaking fingers. Your mom’s off somewhere with a needle in her arm and your daddy’s bones are long gone to dust. It’s just you now. You, and the buzz, and the boys too stupid to look deeper.

Except him.

He comes back out, bag in hand. Doesn’t say a word. Just unlocks his truck and throws the bag in the back seat. As he starts to climb in, his eyes flick to yours. Long. Hesitant. Like he’s not sure if he’s about to make a mistake or fix one.

“You want a beer?” he asks. “I got a few in the cooler.” He pauses before adding— “Names Joel.”

You blink. Joel.

He opens the passenger door.

“C’mon. I’ll drive you home.”

You smirk. “What makes you think I’ve got one?”

He doesn’t answer. Just waits.

So you climb in.

The truck smells like sweat and smoke and pine tree air freshener. You kick your bare feet up onto the dashboard, window down, toes catching the warm wind as it rolls through the darkening fields.

You nurse a cold beer, sipped slow, and let the silence stretch.

He drives like a man who’s lived long enough to know better. One hand on the wheel. Jaw clenched. Eyes ahead.

But he keeps looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

Your legs. Your mouth. Your hair piled up halfway to God, strands stuck to your neck from the heat.

And then—your eyes. That’s what does it. Not the body. Not the laugh. The eyes.

His mouth hardens.

“You Jane’s daughter?” he asks, voice like gravel.

You glance at him, lazy. “Mhm.”

He scoffs under his breath. Shakes his head.

“You look just like your momma,” he mutters. “Before the drugs.”

You laugh. It’s bitter. “I know.”

“She used to wear her hair like that,” he says. “You even got that same damn freckle under your eye.”

You run a thumb under it, pretending to wipe away invisible mascara. “Guess I’m just the ghost of her fucked up past.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

You raise a brow. “Like what?”

He shifts in his seat, irritated. Not at you—at himself.

“At least she used to be sweet,” he mutters.

You roll your eyes, taking another sip of your beer. It burns going down this time.

He drops you off outside a trailer with one busted window and a porch light swinging loose. You half expect him to peel off and disappear, like the rest.

But he doesn’t.

He kills the engine and sits back, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

You finish the beer. Swing your legs back inside. The heat sticks to your thighs, sweat in the bend of your knees.

“I know what you want,” you say softly. “You wouldn’t have offered me that ride if you didn’t.”

His eyes snap to you. Hard. Unreadable.

“I offered because I figured you’d be better off in my truck than out here flirtin’ with every drunk asshole who walks by.”

You lean closer, lips parting. “But you’re not just any asshole, are you?”

His jaw tics. He stares at your mouth like it’s poison.

Then he exhales, long and tired. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

He looks at you fully now—like he sees you, really sees you. Not the mouth. Not the legs. Just the wreckage underneath.

“This ain’t what you need,” he says. “A man twice your age who knew your mama back when she still had a future.”

You stare at him, heartbeat ticking in your throat. “Maybe I don’t want what I need.”

He shakes his head. Looks away.

“You’re just a kid,” he mutters.

You reach out. Press your hand to his thigh. Just enough to test. To tempt.

He catches your wrist, firm. Not rough. “Don’t.”

Silence.

You don’t pull away. You want him to want you. You want something to burn.

He lets go of your wrist and sighs again. “You don’t gotta act like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like love’s a thing you gotta earn with your body.”

You blink. It’s quiet. You hate how kind he sounds when he says that.

“Get inside,” he murmurs. “Before I forget how fucked up this is.”

You linger one second longer—just long enough to see the want in his eyes. That flicker of something dark and wrong and aching.

Then you slide out of the truck and disappear into the trailer.

He doesn’t leave right away.

—

It’s a week later. Friday again. The sky’s sick with heat and smog, the kind of Texas summer that makes the air feel mean.

Joel’s not planning to stop at the liquor store. He tells himself he’s just passing through, just needs gas, just wants to get home and not think for once.

But he sees you before he even pulls into the lot.

Same goddamn spot.

Same tiny shorts, legs stretched out long, red fingernails tapping a lazy rhythm against your thigh. Hair teased up like a crown of sin. A half-drained beer sweating in your hand.

But this time—

This time you’ve got a bruise blooming on your cheekbone. Dark purple. Ugly. Raw.

Joel kills the engine before he knows what he’s doing. He’s out of the truck, storming across the lot like something’s dragging him by the spine.

And there you are.

Still wearing that wicked little smirk, but your eyes look tired. Dull.

“Jesus Christ,” he growls. “You serious right now?”

You glance at him, bored. “What, no 'hi'? Not even a beer to offer this time?”

He stops in front of you. Stares at the bruise. At your lip, a little split on the corner.

“Who did that to you?” His voice is sharp. No patience.

You take a swig of the warm beer and roll your eyes. “What does it matter?”

“It matters.”

“No it don’t.” You smile again, teeth all spite. “S’just how it goes sometimes.”

He steps in closer. Towering. Looming. Not touching you, but you feel the heat of him anyway.

“Tell me who touched you.”

You snort. “Why are you even worried, huh? Ain’t you the one who said this was all ‘fucked up’?”

“That don’t mean I don’t care.” His voice breaks at the end. Rough with guilt, or something worse.

You blink at that. It almost sounds like the truth.

You lean back against the wall, beer dangling from your fingers. “Well, don’t. You’ll just be disappointed.”

He runs a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps like he’s trying not to punch a hole in the fucking sky.

“Goddammit,” he mutters. “Get in the truck.”

“What for?”

“I’m takin’ you home.”

“I don’t have one. Not no more.”

“Then you’re coming to mine.”

You don’t fight him on it.

You climb in barefoot, curl your legs up in the seat, and let the wind whip through the cab. You watch him out of the corner of your eye while he drives���jaw clenched, knuckles white on the wheel.

He doesn’t look at you at first.

But when he does—when his eyes flick down and catch the bruising on your neck, faint fingerprints just beginning to blossom beneath your collarbone—something breaks.

“Fuck.” He slams a hand against the steering wheel. “Fucking hell.”

You don’t flinch. You just take another sip and murmur, “Not like it’s the first time.”

He pulls over. Hard. Tires screech a little against gravel as the truck jerks to a stop.

Then silence. Thick. Boiling.

“Who was it?” he demands, turning toward you now, eyes wide, wild. “Tell me their name. Tell me what they drive. I swear to god—”

You sigh. “You ain’t my dad, Joel.”

His mouth tightens. He turns away, breathing hard, like he's trying to shove all that rage back down his throat.

“I know that,” he says finally. Quiet. Bitter. “But someone should’ve been.”

That makes your throat go tight. You stare out the window.

After a minute, his voice comes again. Lower this time.

“You don’t gotta live like this, baby.”

You blink. Hard.

“Don’t call me that,” you whisper. “Not if you’re gonna leave me here anyway.”

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you. But he doesn’t.

Not yet.

“You drunk?” he asks.

You shrug. “Little. Not enough.”

He watches you. So long and deep it starts to hurt.

You don’t say anything else for the rest of the drive. Neither does he.

His hand stays white-knuckled on the gearshift. The silence sits thick between you, hot like blood. Your head rests against the window glass, the wind tugging at your hair, cooling the beer-sweat on your thighs.

You’re not used to men who don’t want something.

You're not used to silence that doesn’t scream what did you expect?

Joel’s house is outside of town—quiet, tucked behind rows of pecan trees and dying grass. It’s nothing fancy. Just a porch, some shade, a battered fence that doesn’t keep anything out.

He kills the engine, then turns to you.

“C’mon.”

You blink slowly. “What, no lecture?”

“No. Just a bed.”

You expect him to touch you. A hand to the small of your back, a palm on your thigh, something. But he doesn’t. He leads you inside like you’re made of glass.

Or like he’s afraid to break himself.

The house smells like cedar and old coffee. It’s warm. Lived-in. You stand in the entryway, swaying just a little, letting your eyes adjust to the dim light.

Joel toes his boots off and says, “You can sleep in the guest room. Sheets are clean. You hungry?”

You shrug.

He disappears into the kitchen, and you wander down the hall, fingers dragging along the faded wallpaper. You find the room. Bed made. Lamp glowing soft gold.

You sit on the edge and stare at your bruised knees.

There’s a knock.

Joel’s voice, low through the cracked door. “Brought you somethin’.”

You don’t answer. He comes in anyway—holding a glass of water and a pill bottle.

“Tylenol,” he says. “You’ll feel it all worse come mornin’.”

You reach for the water, your fingers brushing his. His eyes drop again—to your neck. Your jaw.

He sets the bottle on the nightstand, and just as he turns to go, you say it:

“I didn’t ask him to hit me.”

Joel stops. Shoulders tense.

“I believe you,” he says.

You nod. “My mom used to say the same thing. Every time.”

A pause.

You look up. Your throat feels raw.

“I don’t know why you care.”

His jaw works. “’Cause someone should.”

You fall asleep in his guest bed wearing one of his shirts—faded gray, soft from years of washing. It smells like pine and smoke. It swallows your frame whole.

Your hair’s loose now, falling across the pillow like a halo. Your cheek bruised. Lips parted. So small in that bed, you barely look real.

Joel watches from the doorway.

He watches too long.

It’s barely light when you wake. You’re thirsty. Confused. Quiet.

And there’s Joel—on the couch, still in his jeans and boots, arms crossed, head tilted back.

He didn’t sleep.

You pad into the room, your legs bare, the hem of his shirt hanging just under your ass.

He opens his eyes.

“Can’t sleep in your own bed?” you murmur.

He runs a hand over his face. “Didn’t wanna leave you alone.”

You step closer. Knees brushing his.

“Still worried I’m gonna break?”

He looks up at you. Tired. Torn.

“You already look broken.”

You crawl into his lap before he can say another word.

He tenses under you. “Don’t—”

But you’re not kissing him. Not grinding. You just curl into him, resting your head against his shoulder. Breathing slow.

His arms come around you—stiff at first, then tight. Tight like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“I don’t know how to be good,” you whisper.

He presses his mouth to your hair.

“I’ll take care of you anyway.”

His shirt swallows your frame. Your thighs stretch warm and bare over his jeans, your cheek resting on his chest. Every rise and fall of his breath rocks you gently, like the sea.

And then you say it.

Quiet. Measured. Meant.

“I ain’t got nothin’ to give you.”

Joel blinks.

“I didn’t ask for anything,” he says.

You wrap your arms around your knees and stare down at the fraying hem of his shirt.

“You’re bein’ nice,” you say. “Gentle. Feels like a trick.”

“It ain’t.”

You chew on your thumbnail, voice soft. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

He shifts toward you, his voice calm but deep, solid like the ground. “Then don’t do anything. Just stay.”

You look at him through your lashes. Raw. “I’m used to bein’ wanted. Not… taken care of.”

His jaw tics. He says your name low, like it hurts.

“I ain’t gonna touch you unless you ask me to. And even then—only if I believe you mean it.”

You blink slow.

“That ain’t what this is,” he adds. “I’m not tryin’ to sleep with you. I just want to keep you safe.”

You scoff a little. “Safe’s just a word. Doesn’t mean anything to me.”

Joel nods. “Then I’ll show you.”

And he does.

He starts small.

Feeds you—warm cornbread with honey butter, eggs over easy, cold peaches straight from the fridge. He doesn’t hover. Just sets the plate down, gives you that look, and walks away.

You start staying. One night turns to three. Then a week.

You clean a little. Wipe down his counters. Fold a blanket he left tossed over the couch. One day, you sweep the back porch barefoot, humming something low under your breath, and Joel forgets how to breathe for a second.

He brings you things.

A pair of fuzzy socks from the gas station.

A bottle of cherry red nail polish.

A tiny black comb for your lashes.

You sit on the couch with your legs across his lap, painting your nails slow, the sharp scent of acetone curling into the room like a warning. Joel watches the curve of your hand, the way your tongue peeks out as you focus.

“You always stare this much?” you tease, not looking up.

He doesn’t answer.

You grin. “That a yes?”

Still doesn’t answer.

But you feel it. The tension. Like a wire pulled taut between you.

Later that night, you find a new toothbrush in the bathroom. Still in the package. Waiting for you.

You sit on the edge of his bed that night—his, not the guest one—while he changes out of his flannel. You wear one of his old shirts again, your legs bare and tucked beneath you.

“Why are you doin’ all this?” you ask.

Joel looks over his shoulder. His voice is low. Worn.

“’Cause I care about you.”

You swallow. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

You don’t answer. Your throat’s too full.

He walks over, crouches in front of you. Takes your hand.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he says. “I just want you alive, sweetheart.”

You blink fast. “That’s all?”

“That’s everything.”

Your voice is soft. Almost scared.

“I want you.”

He stills.

You look at him, eyes wide and unguarded. No teasing. No mask.

“I want you to touch me,” you say. “I know what I’m sayin’. I mean it.”

Joel breathes in through his nose, long and heavy. His jaw flexes, gaze locked on you like he’s bracing for something.

“Sweetheart,” he says quietly. “Don’t do that unless you’re sure.”

“I am sure.”

“I know you want to be,” he says. “But wantin’ someone and needin’ to feel wanted—they’re different things.”

You blink. Your throat is tight. “I know the difference, Joel.”

He searches your face. Hard.

You let him.

Finally, he lifts a hand. Brushes his thumb across your cheekbone—where the bruise has faded, soft now, a shadow of what it was.

His voice is hoarse. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

He kisses you.

It’s slow. Careful. Not hungry or rough—nothing like the boys in back seats, the strangers in shadows. Joel kisses like he’s terrified of breaking you, hurting you.

You melt into it. Hands fisting in his shirt, mouth parting for his tongue.

You kiss him deeper. Press closer. Try to pull him down on top of you—

But he pulls away.

Gentle hands. Soft sigh.

“Not yet,” he whispers.

You freeze.

He touches your face again. Holds your jaw with his palm like you’re something fragile and warm.

“I want you, baby,” he says. “But not tonight.”

Your eyes flick away, embarrassed, afraid you did something wrong.

“I’m not sayin’ no,” he adds. “I’m sayin' I care. And I’m not gonna take you like this—tired and still piecin’ yourself together.”

You stare at him, breath held tight in your chest.

“I want you whole when I have you,” he says.

“If you’ll let me, I wanna be the man who waits.”

And something inside you breaks open.

That night, you sleep in his bed.

No sex. No rush.

Just his arms around you. Your head on his chest. His breath in your hair, steady and slow.

He holds you like he’s never going to let you go.

And for the first time in a long, long while—

You believe a man.

———

The mornings are your favorite.

You wake up warm, skin tangled in old cotton sheets and the soft press of Joel’s body at your back. His arm slung heavy over your waist. Sometimes he’s already awake, rubbing slow circles against your hipbone, breath steady at the nape of your neck.

He kisses your shoulder before you speak.

You brew the coffee. He makes the eggs. You sit on the counter in one of his shirts, bare legs swinging, red polish chipped and faded. He watches you like you hung the goddamn moon.

Some days, he brings you things—nothing big.

A peach from the roadside stand, warm from the sun.

A paperback he thought you’d like. You pretend to read it just so you can press the spine open and leave it on the table where he’ll see.

A little bottle of lavender nail oil.

You clean when you’re nervous. Rearranging the kitchen drawers, rewashing clean mugs, reorganizing his bookshelf alphabetically until he teases you for it. You paint your nails at the kitchen table while he tunes his guitar. Sometimes you hum along.

He looks at you like he wants things. Long things. Good things. Forever things.

And for a while, it’s easy.

Until it isn’t.

The argument starts over nothing.

Joel’s working late in the garage, shoulders tense, grease on his hands. You ask if he wants dinner. He mutters something distracted. Doesn’t really answer.

You try again.

He exhales sharp. Doesn’t look at you.

“You don’t gotta take care of everything all the time.”

You freeze.

Your heart drops into your stomach like a stone.

And then your voice goes quiet. Cold. “Right.”

Joel doesn’t look up.

So you keep going. “Didn’t realize I was being such a burden.”

He frowns. “That’s not what I said.”

“No, but you meant it.”

“For fuck’s sake, girl—”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap. “I’m not some stray dog you took in off the road. If you’re tired of me, just say it.”

Joel turns, eyes wide, expression wounded. “Tired of you?”

You scoff, blinking fast. “You didn’t even want me here in the first place.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” he says, firm but calm.

“I don’t know anything, Joel! I don’t know what this is, I don’t know how to be here. I’m waiting for the day you wake up and realize I was just—just—something to fix.”

He walks over.

Slow.

No raised voice. No slammed doors. Just him, his steady hands, and his soft, heartbreak eyes.

You try to back away, but he catches your wrist—lightly. Warm.

“Hey,” he says. “Look at me.”

You don’t want to. But you do.

“I ain’t tired of you,” he murmurs. “I need you. I love havin’ you here.”

Your chin wobbles.

“I’m scared,” you whisper. “I don’t wanna be left again.”

“I know, baby.”

And then—your whole body crumples. Right there against his chest.

The sob hits you so hard it folds you in half. Joel wraps his arms around you tight and holds you like he’s the only thing keeping you from falling through the floor.

You cry for everything. For your mother. For the bruises. For all the nights you begged someone to see you. For all the ways Joel does.

He doesn’t shush you. Doesn’t rush it.

Just breathes with you. Anchors you.

And when the tears finally stop, and your face is hot and sticky against his shirt, he tilts your chin up and kisses your forehead.

“I’m here.” he says. “And i'll still be here in the morning.”

And he is.

He always is.

The days go slower now. Sweeter. You laugh more. You touch him without flinching. He kisses your wrist sometimes, like he’s grateful it still exists. You trace the silver in his beard and he lets you.

It happens on a quiet night.

There’s no lightning. No storm. Just the sound of the cicadas outside and the slow hum of the ceiling fan above the bed. Joel’s lying beside you, shirtless, reading something he keeps forgetting to turn the page on. You’re curled against him, one leg draped over his hip, fingers tracing circles on his chest, where the hair’s gone soft and silver at the edges.

You’re not thinking about your mother.

Not about the bruise that’s finally faded from your cheek.

Not even about how long you’ve waited for someone to hold you like this and mean it.

You’re thinking about him.

You tilt your head. Press your mouth to the side of his throat. He stiffens slightly beneath you, but doesn’t pull away.

“You can touch me now,” you whisper. “I want you to.”

He sets the book down.

“You sure?”

You nod. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Joel turns toward you, propping himself up on one elbow. His eyes search your face— like he’s trying to memorize you.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he says softly. “Don’t wanna make you feel like you owe me this.”

He exhales—slow. Like he’s been holding his breath for days.

Then he leans in and kisses you. Not rushed. Not hungry. Just… full. Full of every long, aching thing he’s never said out loud.

You sigh against his mouth. Climb into his lap. He cradles your hips, hands steady, callused palms sliding up the backs of your thighs beneath his shirt.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. “So fuckin’ soft, baby.”

His voice makes you shiver. He peels the shirt from your body with careful hands, his eyes never leaving yours. When you’re bare in front of him, you almost flinch—almost cover yourself.

But he stops you.

“Don’t,” he says gently, cupping your jaw. “You don’t have to hide from me. You’re perfect.”

You don’t cry. But your throat tightens.

Joel lays you down slow. Presses kisses to your collarbone, the slope of your stomach, the inside of your wrist. He worships you. Like you’re the first soft thing he’s ever been allowed to keep.

You swallow hard. Your voice trembles. “Touch me, please.”

He groans softly at the sound of your voice—soft and needy—and kisses down your throat, slow and lingering. His stubble scrapes your skin in the best way. His mouth moves lower, teeth grazing your collarbone, lips warm over your sternum.

When his tongue flicks over your nipple, your back arches. He hums against it, suckling slow, his hand massaging the other breast.

“So good,” he murmurs. “Jesus, baby…”

He kisses down your belly next. Pauses to mouth at your hip, teeth scraping lightly. He hooks his hands under your thighs and spreads them—slow, giving you every chance to stop him.

You don’t.

You want this. You want him.

Joel settles between your legs like it’s where he was meant to be.

He pauses. “You okay?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He doesn’t.

His mouth meets your center like a vow. Warm and wet and patient. He licks you slow, gentle, teasing—like he’s trying to savor every sound, every twitch of your hips. One thick finger slides into you—then another. He curves them up just right, and when your thighs tremble, he praises you for it.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let me feel you, baby. So fuckin’ sweet.”

You’re gasping now, nails digging into the sheets, your hips rocking against his mouth.

He hums like he’s devouring you.

Your body tightens. That warmth building, coiling.

Joel keeps his mouth on you the whole time, tongue flicking soft and fast, fingers pressing deep and steady until you break for him. Crying out, breath catching, back arching.

He doesn’t stop. Not until you push gently at his shoulder, thighs twitching with oversensitivity.

When he pulls away, his beard is wet, and his eyes are wild. Soft.

You’re trembling, dazed and glowing, your body still fluttering with the aftershocks. He kisses your collarbone, your throat, your jaw—pressing soft murmurs into your skin.

He crawls back up over you, presses his forehead to yours.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod, dazed.

He brushes your hair from your face. Kisses your nose.

You reach for him. Wrap your legs around his waist, fingers tugging at the hem of his boxers.

He catches your wrists gently. Kisses your knuckles.

“I ain’t gonna rush you,” he murmurs. “Not tonight.”

You blink at him. Still breathless. “You’re not gonna—?”

He shakes his head. “I wanted to give you somethin’. Not take.”

“Joel,” you whisper. “Please.”

His eyes find yours, and fuck—he almost folds right there.

“You don’t gotta beg me for anything, darlin’.”

You sit up a little. Cradle his face in your hands.

“I want to beg you,” you say. “I want you inside me. I want to feel you.”

He lets out a low, strangled sound. Like you’ve knocked the air out of his lungs.

“Need you to know,” he says hoarsely, “I ain’t gonna fuck you just to get off. If I do this—it’s me lovin’ you, alright?”

You nod, eyes wide. “That’s all I want.”

You guide his hand to your chest. Your heartbeat pounds under his palm.

“This is yours,” you whisper. “I’m yours.”

That does it.

He groans, low and wrecked, and kisses you hard. No more hesitation, no more restraint. His hands roam your body like he’s trying to memorize it all, his mouth devouring yours with every ounce of the want he’s kept bottled for weeks.

He strips slowly. You help him. Kiss every new patch of skin you uncover—his chest, the thick line of his stomach, the scar near his hipbone.

When he’s bare above you, your breath catches.

He’s beautiful.

Strong, solid, real.

You reach between your bodies and wrap your hand around him. He hisses, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “You keep doin’ that and I’m not gonna last long.”

You grin.

He leans over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other gently guiding himself to your entrance.

“You tell me if you need to stop,” he whispers. “At any point, you hear me?”

You nod.

But it’s not enough.

He cups your jaw. Makes you look at him.

“Say it.”

“I’ll tell you,” you whisper. “I promise.”

And then—he pushes in.

It’s slow. Deep. Your body stretches to take him, and Joel swears under his breath as your walls flutter around him.

“Fuck—you feel so good.”

You cling to him, gasping, overwhelmed but full. So full.

He stills once he’s seated all the way inside you. Lets you adjust. His forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing hard, trying not to come apart too fast.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” you gasp. “More than okay. Please move.”

He does.

Slow at first. Just the gentle rock of his hips against yours, his mouth moving along your skin—kissing your throat, your cheek, your shoulder.

“So tight, baby. So fuckin’ good for me.”

You moan. Dig your nails into his back. He rolls his hips deeper, dragging along that perfect spot inside you.

The pace stays slow. Worshipful. He takes his time, like he wants to feel all of you, like he’s terrified of missing something. He keeps one hand cradling your jaw, the other pressed flat against your belly.

“Let me hear you,” he murmurs. “Let me hear what I do to you.”

You do.

You say his name like a prayer. Like it’s the only word you know.

When you come again—hard and sudden—he groans, dropping his head to your shoulder. You pulse around him and he chokes out a curse.

He kisses you then—soft and slow, tongue teasing, lips worshipping yours like you’re a goddamn miracle. When he pulls back, he murmurs:

“I want you to tell me what you want. Every little thing.”

You catch your breath. “I want you.”

His hips pick up the pace again—slow but steady, worshipful. His hands roam over your body, memorizing every curve and dip. His mouth traces kisses down your neck, to your collarbone, whispering praise.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect. So soft for me.”

You cry out softly, nails digging into his back, heart pounding.

“Joel,” you gasp, “Don’t stop.”

He growls low, like you’ve undone something deep inside him.

You tremble with need, words catching in your throat.

“I love you,” you whisper between breaths.

The words hit him like a shot through the heart.

His body freezes inside you. His breath catches. His eyes snap open, wild and raw, searching yours as if to make sure it’s real.

“God,” he chokes out, voice thick.

He buries his face in your neck, hands gripping your hips like you’re all he has left.

“Jesus, baby,” he groans. “I love you too. So goddamn much.”

His hips shudder, moving faster, harder. You gasp as he pulls you closer, skin pressing to skin.

You come for a third time—tight, overwhelming, tearing through you like fire.

Joel follows—his body trembling, voice breaking with a guttural growl as he spills inside you.

He holds you through the waves, breathing ragged against your hair, lips tracing soft, desperate kisses along your shoulder.

When it’s over, you’re both still, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, hearts pounding in the quiet dark.

He murmurs, “You’re mine, sweetheart. Don’t ever forget that.”

And you don’t.

[formulafanfics13]

Is it possible that you could write a fic where lando is dating a literal princess like a princess of any country but shes very down to earth and really only professional when its needed x

(bonus points if she goes to a race and shocks everyone including the drivers and wags hehe) 💕💕💕

We're not in a palace - LN4

Masterlist

summary: when lando norris' girlfriend finally shows up to the paddock, jaws drop. because she's not just gorgeous, not just charming — she's an actual fucking princess. of a real country. with a real title. and while the grid panics, the team principals scramble, and the media spiral, she just laughs — barefoot in the garage, sipping espresso, sitting in lando's lap like she's not literal royalty.

warnings: unfiltered chaos, royal titles, soft girlfriend energy, protective lando, confused team principals, simping drivers, humour, fluff, paddock reactions, minor swearing

They don't know. Not really. The paddock's heard whispers for months, about Lando's girlfriend. How he's suddenly grown up overnight. Showing up to media days looking smug, slightly tanned, wearing mysterious gold rings that definitely weren't there before. Not flirting with anyone. Disappearing after every race weekend without a trace.

There were rumours, sure. She's a model. No, a fashion editor. No, she's in politics. Some say she's from Monaco. Others whisper Spain. Some girl with a yacht in Portofino.

What no one guessed? She's a fucking princess.

She arrives on Saturday morning. Wearing flared cream trousers, a soft white tank, and tinted sunglasses that look like they cost more than George Russell's watch collection. There's a security team with her, two discreet guards and one woman in a navy blazer with a silver pin on her lapel.

But the princess? She's chewing gum. And walking toward the McLaren garage like she owns the whole sport.

Lando spots her first. Breaks into a full-blown smile that he doesn't even try to hide. "Hi, baby."

She rolls her eyes. "You said you'd meet me at the gate."

He kisses her. "I got distracted by the FIA brief."

"You're full of shit."

"I missed you."

She grins. "Better."

Max walks past. Does a double take. George physically stumbles. Oscar lets out a noise that might be a whimper. Pierre drops his water bottle.

Lando just wraps an arm around her waist and says, "Everyone, this is-"

She cuts him off. "No titles. Please."

George blinks. "But aren't you-"

"Technically, sure. But we're not in a palace, babe. We're in a garage that smells like rubber and testosterone."

Max chokes. 

Toto is the first team principal to approach. Eyes sharp, posture military-grade professional. "Your Highness," he says, bowing his head slightly.

She raises an eyebrow. "Don't you dare."

He freezes. "Sorry?"

She grins. "Just call me by my name, Mr Wolff. I'm not here to wave from a balcony."

Toto looks stunned. Lando looks smug. The rest follow suit. Fred shakes her hand so gently it's almost laughable. Christian tries to pretend he's not sweating. Zak brings her a coffee like he's serving the Queen herself. Andrea Stella bows. Actually bows.

She just laughs. "Do you all act like this around Geri too, or is it the tiara thing?"

Christian lets out an audible wheeze.

Then come the drivers. And oh, they are unwell.

Carlos kisses her hand like he's in Bridgerton. Charles tries to speak French and fumbles his words miserably. George literally bows. Max doesn't speak, just nods intensely and backs away.

Oscar says "Your Grace" and turns bright red when she laughs.

"You guys are ridiculous," she says. "I'm just a girl with a title I didn't ask for."

"Yeah, but like," Pierre mutters. "A hot girl with a title."

Lando glares. She giggles.

By FP3, she's barefoot in McLaren hospitality.

Feet tucked under her, sipping espresso, wearing one of Lando's hoodies over her tank top. She waves off every camera that tries to approach and only lets Netflix film from the back.

George watches her lounge across Lando's lap like she hasn't just caused a political incident by sitting there. "She's like... a hot anomaly," he whispers.

Charles nods. "I would commit crimes for her."

Max says nothing. Just stares, shell-shocked.

In the drivers' groupchat, it's mayhem.

GROUPCHAT: DRIVER MAYHEM

George: She called Toto 'Mr Wolff' and told him not to bow I'm never recovering

Oscar: She patted Zak on the shoulder Like Casually

Carlos: She drinks espresso like a Bond villain

Pierre: She sat on Lando's lap BAREFOOT in front of Netflix

Charles: I love her

Max: I'm scared of her

After qualifying, she's waiting outside the garage. Wearing his race jacket. Hair tied up. Arms crossed.

When Lando sees her, he immediately softens. Walks over. Wraps his arms around her waist. "Was I good?" he asks.

"You were hot," she says, tugging him down for a kiss.

The cameras flash. The paddock erupts.

That night, she posts a photo on her private Instagram. It's blurry. Lando's hand on her thigh. Her crown, yes, actual crown, perched on the TV, next to a half-eaten pizza. Caption: queen of carbs.

Lando comments: my girl

Carlos comments: my queen

Max comments: 👀

George comments: should we curtsy or

She doesn't reply. But she likes every single one.

[ghostwitchboy]

So great that you're able to see light and sunshine coming out the world's ass for you. I've been actively fighting my depression for over a decade and have done everything I can to not succumb and guess what, everything good, even the little things, are still being ripped away from me systematically.

I was making progress. I was able to eat food without feeling sick for days. I was able to sleep normally. Some days were bad still but I could do things most of the time. I was back in school. Sure, things were rough, like my work study job was constantly cutting my hours till I could only afford the gas to get to school and not much else, let alone not being able to save, and I finally managed to leave my abusive relationship with someone who drained me dry emotionally, financially and in so many other ways and just so many things in my desperate escape from them. But I had support of friends and my granparents, who knew all of the trials and Horrors I've been through, the abuse by both partners and parents, the homelessness caused by both, the chronic illnesses I've never been able to look into because I've been too poor and to sick to try without insurance or travel.

So things were getting better in small ways, right? Ignore the news, finding out every day more of my rights are being stripped away, do my best to document the Nazi and fascist things going on in my government without being depressed about it, ignore the multiple genocides whenever it becomes to much to handle, resist by surviving and being happy when I'm too ill to go to protests and too broke to donate to relief funds, right? As long as these small good things keep happening, there's reason to have hope right?

And then my granparents told me they were done with me and once again I'm having to face homelessness with no net. My civil rights are being repealed and my identity erased by the fascists in power while I look at the requirements I don't meet to receive aid from homeless shelters and services because I wasn't fired from a job, I was a student who chose not to take summer classes and I'm not actively looking for one anymore because while I could spend hundreds of hours applying to jobs that don't actually exist, even if they did exist, they won't even give me an interview because my application is tossed out the minute their filters catch that I don't check mark the boxes saying I'm able and willing to stand for 8+ hours and carry heavy loads (I know because I did that for nearly a year before saying fuck it go back to school), therefore have control over my employment and and I'm disqualified from most aid. Or they require Medicaid, which I filed for back in November nearly a year ago and "Oh, you know they're just a mess right now, be patient", but since I don't have it in also disqualified from aid. And I never had the money to get full proper ADHD or ASD diagnoses and even when I got partially diagnosed in hs, my parents did everything they could to suppress it so The Family looked good, so I can't adult for federal disability, which also won't even spit in my directive because I was able to hold a semblance of a job or schooling in the past 5 years and routinely uses fake or dead jobs to justify denying people who've been applying for years. I have no car and can't get one because I have no money (literally only have$150ish left) and banks don't give loans to jobless homeless people with no equity. Every friend who cares about my wellbeing is living with their parents and living paycheck to paycheck and I cannot be a burden on them.

So not only is every big thing going wrong, but so is every little thing. And a half-spoken-word poetry piece of a song written by a fed and housed white man from Scotland four years ago telling me to get out of bed bc "beds are for sleeping and masturbating, and you've had about as much as the human body can take of either of those things" isn't going to magically make my bones not ache and space appear for me to exist in without fear or having to let go of every material possession I have because the gods know people hate the concept of someone who's homeless holding onto the belongings they've collected over their lifetime because that's too much dignity for that station of life to be allowed. No amount of jaunty "dah dah dah"s are gonna magically make every day worth living when every year, nearly every month or week now, things are getting worse and I'm more likely to be murdered for being trans than to ever own even an apartment at this point.

So fuck right off with your, "You're just in your early 20s, not everyone younger than 40 is hopeless, just look at the bugs, it'll be okay! :D" bullshit. I've tried that.

And now I'm running late for packing up my belongings, because the only good news I've had recently is that a friend was able to convince her mom to let me store some of my life in her attic and I'm working on a tight schedule to pack it up despite my aching joints and sore muscles and severe hopelessness because I'm goingto be 27 in a week and I'm still in the same place, still without a home, and people are more intent to ignore everything than to fucking do something about it for those of us who aren't as lucky.

[sc3ptre]

Hii, I was wondering if I can request a Drew Starkey fic, were the reader and Drew Starkey do Truth or Drink interview together, like how Madelyn Cline and Madison Bailey did, and they’re baicly flirting the whole time and the chemistry is just so good, and yeah. I hope you have a great day!!!

Y/n Y/l/n and Drew Starkey play Truth or Drink

Pairing: Drew Starkey x fem!reader.

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

A/n: Changed the blog's name a few days ago! Hope you guys stick around 🙂

Genre: suggestive fluff

Warnings: suggestive comments, flirting

Word count: 0.7k

The rules were simple: ask your partner an uncomfortable question. They either answer it… or take a shot.

You were seated across from Drew with a tiny table between you both, cluttered with cards, shot glasses and just enough alcohol to make bad decisions feel fun.

“Alright,” the interviewer smiled off-camera. “First up, just for the people at home, who are you two and how do you know each other?”

Drew leaned forward, his smile already smug. “I’m Drew… Y/L/N.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “And I’m Y/N… Starkey, I guess.”

The crew laughed. Drew looked over at you, eyes gleaming with that familiar mischief. “Y/N, care to answer the question?”

You turned to the camera with a grin. “Before we played enemies on Outer Banks, I actually crashed into his car on the way to the audition.”

“No way,” the interviewer said. “I thought that was a fan-made rumor.”

You both shook your heads. “I wish it was,” you laughed. “But hey…great icebreaker. Also, great way to get someone’s number. Highly recommend.”

“Don’t say that,” Drew groaned, laughing. “Car crash statistics are gonna spike next week.”

You giggled as he reached for the first card. “Alright, Y/N,” he said, holding it up like a threat. “Might wanna fill that glass.”

You groaned, pouring your shot. “Here we go…”

Drew smirked. “What’s something I do that annoys you?”

You paused. “We’ve lived together.”

He added quickly, “With other castmates too.”

Your eyes met his, thankful for the quick assist. “Yeah, during the pandemic. So I know his darkest secrets, like, blackmail worth material,” you teased, looking toward the crew. “Is this PG-13 or…?”

“As clean as you can keep it,” the producer said.

“Right.” You took the shot. The crew erupted with laughter.

“That bad?” Drew asked, amused with his eyes a little wide.

It was a mix of things, really. He used to narrate his scenes in his sleep which was terrifying but quickly became comforting and he also had a habit of singing off-key very early in the morning which made you want to smother him with a pillow but now, it was your favorite kind of concert before breakfast, even better when it was a duet. Then, when you became a couple, it was the moaning while eating food you cooked, the walking around half naked when your A/C broke and the dirty talk he didn’t realize he was doing, muttering “Fuck, you look hot” even when doing mundane things, all things making you horny 24/7.

You gave a coy shrug. “I’ve grown to love it, I swear but some stuff just isn’t for the internet. I’m protecting your legacy, Starkey… even if I do love seeing you in the mornings.”

He smirked. “You love seeing me all the time, admit it.”

“I plead the fifth.” You reached for a card. “Okay. Who would you want to be stranded on a deserted island with?”

Drew didn’t hesitate. “I’d say Chase… but we’d be dead in a day and a half, he doesn’t like to cuddle and he’s mean when he’s hungry.”

You snorted. “He refuses to cuddle?”

“He does, so I’m picking you.”

“Of course.” You grinned. “You ever seen The Blue Lagoon?”

His eyes darkened slightly and he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “That one shot got to your head quick.”

“About time for a remake, don't you think?” you teased. “It’s a classic. Sand, sun, morally confusing tension…”

“Sounds familiar,” he mumbled, eyes locked on yours.

“Yes, it does…let’s see,” You looked away, cheeks hot and grabbed another card but Drew beat you to it. 

“If someone wanted to date me, what would you warn them about?”

You turned toward the camera. “Well… he’s a big guy…he eats a lot.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Eats a lot?”

You smirked. “Like… a starved man, especially certain… things.”

The crew howled with laughter. Drew leaned back in his chair, grinning wide. “What kind of things, Y/n?” he asked innocently.

You made a show of thinking. “Mmmm…tacos?”

More laughter erupted while Drew filled your shot glass and his. “Good save but for that one we’ll drink together.”

“Cheers to tacos,” you said, clinking glasses, both knocking them back in unison.

When the round wrapped up, the producer leaned in. “Final thoughts, what was it like playing Truth or Drink together?”

“Great for me,” Drew said, shooting you a look. “Y/n?”

You giggled, cheeks flushed and eyes warm. “I think we need a ride home but I had a really good time,” you added, looking at Drew with a smile that didn’t need translating.

He smiled back. “Yeah. Me too…in the mood for some tacos?”

[purplebehittindifferent]

HELP I GOT A MILLION ASKS

Hello @missterectomy ! I’m so happy I could make you smile! 😊

It’s not rude at all! @shamelessgalaxymentality

I actually accessorize EVERYTHING I OWN UNDER THE SUN!! My cane has one of those little loops to keep it on your wrist if you let go- and I put my knuckles keychain on there:)) also my cane is covered in stickers! Most are from playing possum clothing co but others are just from my collection… here’s a pic!

A pleasure to serve anon 🫡

Ha! I’m so glad you’re enjoying @shotgunfullofbabies (WORLDS FUNNIEST USERNAME?!???) here’s a pic of the cane I use daily, I just got it from CVS. Though I am on the hunt for a more elegant one, there’s some cool ones you can get online!

Hi anon… when I posted the first part of the doodles, I did not expect to reach so many people… but I guess the intention was to always either educate non disabled folk, or to make other feel understood and/or comforted. Life changes, especially mobility aids- can be ALOT. Life is a lot. I hope these stories continue to encourage you and empower you to do what you need for yourself.

@galaxy-of-great-possibilities hello friend! My doodles simply exist to bring you joy :3 and yes, please terrorize the children with the existence of herobrine

:3

Hello love, change can be really scary, I hope my stories can make it even a little bit better 💜

Ah yes! Unsolicited medical advice!

Hi @mars-72855 ! I’m glad to provide deltarune brainworms for you!! >:)

@criticsinger76 I’m happy to provide! I may or may not need a wheelchair in the future, but very happy to have made you smile :))

@realchickenmanny antidisestablishmentarianism. :3

@thatonelemoneater

*everyone after part2* BURN THE WITCH!!!

Yes! Use my excuses, they’re funny and also are way less exhausting than saying ya fucked yer bones

@kittykatchao @natalie-alkaline-6

:3

Yes @bingbuang CRUCNHY BONES 🗣️🗣️🗣️

I’m flattered! @r3d-f0x-th3r14n

@cosmic-tuna is it basic to say amethyst??? 👀�� or Mica?

@foxladygirlie I’m happy you like the stuff I’ve got :3 I’ve been working with kids for years and I’m also a certified peer support specialist, so a lot of that carries over too. As an adult with autism, I refuse to treat any kids how teachers treated me

FEEL FREE TO SEND MORE ASKS IF YOU WANT TO!! 💜💜💜💜

[alaiasole]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

🍸 welcome back to solè’s bar🍸

tonight’s special: onyankopon, wings, weed & revenge dick that feels like love.

→ onyankopon x black!reader

→ angst to comfort | smut | ex’s homeboy | slow strokes & soft kisses | “you feel this? this how you supposed to be loved.” | petty ending lmfao

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

betrayal.

that’s all you feel right now, standing in the middle of his room, staring at your supposed boyfriend’s phone like it’s a slap in the face.

this nigga really played you.

after everything you did for him after all the love, the loyalty, the late-night crying sessions when he was the one stressing he still had the nerve to go behind your back and text other girls.

you feel sick. disgusted.

it’s like the whole relationship was a lie.

“so what do you have to say for yourself?” you ask, voice low and deadly.

he doesn’t even meet your eyes. just sits on the edge of the bed, phone still in his lap like he’s ashamed to touch it.

“…i’m sorry,” he mumbles.

you laugh. you actually laugh.

“you’re sorry?” you scoff. “that’s all you got? ‘i’m sorry’?”

you shake your head, pacing the floor like you can’t sit still or you’ll explode.

“nah, that’s crazy. i gave you everything, and you out here entertaining bitches like i’m not enough? like i wasn’t holding you down through everything?”

he starts to say something but you cut him off.

“you’re a joke. a big one. i should’ve never wasted my time on your sorry ass.”

he opens his mouth again, but you keep going.

“since you wanna be texting other bitches so bad? i’m fucking your best friend.”

that shuts him up.

his whole body stills. eyes wide.

it takes him a second to even process what you said.

“…what the fuck did you just say?”

you look him dead in his face. “you heard me.”

he blinks, like he’s not sure you’re serious. “nah. stop playin’ with me.”

“watch me, nigga,” you snap.

he shoots up from the bed, angry now. “yo, don’t disrespect me like that.”

“me disrespect you?” you step closer, heart racing. “boy, you lucky all i did was go through your phone. you been disrespecting me this whole time.”

he runs a hand down his face, pacing now. “you really gon’ throw everything away over some dumb messages?”

you fold your arms. “nah. you threw it away. the second you thought i wouldn’t find out.”

“and now you gon’ go fuck my best friend? that’s wild as hell.”

“wild? please. he actually treats me like i matter. and guess what he been eyein’ me for a minute. don’t act brand new.”

“man, you foul.”

“no, you are. i gave you a chance. multiple chances. and you blew every one.”

your words echo in the room like a bomb just dropped.

his face shifts, jaw tight, nostrils flaringlike he’s just now realizing you’re serious.

“you really gon’ say some shit like that?” he steps toward you, trying to play alpha now, voice low and bitter. “you really gon’ threaten to fuck onyankopon like he ain’t one of my closest boys?”

you fold your arms, eyes cold. “nah. i ain’t threaten nothing. i’m letting you know.”

“you’re crazy as fuck.”

you laugh, dry and sharp. “and you’re a fucking cheater. don’t play victim now.”

he shakes his head, rubbing his hand over his face. “ony would never do that to me. he wouldn’t even look at you like that. you just saying shit.”

you raise a brow. “oh, really? you don’t know what he be saying in my DMs, huh?”

that shuts him up real quick.

mouth open slightly, trying to process what you just said.

you don’t even give him the satisfaction of explaining further.

you walk over to the door and swing it open.

“get out.”

he blinks. “what?”

you point, lips pursed. “get. the fuck. outta my house.”

“man, whatever,” he mutters, grabbing his keys. “you ain’t gon’ find better than me.”

“i already did,” you snap. “he just ain’t you.”

he hesitates like he wants to say more, but he knows it’s over.

he walks out, slamming the door behind him.

you stand there for a second, chest rising and falling fast, hands still clenched in fists. your whole body is shaking.

and then ding.

your phone lights up.

ony 😃:

“i already know what happened. i’m omw.”

you kinda giggle to yourself, like how does he know? and why does your heart do a little thing when you see his name?

twenty minutes later, there’s a knock at the door.

you open it, and whew. you could almost cream your panties right there. because damn. were you really crying over the wrong homeboy? onyankopon looks too good standing there grey sweats, black tee, chain on, and that smile.

“hey,” you say, soft.

he pulls you into a hug like he’s been waiting all day to hold you. and why does a hug feel like this? like something you didn’t know you needed until it was wrapped around you?

“i brought you some stuff,” he mumbles into your hair, voice low. he hands you a bag.

you open it. wings. your favorite flavor.

“aww, you know me so well,” you coo, teasing a little.

he smirks. “i know my lady. of course.”

you both settle on the couch. the tv plays in the background but neither of you are really paying attention. his eyes are low, watching you.

“you brought weed?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

he nods once. “you know i did.”

“what kind?” you grin.

“gelato mixed with a lil pink runtz. got you the good stuff,” he says, pulling it out like it’s something sacred.

“ugh,” you laugh. “you know me too well, it’s scary.”

he shrugs, smiling soft. “i pay attention.”

you’re quiet for a second, then you ask, “how did you even know?”

he leans back against the couch. “your ex been moving sloppy for a minute. seen how he looked at other girls. how he talked about you like you weren’t the best thing that ever happened to him.”

your jaw clenches. you swallow.

he goes on, voice lower now. “i knew it was gon’ happen eventually. just didn’t think he’d fumble you this fast.”

you shake your head. “he really had me out here looking stupid.”

ony’s eyes don’t leave you. “nah. he’s the stupid one. you? you golden, mama. been golden. i been knew it. just had to wait till you saw it too.”

and just like that, your brain short circuits.

because he’s always been there. always been fine. always looked at you like this. always knew what you liked, what you needed, how to calm you down without even trying.

and now you’re looking at him like… damn. maybe you were definitely with the wrong homeboy.

“ony…”

he tilts his head, waiting.

you don’t even realize how close y’all are until your knees are touching and his hand is resting against your thigh. and then he leans in just a little. not too fast. not too cocky. like he’s giving you time to pull back if you want to.

but you don’t.

you meet him halfway. and when his lips touch yours, it’s soft at first. like a promise.

but then it deepens. his hand moves to your waist. your fingers curl into his shirt. and the room melts away.

your breath catches.

and just like that, he lays you back on the couch slow, careful, like you’re something precious. his hands trail down your waist, his mouth leaving kisses on your belly as he sinks to his knees, eyes never leaving yours.

he slides your sweatpants down, dragging your panties with them, lips brushing the inside of your thigh like a promise.

then he starts.

his tongue licks a slow stripe up your slit, warm and deliberate, and you swear your soul leaves your body for a second. he hums like he likes the way you taste, like he’s been craving this.

he flattens his tongue against you, licking deep and slow, then sucks your clit into his mouth.

you moan loud.

hips bucking, fingers tangling in his hair as he wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you there.

he suckles your clit, tongue circling, lips tight, pulling soft, breathy gasps out of you like it’s nothing. like he knows exactly how to break you down.

then two fingers slide inside you slow, careful, curling just right—and your legs tremble around his head.

“relax, baby,” he murmurs against your pussy, his voice low and hot.

“let me take care of you.”

he sucks again, this time harder, his fingers working you open in perfect rhythm, and your whole body arches off the couch.

“yeah, just like that,” he breathes.

“you feel that? this how you supposed to be treated.”

“you deserve this. not that lame-ass nigga.”

your body’s gone limp, mind blank, moans spilling from your lips without a filter. you’re gripping the cushions like they’ll hold you together. your thighs start to shake.

and he still doesn’t stop.

he sucks you through it, fingers still working, tongue sucking over your clit until your eyes roll back and your moans break into a cry.

you come so hard, so deep, you forget your name. your past. your ex. everything but the man between your thighs.

he finally pulls back lips shiny, beard damp, eyes locked on yours.

like he’s proud of what he just did.

like he already knows this is just the beginning.

your breath catches.

and just like that, he lays you back on the couch, gentle but firm, like he’s handling something precious.

you’re still trying to process what’s happening your body sensitive, your head spinning but then he leans down and kisses you. slow. deep. no rush. no pressure. like he’s asking for permission.

you kiss him back.

he makes a soft sound against your lips, and his hand trails down your body, fingertips gliding over skin he already touched like he’s rediscovering you. learning you all over again.

you shiver.

“you good?” he asks, voice low, lips brushing your cheek.

you nod, just barely. “yeah.”

he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. then presses another kiss to your inner thigh, your hip, your belly. and then he stands, slow and steady, pushing his sweats down with zero urgency. no showboating. just confidence. comfort. like this was always supposed to happen.

your eyes widen.

because oh. my. god.

you blink. once. twice. that’s… a lot of dick.

thick. long. veiny. with a slight curve that’s already making your stomach turn in anticipation.

“you’re joking,” you whisper, mouth slightly open.

he grins, stroking himself lazily. “nah. you got it, though. i’ll go slow.”

“slow?” you glance down again. “you sure that thing even goes slow?”

he laughs, then crawls back over you, positioning himself between your thighs like it’s second nature. like your body belongs to him and he’s just returning home.

you’re still watching him when he strokes the tip against your folds lazy, teasing, dragging it back and forth like he’s painting you.

and god, the sound.

your breath hitches.

every glide of him against you is loud. sticky. wet. embarrassingly so. you weren’t even this wet earlier, but now? he hasn’t even slid in and you’re already leaking down your thighs.

“you hear that?” he murmurs, glancing down between your legs. “that’s all you.”

you cover your face. “oh my god.”

he nudges your hand away. “nah. don’t hide from me. this shit’s beautiful.”

he does it again drags the thick head of his cock up and down your soaked entrance. You twitch, your legs trying to close, but he keeps them spread. watches you squirm.

“feels like i already fucked you,” he mutters. “you so wet for me.”

you’re panting, heart racing. you grab his wrist. “stop teasing.”

he smirks. “beg a little.”

you glare at him.

and then gasp.

because he presses in just an inch and holy shit.

your head flies back.

he’s big. really big. you already knew that, but feeling it is something different. your walls stretch around him, clenching hard as he slowly pushes in deeper.

“fuck,” he groans, face dropping into your neck. “you’re squeezing the hell outta me.”

your fingers dig into his shoulders. you can’t even speak. your jaw’s slack, eyes wide, brain half-melting from the slow, heavy slide of him filling you.

and it’s loud. wet. obscene. every time his hips rock forward, it sounds like he’s stirring a bowl of syrup between your legs.

“this should’ve been mine a long time ago,” he mumbles, biting down gently on your shoulder. “i knew your pussy was special.”

you whimper. you’re losing it.

he pulls back just a little, then pushes in again—deep, slow, dragging against every sensitive spot inside you.

“shit, i can feel you,” he groans. “feel you creaming already.”

and you are.

you’re so wet it’s dripping down your ass, slick and sticky and all over him. you glance down, mortified, only to see how messy the two of you look. he’s glistening. coated in you. the base of him shiny and thick and absolutely ruining you.

he brings your legs up, pushing your knees gently to your chest to angle deeper.

you moan.

“oh my—fuck—”

“there it is,” he grunts, locking in and grinding against your spot. “you feel that?”

you nod rapidly, clutching the sheets. “yesyesyesyes—oh my god—”

his thumb finds your clit, rubbing fast, and your entire body jumps. it’s too much. everything’s too much. you’re being stretched and rubbed and stroked from every angle and you can’t even think straight.

your mouth drops open in a silent moan as your orgasm slams into you. not a build. not a rise. just impact. a wave that crashes and takes you under.

you’re shaking. twitching. soaking the sheets. legs trembling as he works you through it.

“fuck, baby,” he growls, watching you. “you made a mess. you dripping all over me.”

you don’t even care. you can’t.

your legs wrap around his waist. you just need him to stay. need more. all of him.

your legs wrap around his waist. you just need him to stay. need more. all of him.

his strokes get deeper. slower. like he’s trying to bury himself in every inch of you. like he wants to leave a mark. and god, it’s working you can’t stop shaking. your body’s curling in on itself, your moans turning breathless.

“that’s it,” he whispers. “take it. take all of me.”

you’re kissing again—messy and desperate—when it happens.

your stomach tightens, your muscles lock, and you snap. it doesn’t feel like the first orgasm it’s sharper, hotter, louder.

and then—

your whole body jerks.

and you squirt.

hard.

it hits his lower stomach, dripping down between you both, soaking the sheets all over again.

he gasps, pulling back just enough to look down—eyes going wide as he watches you gush all over him.

“shit,” he breathes, voice low and reverent. “look at that. you really squirted for me?”

your thighs are still twitching. your mind’s blank. you can’t even be embarrassed.

you just nod, dazed. “yeah. i—I don’t even—”

he leans in again, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your shoulder. “you’re insane,” he murmurs, grinning. “you tryna kill me, huh?”

he leans in again, kissing you slowly, while his hips keep moving grinding deeper. rougher. chasing his own high.

and when he comes, it’s with a deep groan into your neck, hips pressed flush, arms tight around your body.

you lay there for a moment.

quiet. breathing heavy. skin buzzing.

then he pulls out slow, and you both glance down at the mess he left behind.

your thighs are shaking. the sheets are done for. and you’re not sure if you can even move.

“you good?” he asks, brushing your hair from your face.

you nod, dazed. “barely.”

he laughs, kisses your forehead, and pulls you into his chest.

“let’s get you cleaned up, mama.”

he carries you to the bathroom and starts the shower, checking the temperature like he’s done this a hundred times. he helps you step in, even gets in behind you, arms wrapping around your waist under the warm water.

he washes you gently.kisses your shoulders. doesn’t let go.

after, he towels you off and pulls you into one of his t-shirts. helps you into bed. brings water. lotion. even lip balm.

and when you finally curl up on his chest, wrapped in the sheets, body warm and soul softer than it’s been in weeks he snaps a quick photo of you sleeping on his chest. he looks at it for a second. smirks.

sends it.

to his ex-best friend.

then tosses his phone face-down on the nightstand and wraps his arm tighter around you. your phone lights up a second later. then his again. notification after notification.

he doesn’t check them.

he just smiles to himself, lets out a little laugh, and pulls the blanket over you both.

“should’ve never played with you,” he whispers.

and the last thing you hear before falling asleep is the beat of his heart and the sound of his voice in your ear:

moral of the story? there’s always a better nigga out there. sometimes, he just your ex’s homeboy💋

[sharkbitten-sailor]

GUESS WHAT GRIMS BACK FOR SECONDS.

Alright imagine this for the one of a kind au

The forsaken group end up in sonaria kinda like the thing you made

But we just go absolutely feral and go into hunting mode, why? Because we are basically a apex predator and we haven’t ate in who knows how long, AT THIS POINT WE DONT EVEN CARE WHAT SONARIAN CREATURE WE KILLIN WE GOTTA EAT.

And then Those fuck ass meteor showers, acid rain, thunderstorms and etc happen cuz we can’t have a day of peace.

But at least we can finally go into tier 4 and 5 creatures with out destroying anything

Anyway in the nutshell the killers and survivors have to hold us back from going completely feral (which doesn’t work to a point) cuz technically they are tier one (tiny) and we I honestly don’t know AND OH THEN WE GO FIGHT A WARDEN AND SOMEHOW WIN ALTHOUGH WITH A LOT OF WOUNDS BUT WE KEEP GOING NOT GIVING A THOUGHT ABOUT OUR INJURIES BECAUSE WE ARE RIGHT NOW FERAL.

Eventually we calm down and pick all of them up and go to a cave somewhere to not get hit by the acid rain, and after we just kind fly, swim and run around with the survivors on our back around the world of sonaria while dodging molten lava, avalanches, acid rain, meteor shows, tornadoes and etc cuz this world like forsaken can’t give us peace, after all its

Kill or be killed

That’s the bitter truth which the forsaken crew learns and something we have known for some time now

welcome back grims anon! honored to have your madness return to my inbox with another certified peak masterpiece 🫶

to say, your creativity is on a whole other tier/gen. like, GENIUS.

but this is so real im crying/j. if i had 10 deaths, half would be from those stupid disasters💔

anyway lets dive into survivors / killers’ reactions before i have to go to my extra class. also deepest apologize if i got your ideas wrong i dont have much time atm（；´д｀）ゞ

the common reaction across survivors would be absolute fear / caution. not because you’ve done anything intentionally, but because you growl, hiss, and your eyes have that “i’ll bite first, ask never” look constantly. they’re living beside a living tempest.

the sentinels (minus a certain cultist) try their best with cautious gestures, such as PHYSICALLY KNOCK YOU DOWN (dw it’s not hurt it’s just like sibling bonk. at least to you ig,,) problem is, they’re never sure if it’ll settle you down or make things worse instead of better. they’re walking a tightrope every time you twitch.

007n7 and elliot cling to diplomacy. “...hey- maybe take a breath?...” while your claws are halfway through stone.

builderman and dusekkar keep their distance. thankful, sure, but still wary of you. they keep to an arm’s length most of the time.

jane doe stands somewhere in the middle. still, others can tell there’s a quiet worry in her eyes.

noob does the same, though it’s purely out of fear. they need comfort patrol on duty 24/7. poor lil pal.

two time? yea no. they’re on divine dial-up, praying to the spawn for disaster control. or at the very least, a bit of breathable air.

taph, like a sweet soul he is, gets it. understands your rage on a molecular level. offers rocks, sticks, soft leaves, and even preens your wings if you let them. they do it gently, like trying to remind you what tenderness feels like.

and the disasters... don’t even start. floods and earthquakes are the absolute worst (im projecting) they move, and they force you to move, dragging half the crew behind you

transport logistics are wild: some survivors ride on your back, some cling like windblown flags, and the unlucky few (aka guest, chance, and 007n7) get the collar grab treatment. looks like a mother cat relocating her kittens.

shedletsky’s living the dream. sits on your head like it’s the best seat in sonaria. surprisingly, you allow it

... when you’re stable i think,,

as for the killers? well, they will have their own way to solve problems. perhaps.

things would go like: 1x and azure brawling in some random corner, c00lkid trembling (thunder and meteors freak him out) while jason pats his back, john doe zoned out nearby (not even blinking), guest 666 staring blankly at the acid rain like a dog watching water fall, doombringer’s one twitch away from total annihilation, mafioso hating every second here and noli off to the side, joking memes to himself or whoever happens to be nearby.

[that’s it for now, i’ll expand it later in the future / gotta save up contents gang]

unless they stick with you, someone who’s lived this hellscape. but then they’ll have to face the survivors gang head-on.

ironic, right? there’ll be an entire circus trust

you’re the wall now. the last barrier keeping them from ripping each other apart before your own hunger kicks in. wait who said that-

i imagine you’d shapeshift into ardor warden (or something close enough) low budget, obviously. not that it matters tho. you’re massive just enough to stretch across the cave floor and block every frantic climb attempt from either side.

... except shedletsky & 1x / azure & two time. they never stop detest each other’s breath like it’s poison. you have to either shake your body or grab them down like misbehaving cats when they get too rowdy. they always hiss back, claws out, trying to tear through your skin / fur. somehow it never works.

jane huh? just block john out of her view and let her settle into the madness of your fur. she’s been through enough, and you’re the closest thing to peace she knows here.

the killers may be the pain in the ass most of the time, but at least they’re useful. 1x and noli can scout for supplies during acid rain. for some reason, that mess barely affects them.

guest 666 is your swim champ whenever flood hits. you could go yourself, sure. but then who’s babysitting the two gangs trying to maul each other?

that said, the actual problem is: it’s not what they can do, it’s whether they’ll actually listen to you when it counts.

but there’s one thing they all know for sure.

this ain’t forsaken anymore. no more respawns or endless loops. they used to call this freedom, sweet release of death; but now? they’ve got bigger problems.

and you’re the only one here who doesn’t want to devour them alive. the only one who’s willing to help them survive.

after writing all this shi i just realized the spectre doesn’t even no-clip into sonaria which means all the nerfs vanish UGSHDHSD OKAY fine. just imagine the nerf still sticks to them for a little while AUGHGHGH

the tags are so long im crying

edit; have to tag again because DHUXHHUBCLELCBSH/ gen anger

[lpmurphy]

Begin Again

<- Previous

Summary: It had been thirty years since his truck tires rolled out of her drive for the last time. Even longer since the day his locker door slammed shut beside hers and marked the beginning of Jack Abbot. Beth had never expected it to end. Never expected to live a lifetime with only the ghost of the boy who promised her one together. She never expected to see him again. Until that curtain flung open, and there he was. And just like that, Jack Abbot began again.

Notes: jack abbot/single mom!ofc, reunited high school sweethearts, second chance romance, slow (emphasis on the SLOW) burn, seriously it's slow, ofc’s daughter is a teenage gen z menace and we love her for it, angst/longing/yearning to the max, hurt/comfort, author is just an english teacher with no medical background, eventual smut, jack and ofc are emotionally constipated idiots, abby’s daddy issues flare up big time (divider credit to: @saradika-graphics)

Word Count: 5,676

Read on AO3

Chapter Nineteen: Burn

“Abigail Quinn,” Beth said, voice clipped, as the break room lights flickered on overhead. “I have already said no.”

She should’ve known better than to answer the phone. Her first break all night—only a few hours in, and she was already starving, overcaffeinated, and running mostly on spite. She wedged the phone between her shoulder and cheek, balancing the triage iPad under one arm while trying to coax the coffee machine into cooperation with the other. It wheezed out something vaguely brown. The carafe was still half full of lukewarm coffee she didn’t bother to dump out, the paper cups were nearly gone, she had her first moment to stand still in hours, and, instead of finding a moment of blissful disassociation in the stairwell, she was spending it arguing with her daughter over the phone in a stale hospital break room that reeked of microwaved fish. Of course. Ah, motherhood. Why had no one told her it would be so glamorous?

“But you’re not even home tonight!” Abby’s voice snapped through the speaker, full of that stubborn, righteous whine that always made Beth want to bang her head against the nearest solid surface. “Why does it even matter where I sleep? It’s not even late! What’s the big deal?”

Beth exhaled slowly through her nose. This girl was going to be the death of her one of these days. Her cause of death would be clearly listed: chronic exposure to sass, secondary to maternal overexertion. They’d be rolling her in a trauma bay with an embolism because Abigail Quinn Baker could not take fucking no for an answer. The side effect of being raised by a former debate team captain who, also, could never take fucking no for an answer, she guessed. Raise her strong, she’d told herself. Guess she’d been successful at that. 

God help this girl’s future husband. Whatever poor soul she decided to bulldoze through life with was going to need it. She hoped she found someone sweet and patient enough to just let her do it. Maybe Whitaker had a little brother he hadn’t told her about. 

The waiting room was full of the usual nonsense—head colds, sprained ankles, vague chest pains that would turn out to be gas—but nothing urgent. The half-baked kind of shift that dragged, slow and heavy, leaving everyone restless. She used to love night shift, back when she could feel the pulse of the ER and move with it like a second heartbeat. She met Russell on night shift, back when she was still a resident and he was the charming McDreamy trauma surgeon nearly fifteen years her senior who always managed to find an excuse to wander into the ER, even when no one had paged him.

She fell in love with him between sutures and central lines, in moments snatched under humming fluorescent lights. Got married. Got pregnant. Thought she’d finally figured it all out; a good man, a good life. That all of that ache had led her to something safe. And then Russell insisted she switch to days. At the time, she thought he was protecting her. That he didn’t want her missing the early kicks of pregnancy and bedtime stories to come, how it would be so much better for her body, so much better for their marriage. She knew better now. It had a lot less to do with family and more to do with that fresh-faced surgical intern he kept mentoring a little too closely. She hadn’t worked a night shift since. Hadn’t wanted to. 

So, yeah. She was not a fan of night shift.

But Abby’s last Homecoming was next weekend, and if she wanted that night off, she had to take this one in trade. So here she was, back on nights, trying to make coffee with one hand while wrangling a pissed off seventeen-year-old with the other.

“The big deal is that I said no,” Beth repeated, reaching for the cup as the last weak splash of coffee trickled out into the carafe. “It’s not a debate. It’s ten o’clock, and Charlee’s parents aren’t home. No. That’s a full sentence. Period.”

Abby groaned.

“You want to make it to Homecoming next weekend,” Beth continued, “I suggest you stop arguing before I rethink letting you go at all, child.”

Beth sighed as she tilted the carafe, but her breath caught and she coughed hard, only for coffee to slosh over the rim and spill across the back of her hand with a hot flash of pain.

“Shit,” she hissed, jerking it away with an annoyed, pained gasp. 

The iPad slipped awkwardly down her side, and the phone nearly dropped from where it balanced against her shoulder. She gave up and clicked it over to speaker, tossing it unceremoniously onto the counter beside the iPad as she yanked a wad of rough paper towels from the wall dispenser.

“Oh my god, you literally can’t even do that!” Abby’s voice blared into the room, shrill and emphatic. “It’s Homecoming! Gavin just asked me this week!”

Beth muttered something under her breath that definitely wouldn’t hold up in family court, and started mopping at the counter. Half-listening, half-debating whether she should just break her no-energy-drinks rule and hit the vending machine for a Redbull. The door creaked open behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder.

Jack stepped in, the fluorescent lights catching the silver at his temples. He gave her a small, tight smile and raised an eyebrow as he crossed to the fridge.

She’s on speaker, Beth mouthed. Save me.

He smirked and nodded. Abby coughed, then continued, “It’s literally the most important night of the year. Okay, the second most important, but still! You can’t do that! There are, like, laws against it! Everyone’s going. Gavin���”

“That sounds familiar,” Jack murmured, opening the fridge.

Beth shot him a look, but it didn’t hold. Her mouth tugged at the corners. She tried to hide it by looking back down at the spill. Of course it sounded familiar. Her mom had once said the same thing to her word for word. Senior year, after she and Jack blew curfew for the third time that week and tried sneaking down the drive like they’d been there the entire time, and absolutely had not rolled in twenty minutes after they were supposed to. Her mom had dragged them both inside, ripped them both a new asshole, and threatened to ground both of them like she had jurisdiction over someone else’s kid. 

Beth knew how this ended. Abby would go, same as they had. But, the threat still sounded good.

“Oh my god,” Beth echoed, voice dry as she dabbed at her stinging hand. Jack glanced over, brows knitting with concern. She waved him off, mouthing, It’s fine, but he stepped towards her anyway. “I literally can. Try me, kid.”

Jack stepped in front of her without a word. Beth startled when his fingers closed gently around hers, but it wasn’t the sting of the burn that made her jump, or caused the sudden lurch in her chest when he came close enough to smell the coffee and antiseptic clinging to his scrubs. 

One hand cradled hers from beneath, the other examining the back of it, the way he would with any patient. His thumbs worked with quiet precision, turning her wrist, checking for blisters. It was superficial. She knew that. She’d send a patient home with some burn cream and a discharge sheet in under twenty minutes. Still, she didn’t pull away when his fingers brushed between hers, lingering there a moment too long while he examined the angry red mark. 

“That hurt?” He murmured. She shook her head. 

“I wouldn’t push it, House,” Jack said mildly, still focused on her hand. His thumb circled the reddened skin as he turned her wrist over. Beth looked up, surprised, but his eyes stayed on her skin. “I know your mom. She’ll make good on it. Trust me.”

Beth huffed, tapping his shin with the toe of her sneaker, trying not to smile. He smirked, but didn’t look up.

“Ugh, Jack! Finally, someone sane,” Abby groaned through the phone. “Back me up! Tell her it’s not even that big of a deal!”

Jack took her wrist again gently, his hand warm and steady. Then, his other hand settled lightly on the small of her back, guiding her out of the way. Beth’s breath hitched just a little at the contact, sending a small shock up her spine that had nothing to do with the burn. She swallowed it down, keeping her eyes down, keeping herself from stepping forward like her body so desperately wanted her to do. 

“Go rinse it. I’ve got this,” Jack said, quiet but firm.

“Jack—”

He was already reaching for a fresh towel and started to clean the counter without looking up. “Go, Beth.”

She hesitated for a moment, too aware of the phantom warmth where Jack’s hand had been on her back, still buzzing like static, before she turned toward the sink, a new tickle in her throat sending her into another brief coughing fit. She rubbed her chest with a groan. Weird, she hadn’t had that this morning. Must have inhaled wrong, because that just happened to be a fucking thing that happens when you’re almost fifty, or her daughter was finally finishing the job and causing her organs to shut down out of pure annoyance. She cleared her throat and continued to the sink. She knew the drill; cool water, pat dry, maybe some Silvadene if it blistered, which was unlikely. She focused on that instead of the way her mind raced, grateful for the excuse to turn away before her face could turn just as red.

Jack’s voice floated from behind her as wiped down the counter, low under the rush of the tap. “Don’t rope me into this, kid. This is between you and your mom. I’m just an innocent bystander.”

“But she’s being totally unfair! She’s not even home!” Abby shot back, frustration bleeding through her voice.

Jack shrugged, tossing the crumpled paper towel into the trash and reaching for another. 

“You know what your mom and I see in here every night?” He said evenly, almost matter-of-fact. “She’s saying no for a reason, House.”

“Ugh, don’t give me the ER doc speech,” Abby groaned.

“It’s not a speech, Abs. It’s just the truth. It’s late, it’s pissing down rain, your tires are so bald, I can see the wires, so you’d be sliding all over the road. And it’s payday weekend, so add drunk drivers to the mix. I’m telling you, your mom’s got the right call.”

“Of course you’d take her side,” Abby muttered.

Beth turned off the tap and rolled her eyes, dabbing at her hand as she stepped back toward him, reaching for her phone. “Abigail—”

“It’s not about sides, Abby,” Jack said calmly, still wiping the last of the coffee from the triage iPad. “It’s about keeping you safe. The last thing your mom and I want is to see you wheeled in—”

Beth didn’t hear the rest.

Her brain snagged on four simple words: your mom and I.

He hadn’t said it to provoke, or assume a role. He’d just… said it. Like it still fit. Like it hadn’t been years and miles and entire lives lived in between when it had been you and I.

It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to speak with that kind of authority over Abby. She’d heard it before; from teachers during conferences after being told that her daughter struggled with being too bossy or too strong-willed while she bit her tongue and prepped her you don’t water yourself down speech for the drive home. From Ed, from her own parents, which always seemed to drive her the most up the wall. 

She should have bristled. She usually did. She hated when people tried to parent Abby without permission. But this wasn’t that. It didn’t feel like overstepping. It just felt…nice. 

Maybe it was the way he said it; gently, without posturing, without claim, or the way Abby seemed to argue with him less than she would with others. Just calm, quiet care. He wasn’t trying to parent her kid, wasn’t trying to insert himself. He was just… standing next to her. Saying we like it still meant something. Like it had standing in his arms in her laundry room; like just for a moment, it still could. 

She blinked, startled by the warmth pressing against her ribs. She didn’t trust it, didn’t know what to make of it, but she didn’t look away either, or drown out the whisperings that burned bright through her.

Jack turned and held the iPad out to her without a word. She took it slowly, her fingers brushing his, and that flutter tightened.

He was still talking to Abby, but she barely registered the words. Something about the way he was with her daughter—firm, respectful, measured—made her feel something sharp and startling in her chest. Not big. Not overwhelming. Just enough to notice. Just enough to make her pause. Enough to make her wonder; when was the last time she had this? Someone on her side. Another voice in the room. A time when she didn’t feel like she had to do all of this alone. She wasn’t sure if she ever had. 

She was used to doing this alone. Had been for a long time now. Decisions. Discipline. All of it had fallen on her shoulders, and she was happy to carry that weight. Most of the time, she preferred it that way. It was cleaner that way. Simpler. She didn’t have to rely on others, or beg them to be involved, or to just back me up this once. Please.

But that wasn’t what Jack had said. Not you, not your mother wants. No. Your mom and I, like he was shouldering it with her. She hadn’t hated the way it sounded coming out of his mouth.

And she really didn’t hate the way that Abby seemed to listen when he said it. That…well that did something low and hot in her gut that she wasn’t too proud of.

“Charlee’s mom wouldn’t care,” Abby muttered.

“That’s great for Charlee,” Beth said, finally finding her words again. “But I’m not Charlee’s mom. I’m yours.”

Jack stepped away from the counter, brushing his hands off on a paper towel. “Well, maybe Charlee’s mom hasn’t spent every Saturday night this year sewing kids back together,” he said lightly. “But your mom and I have.”

There it was again. That punch to the chest at those words that felt so foreign and familiar all at once in a way that terrified her and thrilled her in the same breath. Beth glanced sideways at him, a flicker of gratitude behind her tired eyes.

“We need to go back to work,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest, trying to ignore the way his shoulder brushed against her own. “You need to go to bed. And if I open Life360 and find that your butt is anywhere else but in your bedroom, you can kiss—.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Abby mumbled. Beth could almost picture her, flopped down on her bed like a Victorian heroine draped across a velvet chaise with a long suffering stare up at the ceiling fan. “Whatever. You two are so lame. I’m going to bed.”

“Good choice. ’Night, boo,” Beth said softly. “I love you big.”

“Love you bigger. ’Night,” she grumbled out, barely audible. Then, before the call disconnected with a quiet beep, she added, “‘Night, Jack.”

“‘Night, House.”

Oh. 

Why had that felt nice too?

The call ended, and the room fell quiet again, now that seventy decibels of teenage melodrama weren’t filling the air. Silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable. Just…charged. The way the air feels before it starts to thunder.

Jack crumpled the paper towel in his hand and dropped it into the trash, brushing his palms on his scrub pants. “How’s the hand?”

Beth looked down, flexing her fingers. The red mark had faded to a soft pink, just a faint sting now. “It’s fine,” she said. “I think they’ll let me keep it.”

“Ah, that’s a shame,” His mouth tipped into a crooked smile. “You with one hand and me with one leg? We’d make quite the pair.”

A laugh slipped out before she could stop it, soft and genuine. “Yeah,” she said, smiling back, “I guess we would.”

Jack held his hand out. “Let me see it.”

She hesitated only a second before placing her hand in his, the warmth of his palm curling under her fingers as he guided her hand into better light. His brows knit as he turned it gently, and his thumb swept across her knuckles, featherlight, sending that restless flutter through her chest again.

“I guess you’ll live,” he murmured. “Just get something on it before your next set of rounds. Does it hurt?”

“No,” she said quietly, though her voice felt different in her own ears; low, a little unsteady, as though the sting in her hand had nothing to do with why her heart had kicked up a beat.

“Good,” he said. His fingers gave hers an absent squeeze before he lowered her hand, but he didn’t let go.

Beth’s gaze dropped to where their hands still hung between them, her fingers folded into his, his thumb brushing lightly against hers as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The sight tugged something low in her chest, something she’d tucked away for years and hadn’t dared to reopen. But it stood beside her, whispering excitedly.

After a long moment, he finally let go.

Before she could stop herself; before she could even think really, her hand darted forward again, fingers sliding back into his. Like she was eighteen again, standing on her parents’ porch under a flickering light, certain the world was so wide and they had all the time in it. She felt her own breath catch, startled by her own impulsiveness. Her fingers tightened around his. She didn’t look up, afraid of what might be written across his face, but she felt the answering squeeze all the same.

She swallowed, mind still racing, grasping for words that wouldn’t come. 

“Thank you,” she said finally, her voice softer than she meant it to be. She gave his hand a quick, grateful squeeze before dropping it, tucking her own into her pocket as if to keep herself from reaching for him again. “For having my back there with Abby. She can be… pretty relentless when she wants something.”

“I wonder where she got that from,” he said, his voice warm with amusement.

Beth felt the corner of her mouth lift. She crossed her arms loosely over her chest, leaning her hip against the counter, trying to look unaffected even as her heart hadn’t quite settled back into rhythm. “Watch yourself, Abbot.”

Jack chuckled, low and easy, and for a second it felt like the years between them folded in on themselves; like they were back on her parents’ porch after curfew, trading quiet jabs under the glow of a porch light, hands brushing, rolling her eyes and whispering, You’re an idiot, Jack Abbot.

She wasn’t sure who the idiot was now, with her pulse thundering in her ears.

Beth let out a slow breath, trying to ease some of the tension wound tight in her chest. Her arms were still crossed, but her shoulders eased as she looked at him.

Jack’s mouth tipped into that easy half-smile. “Don’t mention. Half the shit I said was just repeating what I heard your old man say back in the day, anyway. ‘If you’re arguing this hard, you already know the answer.’ Remember that one?”

Beth’s smile deepened, the memory tugging warm and bittersweet at the edges. “Yeah. I remember. I’m surprised you do.”

“How could I forget?” He shrugged, pulling open the fridge for a bottle of water. “I probably heard him say it to you eight times a week for four years.”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

Jack turned over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, and gave her a dry, disbelieving look. “You keep telling yourself that. I could’ve said the sky was blue, and you’d argue it was green just to hear the sound of your own voice, Sparky.”

Beth rolled her eyes, a laugh slipping out as she shook her head. “God, you’re impossible.” The word Sparky still sparked in her chest like an old match struck in the dark. She let the smile settle, softer now. “Still… thank you. Really.”

Jack’s eyes softened too, and she could feel the weight of his presence steadying her in a way she hadn’t let herself lean on in years. She glanced down, picking at a loose thread on her vest, then back up at him. “Abby really likes you, you know.”

We both do, The Girl Before whispered from somewhere inside her chest, I always have. I still do. Say you still like me too. Even if I’m not brand new. Even if I’m a little broken. 

But she didn’t hush her this time. Didn’t shove her back into some locked box labeled then. Lately, that voice had stopped feeling like a stranger from a lifetime ago and more like something woven into her now. Not separate, not a whisper of someone she used to be before the world grew cold and she gained cracks in the foundation of herself that she’d never been able to fill, but just… her. She wasn’t some ghost hovering over Beth’s shoulder; she was tangled up in Beth herself now, stitched into every memory, every heartbeat.  She couldn’t remember the last time she knew that girl.

Jack’s smile deepened, slow and sure. 

“Well, the feeling’s mutual,” he said, and for a heartbeat, something shifted. 

Beth wasn’t sure what to make of that. Of him, of her own voice, of the warm hum in her chest that wouldn’t settle. Maybe it was best she didn’t try. She’d spent decades in her own head, sorting through and categorizing until everything she feared could hurt her was tucked away in places she didn’t have to deal with. She didn’t want to deal with this. She didn’t want to revisit this file. Not because it hurt, but because things, finally, were starting to feel like something. Not what they’d been back then. Not shiny or new or wide‑eyed with firsts, not that breathless rush of teenagers who thought that love would be enough and that it would never sting.

But something… familiar. Something she remembered the shape of even after all these years. Something good.

And if she said something, if she reached for him the way she wanted to, if she asked that question that had crawled through her like rot for thirty years, the one she had turned over in her mind in a thousand different ways—it might all go away.

She could lose this. Him. Lose the fragile, quiet thing that was starting to grow between them before it ever had a chance to become something better than just good. She couldn’t do that again. If he walked away the second time, then that would be it. The cracks she’d spent years patching would open up and swallow her whole, and she would not chase The Girl Before again. She would cease to be, and a new version would take her place, whispering, I told you so.

So she didn’t say it. Didn’t ask. Didn’t risk the air between them shifting too far too soon. Instead, she held his gaze, a small, private smile tugging at his mouth, and let herself stand in it a little longer without needing to name a single thing.

“I missed that,” she said instead, the words barely more than a breath.

Jack tipped his head. “Missed what, Sparky?”

“That,” she said. Her fingers twitched at her sides, itching to reach out, to touch, but she held back. “You calling me that.”

Jack’s eyes softened, a flicker of something tender surfacing behind his usual guarded expression he wore at work. A slow smile curved his lips, warm and real. “I missed it too.”

“I’ve missed you,” That Girl said before Beth could keep it from falling out of her mouth. She wasn’t even sure if The Girl Before had been the one to say it. But it hung there between them, quiet and heavy.

She bit down hard on her lip, uncertain if she had crossed whatever imaginary line they’d pretended to draw only to kick the sand and redraw it again and again when they crossed it.

Jack stepped forward just a fraction, close enough that she could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, to count the freckles she used to trace her fingers along.

“That feeling’s mutual, too,” he murmured.

Her gaze dropped to his lips, parted slightly as if he might say something more, but he didn’t.

He was so close. Close enough to put her hands on his chest the way she had in the laundry room. Close enough to let his arms fold around her waist and sink into him like she’d wanted to for years. Close enough to tilt her chin and stop ignoring what had been trying to claw its way out of her since the moment she saw him, like it was compelled by the force of him. 

Close enough to finally ask the questions that still burned holes in her chest:

Why did you go?

What did I do wrong?

If I fix myself, will you come back?

God, he was just so close.

Her hands found his chest before she even realized she’d moved.

Who was she kidding? She realized. 

She knew exactly what she was doing as she stepped in, closing the narrow span of air that still existed between them. Jack didn’t flinch. His hand came up, covering hers where it pressed over his heart, fingers curling around hers like he was pinning her down before she could float away. His thumb brushed across her knuckles in a slow circle, and his other hand lifted, settling against her back, his fingers splayed wide like he couldn’t decide which part of her he needed to feel most.

She felt it under her palm; the quickened rhythm of his heart, steady but racing, a drumbeat that pulled a memory straight through time. Your heart is beating so fast, she’d whispered to him that night on top of the mill, her own laughter caught in her breath as his lips hovered over hers for the very first time. It’s like you’re afraid of me.

I am, he’d said, laughter soft and sweet against her mouth.

Her throat tightened. He was looking down at her now, eyes dark and searching, his palm still firm against her back as though urging her just a little closer. He looked at her like she was something precious and complicated all at once, like a puzzle he’d been trying to solve for decades, carefully fitting the fractured pieces of her together in his mind until they resembled something he recognized; something they both once knew.

Ask him, That Girl urged, a voice raw and desperate inside her ribcage. Just ask. Please. Make him stay.

Her lips parted. She could feel the words burning at the back of her throat; how close it all was to tumbling free.

Why did you go?

What did I do wrong?

Please don’t leave.

She swallowed hard, the motion thick in her throat as her eyes flicked up to the hazel she had once spent entire afternoons memorizing, cataloging every fleck of green and gold and how they shifted in the light. Then down to his mouth, the shape of it still etched somewhere deep in her memory. Her teeth caught her bottom lip like maybe, if she bit hard enough, she could keep the words from slipping free. Could keep herself from ruining it. From ruining herself.

“Jack…” she breathed, the syllable trembling, breaking the fragile silence.

A low sound escaped his throat in response, something rough and unsteady, his fingers curling tighter into the back of her vest as though the very idea of her moving away was unbearable. 

His forehead tipped forward until it rested gently against hers, the bridge of his nose brushing hers, his breath shaky and warm as it ghosted over her skin. She felt the tiny tremor that ran through him, the way his chest rose and fell like he was fighting the same current pulling at her. So close. He was so close she could almost taste the memory of him, every heartbeat between them loud enough to drown out whatever reason she still clung to.

“Say it,” he murmured, voice low, barely a command, more like a confession begging to be spoken aloud.

Stay. Don’t go. Don’t leave again. Come home.

The words trembled on her tongue, heavy and dangerous like they could tear the air wide open between them. Her pulse thudded against her ribs, loud enough she swore he could feel it through his palm, through the inches of fabric between them, through the years they’d both carried like scars.

Say it, That Girl whispered, fierce and aching. Say it before you lose it again.

Her lips parted, breath catching—unsure and sure all at once—as the words rose to the edge of her tongue. The question, the confession, all of it trembled there, waiting to spill into the space between them. 

Say it. Say it. Say it.

And then the door swung open.

“Baker, I’ve got a—”

Shit. 

Beth startled, jumping back like she’d been struck with a soft gasp, her hand slipping from Jack’s chest like it burned. His fingers hovered in the air for a fraction of a second before falling uselessly to his sides. 

Bridget stopped mid‑stride in the doorway, eyes landing on them with surgical precision. She didn’t bother to hide the way her gaze dropped to Beth’s flushed face, then to Jack, who looked like he’d just been caught red‑handed sneaking out of someone’s bedroom at seventeen. Bridget stood in the doorway, a chart in her hand, her sharp eyes cutting from Beth to Jack and back again. She didn’t smile, didn’t frown.

“Hm.” It was flat, unimpressed, and somehow louder than any accusation could have been.

Shit. 

“We were—” Jack started, straightening, his voice too quick, too smooth to be anything but a cover.

“Don’t need to know. Less paperwork that way,” Bridget cut in, dry as salt, shutting down the explanation without so much as a blink. She turned her attention fully on Beth. “I’ve got a pregnant woman, thirty‑two years old, thirty‑six weeks. She was in earlier today with Braxton‑Hicks, McKay sent her home. Says the contractions are getting worse. She’s in Five when you two are done…” her gaze slid briefly to Jack, then back to Beth, “…doing whatever you were doing.”

This is not fucking happening. 

Beth felt her stomach drop, her face heating like she’d been caught doing something far worse than standing too close. She managed a quick nod, not even looking at Jack in fear that she would blush so hard she’d incinerate. 

Jack cleared his throat, his hand still hovering slightly near her like he hadn’t quite told it to stand down yet.

“We were… consulting,” he said, the pause betraying him before the word even landed.

Beth cringed. Really? That’s the best you can do?

Bridget’s brows climbed, her lips pressing into a thin line that was one part amusement and three parts disbelief.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“Mhm,” she said at last, letting the syllable stretch with every ounce of judgment she could fit into it. She turned toward the hallway, shaking her head, already muttering under her breath about some General Hospital, Gray’s Anatomy bullshit as she pulled the door closed.

The latch clicked, and the break room fell deafeningly silent again, except for the ragged sound of Beth’s breath as she tried to collect it.

Oh my god.

She still hadn’t moved from where she’d stumbled back, her palm gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her knuckles were pale against the laminate, the tremor running through her fingers impossible to steady.

What the fuck are you doing? You are at work. You can’t just… you can’t just do that. 

He glanced at her, eyes still shadowed, still burning. She wouldn’t look at him. She couldn’t. Not with her face still flushed, or her head still spinning, or that heat in her belly still trying to burn through her, or her heart still trying to settle after nearly leaping into his hands. If she met his eyes again, she wasn’t sure what would happen; if she’d bolt toward him instead of away, if she’d finally say all the things she wasn’t ready to let loose. If she looked, she didn’t know if she’d stop.

What were you even doing? Did you even think? Where was your brain, Beth? You can’t do… that. Not with…not with him. Not at work.

So she pushed off the counter, pulse thundering, and bolted toward the door before he could say anything. The latch rattled under her hand as she yanked it open, the cool hallway air rushing in like a slap of reality. The door swung wide, and for half a second, she thought she heard him say her name; soft, low, almost hesitant. 

But she didn’t stop. She didn’t trust herself to. 

She turned towards Five, shoving down the way he looked at her. The weight of his forehead on hers, the heat of his breath, the way he gripped her when she said his name like it was his undoing. Like she still was.

“Say it.”

No. Don’t. Not here.

Do your job, you dumb bitch.

Fucking consulting. 

You’re an idiot, Jack Abbot.

She guessed she was one, too.

[yuma-mukami-garden-god]

NSFW How would the diaboys make their s/o notice that they're horny at night while sleeping in the same bed?

Shu Sakamaki – Lazy Pressure

He doesn’t move much—he just presses his hips against you very intentionally.

His breath slows… then gets heavier.

“...You feel that? I’m not sleeping, you know.”

He guides your hand under the sheets without a word, letting you feel just how badly he wants you.

If you don’t react? A deep growl by your ear and the words:

“Don’t make me do everything myself…”

Reiji Sakamaki – Disciplined Control Slipping

Starts off respectable—back turned, hands folded.

But his breathing changes. His hand rests on your hip. Lingers. Tightens.

“You seem restless tonight…”

He slowly rolls closer, until you can feel his arousal firmly against your thigh.

“Would you prefer I take care of this myself… or will you act like my good girl?”

Ayato Sakamaki – Loud and Proud

Flops dramatically in bed, groaning.

“Mnnnngh! Ugh. It’s too hot… in my pants.”

Keeps grinding “accidentally” into your backside.

“You better wake up, Chichinashi… Ore-sama’s not gonna last much longer.”

Eventually grabs your hand and places it right where he wants attention.

“Feel that? Fix it.”

Kanato Sakamaki – Unhinged Need

Whines quietly to himself at first. His hips start rocking gently—frustrated.

Then:

“Why are you ignoring me? Don’t you see what you’re doing to me…?”

He grabs your wrist and guides it to his erection, moaning pathetically.

“You make me feel like this and leave me alone? How cruel.”

Laito Sakamaki – Shameless Teasing

Cuddles closer with a purr.

“Oh~ Bitch-chan, you’re so warm~”

Grinds into your ass slowly, letting you feel how hard he is.

Starts trailing kisses up your shoulder, voice raspy.

“Ne~ Won’t you help me, hm? Or should I fuck your thighs while you pretend to sleep?”

Subaru Sakamaki – Flustered but Needy

Trembling slightly, biting his lip to keep from moaning.

His hard-on presses into your thigh, and he curses softly under his breath.

“…Tch. Why do you always sleep like this…?”

Eventually, he grabs your waist and pulls you into him, breath hot against your neck.

“If I move… and you don’t stop me… that’s permission. Got it?”

Ruki Mukami – Calculated Touches

Starts brushing your thighs under the covers. Innocent at first—then slower… firmer.

“Livestock… I know you’re awake.”

He presses his erection into your ass, one hand sliding up to your throat.

“You want it too, don’t you? Then turn over and beg.”

Kou Mukami – Whiny Flirt Mode

“Ughhh~ Neko-chan, you’re killing me~”

Keeps kissing your neck, grinding gently into you, murmuring:

“Feel how hard you make me? What am I supposed to do like this?”

Tugs at your panties beneath the covers.

“Let me in, okay~? Just a little…”

Yuma Mukami – Rough and Direct

Big arms trap you in place.

“Oi. You feel that?”

His cock is pressed hard into your back. His breathing’s rough.

“I’ve been starin’ at you all night, sow… You’re askin’ for it, wearin’ nothin’ like that.”

His hand slips under your waistband with zero hesitation.

“Guess I’ll just take what’s mine.”

Azusa Mukami – Soft Desperation

Snuggled close, rubbing his cheek on your shoulder.

“…I can’t sleep… it hurts…”

He whimpers softly as he shifts, pressing his erection against you.

“Please… touch me… or I’ll cry…”

Guides your hand to him with shaking fingers and kisses your palm, whispering thanks.

Shin Tsukinami – Alpha in Heat

He growls low in your ear, breath heavy.

“You’re tempting me again, little omega…”

Pulls you against him, grinding hard, sharp fangs grazing your neck.

“I can scent how soft and ready you are. Stop pretending to sleep… or I’ll make you scream.”

Carla Tsukinami – Tension Under Silk

Silent at first. You wake up to his hard-on pressing against your hip—intentionally.

A single hand snakes under your nightgown, dangerously slow.

“Your body calls to mine even in sleep… Shall I answer it?”

His lips ghost over your neck.

“Deny me, and I will ruin you slowly. Accept me, and you will be worshipped.”

Kino – Chaotic Menace

Can’t stop shifting under the sheets.

“Ughhh, why do I always wake up like this? It’s your fault, babe.”

Grabs your hips and starts rutting against your ass like a little perv.

“Help me or I’ll just do it right here beside you until you can’t ignore me.”

Karlheinz – Deliberate Temptation

Runs his fingers down your spine in the dark.

“You’re so warm beside me… I wonder if the rest of you is this welcoming.”

His erection rests against your ass, unmoving—but intentional.

“Make a sound, and I will take you. Remain quiet… and I’ll still take you. Choose, meine Liebe.”

Richter – Tension and Teeth

You feel his fingers trailing down your thigh in the dark.

“Still asleep…? Or teasing me?”

He kisses your shoulder hard, grinding into you until you gasp.

“That’s what I thought.”

He doesn’t ask for permission—he warns you with a bite to your neck and a whispered:

“Don’t pretend you don’t want it.”

[formulafanfics13]

oooooo I love your Driver Reactions fics. Especially the crush one. I am M E L T I N G🫠🫠🫠

Any chance you could do one when you get back where they react to reader avoiding them because she has a crush on THEM? I don't know if that sentence made sense. Anyway, thanks for feeding us 😛 ❤️

You Avoiding Them

lando norris He notices IMMEDIATELY. You used to laugh at everything he said. You used to wave at him across the paddock. Now you barely make eye contact. He dies a little inside. Starts overcompensating HARD. Loud jokes. Stupid comments. Laughing too loud in your direction. “Guess she hates me now,” he says to Oscar, but then spends three hours trying to find out what he did wrong. Eventually corners you in a hallway and blurts, “Did I fuck up or are you just allergic to me now?” You stammer something incoherent and he just STARES. “Oh,” he whispers. “You like me.” Then grins like a fucking child. “Say it. Come on. SAY IT.”

oscar piastri Thinks he imagined it at first. You’re quieter. Less present. More... gone. Watches you flinch when he walks into a room and starts spiralling internally. “I must’ve done something. Did I say something weird? Did I walk weird? Oh my god, was it the cheese conversation?” Does not know how to ask without sounding insane. Eventually just goes, “Hey… have I done something wrong?” You: “No.” Him: “Because you’re acting like I give you hives and I swear I don’t—unless they’re like good hives?” You freeze. He freezes. You: “I like you.” Him: “Wait. What.” Cue the slowest, most adorable red-faced “oh my god” moment ever.

charles leclerc Heartbroken. Fully confused. Whispers, “Pourquoi…?” to himself at night. Starts replaying every interaction in his head like a dramatic indie film. Goes quiet around you. Wears sad sunglasses. Writes poetry in Notes app titled Invisible To Her. Eventually breaks and corners you behind the motorhome. “Why are you avoiding me?” You: “Because I like you.” Him: stunned silence. Then: “So you run away?” You: “Yes?” Him: laughing, panicking, blushing “That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” Then cups your face and goes, “Don’t ever hide from me again.”

lewis hamilton Knows immediately. He’s perceptive. Your vibe changes. Your energy shifts. You won’t meet his eyes. You dodge every one-on-one interaction. You disappear the second he shows up. He’s confused, then curious, then cocky. “She's hiding from me,” he says to Roscoe. “That usually means something.” Eventually catches you in a quiet hallway and softly goes, “What are you afraid of?” You: “Nothing.” Him: “Liar.” Takes one step closer. Your breath stutters. His smirk widens. “You’ve got a crush on me.” You: “No I don’t.” Him: “You do. And you’re terrible at hiding it. Come here.”

max verstappen Thinks you’re mad at him. Spirals hard. Asks around. “Did I say something weird? Did I offend her?” Stalks your socials. Realises you’re still liking his posts. Gets more confused. Eventually corners you in a garage and goes, “If you hate me just say it to my face.” You: “I don’t hate you.” Max: “Then why the fuck do you run away every time I look at you?” You: whispers “Because I like you.” He stares. Blinks. Takes a step back like you slapped him. “Oh.” Goes quiet. Then: “Okay. Cool. You scared the shit out of me. Wanna go for a drive?”

yuki tsunoda Angry. “You’re ghosting me? What the fuck?” Storms into a room like an angry raccoon in Dior. Follows you around the paddock going, “You ignoring me? Seriously? After all the ramen we shared?” You: “I’m not-” Him: “You are! You won’t even look at me!” Eventually corners you and says, “I didn’t do anything, so if you’re mad, you better explain it.” You go silent. He stares. “You like me, don’t you?” You nod. He stares. “Holy shit.” Runs away screaming. Comes back five minutes later with flowers from the team hospitality.

carlos sainz His ego shatters. “Why doesn’t she look at me anymore?” Asks everyone. Multiple times. Genuinely goes to bed upset. Wears cologne more often. Gets his hair done. Starts saying random Italian phrases louder when you’re near. Finally stops you outside your trailer and goes, “I don’t know what I did, but if I hurt you, tell me.” You: “You didn’t. I just… like you.” Carlos, stunned: “That’s it? That’s why you’ve been ignoring me? Dios mío.” You: “I didn’t know how to act.” Him: “Just act normal. Like you love me. That’s what I’m doing.”

alex albon Spirals in silence. “Do I smell? Is it the hair? Did I say something too weird?” Oscar: “She likes you, idiot.” Alex: “She what now?” Starts watching you more. Realises you do flinch when he’s near. You do avoid eye contact. Internal screaming. Finally walks up and blurts, “I make you nervous, don’t I?” You: “What?” Him: “Because you like me.” You: “No I don’t.” Him: “Then why are you sweating right now?” You: “Because you’re standing very close.” Him: “Exactly.”

george russell Defo logs it like a spreadsheet error. He's all like, “Something’s different in the data.” Starts analysing your body language like telemetry. Takes it personally. Thinks you’re over him. Eventually corners you at an event and says, “Did I lose your respect?” You: “No.” Him: “Then why are you avoiding me?” You: “Because I like you, and I’m trying to not embarrass myself.” George: visibly crashes inside. “You could’ve just said that. I’ve been planning our wedding in my head for two months.”

kimi antonelli Says nothing. Watches you avoid him. Watches you panic when he walks into a room. Watches you run away. Doesn’t ask. Doesn’t text. Doesn’t force it. Just waits. Quiet. Observing. Then one day, you sit alone at lunch. He sits beside you and slides a coffee over. You: “What’s this?” Him: “You’ve been hiding from me.” You: silent Him: “So I brought you a peace offering. And I’m not leaving until you tell me why you’re scared of looking at me.” You: barely whisper “Because I like you.” He smiles, just barely. “Good. Then stop running.”

lance stroll Confused. Like literally Confused.Com... “Is she mad?” Tries to smile at you. Gets nothing. Tries to wave. You walk past. Tells Fernando, “She definitely hates me now.” Eventually gets tired of guessing and just walks straight up to you. “You’re ignoring me. That’s fine. I just want to know why.” You: “I don’t mean to—” Him: “You do.” You: sigh “I like you.” Lance: blinking “So... you’re running away from me because you like me?” You: “Yes.” Him: “Okay. Cool. I’ll chase you then.”

fernando alonso Knows exactly what you’re doing. You stop meeting his eyes. Start walking out of rooms. Laugh less. He clocks it immediately. “Ah,” he says to himself. “She’s falling.” Doesn’t confront you. Just starts turning up the heat. Touches your lower back when he passes. Says your name slower. Stares a second too long. Eventually pins you with a smirk and says, “I scare you, don’t I?” You: “No.” Him: “You do everything to avoid me. That means you want me.” You open your mouth. He raises a brow. “Don’t bother denying it. Just come here.”

liam lawson Cries. Not literally, but inside. Feels like his world collapsed because you suddenly stopped laughing at his jokes. Asks Yuki for advice. Yuki tells him to grow some balls. Tries to act normal. Fails. Eventually blurts out, “Did I make you hate me?” You: “No!” Him: “Then why do you look like you’re in pain every time I walk in?” You: sigh “Because I like you and it’s embarrassing.” Liam: frozen Liam: blushing Liam: “Holy fuck. You’re embarrassing? I cried after your Instagram story last week.”

isack hadjar Watches you act different. Smiles a little. Knows what it is. Pretends he doesn’t. Then finally traps you in conversation and goes, “So what’s the deal? Too shy to say hi now?” You shrug. He steps closer. “You used to laugh when I made eye contact. Now you leave the room.” You: “I like you, okay?” Isack: “I know.” You: “What?” Him: “I knew. I just wanted to hear you say it.”

ollie bearman Hurts his feelings. He waves. You look away. He says hi. You ignore it. He goes home and stares at the ceiling wondering why you hate him.🥺 Texts you: “did I do something???” You don’t answer. He spirals. Eventually corners you and says, “If you hate me, just say it to my face.” You whisper, “I like you.” He short-circuits. “You WHAT?” You repeat it. He turns red. Then grins so big it hurts. “Okay. Cool. Same. Also… you owe me three weeks of hugs for that emotional damage.”

esteban ocon So dramatic about it. You stop making eye contact? He writes a fucking novel in his head. “She hates me. She must hate me. Was I annoying? Am I annoying? Have I always been annoying?” Starts dressing better. Gets new sunglasses. Compliments your outfit just loud enough that you hear. Eventually corners you with a weirdly serious look and goes, “We used to talk. Did I lose you?” You: “No.” Him: “Then why do you avoid me?” You: quietly “Because I like you.” He just… stares. Then full body sighs. “Okay. Great. Good. I’ll go cry now. But like, in a happy way.”

pierre gasly Absolutely feral over it. Probably cries to Charles. You used to flirt back. Now you dodge him. “You’re ghosting me? ME?” Texting your name in all caps. Showing up to conversations you’re in just to get ignored in person. Loudly flirts with other people to see if you react. You don’t. He sulks. Eventually corners you like, “You avoiding me because you don’t like me anymore?” You: “I’m avoiding you because I do like you and I don’t know what to do about it.” Him: pause Him: “So you’re insane. Okay. I can work with that.” Proceeds to flirt so hard the entire room clears out.

franco colapinto Panics. Fully, completely spirals. “You’re mad at me. You have to be mad at me. Did I breathe wrong? Did I blink too fast?” Runs simulations in his head like it’s the final lap of Monaco. Eventually corners you outside and just blurts, “You hate me now?” You: “No! I’m just nervous.” Franco: “Of me?” You: “Because I like you, idiot.” Franco: physically collapses against a wall “Don’t say stuff like that. I’m too emotionally fragile for this.” Immediately takes you out for pizza and stares at you like you’re the moon.

nico hülkenberg So calm it’s terrifying. You stop talking to him. He notices instantly. Says nothing. But watches. Closely. Every flinch, every sidestep, every blush, he clocks it like data. Then one day, with zero warning, he corners you in a hallway and goes, “You’ve been avoiding me. That means you either hate me, or want me. Which is it?” You freeze. He leans in, eyes dark. “Come on. Say it.” You: “I like you.” Nico: “There it is.” Then walks away. Like a fucking menace. (He’ll kiss you the next day like nothing happened.)

gabriel bortoleto “Bro. She’s literally ignoring me.” Whining to anyone who’ll listen. “She laughed at my joke last week. Laughed. Now I say hi and she vanishes like a fucking magician.” Spends way too much time rehearsing what to say. Ends up doing nothing. Eventually blurts it out mid-convo: “Did I upset you? Are you mad? Is this a Sagittarius thing? I don’t know your chart.” You blink. “I like you, dumbass.” He short-circuits. Full brain reboot. “Oh. Okay. That’s cool. That’s good. I’m chill. I’m totally chill.” He is not chill. He’s sweating through his shirt.

Others

toto wolff He notices. Instantly. You avoid him at one sponsor event. He says nothing. Then it happens again. And again. By the fourth time, he corners you like you just cost Mercedes a championship. “I’m not stupid,” he says, voice low and tight. “I know when someone’s avoiding me.” You: “I just-” Toto: “What? You just what? Don’t like looking at me anymore?” You crack. “I like you, okay?” He pauses. Slowly nods. “Right.” Then steps way too close and says, “Next time, just say hello. I don’t bite... unless you want me to.”

james vowles This man spirals like it’s a race weekend gone to hell. You used to be friendly. Now you physically walk in the opposite direction. He stares after you like you’ve stabbed him. Texts you: “Did I do something wrong?” Deletes it. Sends a professional email instead. Finally corners you in the hospitality lounge and asks, “Did I offend you somehow?” You stutter. Avoid his eyes. He sighs, already looking crushed. “Alright. I’ll give you space-” You: “I like you.” James.exe has crashed. “Oh,” he says, blinking. “Well. That’s... an acceptable reason. Want to get coffee and pretend we’re normal?”

paul aron Panics. Loudly. Dramatically. Pathetically. Probs crying. Tells like three different people, “She’s avoiding me. She fucking hates me. I’ve ruined everything. I’m never making eye contact with another woman again.” Overthinks every past interaction. Eventually finds you in the paddock and blurts, “If you hate me just say it. I won’t cry. I mean I will, but not in public.” You: “I like you.” Him: pauses “Wait, what?” You: “That’s why I avoid you.” Paul: “THAT’S WORSE. THAT’S SO MUCH WORSE.” You: “Why?” Him: “Because now I’m in love.”

arthur leclerc Heartbroken. “You didn’t even say hi to me today,” he mutters to himself like he’s in a French art film. Like fully sat in the passanger seat as Charles drives, and he's looking out the windor, one hand against the grass  as it rains outside - like he's in a movie or something. Watches you walk past him. Again. Without looking. Whispers, “Je suis fini.” Texts Charles for advice. Charles is useless. Eventually corners you outside a trailer and asks, “Did I do something wrong?” You: “No.” Him: “Then why do you run away?” You: “Because I like you.” He gasps. Audibly. “Mon dieu.” Then covers his face and says, “I need to sit down.” You laugh. He looks at you, fully wrecked, and says, “Don’t laugh. I’m already writing our wedding vows in my head.”

pato o’ward Loses his mind. “You’re ignoring me now? ME? You used to flirt back. What happened?” Whines about it for days. Asks literally everyone. “Did she get bored of me? Am I not hot anymore? Did I say something weird?” Eventually traps you by the bar and goes, “Okay, full offence, why the fuck are you pretending I don’t exist?” You: “Because I like you and I didn’t know how to deal with it.” He stares. Then laughs so hard he drops his drink. “You LIKE me?” “Like for real?” Spins in a full circle. Then looks you dead in the eye and says, “You’re fucked. Because now I’m not letting you escape.”

sebastian vettel Feels it. Quietly. You stop laughing at his jokes. Stop walking beside him. Stop showing up early like you used to. He notices. Says nothing. Until one day he finds you in a quiet corridor and goes, “You don’t talk to me anymore.” You: “I got busy.” Him: “You got careful.” You look away. He smiles. “You like me, don’t you?” You go still. He nods. “I’m right.” Then soft, vulnerable, painfully sincere: “You don’t have to hide it. Not from me.” And you melt. Right there in the hallway.

kimi räikkönen Says nothing for days. Just watches. You used to linger when he walked into a room. Now you leave. He notices. Doesn’t speak. Just drinks his vodka and stares. Then one day, out of nowhere, he walks up and says, “You stop looking at me. Why?” You: “No reason.” Kimi: “That’s a lie.” You: “Because I like you.” He stares. Nods. “Okay.” Then turns around and walks away. Next morning, he leaves a coffee on your desk and a note that says, “You can look at me again now.”

jack doohan FREAKS. “You don’t talk to me anymore,” he texts. Then deletes it. Then texts again: “Did I do something weird? I mean besides existing? Or Shaving my head?” Fully spirals. Begs Lance for advice. Pierre tells him to grow up. Eventually explodes. “You don’t laugh at my jokes anymore. You avoid me. You barely look at me. What the fuck did I do?” You: “I like you.” Jack: screaming internally “Why didn’t you just say that???” You: “Because I panicked!” Jack: “Okay well now I’m panicking but in like… a good way. A hot way.”

david coulthard Smirks. Watches you avoid him with lowkey amusement. “Oh, she’s shy now?” Starts finding excuses to corner you. Asks you to hand him things. To join meetings. To pass him napkins he absolutely does not need. Eventually traps you alone and says, “You used to look me in the eye. Now you don’t. I wonder why.” You: “Because I like you.” Him: “Well, fuck me gently with a stopwatch.” Then smiles, steps closer, and murmurs, “So now that we’ve cleared that up… are you gonna keep running, or do I finally get to kiss you?”

jenson button Genuinely confused at first. You used to tease him. Now you won’t even say hello. “Did I say something dumb? I mean, I probably did, but like… specifically what was it?” Overthinks it to death. Eventually blurts it out: “You’re ignoring me and I just want to know if I should be embarrassed or emotionally devastated.” You: “I like you.” Him: “That’s not an answer, that’s a confession.” You: “Yeah.” Him: grinning like the sun “Cool. Cool cool cool. Want to go make bad decisions together right now or wait five minutes?”

mick schumacher Breaks his whole heart over it. You used to light up around him. Now you barely glance in his direction. Goes home and stares at the ceiling like, “She hates me. I knew it. I always mess this up. I’m too soft. She wants someone cooler. Someone taller. Someone with an edge.” Texts you: “Everything okay?” Doesn’t send it. Writes it again. Still doesn’t send it. Eventually corners you by the coffee machine with big sad blue eyes. “Did I do something wrong?” You whisper, “No. I like you.” He BLUSHES. “Wait… you like me? You were avoiding me because of that?” Smiles so wide it hurts. “Don’t do that again. You scared the hell out of me.”

checo pérez Confused. You’re polite, distant, too formal. Won’t meet his eye. Won’t even joke with him anymore. Asks quietly, “Did I overstep something?” When you shake your head, he frowns deeper. Eventually walks up, stands beside you, and says, “You treat everyone the same, except me. Why?” You freeze. Checo stares at you, arms crossed, waiting. You mumble, “Because I like you.” He goes quiet. Then exhales softly and murmurs, “Thank god. I thought I’d scared you off.” Then touches your hand gently and says, “You can avoid everyone else. Just not me.”

christian horner Finds it entertaining. Raises an eyebrow when you avoid him in the hospitality suite. Smirks when you turn the other way during a meeting. Tells Max, “Someone’s got a little crush.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re imagining things.” He is not. Eventually corners you in the paddock and says, “Are you actively trying not to look at me, or is it just a really unfortunate optical pattern?” You stutter. He leans closer. “Ah,” he murmurs, “so it is about me.” You: “Yes.” Him: “Well then. We’re going to have to do something about that.”

logan sargeant Totally panics. “You okay?” You: “Yep.” Him: “Sure? Because you used to like… talk to me?” You: “Busy.” He spirals. Asks Alex, “Do I smell? Did I say something dumb?” Eventually walks up to you and nervously blurts, “Are you mad at me?” You: “No, Logan. I just have a crush on you and I don’t know how to act normal.” Him: “Oh.” Him: “Ohhhhhhh.” Him: “Okay. Um. Do you wanna like… not avoid me? Because I really like seeing your face. Even when you look like you want to kill me.”

nico rosberg Deeply insulted. Raises an eyebrow when you stop waving. Mutters to himself, “Well, that’s new.” Thinks you’re playing games. Thinks you’re being cold for fun. Until someone tells him, “She’s into you, idiot.” He short-circuits. Approaches you with that perfect media-trained charm and says, “I noticed you’ve been… distant. That’s not like you.” You mumble that it’s nothing. He lowers his voice and says, “You’re not very good at hiding it, you know.” You: “Hiding what?” Nico: “The way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” Then he smiles. The kind of smile that ruins lives.

valtteri bottas Quiet confusion. Watches you avoid him and just… files it away. Sips his coffee. Furrows his brow. Stares into the distance thinking about it for the rest of the day. Eventually stops you outside the garage and gently asks, “Did I do something to upset you?” You: “No.” Him: “You’re avoiding me.” You: “I like you and I didn’t know how to deal with it.” Valtteri just blinks. “Oh. Okay.” Then, very softly: “Would it help if I said I like you too? I can make you a one of a kind calendar?” You almost fall over. He smiles. “That’s better. Let’s not avoid each other anymore.”

[zeke-fanfucs]

ITS YOUR REQUEST @riooooooooo! Oblivious Karmor as some hot fucking robot cowboy with a body that makes even mahatma’s heart flutter, and Albus wanna take a test run with, even though that man will literally fuck anyone who’s somewhat attached— anyways! Here it is. And I guess attila too. He’s growing on me, like a cancer.. or tumor..

This Is a Seduction, Whelp

“So,” Hipswitch drawled, lounging way too casually on the back of the couch Karmor was reading on, “you ever wonder what it’d be like to wake up next to someone?”

Karmor blinked up at him.

Then pointed at the chair in the corner.

[I already wake up next to that stool sometimes.]

Hipswitch paused. Processed. Blinked.

“…That ain’t what I meant.”

From the kitchen, Albus choked on his drink. “Oh my god.”

Attila hissed, “He’s trying to flirt, dumbass.”

Karmor looked confused. Signed:

[But we already sleep in the same room?]

“NO—” Hipswitch pinched the bridge of his nose. “Karmor, partner, I am actively—openly—bravely attempting to court your weird little time-lost ass and you just told me about your relationship with a goddamn stool.”

Albus wheezed, leaning against the fridge. “Switchy, give up. He don’t speak ‘romance,’ he speaks ‘cryptic death note.’”

Karmor tilted his head, brow furrowed in thought. Then slowly signed:

[Do you want my bed instead?]

Everyone froze.

Attila’s eyes squinted with a smile. “Now that’s a trap.”

Hipswitch’s ears twitched under his hat. “You—you mean like… with you in it, or—”

[You looked tired, I thought maybe you wanted to sleep better.]

“…Right. Just sleep,” Hipswitch muttered.

Karmor, absolutely proud of himself for helping, smiled faintly and handed Hipswitch a cup of tea he had made.

Hipswitch blinked. “Did… did you make this for me?”

Karmor nodded.

[You looked dehydrated.]

((How in the hell does an obcuran look dehydrated, wonder Mahatma? Cause I’m also curious, was he like.. a PC? Needed water to cool down???))

Albus snorted so hard he nearly fell over.

Attila cackled.

Mahatma, took one look and said calmly, “He’s going to die of pining, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Albus confirmed. “Or spontaneous combustion.”

——

Later that night…

Hipswitch: puts his arm around Karmor’s shoulders while watching a movie

Karmor: [Are you cold?] gets him another blanket

Hipswitch: “I will literally explode.”

———

The Final Straw:

Hipswitch corners Albus in the hallway.

“Help me,” he growled. “He’s not getting it.”

Albus grinned. “You chose a man who doesn’t remember his own name and was raised by the void, Switch. Maybe stop tryin’ cowboy poetry and just kiss him.”

“…Kiss him,” Hipswitch mumbled, like he just got the launch codes.

“On the mouth, yes.”

—

Karmor: completely still

Hipswitch: kissing him, finally, full on the mouth (yes I know he’s an Obcuran, but imagine with me)

Karmor: [Oh. That was… not what I expected.]

Hipswitch: “Do you want me to stop?”

Karmor: [No. But I still don’t know what we’re doing.]

Attila from the other room: “OH MY GOD—”

[casssssssi]

You Look Like You Love Me

Gabe Perreault x reader

warnings; a little suggestive at the end (maybe a bit more), Leno mentioned!, song doesn’t really match the fic, idrk what else, not proofread.

wc; 3,868

summary; A wrong number leads to oh so much more

a/n; Gabe’s messages are pink!

—

She’s sitting in her bio lecture when her phone buzzes softly on the table. It’s a message from an unknown number.

| Heyyy

The message says. She stares at it, it’d been a long time since she got a text from an unknown number that wasn’t some Toll scam.

| Uh hi? who is this?

She sends back.

| The guy from that party on saturday! sorry it took so long to text, i got caught up with school and stuff.

They say. Ah so that’s what this was. Last she checked, she hadn’t been to any parties on Saturday.

| sorry bud. I think whoever you’re trying to text gave you the wrong number, because I was most definitely not at any parties

She says. He rereads it, realizing his mistake.

| oh. damn that’s embarrassing lmao sorry

He facepalms and hits himself gently against the wall as he slumps down, sitting on the floor.

| All good! you seem like a nice guy lmao so her loss. don’t beat yourself up about it

He laughs at her response, appreciating her reassurance. He smiles lightly.

| yeah, thanks lol. the name's gabe.

He pauses for a moment before deciding to add a few more words to his message.

| and uh, for what it's worth, you sound like a way cooler person than whoever i was tryna text anyways

| nice to meet you Gabe.

| you have a boston number, do you go to school here?

He smiles at the response, glad that she didn't immediately shut him down after realizing he wasn't who he was supposed to text.

| nice to meet you too! and yeah, i go to school at BC. what about you?

| BU

She says

| Guess we have to be enemies now

She jokes. He laughs at her message, amused by her playful joke.

| looks like it. guess i gotta hate your guts now

| What a shame, you seemed cool

He chuckles as he reads her message. He couldn't help but like her banter, it was refreshing.

| yeah, too bad. you seem pretty cool too, even if you're a BU student

| BU is objectively better. All my friends at BC have said so so 🤷‍♀️

He lets out a snort at her comment. It was all friendly banter, after all, but that didn't mean he was gonna take that lying down.

| yeah yeah, keep living in your denial, honey. BC is obviously superior

| you have friends at BC?

He asks her.

| Yeah, a few

She says. He raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk growing on his face.

| oh really? any cute ones?

| Well i mean they’re mostly guys so unless hockey players are your type they wouldn’t be to you 😭😭

She says.

| no fucking way you have friends on the hockey team. Who? I can’t have traitors on my team

Gabe jokes.

| You play there?

She asks. She hasn’t expected that.

| yeah, I play there. I'm gonna have to have a talk with them about their choice in friends. can't have them being friends with some BU girl, give me names

He texts playfully.

| Don’t beat up my friends Gabe, that’s not nice.

She teases.

| But if you must know, it’s Ryan and Fowler that i know from the team

Gabe lets out another chuckle at her response. He was enjoying this conversation more than he thought he would.

| ah, Leno and Fowls. I should've known. they're both idiots

He replies, his playful tone evident through the text.

| I’m assuming you’re the Gabe Perreault then? Leno talks about you sometimes, i’m surprised we haven’t met sooner tbh

| yeah, that's me. they talk about me, eh? what've they been saying?

| Lenny complains about how your rooms always a mess when he goes to visit you and Will 😹😹

She says.

| But seriously i’ve met like the whole team and have been to half of the games this season how have we never met??

Gabe laughs at her first statement. It was true, he was quite a messy person, but in his defense, the guys always barged right into his room without warning. He thinks for a moment, realizing she was right. How had they never met despite the fact that she'd been to many of the games and he hung out with the guys so regularly? He types out a response.

| tbh I have no idea. guess we just had some horrible luck with timing or something. I'm surprised Leno hasn't dragged you to one of our team parties yet

| oh god he invites me every time 😭😭 im starting to feel bad for turning him down. parties just aren’t my scene

| you mean to tell me you don't like a bunch of sweaty hockey players chugging shitty beer and trying to impress girls?

| Sounds like a dream

She jokes.

| Maybe i’ll be there this weekend tho.. only if you’re there of course. so we can meet in person finally

She hums. By now, her class is over and she’s walking through the halls back to her dorm, glancing up every few seconds to avoid running into people. Gabe's heart skips at her reply, and a wide smile spreads across his face. She was willing to come to one of the team's parties just to meet him?

| of course I'll be there. I'd be pretty pissed if I was the reason you missed out on such an amazing experience 😉

| Mhm sure 🙄

She jokes.

| I’ll see you saturday then 😉

He grins at her response, already looking forward to seeing her at the party.

| I look forward to it, sweetheart

He adds the nickname before he can think twice about it, then hits send, his heart racing a little in anticipation of her reply.

Saturday comes fast. She talks with Gabe a ton more throughout the week, getting to know him more, but she’s still nervous when she walks up to the door of the frat house on Saturday. She steps inside, music blaring. Ryan quickly spots her, breaking out into a huge smile. “There’s my favorite girl”, he says, squeezing her. “Lenny stop I can’t breathe”, she laughs and he lets go. “I’m glad you came”, he tells her. She smiles at him, “Me too.” She lets her eyes scan the room, looking for Gabe. She finds him in the corner on the opposite side of the room, talking with Will and some of the other guys from the team. Gabe's conversation with the guys is quickly interrupted as he suddenly catches a glimpse of her walking through the door. He pauses mid sentence, his eyes going wide as he takes her in. He'd had an idea in his head of what she'd look like in person, but the reality was much more stunning. His jaw nearly drops, and it takes every bit of his self control to keep a huge, dumbass grin off his face. Will notices his distracted state and gives him the side-eye. “You alright, bro?”, he asks, a knowing gleam in his eye. Gabe quickly snaps out of his reverie and composes himself, nodding in response to Will's question. “Yeah, I'm good,” he replies, trying to sound casual.

But inside, his heart was racing. He couldn't take his eyes off her, watching as she talked to Ryan and then scanned the room. He desperately wanted to go over and say something, but his legs felt like lead. Instead he stayed where he was, silently observing her from across the room. She makes eye contact with him, a smile breaking out on her face. The moment their eyes lock, Gabe's breath hitches in his throat. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips when he sees the smile she gives him, his heart doing a little backflip in his chest. He takes a few seconds to just stare at her, taking in the softness of her smile and the way her hair fell across her face. Then he shakes himself mentally, silently willing his feet to move towards her.

Will stops talking mid sentence as Gabe abandons their conversation, confused. Gabe completely tunes out Will and the rest of the guys, his focus solely on her. It's like his body is working on autopilot as he starts walking towards her, his heart hammering away in his chest. The sound of the party fades to background noise as he approaches her, his eyes still locked on hers. He finally reaches her, coming to a stop in front of her with a small, albeit somewhat nervous, grin on his face. “Hi”, she smiles when he’s finally in front of her. His heart skips a beat at the sound of her voice, soft and sweet like a melody. “Hi,” he replies, his voice coming out a little more breathless than he intended. He's suddenly glad the music is loud enough to cover his own voice cracking. He stands there for a moment, just looking at her, taking in her soft smile and sparkling eyes. He can't believe how beautiful she is in person.

Ryan looks between the two of them. “How do you know each other”, he cocks an eyebrow. Gabe is snapped out of his distraction. He'd almost completely forgotten about Ryan and the other guys standing nearby, watching the two of them interact. He turns to Ryan with a sheepish grin, running a hand through his messy hair. “Uh, well—”, he begins, searching for the right words. Will, who's been watching the whole scene with amusement, decides to join in the fun, “Oh, they've been texting all week.” He turns to her, confused. “Really?”, Leno asks. “Uh yeah. He texted me thinking I was someone else and we just kinda kept talking”, she shrugs. Ryan's eyes grow wide in surprise, “Wait, seriously? You two have been texting and you didn't think to tell me?” Will chimes in again, his tone teasing. “Oh yeah, they've been texting nonstop. I've had to listen to Gabe's endless ramblings about her all week.”

She turns to Gabe, a teasing grin on her face. “Endless ramblings huh?” Gabe sputters, his cheeks flushing red at Will's words. “Shut up, you jerk,” he mutters, shooting the other man a scowl. He then turns his attention back to her, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Don't listen to him, he's exaggerating,” he says, trying (and failing) to play it cool. “Awe Gabee”, she coos jokingly, “It’s okay I like that you talk about me” she winks at him. His heart does a backflip at her teasing tone, his stomach flipping with butterflies. He couldn't help the small grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, feigning annoyance. “Fine, I've been talking about you. Happy now?” Ryan makes a fake gagging noise at their blatant flirting. “No. No. I don’t like this”, he says. Gabe rolls his eyes at Ryan's exaggerated reaction, used to his antics by now.

Will, however, is having the time of his life watching the exchange between the three of them. He's openly smirking, clearly enjoying every second of the interaction. “Oh, come on, Ry,” Will teases. “They're cute! Lighten up a little, man.” “It’s weird”, he insists, turning to her, and putting his hands on her shoulders. “Him? Really?” he says, exasperated. She lets out a laugh at Ryan's dramatic response, finding his overprotectiveness entertaining. Gabe just crosses his arms, a slight hint of annoyance on his face. “What's so wrong with me, huh?”, he shoots back. Will snorts. “He's not that bad Len,” he chimes in, thoroughly amused by the entire situation. She rolls her eyes. “Yes Lenny, him.” “Damn, you're making me sound like I'm a total loser or something,” Gabe says with a dramatic sigh, though the grin on his face betrays his faux hurt tone. Ryan looks at her in disbelief, still unconvinced. “But him? Really? You can do better.” “What if I don’t want better?” she challenges, raising an eyebrow. “What if I want him?” Silence. Ryan visibly freezes up, his mouth hanging open dumbly as he tries to process her words. Will, meanwhile, lets out a low whistle and a wolf-whistle, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before him. Gabe, on the other hand, has to fight with all his might to keep a big, goofy, lovestruck smile off his face. He can't believe she just said that. “Go get a drink Lenny. Okay? You need it”, she says, patting his shoulder, Ryan grumbles but listens to her, Will following and leaving her and Gabe alone.

Gabe watches as the two men walk away, his heartbeat picking up speed as he suddenly finds himself alone with her. Now that it's just the two of them, away from their friends and the noisy party, the air between them seems to crackle with a new, almost palpable tension. He turns back to her, his cheeks still slightly flushed from her earlier words. “You really mean that?”, he asks softly, his eyes searching her face for a sign that maybe she was just joking. “Mean what?” she says, stepping closer to him. His hands fall to her hips instinctively. He swallows hard, suddenly very aware of how close she is. With her pressed up against him like that, he can smell the faint scent of her perfume, sweet and intoxicating. He tightens his grip on her hips involuntarily. “What you said earlier,” he says quietly, his body practically thrumming with the desire to pull her even closer. “That you want me.” “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t would I?”, she asks. “I’ve never accepted one of Lenny’s invitations to his parties before”, she hums. His heart flutters in his chest at her words, a mixture of relief and delight washing over him. So, it wasn't a joke. She really did want him.

His fingers on her hips gently squeeze, pulling her flush against him, her soft curves molding against his muscular frame. She was so close he could feel her warm breath on his skin and it was driving him crazy. He leans down, his lips almost brushing against her ear as he murmurs, “You're gonna give me an ego.” “Oh don’t act like you don’t already have one”, she jokes. He lets out a soft huff of laughter, his breath warm against her skin. “You've got me pegged,” he murmurs, his lips still lingering by her ear. He couldn't deny it, he did have a certain level of confidence, but that didn't mean her words didn't have an effect on him. It was different, hearing her say it. His hands on her hips begin tracing small, feather-light circles with his thumbs, his fingertips just barely slipping under the hem of her shirt. “Mmh I do don’t I?” she says, bringing her hands up to rest on his chest, toying with the chain that’s hanging around his neck. The feeling of her hands on his chest, the touch of her fingers playing with his necklace, sends a jolt of electricity through his body. Her touch was like a damn drug, every little contact making his mind go all fuzzy with need.

He lets out a soft groan, his fingers on her hips moving to rest firmly against her lower back, pressing her even closer. “God, you're killing me,” he whispers, his voice low and husky. She cracks another smile, “I’m not even doing anything.” He huffs out a breath, his eyes flicking down to her lips for a brief moment before returning to her eyes. “That's exactly the problem. You're just standing here, looking all beautiful and saying those things to me...” His hands on her back slide down, fingers slipping just below the waistband of her jeans, gently caressing the soft skin there. She leans up on her toes, her voice low as she speaks into his ear. “Then why don’t you do something about it, Perreault?” Those few words, spoken in that low, sultry voice completely snap whatever restraint he had left. He releases a strangled sound, a mix between a moan and a growl. Within a second, he has her pressed up against a nearby wall, pinning her in place with the weight of his body. His hands grip her hips, holding her in place as he cages her in. “You're asking for trouble, you know that?”, he whispers, his lips hovering just millimeters above hers. “I’m not asking for anything I can’t handle”, she hums.

Her confidence was going to be the death of him. He lets out a low, strained chuckle at her words. “Jesus,” he mutters, his eyes traveling down to her lips. “You have absolutely no idea what you do to me, do you?”, his fingers dig into her hips a little harder, his body pressing even more firmly against hers. He was already half-hard just from her boldness and her proximity. “Why don’t you show me?”, she hums, looking up into his eyes. Gabe stands there stunned for a moment. How the hell did he find someone so perfect? “What’s it gonna be Perreault? You gonna make a move or am I gonna have to go find someone else?”, she says. Those words? That hint of tease and challenge in her voice? That’s the final straw. He can't take it anymore. With a low growl, he finally closes the distance and captures her lips in a kiss, pouring all the pent-up desire and need into it. His hands on her hips pull her even closer, not wanting a single inch of space between them. The kiss is rough, demanding, and possessive, like he's been aching to do this for far too long.

She smiles into it. He deepens the kiss, his tongue swiping across her bottom lip, seeking entry. His hands continue exploring her body, greedy for every inch of her. In this moment, he forgets all about the party, the people around them, everything. The only thing that matters is her, the way she feels, tastes, sounds. Even the need for air takes a backseat as he loses himself in her completely. Her hands fist his shirt, trying to pull him closer. He pulls away and she gasps, sucking in air. “Holy shit”, she laughs. Gabe takes a moment to catch his breath himself, his forehead resting against hers. He's panting and his head is spinning from the intensity of that kiss. He can feel her hands gripping his shirt, her fingers clenched like she's trying to hold onto him, and a rush of desire floods through him. He lets out a breathless laugh at her curse. “Yeah, holy shit is right,” he says, his voice low and rough. She tugs softly where her hands are still curled into his shirt. “Take me upstairs?”, she asks, voice soft.

The request, spoken in that soft, breathy voice, is like music to his ears. He doesn't need to be told twice. He quickly scoops her up and in one easy movement, she's off the ground, legs wrapped around his hips as he carries her towards the stairs. The journey up the staircase felt torturously slow, his mind consumed with the feel of her body pressed against him and the heat pooling in his lower abdomen. He lays her on his bed, draping himself over her. Her eyes staring up at him, all flushed and breathless, is a vision he knows he'll never forget. The way she looked, all spread out under him on his bed, with her hair fanned out across his pillows... it stirred something primal, possessive in him. He lowers himself down on top of her, bracing his weight on his forearms on either side of her head, trapping her beneath him. “Damn,” he murmurs under his breath, his gaze roaming over her face. “You're so beautiful.” He dips his head down, his lips finding the hollow of her throat. He presses soft, almost reverent kisses along her skin, trailing a path from her jaw down to the base of her neck. His hands slide up under the hem of her shirt, roaming over her soft skin. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. “Gabe”, she gasps out as he nips over her pulse point. “Need you, please”, she whines softly.

Her words, the way she gasped his name like a prayer, her plea, it sent a jolt of heat straight to his core. God, how he loved hearing her say those words, begging for him like that. He lifts his head from her neck and captures her gaze, eyes darkened with desire. “Yeah? You need me, huh?”, he murmurs, his thumbs rubbing over her hip bones. He can feel her hips arching up slightly into his touch, seeking more contact. Every little sign of her need, her desire, only served to fuel his own. He tugs at the hem of her shirt. “Off. Take this off,” he murmurs against her skin, his voice low and husky with need. She pulls it over her head. The sight before him, her lying there in just her bra, her skin flushed and marked with pink from his kiss, nearly makes him lose his mind. He lets out a low moan, his eyes roving over her body. “God, you're so damn perfect,” he murmurs, his hands returning to her body, fingers tracing feather-like touches along her ribs. He dips his head down again, his lips and tongue finding her collarbone. He nips and kisses a path along it, leaving small marks in his wake. His fingers trail lower, toying with the waistband of her jeans, teasing the soft skin just above it. “Can I take these off?,” he husks against her shoulder, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear her say it. She nods. “Please”, she says again.

The way she asks, so needy and desperate, it nearly has him undone. He doesn't need to be told twice. He swiftly unbuttons her jeans and starts pulling them down her legs, his hands roaming over her thighs as he goes. He gets them off quickly, discarding them on the floor somewhere. He runs his hands up the insides of her thighs, his touch feather-light as he caresses her soft, sensitive skin. He loves watching her squirm and gasp under his touch, the way her breath hitches when he brushes over her inner thigh with his fingers. He moves up her body, his hands skimming over her hips and stomach, caressing every curve and dip, until his face is level with hers. “You have no idea the things I want to do to you right now,” he murmurs, eyes fixated on hers. The sound that bubbles up in her throat is borderline pornographic. “Do them. I’m yours”, she says, her eyes lidded with desire. Those words, spoken in that sultry, almost purring voice, nearly send him over the edge. His lips crash into hers, the kiss hungry, desperate. His tongue slides into her mouth, seeking hers. His hands roam over her body, claiming her, making sure she could feel every inch of his touch. “Mine,” he growls against her lips, his fingers digging into her hip. “You're mine.” “M’yours”, she gasps again, “All yours.”

—

a/n; My favorite part from this is:

“Him? Really?” he says, exasperated. She lets out a laugh at Ryan's dramatic response, finding his overprotectiveness entertaining. Gabe just crosses his arms, a slight hint of annoyance on his face. “What's so wrong with me, huh?”, he shoots back.

As always this is based off of one of my c.ai chats! Feedback is welcomed! Love you guys and thank you for reading!

[jasontoddscrowbars]

(Batjokes headcanon)

Bruce supervising the boys or someone else doing work on something.

Maybe Jay on his bike.

Tim on his computer.

Alfred cleaning.

And just being that dad that has his hand behind his back trying to suggest better ways, help, manage the situation.

Getting kicked out.

—

One day Bruce was leaving a shady company meeting. Of course he saw Joker in the alley behind working on some sort of contraption. He was about to contact Dick and Jay to come handle it when he heard a drill and a mix of curse words and hysteric giggles.

"Hey, B," Dick answered.

Vrrrr- chunk! Vrrrr-shlink!

"Hee-hee,” thump, “FUCK!"

"Hi-uh-"

Joker climbed on top of this metal box. He seemed to be drilling into it but kept slipping. It was shamefully embarrassing.

"Bruce?"

Curiosity got the better of him. He pressed the red phone button on his screen and slowly began to head into the alley. Joker could flip on him like a switch leaving him no choice but to defend himself so he had to be cautious not to trigger him. Joker seemed to pretty invested though.

He was drilling away into a heavy duty bolt on the box.

"What are you doing?"

Joker flew up, the drill being pointed at Bruce. As Bruce just deadpanned at the clown who was panting, Joker realized he was pointing a tool at him and not a gun and began breaking down laughing.

"Hahahaha! Look at that," he said flicking the drill as if shooting it off, "pew. Pew, pew."

"What are you doing?" Bruce asked dryly.

Joker angled his head curiously. Bruce worried he might be acting too familiar with him, too Batman like so he shifted tones. Slipping his hands in his pocket and nodded to the box. Joker turned to it. Laughed again as if he found it the damnedest thing.

"Opening a gift."

"With a drill?"

Joker lifted the drill up towards himself. Aimed it at himself. Felt the impulse to now pretend to shoot himself with it as 'pew'ed' it at his nose. His giggle as he did it was irritating as ever.

"You do realize you are doing it wrong."

Joker stared at him a moment. His bright red lips folded in as he thought things over.

“Shooting myself?”

Bruce wanted to face palm. Seeing it, Joker let out a single loud laugh. Right, why was Bruce entertaining him again. Joker suddenly shifted moods though as his head craned in the opposite directions almost bird like.

“Have I ever failed to get things done?” He retorted.

“Multiple times.”

“Haha,” Joker leaned back on the box until he was flat against it.

His spread his arms wide as he heaved a big sigh. He looked almost seductive as he stretched his body out in an arch and snarled. Bruce’s knees hurt just staring at him. Was impressed he could still bend like that. He suddenly popped up making Bruce start which amused both of them greatly; Bruce mostly because as Batman he would have never let Joker surprise him. He really must have his guard lowered. Joker bounced on his knees a bit.

“I like you Mr Wayne.”

It was Bruce’s turn to fold his lips in.

“You know me.”

“You know me,” Joker half mimicked, half replied.

That he did, Bruce agreed, who didn’t know the mass murdering, clown idiot? Then again, who wouldn’t know Bruce Wayne the playboy, billionaire idiot?

Bruce neared now, gave a nod to the box.

“You use a different kind of drill to open screws like that. My guess is you were told to use a drill and you took it literally?”

Jokers eyes rolled a bit. His lips crept up in a wide grin now. The drill fell from his fingers hitting the box with a loud thump. As it went to hit the ground, Bruce couldn’t help but flex to catch it so he wouldn’t have to hear an obnoxious thunk that’d make his headache worsen. As he hovered it midair, he felt sharp eyes on him.

He wondered if Joker hadn’t done it on purpose. Joker might seem so silly but he was ridiculously smart and calculative. Bruce’s guess was that his appearance here wasn’t coincidence at all. He might have even known Bruce was here- Bruce might have even been his objective.

Bruce tossed the drill up slightly to readjust it in his hand before setting it on the ground a few feet away to maintain distance. As he raised his eyes to Joker, he was shocked to meet them so calm.

“Wrong drill, you say?” Joker purred.

Bruce slowly nodded at the peculiarity of him. Could guess this was the side of the man that convinced his way into getting what he wanted.

“You need me to show you?”

A new type of smile flashed across Joker now.

“You gunna drill me, Brucie,” he giggled.

“No,” Bruce flatly laid out.

Joker just roared at that almost as if he doubted it.

“But I’ll teach you to fucking use a real tool like a proper man,” he said nodding to a tool box behind the metal cube, “cmon.”

—

As they wrapped up, Joker was just lightly watching as Bruce tossed the last screw aside. He had these fascinated big eyes of awe and wonder that none of the Robins, Bruce’s workers, or especially Alfred offered him when he offered to help.

It sort of felt nice to be needed and actually be valued for it.

“Alright,” he said tapping the steel walls that were still locked together, “they should be ready to take down.”

Joker excitedly clapped now. Tossed his arms around Bruce as he smacked a very unexpected kiss right across Bruce’s lips. Bruce shoved him back as he aggressively wiped at his face only smearing the industry grade product. He took that as his cue to leave. As he began to exit the alley though, he did come to a pause. Glanced back seeing Joker hugging the box.

“Hey!”

Joker lit up as he peaked at him but didn’t leave the box. In fact, he had this look about him. An almost daring, suggestive one that was screaming you’d be coming back for more, I know it. Bruce knew he was a tease but this seemed to take it to a whole new level. A level Bruce didn’t care to go down- at least not the way Joker wanted to. Joker patted his box again as he taunted Bruce almost knowing what he was going to ask.

“What is in that box?” Bruce afforded him.

“Oh?”

Joker then aggressively tucked his fingers along the seam of the panel making them fall in a heavy slow motion that picked up speed. It echoed it a painful bang that made Bruce want to cry. He didn’t cry at that though. He internally sobbed at the blinking giant mix of wires haphazardly wrapped around dozens of red sticks.

“A bomb!”

Bruce… Bruce helped him open up a bomb…. And…

“It’s not even well made!” He snapped storming back into the alley.

“I used the drill,” Joker giggled in defense.

Bonus: (if you like how it is, stop. Mild batjokes…jokes)

—

Dick and Jason stared at each other from across a roof top. Had been suspicious from Bruce’s sudden hang up, dressed in their costumes and ran. They weren’t entirely surprised to see Bruce helping Joker with learning to use drills for twenty minutes but the bomb was a surprise.

“Should we stop him?” Dick asked.

“Ehhhh. I’m sure he’ll fix it somewhere so it can’t work,” Jason said opening a bag of chips.

Dick furrowed his brows as he watched Joker latch to Bruce’s back while giggling like a cat.

“What- what’s happening here? Are they flirting?”

“Hmm?” Jason asked, “oh? Joker doesn’t want to fuck.”

Dick turned to Jason unsure.

“You think?”

“I know. Things are brewing down there. New sorts of feelings. Hero’s and archenemies always got feels, Dick.”

Dick didn’t feel so positive about that.

“But Joker wants Bruce to commit murder with him. That’s his get off. Bruce’s get off? Bruce wants to fuck.”

“What?!”

They both turned around finding Tim and Damian. Tim turned slamming his boot into Damian’s side kicking sending Damian off the roof.

“What the hell!” Dick exclaimed popping up to go rescue him.

“He’ll not thank me when he can’t remember any of this.”

“Right call,” Jason agreed.

[aurumacadicus]

I hope you guys screech at this new intimacy I am throwing at your face:

Bucky paused with his t-shirt halfway into his duffel bag, fabric pooling in his hands as he stared at frayed edges in the middle of the collar. "...What the fuck...?"

"What's up?" Steve called out, coming out of the bathroom with their shaving bags. He tossed Bucky's to him and swung around the bed to his own duffel. "You good?"

"You know, you'd think SHIELD could afford a safe house without mice," Bucky complained, scowling. He turned, turning his shirt so that Steve could see the nibbled hem.

To his surprise, instead of laughing at him, Steve frowned, brows furrowing together in confusion. "You too? I don't think it's mice, because I started noticing that when I was packing at the tower. Same place." He grabbed a shirt and held it up so Bucky could see it, and as he'd said, there was a gnawed-on hem just like his.

Bucky turned his shirt back around, frowning at broken threads. It was weird that they were in the same spot on every one of his t-shirts, and that Steve was apparently suffering from the same problem. The SHIELD safe house might have mice, even though this seemed to be one of the nicer ones. The tower absolutely wouldn't, though. "...Problem at the dry cleaning service?" he finally asked, looking back up at Steve.

"I don't put my undershirts through the service. I wash them myself," Steve answered, distracted, then lifted his head to blink at him. "You send your t-shirts through?"

"I can't be bothered to sort," Bucky retorted.

"...Hmm," Steve answered after a beat, staring him down, then turned to shove his shirt back into his bag. "I'll bring it up with Tony in the morning."

Bucky immediately stuffed his remaining clothes into his duffel bag, because the sooner they got back to the tower, the better. Not that the mission had especially sucked, but there was just something missing without Tony pinned safely between them in bed. SHIELD would probably prefer for them to wait for an official vehicle the next morning, but they technically didn't have to, and Steve was all about sticking to those technicalities.

.-.

They tromped back into the penthouse at two in the morning, and they dropped all there bags and gear in the living room to make sure that they didn't disturb Tony with too much shuffling around. The bedroom was dim enough that Tony could sleep peacefully, but not dark enough that their enhanced sight couldn't maneuver the room, just in case they came in early, which they appreciated. Bucky started on his protective circle of the room while Steve made is way over to the bed so he could press a kiss to Tony's forehead like he always did as soon as he saw him.

"...You've gotta be kidding me," Steve muttered under his breath, and then, "Psst. Bucky. Quit lurking and come here."

"I'm not fucking lurking," Bucky groused, but he obediently made his way over to the bed.

Steve rolled his eyes and shook his head, amused. Then he motioned down at the bed. Bucky dropped his gaze to where Steve had indicated, wondering what Tony could possibly be doing. "...My shirt," he gasped, stunned. Tony was wearing one of his soft gray t-shirts, and he was almost distracted by the way it had ridden up on his hip, his modesty covered only by one of the sheets he hadn't quite kicked off.

Almost distracted from the fact that Tony had the hem of his collar between his lips, suckling on it in his sleep. As he watched, Tony drew the fabric further into his mouth to begin chewing on it, hands curling in closer to his chest.

"Looks like our little mouse is right here," Steve teased, reaching out to gently trace his thumb over Tony's cheekbone.

"Can't even be mad," Bucky huffed, lifting a hand to rub it over his face. "That's so fuckin' cute."

"Guess we'll have to buy some more shirts," Steve added, leaning down to finally press a kiss to Tony's forehead.

"Tony can buy us more shirts," Bucky corrected, circling the bed to crawl in behind him. He could forgo his checking of doors and windows for just one night. Tony wouldn't sleep so soundly if he didn't feel totally safe anyway.

[cakerybakery]

Adam was hyperventilating, but Lucifer was too tired and puky to do much but ask a bit more snivelly than he would like to admit, "is that why I can't shape shift?"

Bel paused in her packing up and looked at him curiously. "When did you stop being able to shape shift?"

He groaned as his stomach started doing flips. The anti-nausea medication hadn't kicked in yet and he grabbed the bucket Adam had left for him earlier.

That snapped Adam out his freak out and he was quickly pressing a lukewarm damp cloth to Lucifer's forehead as an attempt to help.

"I got you babe."

In an almost warm gesture for the normally detached doctor, Belphegor smiled lightly and touched Lucifer's shoulder.

His stomach settled and his pains subsided.

Adam joined him on the bed and Lucifer sank into Adam's arms.

"About a month now." He admitted after a little mental math.

She shook her head slowly. "Then no. The test spells I ran showed that you conceived a little over three weeks ago. It's only just implanted and my tests barely caught it. You may start having early symptoms of pregnancy in the coming days if you haven't already. But the pregnancy wouldn't affect your shape shifting abilities normally anyway. I see nothing in the tests that would indicate a reason for it either." Belphegor finished packing up. "I'll see to the sinners under your care next. Please see to scheduling a follow up for your pregnancy and the shape shifting."

Belphegor didn't bother with a goodbye and Lucifer didn't hold it against her. She only had so much energy and she came all this way over a little food poisoning. Bel must have been very concerned to make the trip herself.

Her favouritism towards Charlie was as evident as ever, as well. He was the king and she still made sure Charlie was alright first.

Lucifer pouted a little at that.

Adam rested his head on Lucifer's and groaned. "I'm too old to be a dad again." One of Adam's hands slipped over Lucifer's stomach.

He laid his own hand over it.

Bel's powers would sooth his stomach for a little bit and he enjoyed the reprieve.

"I'm too tired to think about that."

"It's all I can think about."

They cuddled in silence until Adam remembered the broth. Lucifer finished his food and Adam put him to bed.

By morning he was feeling a lot better.

Physically.

For once he was awake before Adam, who had cleaned up the room during the night. Adam was still wrapped around him, cozy and warm.

There was too much going on. It was overwhelming. How was he supposed to prove Adam wasn't unloveable now? He barely had a plan before. And it wasn't even a good one. Lucifer was just making it up as he went along. Trying to show Adam that he was there for him and that that meant someone cared about him, because that's all he could do.

He did care for Adam.

Adam was his friend and maybe a bit more. He definitely liked Adam, as more than a friend, and as a friend. And he didn't quite know what to think about all that.

Now they were going to have a baby and Lucifer didn't know how to feel. It was all muddled up in his brain. And he still couldn't shape shift back to his male form. And he felt gross and- and it was too much.

Lucifer tried to cry quietly as the tears slipped out without permission, but Adam woke anyway and pulled him tight. "You okay?"

He wiped his eyes and put on a happy voice, "of course!"

"I may not be the devil, but I know lying when I hear it." Adam buried his head into Lucifer's hair and played dirty. "Pretty sure Charlie said something about not hiding your pain from those you love. Guess you don't love me."

Adam yelped as Lucifer pinched his thigh.

"And I'm pretty sure Charlie would say that you're being manipulative." Lucifer crossed his arms and pouted.

"Maybe just a little." Adam teased a bit before turning serious. "Really though. I'm trying with this whole, I'm not unlovable thing, but... you know, it, I dunno, hurts and, fuck. You're making me say feelings and shit. Just tell me what the fuck is wrong."

Lucifer couldn't help but snicker at Adam's exasperation.

"If you weren't still sick, I'd pinch you back." He grumbled in Lucifer's ear.

"You can't pinch me even when I'm not sick! I'm pregnant." Lucifer squirmed as Adam's hands ran over his body and threatened to pinch him.

Adam's mouth was on his neck and the corse hair of his not yet shaved cheeks scratched. "Tell daddy what's the matter or I'll be forced to punish you, princess."

Lucifer's breath hitched and he let out a little moan. He was still too sick to act on the growing horniness, but Adam seems to have unlocked another new kink Lucifer didn't know he had.

He could practically hear Adam grin.

"My princess likes the sound of that. So how about you tell daddy what's wrong and then-"

"Adam," Lucifer groaned. "Love the talk. But if I move much more than I have, I'm upchucking on the floor."

That settled Adam down.

"It's just all so overwhelming." He pulled Adam's arms tighter around him. "I just want to get something off my plate before dealing with anything new. Can we put this on pause until I feel better?"

"Yeah." Adam agreed. "But when you're better, we should talk about everything."

Adam let him go and stretched.

"In the meanwhile, I'll go find you some breakfast."

He thanked Adam and curled up under the covers.

Once he was alone, he touched his stomach. "The fuck are we going to do?"

He didn't bother to knock, Lucifer should consider himself lucky Adam put underwear on, instead he just opened the door to Lucifer's suit with the master key he swiped from the front desk.

Lucifer looked up from the novel he was reading in bed, his dorky little reading glasses perched on his barely existant snout, and he frowned in confusion.

Before Lucifer could say anything, Adam lifted the covers of the large bed and climbed in. He laid his head down on the pillow he dragged with him from his room, clicked off the bedside table lamp on his side, and muttered a good night.

"Uhh, what are you doing?" Lucifer finally asked.

"Going to bed."

"This is my room."

"Yup."

"Why are you in my room?"

"My bed is too small." Adam rolled over to face Lucifer and to prove a point. "See, I barely fit this one with my horns, and a bigger bed won't fit in my room."

Lucifer put a bookmark in the novel and set it, and his glasses down on the bedside table. "Adam, why are you in my bed?"

"I knew your bitch ass would make the bed big enough for Lilith." Adam grinned smugly at being right. "She's not coming back, loser. She said so herself."

"Get out of my room."

Adam buried himself deeper under the covers. "Fucking make me."

In a blink, Adam was dropped back on his on bed.

That didn't deter him. He could be just as stubborn as that old goat.

He was back up to Lucifer's penthouse in minutes.

Over and over it went. Adam being sent back to his own bed, and breaking back into Lucifer's room until he tried to open the door and Lucifer slammed it shut.

"NO! Go sleep in your own bed, asshole."

"Would if I could, freak." Adam slammed against the door and it shuttered.

"Why can't you just sleep in your own bed?" Lucifer's hooves slipped a bit on the carpet.

"Because the bed-"

"Bullshit! I can tell when people are lying! You'd be fine even if it was too small. Tell the fucking truth!"

Adam stopped. He let go of the handle and left.

He'd rather cut his own tongue out.

There was a faint, "Adam?" Behind him. He pretended not to hear.

Back down in his room, Adam flopped down on the bed.

"So, why did you want to sleep in my bed?"

He jolted up at the sound of Lucifer's voice and realized he was back in Lucifer's room.

Lucifer had the covers over his legs and was resting his head on his knees.

Adam stared until Lucifer turned golden around the edges and looked anywhere but at Adam.

He stared at Lucifer's bare arms and chest. Lucifer was thin, but not really scrawny. His normally styled hair down.

The atmosphere had shifted.

Light from Lucifer's bedside table was no longer bright and intrusive on sleep, instead it softened the edges of Lucifer's body, it was fire keeping the dark at bay.

"Turn off the light." He requested at last.

Lucifer clicked the light off and huffed, "this better be worth it."

Darkness swallowed their faces and Adam spoke quietly. "I can't sleep alone."

A hand touched his arm.

"Earth was," how did he describe Earth without sounding like a wimp? "Dangerous. Even in Heaven I couldn't sleep alone."

The hand patted his arm.

"Okay. You can stay."

There was rustling and the two settled into bed under the covers.

The sound of Lucifer's breathing was all it took. Adam's eyes were heavy and he easily fell asleep. Feeling safe and comfortable in hell for the first time since he fell.

[andromedathefairy]

Grayscale glitter

Chapter 1 - Grayscale glitter and blood

ranvika x reader, ran x sevika x reader blood, injury, angst, very little fluff, throuple, injured!Ran, worried!Sevika, asshole!Silco, mentioned!Reveck Summary: In a mission that went wrong Ran loses their right hand. Both Reader and Sevika feel responsible for Ran’s condition, and the guilt and worry slowly devouring them as they are waiting for Ran to wake up. word count: 3,2k sorry, not proofread.

The dim lights hurt your eyes. You jiggled your legs nervously as you sat on the run-down bench. It was quiet, too quiet in the corridor, and behind the white door you looked upon from time to time. The antiseptic’s odor already filled your lungs, you hated this smell. You guessed that an hour has already passed since you brought them in. The doctor started to take care of Ran at once, but he did tell you to not get your hopes up. Hope was a futile thing in Zaun.

Your tears already dried up, you had nothing more left in you. You didn’t even want to think about what would happen if Ran wouldn’t make it. You cursed everything and everyone. They would be in much better care if you weren’t from Zaun. All you had in Zaun was Reveck, and you simply couldn’t let him treat Ran, so you called in your favor with a doctor who moved to Zaun from Piltover to help the poor. He was against Silco’s shady dealings, so he refused to treat Silco’s men, but you helped him a lot back in the days when he and his family came to Zaun, he owed you one.

You tried to figure out what went wrong during the assignment, but you couldn’t pinpoint it to just one thing. You had a bad feeling about this job from the beginning. These new suppliers were even shadier than the usual ones. They changed the location plenty of times and with every new location the price of their supply also went higher and higher. You know something would go haywire, you felt it in your guts, as did the others, but none of you were in position to say no to Silco. You all seen Silco’s wrath and you really didn’t need it. He really wanted this stuff, Reveck needed it to stabilize Shimmer even further.

All these horrible things happened because of the weird looking liquid from Shurima, illegally gathered and pressed from a rare plant that can withstand the desert’s evil nature, then smuggled by pirates from Bilgewater. Doing business with these rats from Bilgewater always ended with serious injuries. They constantly tried to fuck over everyone they did business with. However, a little bit of fighting here and there didn’t hurt, you were always prepared for that. But this was different.

You left your crew outside, and with Ran you walked into the warehouse where you had to meet with the pirates. Both of you were prepared for a fight, because you knew this meeting was a trap, and all you needed to do was to buy time until Sevika and her crew raided the pirates’ ship. But neither of you thought that the pirates would risk their own lives so they could blow you two up. Ran pushed you out of the way of one of the bombs, but the shrapnel and the different fragments injured both of you. In the explosion Ran’s right hand got the worst of it. You saw that their injury was bad, and they were losing blood rapidly, so you just tried to compress their arm and get to the doctor as fast as you could. You sent a word with one of your crewmates, so the doctor would be ready for Ran, while the others scoured and cleaned up the warehouse and the remaining pirates.

The fact that you had no idea what’s going on in the operating room drove you to the edge of madness. You couldn’t lose Ran. You just couldn’t. You also didn’t know what you would say to Sevika. “Hey Sev, I fucked up, and Ran died. I hope no hard feelings.” That was a hard pass. All you could do was praying to every god and goddess you knew existed.

Another half an hour passed when you heard footsteps. You looked up, and you saw Sevika and Silco closing in on you. Sevika was still dirty and bloody.

“Hey, what happened?” Sevika asked as she kneeled before you. You couldn’t look her into the eyes. “We got back from the harbor and the others told us that the warehouse got blown up.”

You tried to speak, but no sound came out of your mouth. You wanted to tell Sevika how Ran saved your life, how sorry you were. How you wished it would be you inside the operating room instead of Ran. Your eyes filled up with tears and started to roll down on your face. Sevika turned down her voice in hopes that only you could hear her, even though you knew that Silco figured out long ago that the three of you were in an established relationship. He didn’t really care until all three of you got the work done. And you did. Even if it meant risking your lives.

“Doll, it’s okay.” Sevika whispered as she grabbed your chin and raised your head so your eyes would meet. You just shook your head, and you descend onto Sevika’s shoulders. She quietly embraced you and held you tightly. She slowly stroked your back. Minutes passed when you finally started to calm down and Sevika helped you back to the run-down bench. She dried up your tears with the last inch of her clothes that were not covered in dirt or blood.

 “Did they really blow up the warehouse while their men were also in?”

You just nodded. You remembered Ran’s screams as they pushed you away. It all happened way too fast. You weren’t prepared for this. Then all the pain and the blood, and Ran’s painful moaning.

“Hey, Ran will be okay.” Sevika tried to reassure you as they caressed your hands. “They are a tough one, don’t worry.”

“Ran saved me, Sev. I will never forgive myself if they… if they…” you tried to finish your sentence, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to say out loud the possibility that they could die. You felt like an invisible hand grabbed your heart and squeezed it violently.

“Love is a useless thing.” Silco said as he slowly turned to you. “It’s only going to cause you pain, it’s only going to make you weak.” he spit out the last words while he set his tie straight.

Sevika grunted as she looked at him. Your heartbeat became faster, you clenched your fists and tightened your jaw.

“I told you this many times, Sevika.” Silco continued preachingly, like he was talking to a child who refused to behave. “All of these emotions are just making you weak.”

You jumped up, you were eager to show him how weak your emotions made you, but as you stood up, you almost collapsed, you became dizzy, the whole world was spinning with you. The adrenaline left your body, and the pain started to spread in your body, regardless of how much you tried to ignore it. Sevika quickly gave you a leg up.

“Look at your girl.” Silco pointed at you. “If she wouldn’t be this worried about Ran, she would’ve already gotten medical attention. Her arms are full of shrapnel and her nose and mouth are still bleeding. Love makes you weak.”

“Enough!” Sevika said with an icy voice. Her face was blank, but you saw that her mouth twitched with anger. She had to behave when she was around Silco, but you were sure if anyone would’ve talked about you three in this manner, they would be already dead.

Silco turned at Sevika with his full body, he was just about to say something clever when the operation room’s door opened.

The doctor looked like he had been through hell also, but he let out a small smile as he looked at you. “Don’t worry, Ran will make it. They lost a lot of blood, and had many shrapnel in their body, I got them out, cleaned and closed the wounds, but…” he just stopped.

“What but?!” you cried out in fear. You felt like your blood turned to ice.

“Their right hand.” The doctor gulped. “There was no saving it. I’m sorry.”

Sevika stared at the doctor with disbelief. “Ran lost their right hand?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“I always thought…” your whole body started to shake, a teardrop ran down on your face. “Ran will lose their hand in arm-wrestling.”

“Fuck, me too.” Sevika replied with a big sigh as she pulled you closer to give both of you comfort.

“I’m sure Doctor Reveck would’ve been able to save Ran’s hand.” Silco said confidently. His face showed disgust. You stepped forward to give him your piece of mind, but Sevika softly pulled you back, and squeezed your waist.

The doctor let out a cold laugh. “Well, unlike Reveck, I still have my soul, Silco. Now leave. I will only tolerate these two here.” he said as he pointed at Sevika and you.

“Careful, Doctor.” Silco said as he straightened up. “It would be really sad if something would happen to this cozy little clinic.”

Goosebumps ran through you. Sevika clenched her jaw, her squeeze on your waist became even more tight.

“Nothing will happen to the clinic.” the doctor replied with a smile. He hated Silco, but he also refused to be intimated by him. He knew all too well, that even more Zaunite would turn on Silco if he would burn down his clinic.

Silco grimaced as he looked down on the doctor. “We will see.” he said it as a promise, while he walked away. You stared at the closing door behind Silco, then slowly you’re the initial shock that he would burn down the clinic left, and your worries for Ran returned.

“Can we… can we... see them?” you stuttered.

“I… no. Not yet. Ran needs to rest and you need medical attention, come.” the doctor gestured you to follow him. He led you two to a small doctor’s office. He cleaned up your wounds and patched you up. Sevika sat beside you in silence, her hand is on your leg. Every inch of your body was sore.

“Sevika.” the doctor started as he covered the last of your injuries on your face with a red liquid.

“I won’t let Silco burn down this place.” Sevika replied in an instant.

“Why, thank you. It’s good to know that Silco’s right hand have some common sense.” the doctor said with a smile on his face. “But that’s not what I wanted to tell. I used all my strong painkillers and sedatives during the operation. When Ran wakes up, they will need more. All I have left is strong enough to treat a headache, not a pain they will have to endure. You have the means to get more, am I correct?” he asked as he finished taking care of you.

Sevika let out a long sigh. “You are. Show me what you need, Doc.”

“This way.” he said. You stood up with Sevika. “No, you stay.” you wanted to argue but Sevika nodded and kissed your forehead.

“I will be right back, don’t worry. Then we will go home and come back to see Ran first thing in the morning. Okay?” she asked you with a soft voice.

“Promise?” you replied with a weak voice. You felt scared and utterly tired.

“Promise, Angel.” Sevika said as she kissed your cheeks.

They were away only for a few minutes, and when they returned the doctor handed you a small lollipop. You furrowed your brows.

“You don’t want it?” the doctor asked with a playful tone.

“I… didn’t said that.” you replied. You took the lollipop and started to lick it. It had a sweet, but weird taste.

“It has a little ginger and turmeric in it. Should help you with the pain.”

 “Thanks, Doc. For everything.” you said as you took a deep breath.

With that you bid farewell and walked home. Sevika helped you to shower, then she also took one.

You were sitting in bed, waiting for Sevika to finish. She took longer than she usually did. When she got out of the bathroom she didn’t even look at you, she gathered her everyday clothes and dressed up.

“Where are you going?” you asked her surprised.

“To Piltover. Getting the meds the Ran going to need.” she replied dryly.

“No, come to bed, please. You need to rest, Sevika.” you wanted to include, that you also needed her, but you didn’t. “We will figure something out in the morning.”

Sevika stared at you, you couldn’t read her face.

“You are right.” she said after a few minutes as she thrown her cape to the armchair. She hopped into the bed and laid her head onto your chest. You enjoyed the heat that was radiating from her body. You didn’t need long to fall asleep. You had fewer dreams about the warehouse, and you heard Ran’s screams repeatedly in your dreams.

You woke up at sunrise and Sevika was already gone. You had a feeling she wouldn’t stay put, but you hoped she slept at least a little. The apartment felt empty without them. You got used to Ran’s sleepy voice and slopy kisses on the mornings, just as Sevika’s deep sighs and mad gazes when she was late because of Ran and you.

You heard the front door open whilst you were preparing your coffee. You got Sevika’s mug – a mug with a big “Fuck off” written on it - too from the kitchen counter.

“Good morning.” Sevika greeted you. A bag was hanging from her shoulders. She put it down with a thud. You didn’t reply to her, you just poured the coffee into the mugs and handed her mug to her.

“Angel?” Sevika asked you. You sipped your coffee.

“Why couldn’t you wait? I told you we would sort it out in the morning.” you questioned her. You wanted to be mad at her, but you just couldn’t.

“I just called in a few favors.” she sat down and put up her feet to the other chair.

“You could’ve used those favors for something else too.” you scolded her. Favors in Piltover didn’t come easy. Sevika let out a weak chuckle.

“You also called in a favor so Ran wouldn’t end up Reveck’s operation table. We are in this together. Remember, Doll?” Sevika reminded you.

“I couldn’t let Ran just be an another test subject. They... they are our love, Sev. I couldn’t.” you confessed with an aching heart. Even the thought of Reveck experimenting on Ran made you mad. You all saw what happened to Deckard. You squeezed your mug so hard it was a probability that it would shatter.

“I know.” Sevika reassured you. “And I was fucking proud of you for that move. One less test subject for Reveck. Silco was furious.” she laughed. “C’mere, Angel.”

You walked beside her, she lifted your PJ and kissed your stomach. “You did good.” she said. You leant down and kissed her. You stayed beside each other until you both finished your coffee, and you prepared to leave. With a last look you grabbed the worn-down rabbit plushie from the bedroom.

In less than an hour you were already at the clinic, looking for Ran’s room. They placed them in a small room, beside their bed there were two big armchairs, probably placed there for Sevika and you.

Ran was lying there with a calm expression. You looked down on your arms, to the rabbit plushie you brought from your shared apartment. That was Ran’s comfort plushie. Nobody knew about it except for Sevika and you. That worn-down, one-eyed plushie meant a lot to Ran, they got it from their mother not long before she died, and you brought it in hopes that it would give them comfort in this situation too.

As you walked beside Ran the knot in your stomach and throat started to grow. You placed the plushie beside their pillow, then turned to them.

“Hey, Ran-Ran!” you greeted them with tears in your eyes. You swept their hair away and kissed their forehead. “I know you hate when I call you Ran-Ran, so please, wake up, and scold me for it, please! Please!” you begged as your tears rolled down on your cheeks.

You felt Sevika’s hand on your shoulders and waist, she hugged you from behind.

“It’s okay.” she said as she kissed your temple. You squeezed her hands, in hopes it would make the aching pain in your chest go away. “Just breathe, Love. Just breathe. Ran will be okay.” she added. But you had a hard time believing it. The only thing that gave you comfort was seeing Ran’s chest going up and down as they were breathing. Sevika pulled you with her as she sat down in the huge armchair.

“They have to be okay.” Sevika said with a raspy voice. She was gasping for air, you turned your head with the speed of light to look at her. Tears were gleaming in her eyes, but she couldn’t let herself to cry. She had to be the strong one. “It was my fault.” Sevika confessed.

“What?” you asked confused.

“Silco wanted you both on the harbor team, but I put you both on the warehouse team. I thought…” Sevika’s voice broke, and so did your heart. “I thought that will be the safer option.”

She shook her head as she gasped for air again. The tears in her eyes were still sparkling. You felt that somebody not only stabbed your heart, but they started to turn the dagger in it. You grabbed her face with both hands.

“You couldn’t have known. We didn’t either.” you stared into her huge silver eyes, and all you could see was pain and anger. Sevika blamed herself for Ran’s condition just as badly as you did, she just hid it better. Your heart was bleeding, both people you loved were in unimaginable pain, and so were you. You wanted to turn back time and undo it all. But as you couldn’t, you just sat there with the unbearable pain that was threatening to devour you whole.

“I should’ve…” her voice broke again. You cried so intensely, your whole body was shaking. You curled up in Sevika’s lap and buried your face in her neck. She held you close, as tightly as she could, like you were the most precious thing she ever touched in her life.

Both of you fall asleep from the exhaustion and the stress, a few hours later a weak voice hit your ears and woke you: “Guys?” Ran was awake.

“Ran!” you cried out with happiness. Sevika let out a thankful sigh.

“Hey, beautiful.” Sevika smirked at Ran.

“Both of you look like shit.” Ran said with a dry smile, their eyes were still hazy. “And where are we?” they looked around with a confused look.

“How much… do you remember?” you asked carefully. You moved to her bed, and you raised their left hand to kiss it.

“The warehouse?” Ran said with a questioning tone. “Then boom. And… my hand?” Ran went pale. They looked at you, then up to Sevika. “No.” they whispered. “Please, tell me no.”

You tried to answer, but the words simply didn’t come out of your mouth. You looked at Sevika, hoping she could make all this go away.

“I’m sorry.” Sevika said as she stroked Ran’s hair with a shaking hand, then she kissed their temple. “I’m so sorry, Honey.”

You hold onto Ran’s intact hand like a child is holding onto their mother when they are afraid, but they teared their hand out of your grasp. Ran raised the blanket that was covering their body, and there was it, the stump of their limp. And with that, Ran went silent.

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