#and then i woke up and for a second it felt like something was crawling on me

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: “All Mine” – Part 2

The hot water should’ve helped.

It was warm and lavender-scented, soft little bubbles rising to the surface as Marshall slowly eased you into the tub, cradling your body like something fragile. He’d lit a candle—just one—and grabbed your favorite towel from the dryer.

Everything was right.

His hands were gentle, his voice low and loving.

But none of it felt like enough.

At first, you were quiet. Drained. Floating in the afterglow, barely holding yourself upright in the water as Marshall sat on the edge of the tub beside you, his fingers softly moving through your wet hair.

He was talking to you, murmuring sweet things.

“You did so good for me, baby.”

“Didn’t I tell you I’d always come find you?”

“You feelin’ okay? You sore?”

You nodded weakly, too dazed to speak.

You felt small. Warm. Loved.

But underneath that, a ripple started.

Something raw. Heavy. Tight in your chest like you’d swallowed the ache whole and it was fighting to claw its way out.

And when Marshall stood up—just to grab a towel, just to turn the faucet off—it broke.

“W-wait,” you whispered.

He paused, brow creasing. “I’m right here, baby.”

But when he reached for the towel, you let out a tiny, choked sob.

“*No—don’t—*don’t take your hands off me—”

Marshall froze.

Then slowly knelt down again, reaching into the water to cup your face, his heart breaking at the look in your eyes.

Soft.

Ruined.

Wide and tear-glossed.

Like a child left in the dark.

“Oh, sweetheart…” His voice cracked. “You droppin’ on me, huh?”

You nodded, a single tear spilling down your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I don’t—I don’t mean to cry I just— I just need—”

“I know, baby,” he soothed. “You don’t have to explain.”

You surged toward him, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your wet cheek to his chest even as your body trembled.

“I don’t want you to let go.”

“I’m not,” he promised, voice thick. “I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry I ran,” you hiccuped.

“Shhh. Don’t say sorry. I already got you back. That’s all that matters.”

He climbed into the tub fully dressed, soaking his sweatpants, wrapping his arms around you like a shield. You curled into him like you were still trying to disappear into his skin, sniffling, snuggling closer with every second that passed.

“Hey.” He tipped your chin up gently. “You with me?”

You nodded. But more tears came.

“It was just—too much. I wanted to be enough. I wanted to be what people think you should be with and I’m just—soft. I’m just small.”

“Hey.” His tone sharpened. Not cruel. Not loud. Just firm. Yours.

“You are everything I want. You hear me?”

Your lip trembled.

“I love that you’re soft. I need that. This industry? The world? It’s rough. I don’t want another loud voice in the room—I want the girl who held my hand through the worst shit I ever did to myself. I want the girl who cries when I’m not touching her because she feels that much.”

You were crying harder now. Quietly, but deeply.

“You are what makes me safe,” he whispered. “And I’ll remind you of that every time you forget.”

You clung tighter.

He stayed with you in the tub until the water cooled and your breathing evened out.

Then he dried you gently.

Carried you to bed.

Dressed you in one of his softest tees—the shirt, the one you always wore when you felt too small for the world.

And when you whimpered as he pulled away to turn the light off, he stopped. Crawled right back in. Pulled you on top of him, your head to his chest, his arms locked tight around you.

“I’m not letting go,” he whispered.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

---

The next morning, you still hadn’t let go of him.

You woke tucked into the crook of his chest, your fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt, your breath soft and warm against his skin. You’d slept like a baby after the way he’d cared for you—bathed you, clothed you, whispered to you until the ache quieted.

But now you were quiet again.

Clingy in a way only Marshall ever got to see.

Still soft.

Still dropping.

He didn’t say anything when you followed him around the house like a shadow, still barefoot, still wrapped in his t-shirt. When he said he had to go into the studio for a couple hours, your fingers twitched, your eyes dropped, and you went silent in that way that made his chest ache.

So he kissed the top of your head, grabbed a hoodie for you, and said, “Come with me.”

The ride was quiet.

You were curled in the passenger seat, one of his hands on your thigh the whole time. You didn’t speak, and he didn’t push you to. Every few minutes, he looked over and gently squeezed, rubbing soft circles into your skin with his thumb.

By the time you got to the studio, you were feeling a little steadier—but still fragile.

And Marshall knew it.

So he kept you close.

Held your hand walking in. Pulled you into his lap during warmups. Brushed your hair behind your ear when Royce teased you about looking like a sleepy kitten.

You just smiled shyly and buried your face in Marshall’s shoulder. He kissed your temple.

“You good?” he murmured in your ear.

You nodded.

“Stay right here. I’m just gonna lay a hook down.”

You curled up on the couch behind the booth, hoodie sleeves covering your hands, sipping from the coffee Denaun brought you like a little sister he was secretly protective of. The sound booth door closed behind Marshall.

You could see him through the glass, headphones on, already deep in the track.

That’s when she came in.

She walked in with a tablet in one hand and a coffee in the other, sunglasses still on indoors. Perfect hair. Perfect lips.

Perfect fucking everything.

You stiffened, but didn’t move.

You didn’t expect her to notice you.

She didn’t.

Because she wasn’t looking for you.

Her eyes were on him.

And the moment she realized the door to the sound booth was shut, she moved closer—leaning on the counter, crossing one long leg over the other like she was posing for a photoshoot.

And then, too casual:

“So… I was thinking, maybe after work today, you and I could grab a drink or something?���

You blinked.

Your heart stopped.

She said it so smoothly. Like this was a conversation she’d had with him before. Like it wasn’t insane to flirt with a man whose wife was right there.

You sat up slowly. Your stomach twisted.

But the second the words were out of her mouth, Marshall’s head snapped up.

Through the glass, he saw everything.

Your wide, hurt eyes.

Her perfect smile.

And the second he realized you’d heard what she said—

He ripped the headphones off and stormed out of the booth.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” His voice was sharp, dangerous.

The intern froze, eyes going wide. “I—I was just—”

“You were just what?” His tone dipped low. “Disrespecting my wife who’s sitting right there?”

Her mouth opened. Closed.

“I—I didn’t see—”

“No, you didn’t,” he snapped, voice rising now, rage simmering hot beneath his skin. “Because you were too busy throwing your fake little smile around like this is some goddamn casting couch.”

Everyone in the room went quiet.

Royce stopped mid-chew.

Denaun straightened in his chair.

Marshall stepped closer, full of fire. “Let me make this real clear: I don’t want your number. I don’t want a drink. I don’t want you. You see that woman on the couch?”

She looked.

You were curled there, eyes wet and wide, knees drawn up in that hoodie like it was your only armor.

“That’s my wife. For twenty-five years,” Marshall said, his voice a low growl now. “She’s the only one who gets to call me baby. The only one I see. So keep your thirsty-ass comments to yourself before I have you gone so fast, your LinkedIn won’t even have time to update.”

The intern blinked rapidly, face flushed with humiliation.

“You’re dismissed,” he said coldly. “Now.”

She left in silence.

And the second the door clicked shut, Marshall turned back to you.

You were already moving—halfway to him when he caught you in his arms, holding you tight against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, breath shaking. “I just froze.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, baby,” he said, wrapping his hoodie tighter around your shoulders. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that shit.”

He cupped your cheeks, tilted your face up, and kissed your forehead. “I meant every word. You hear me?”

“I know.”

“No one sees me the way you do. No one ever has. And I don’t want anyone else. You’re my whole fuckin’ world.”

You nodded into his chest, breathing in the scent of his skin and studio and safety.

“Wanna come sit in my lap while I finish this verse?”

You looked up at him, finally smiling, soft and small.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I want that.”

---

The studio was quiet again.

You were tucked back into the corner of the couch, curled under Marshall’s hoodie, legs folded beneath you, eyes heavy. You didn’t want to fall asleep—your body was still too fragile, still shaken—but being close to him helped.

Marshall had kept you in arm’s reach ever since.

He worked with one hand on the soundboard and the other resting on your thigh. He barely left your side. Every time someone came into the room, his eyes would flick to you first. Checking. Reassuring. Claiming.

Until the door slammed open.

And Paul came storming in.

“Are you kidding me, Marshall?!”

You jumped.

Marshall’s head snapped up, jaw already tightening.

“Come on,” Paul snapped, eyes blazing behind his glasses. “You fired the new girl? Without warning? Without telling me?”

“She was outta line,” Marshall said evenly, staying seated—but the heat in his voice was rising.

“Outta line how? She’s been on the job for two weeks—”

“She hit on me.”

Paul blinked.

“What?”

“She waited until I was in the booth, then asked me out while my wife was sitting five feet away,” Marshall said, his tone turning cold. “Didn’t even notice she was in the room. That’s how disrespectful she was.”

You shifted uncomfortably, hugging your knees to your chest.

Paul’s eyes finally dropped to you.

He sighed, his anger faltering slightly. “Jesus. I didn’t realize you were here.”

Marshall stood up slowly. Not loud. Not threatening.

But dangerous.

“She’s always here,” he said tightly. “Even when she’s not in the fuckin’ room. She’s mine. And I told you, Paul—don’t bring people into my space if they don’t know how to act around her.”

Paul scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I get it. I do. But you can’t fire someone in the middle of a session without talking to me—”

Marshall snapped.

“No, Paul. You don’t get it. You don’t fuckin’ get it at all.”

He took a step forward. Voice rising. Hands clenched at his sides.

“You think this is about studio protocol? My wife ran from me yesterday. She drove off without a word, crying, because of how bad that girl had been pushing for days. Because you brought someone in here who couldn’t keep her eyes—or her mouth—off me, and you thought it was funny when Denaun and Royce made jokes.”

Paul stiffened.

“You think this shit is funny, Paul? You think it's normal for my girl to feel so outta place she hides in some fuckin’ park for hours until I have to track her down?”

You felt your face flush, eyes stinging again. You hated being the reason for tension. For fights.

But Marshall wasn’t finished.

“She’s still not okay. She’s soft as hell right now, and she won’t say shit to defend herself because she’s built like a fuckin’ whisper. So I will. I am. And if you wanna talk about contracts and rules, fine—fire me.”

Paul’s eyes widened. “Marshall—”

“Do it. But don’t think I’m gonna sit back and let someone make her feel like she’s not enough. Not after everything she’s done for me. Not after twenty-five years.”

Silence stretched.

Marshall’s breathing was ragged now, fists trembling.

You stood on shaky legs.

Crossed the room quietly.

And slipped your fingers through his.

He didn’t look down. But he squeezed your hand.

Hard.

Paul exhaled slowly.

“I’m not firing you, man. I’m just—look. I didn’t know. I’ll handle it. Intern’s already gone. Let’s just… cool off.”

He turned toward the door. Paused.

And then, almost under his breath: “You’re lucky she loves you like that, you know.”

Marshall didn’t say anything until Paul was gone.

Then he finally looked at you.

His face cracked.

And suddenly he wasn’t furious anymore—just wrecked.

“I hate that I let this happen,” he muttered. “I hate that I didn’t shut it down sooner. You should’ve never felt like that. You should never feel like you’re not enough.”

Your bottom lip trembled. “I just wanted to disappear.”

He pulled you into his chest instantly, arms locking around you like a vice.

“You don’t get to disappear,” he whispered into your hair. “You belong here. With me. You’re mine, baby. Mine.”

You melted against him.

Still soft. Still clinging.

But safe again.

Because even when the world got too loud—

Marshall always chose you.

---

The front door had barely closed behind you before you finally said it.

You’d been quiet the whole ride home. Hands folded in your lap. Marshall’s palm resting on your thigh the whole time like he was afraid you’d vanish again.

But now, in the hush of the house, still wearing his hoodie, your voice cracked soft into the space between you.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He turned from locking the door.

“Didn’t have to do what?”

You looked up at him, eyes sad and small, guilt swimming in the curve of your shoulders.

“Yell at Paul. Fire her. Cause problems at work just because I got a little insecure.”

Marshall blinked.

And then his jaw clenched.

Hard.

He took one slow step forward.

Then another.

You took a step back.

“A little insecure?” His voice was a whisper—but the kind that came before a scream.

You winced. “Marshall—”

“Don’t,” he said tightly. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like this was your fault. Don’t sit there and make me feel like the crazy one because I went off on someone who crossed a line with my fucking wife.”

“I just don’t want to be the reason—”

“You were the reason,” he snapped. “You ran. Again.”

Your eyes dropped.

“And I—I can’t—” His breath hitched. “Baby, I understood when you ran after the overdose. I was drowning. You were breaking right beside me and I couldn’t even see it. I get that.”

He moved toward you again, voice shaking now.

“But this time? You ran not because I was falling apart… but because you were. And I don’t know how to live with that. I don’t know how to fix it if you won’t let me see it happening.”

You blinked back tears, shaking your head. “I just—I get scared. Sometimes I feel like you need more than what I can give.”

His face broke.

And then he was in front of you.

Crowding your space.

Shoving the hoodie off your shoulders and gripping your face between his rough hands like he could force the words back into your mouth.

“Don’t ever fucking say that again,” he growled. “You have no idea what you give me. What you are to me.”

You whimpered, already breathless as his hands slid down, gripping your waist, lifting you off your feet like you weighed nothing.

“Marshall—”

He didn’t answer.

He just walked you backward.

Pressed you against the wall.

Dropped to his knees.

Your breath hitched as his hands yanked your sleep shorts and panties down in one rough tug, baring you to the cool air. You were already wet—your emotions, your guilt, his voice—they all had your body humming.

“Marshall, I—”

“You think I need more than this?” he growled, mouth hot against the inside of your thigh. “Than you?”

And then his mouth was on you.

You cried out, one hand slamming back against the wall for balance, the other tangled in his hair.

He wasn’t gentle.

He wasn’t soft.

He devoured you.

Licked you like he was starving, like proving a point with every messy, open-mouthed suck to your clit. His beard scraped your thighs. His tongue pressed deep, curling inside you before he dragged it back up and replaced it with two fingers that pumped rough and steady.

You were crying again.

But it wasn’t from sadness.

Not anymore.

“I can’t—Marshall, please—”

“You think I want someone louder?” he snarled against your cunt. “Someone taller, someone who fuckin’ talks back?”

Your legs trembled.

“You’re perfect,” he said darkly, right before sucking your clit so hard your knees gave out.

He held you up with one arm.

Kept eating you with the other.

Fucking you with his mouth like it was the only way to make you believe him.

You came on a sob—breaking open, your whole body jerking as you screamed his name and clenched hard around his fingers.

But he didn’t stop.

He didn’t stop.

And when you cried out again, too sensitive, begging now—

He stood.

Mouth glistening.

Eyes wild.

“You think I need someone else?” he asked, dragging you away from the wall, hauling you up into his arms again.

“No—”

“You think I could ever be satisfied with anything but this?”

“No, I—I just—”

He carried you to the couch and threw you down onto it—your bare thighs hit the cushions, trembling and slick as he shoved his sweats down just far enough to free his cock.

And then he was on top of you.

Pressing your knees back.

Not even lining up, just pushing in, slow and brutal, thick and deep until your back arched and you cried.

“You’re everything, baby,” he grunted, already moving. “You’re my fucking world. You don’t get to forget that.”

You moaned. Wrapping around him. Clinging like it was the only truth you knew.

“I won’t,” you whispered.

“I’m gonna remind you anyway.”

Your body was already trembling, still raw from his mouth, but Marshall didn’t give you time to settle.

He couldn’t.

Not when you’d said those words.

“I just worry you need more than I can give.”

Not when your voice had cracked like that, like you really believed it.

His hands were braced on your thighs, holding you wide open, his cock already buried so deep inside you that you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began.

And he wasn’t stopping.

Every thrust was rough.

Desperate.

Angled to hit the deepest part of you, to drag a moan from your throat whether you wanted to give it or not.

“Marshall—” you sobbed, nails clawing at his back.

“Say it,” he growled, his breath hot against your cheek, hips snapping forward hard enough to shake the couch.

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours—always—I’m—”

“Not good enough,” he bit out, and fucked into you harder.

“Please—”

“No,” he snapped, voice breaking with something raw and aching. “Not after you ran. Not after you looked at yourself and thought for one fucking second I wanted something else.”

You choked on a sob.

His hand came to your face, thumb brushing away tears he hadn’t given you permission to cry.

“Look at me.”

You did. Shaking. Exposed. Split wide open for him in every possible way.

“I don’t want more,” he said, each word grinding out between thrusts. “I don’t want louder. I don’t want bolder. I want you. I want your quiet. Your softness. The way you whisper my name when you come. The way you hide your face in my chest because the world’s too fucking loud.”

You whimpered, back arching, and he slammed into you deeper, fucking a cry right out of your throat.

“I want your body. The way it fits mine. The way it opens for me like it was made for me.”

You clung to him.

“Say it.”

“Marshall—”

“Say it. Say you’re mine. Say you know what you are to me.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “I’m yours, I swear—I’m everything, I’m—”

“Say it right.”

“I’m what you need,” you sobbed, tears falling freely now. “I’m yours and I’m what you need, Marshall—please don’t stop, please—”

His rhythm stuttered.

Then broke.

He groaned—growled—and pulled you up into him, hips rolling deeper, slower, but rough with feeling. He was shaking now, like it took everything in him to hold back.

You cupped his face.

He leaned into your touch like he was starving for it.

“I’m what you need,” you whispered again.

And he broke.

He came with a groan torn from the center of his chest, cock buried as deep as he could get, body shuddering violently as his arms wrapped around you, dragging you tight against him. He kept moving through it—slow, grinding thrusts as his come spilled into you, as if he couldn’t bear to let go. As if he needed you to feel every second of it.

You were crying again.

So was he.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re not enough for me—you’re everything.”

You nodded, choking back another sob.

“I believe you,” you whispered.

Finally.

He kissed your cheeks. Your mouth. Your nose.

And then he lifted you into his arms like you weighed nothing at all.

“I’m gonna take care of you now,” he whispered. “You gave me what I needed. Now it’s my turn.”

And he did.

Because he always would.

---

[storiesbyshadow]

Breathless

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Rating: Mature

Tags: Angst. Eventual Fluff, Kidnapping, Blood, Struggling To Breathe, Confinement, Mysterious Gas, Mentions of Weapons, Needles, Seizures, Hospitals, Explicit Language

Word Count: Around 1000

Written For: @badthingshappenbingo @whumpmasinjuly-archive

Squares/Prompts Filled: B4 - Find The Cure for BTHB | Whumpmas In July Day 15 - Breathless

Dividers By: Stucky Divider - @firefly-graphics | DNC And Support Dividers - @saradika-graphics

The apartment still smelled like you. The familiar scents of lavender, vanilla, and safety.

But the door was off its hinges. Blood smeared the hardwood floor and a smashed mug lay in pieces by the counter. Steve recognized it immediately, your favorite. The one you used every morning.

Steve’s voice cracked as he spoke into the comms. “Fury. She’s gone.”

Bucky crouched near the couch, eyes locked on a torn scrap of your t-shirt. He didn’t speak, didn’t move. He just stared, as if he breathed too hard, he’d shatter completely.

Hours earlier, you’d kissed them both goodbye. Wrapped in Steve’s t-shirt, barefoot on the balcony, laughing softly as Bucky grumbled about the coffee being too bitter. You’d waved to them from the window when they left, mouthing “Be safe, I love you.”.

You had exactly seventeen minutes of peace before all hell broke lose.

The door hadn’t even creaked. You’d only noticed them when the hand was around your throat, slamming you against the wall. A sharp sting of a needle in your neck. Darkness closing in.

The last thing you remembered was trying to scream their names.

Steve punched the wall hard enough to break bone.

He didn’t care.

“I should’ve stayed,” he whispered. “I felt something was off this morning. I should’ve...dammit...I knew.”

Fury’s face was tense on the screen. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but if you go in emotionally compromised-”

“She’s the love of my life,” Steve cut him off, venom in his voice. “There’s no version of me that’s not compromised.”

Bucky sat in the corner, dead silent, his expression void of anything but cold focus, but Steve knew that look, knew the devastation brewing underneath.

“She’s all we’ve got,” Bucky whispered, “and someone took her from us.”

They didn’t wait for orders. They didn’t ask for backup.

By the time S.H.I.E.L.D. even pinpointed your location, a non-registered facility beneath an abandoned Russian airstrip, they were already in the jet, weapons loaded.

“Please hang on,” Steve whispered into the dark. “We're coming. Just hang on for us, sweetheart.”

You woke up coughing and gasping.

The room was freezing, your skin slick with sweat and cold. The walls were white...stainless...too clean.

You were locked inside with no way out.

A vent above you hissed again, releasing another stream of that sickly-sweet gas. Your lungs ached. Your head spun. You’d thrown up twice already, acid burning your throat.

Dozens of vials lined a table near the wall. All different colors. No labels.

You crawled toward the glass window, barely able to lift your head.

“Please,” you begged, voice hoarse and broken. “Please. I want to go home.”

You whispered their names through cracked lips.

“Steve… Bucky… I’m scared.”

“Her vitals are dropping fast.” The medic’s voice crackled through the comms.

Bucky froze. His hand clenched around his rifle. “How much time?”

“Maybe… twenty minutes, if the gas doesn’t change composition. If it does...less.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. He looked at Bucky, eyes blazing.

“We run. No more stealth. We get her out.”

They moved like death itself.

Nothing mattered.

The facility’s alarms screamed. Guards were down in seconds. Steve’s shield left blood on the walls. Bucky’s knife was slick and red. They didn’t even flinch when bullets hit them.

Only you.

They found the lab and then the control room. Finally, they saw you on the monitor. You were curled up on the floor, convulsing. Blood at the corner of your mouth. Your eyes were wide and panicked as the gas poured in.

Steve’s scream tore from his throat.

“NO! GET THE DOOR OPEN! NOW!”

Bucky was already on it, prying the mechanism open with his arm, gritting his teeth as metal groaned until the door gave way.

“Baby-” Bucky collapsed beside you, scooping you into his arms.

You were barely conscious. Skin clammy. Limbs trembling. Your breath was a wet, wheezing rattle. Steve hit the emergency shut-off, stopping the gas, but the damage was done.

“Look at me, sweetheart...stay with me,” Bucky begged, holding your face in shaking hands. “Don’t close your eyes, please!”

You blinked slowly, vision hazy. “Y-You’re… here…”

“Of course we are,” Steve choked out, trying to steady his hands as he checked your pulse. “We’d die before we left you.”

Then he saw the vials. There were so many. A dozen? More? His hands hovered over them, eyes wild.

“She’s been injected with something,” Bucky said. “There’s a mark. Maybe they were testing reactions. See which one killed slowest.”

Steve’s voice cracked. “We don’t have time to test.”

You were fading. They could feel it, your body going still. The rattle of your lungs growing quieter.

“I can’t lose her,” Bucky whispered. “Steve. Pick one. Please.”

He chose three.

The first one was cloudy. He injected it into your arm, but nothing happened. You were still fading, still shaking.

The second was a deep red. You immediately started seizing.

“No! No no no...Steve!” Bucky screamed.

Steve’s hands were shaking as he tried the third. A pale blue serum. He pressed it into your thigh, praying to a God he hadn’t spoken to in decades.

Seconds passed. Then, your breathing leveled. You sucked in a deep breath, like it was your first. Like your lungs hadn’t worked in years. Then your eyes opened, and Steve and Bucky fell apart.

Hours later, you woke in a hospital bed. You had an IV in your arm and the monitors you were hooked to beeped in a steady rhythm. Steve was sitting on your right, hand gripping yours so tightly it hurt. Bucky was asleep in the chair to your left, his metal hand still wrapped around your wrist.

“Hi,” you whispered.

Steve’s head snapped up. He broke completely, voice thick with relief. “You’re awake. Oh God, baby...you...you’re okay.” Tears slid down his cheeks without shame. “I thought I lost you. I was holding your body, and I thought...I thought it was too late.”

Bucky stirred awake, instantly moving to sit beside you.

He didn’t speak.

He just buried his face into your stomach and cried silently, his shoulders shaking with all the grief he’d held in.

“I’m here,” you whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair. “You found me.”

“You always say that,” Steve whispered with a broken smile. “You always believe in us.”

“I always will.”

[stylesispunk]

"I only see daylight"

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: What is waiting for you after life ends? Joel woke up to a life he had spent missing this whole time. You are there, Sarah is there, and a baby too. w.c: 1,7k (tiny baby) warnings: mentions of blood, crying, and mentions of an afterlife. I don't know if you believe in that but I like to think about it.

a/n: I don't know if you could consider this a fix-it fic, but I hope you do because I love this little idea I had the other day. I know it's short, but I have requests to work in and more "Blind faith" chapters to work in. Happy reading. Please remember to reblog and comment. I appreciate them very much.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

“Joel…Can I ask you something?” Ellie asked, clearing her throat.

He kept his eyes on the road ahead of them but gave a small nod. “Shoot.”

“Did you… I mean, before all this. Did you ever… you know. Love someone? Like, for real?”

Joel’s grip on his backpack tightened. For a moment, he wasn’t walking on that road anymore. He was somewhere else. Back when he was younger, with his baby girl in his arms and a woman’s laugh in his ears.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I did.”

Ellie looked over at him, surprised by the weight in his voice.

“Who was she?”

He hesitated, then let out a breath. “Her name was… well, she came into my life the day Sarah was born. Her mother… she didn’t stick around. But she did. God, she did. Never asked for anything. Just… showed up with a smile and a cup of hospital coffee. Held Sarah like she was her own. She was her mother and she was my wife.”

Joel smiled faintly, a ghost of a smile. “We were together for years. Raised Sarah, built a life in Austin. Didn’t even get around to getting’ married. World ended a month before that.”

Ellie was quiet, watching him. “What happened to her?”

Joel’s eyes clouded. “The outbreak happened.”

He didn’t say more. He didn’t have to.

He still couldn’t say out loud how you died on his arms two days after Sarah.

How the smell of fresh coffee that filled the kitchen at home became the smell of blood sticking on his hands while he tried to keep you alive.

The snow fell fiercely outside the lodge. Joel’s breath ragged and shallow.

He couldn’t take the pain anymore. He couldn’t survive another punch against his face. He was dying.

He could barely see Ellie, screaming some feet away from him. Pleading.

“Joel, please get up.” “Joel, please” she choked.

Oh, his baby girl. He wanted to swallow all the pain, but his broken bones and body could barely bear the pain.

One push, one try. But something sharp on his neck stole his lasts breaths away.

His vision blurred. The world dimmed. In those mere last moments, last seconds. He saw them.

Ellie crawling to him.

But he also saw you. Beautiful as ever, eyes wet, reaching for him.

And Sarah just as she was that night in Austin, her smile breaking his heart.

Joel tried to speak, but no words came.

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye.

Then, nothing.

All went black.

For a moment, or perhaps forever, there was nothing. No pain. No cold. No Ellie’s voice calling his name. Just silence.

The soft chirping of morning birds. The faint hum of a ceiling fan. And the distant smell of fresh coffee.

Joel’s eyes fluttered open.

His breathing was steady, his body didn’t hurt. No blood. No searing pain in his ribs. No snow or cracked lodge ceiling above him.

Instead, a familiar ceiling fan turned lazily overhead, and pale morning light streamed through the curtains of his room.

At home, in Austin.

He sat up abruptly, a cold sweat clinging to his skin.

The bed side next to him was made, your side, neatly tucked like you always did. A glass of water sat untouched on your nightstand. The clock on the wall read 7:14 AM. The same perfume he had never got to forget lingered on your pillow, soft and warm, and so goddamn real Joel felt his chest tighten.

His hand shot up to his face, searching for cuts, bruises, something. But there was nothing. His hair was damp with sweat, but his fingers came away clean.

He swallowed hard, heart thudding in his ears.

What the hell was this?

Joel swung his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet pressing against cool wooden floors. He could hear movement in the kitchen, the gentle clink of a spoon against a mug, the scrape of a chair.

His throat closed up.

It was you, your laugh echoing through the house.

Soft. Carefree. Real.

And for a moment, he was terrified to move, terrified that if he stood and crossed that room, it would disappear, like every other goddamn thing in his life had.

But the pull was too strong.

Joel pushed open the bedroom door.

The house was just as he remembered it. The old photographs lining the hallway. Sarah’s soccer trophies. The faded denim jacket slung over the back of a chair. Everything untouched by fire, or blood, or the passage of time.

And then, there you were.

Standing in the kitchen, back to him, pouring coffee into two mugs. One of them, his old favorite. The one with the chipped rim he had broken up.

You turned as if you felt his eyes on you.

That same smile. That same light in your eyes.

“Morning, stranger,” you teased, unaware of the storm brewing in his chest.

Joel couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

He crossed the room in three long strides and pulled you into him, arms wrapping around your waist so tight it made you laugh, the mug nearly slipping from your hand.

“Whoa! Easy, cowboy,” you chuckled against his shoulder. “Bad dream?”

His hand cradled the back of your head, burying his face in your hair, drinking in your scent, the warmth of your body.

“I… I don’t know,” he rasped, voice thick.

“Hey,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I’ve been right here, Joel. I’m not going anywhere.”

And when you kissed him , soft, steady, grounding, it felt like everything broken inside him finally came home.

He kept his forehead pressed to yours for a beat longer, eyes shut, breathing you in like a man starved. But then, something shifted. His hand, still resting against your waist, slid down, and froze.

A gentle curve. A fullness where there hadn’t been one before.

Joel’s brow furrowed, his eyes snapping open. He pulled back just enough to look down, and there it was.

Your belly, round and swollen beneath the soft fabric of your, his worn t-shirt. His mouth parted, but no sound came out.

You followed his gaze, a smile tugging at your lips. “Hey,” you murmured, resting your hand over his. “Don’t look so spooked.”

Joel swallowed hard, eyes flicking from your face to your stomach, then back again. His heart thundered in his chest, a thousand questions fighting for room.

And then you said it, soft and calm, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Ellie is right inside here.”

Joel’s breath caught.

That name.

Ellie.

The word carved through him like a lightning strike. His mind, already fragile, started to crack along the seams. He stared at you, at the tender way your hand cradled your belly, at the glow in your eyes, like this had always been your life.

“Ellie?” he croaked, his voice barely a whisper.

You smiled, brushing a thumb along his jaw. “Yeah?” you nodded, looking a bit worry because of his state. “Remember doctor says she’s stubborn already.” You chuckled, your eyes shimmering with a mix of joy and mischief. “Wonder where she gets that from.”

Joel staggered back a half-step, running a trembling hand through his hair. The room spun. A wave of warmth and memory and heartbreak crashing into him all at once.

He remembered Ellie. How couldn’t he? He remembered snow and blood and a lodge floor.

But here, here she wasn’t a girl with a mouthful of trouble. She was…

His and yours.

For real.

A future that had never existed. A life stolen from him, given back in pieces.

Joel’s vision blurred. His knees buckled slightly, and you caught his arm.

“Joel,” you whispered, concern flashing across your face. “Hey — hey, it’s okay. Breathe, baby. You’re alright. We’re alright.”

He clung to you like a man drowning.

Joel clung to you like a man drowning, his face buried in the curve of your neck, your hand stroking the back of his head, steady and familiar. You felt his breath hitch, the tremble in his arms. Whatever nightmare had clawed at him, it was still lingering in his bones.

Then, he heard the footsteps.

Light, quick steps padding down the hallway. The soft creak of the floorboard outside the room.

“Dad?” a young voice called.

Joel stiffened. His head jerked up.

And there she was.

Sarah.

Alive. Whole.

Framed by the doorway in her faded hoodie and denim shorts, backpack slung over one shoulder, a little messy ponytail, like she always rushed through it in the mornings.

“Dad, Mom — it’s getting late for school,” she groaned, rolling her eyes like any other teenager. “I already saw uncle Tommy waiting out front, and if I have to listen to him sing along to the radio one more time, I swear I’ll jump outta the truck.”

Joel’s breath punched out of him like he’d been hit. His lips trembled.

“Baby girl…” he rasped.

Sarah blinked, confused. “You okay, Dad? You look kinda… weird.”

You smiled gently, your heart cracking a little at Joel’s expression, and stepped toward Sarah, brushing a hand down her arm. “Hey, sweetheart — give your dad a second, okay? He’s just… he had a rough night.”

Sarah sighed, the way only a 12-year-old could. “Ugh, bad dreams again? Should’ve told him not to eat chili dogs that late.”

Joel let out a strangled laugh, a sound halfway between a sob and a chuckle.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to Sarah’s temple. “Uncle Tommy’s taking you today. Go grab your stuff, and I’ll be out in a sec.”

Sarah groaned but turned, heading back toward the hall. “Tell him I call dibs on the front seat!” she shouted over her shoulder.

The moment she disappeared around the corner, Joel collapsed back to your arms, his hand dragging down your skin.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.

“You’re safe, Joel. You’re home.” You promised as you caressed his neck with your fingertips

His eyes, wet and wide, met yours. “Is this… is this real?” His voice cracked like it was too fragile to ask. “You. Sarah. Baby Ellie. Is this…?”

You leaned, pressing your forehead to his.

“It’s real,” you promised softly. “It’s ours.”

And for the first time in years, in decades, Joel Miller cried.

He didn’t know what he had done to deserve to see this light again.

But whoever had mercy on him. Gave him the chance to live a second life in daylight.

With you, Sarah, and a baby, Ellie.

[lillilybells]

Unlikely rescue✧₊⁺

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing|damian wayne x reader

summary|prequel to family dinner/ how damian and his girlfriend met.

word count|1049

warnings|blood, injuries, passing out, fighting, teen romance.

notes|don’t know if anybody wanted this but I thought of the idea and it was so cute in my head! Hopefully I executed it well.

masterlist

A loud gasp shattered the silence of your otherwise quiet apartment.

Something—or someone—had slammed into your balcony glass with terrifying force, leaving a smeared trail of blood before crumpling onto the wooden floor outside. You stood frozen for a split second, heart pounding, before rushing to the sliding door.

There, half-sprawled and barely conscious, was Robin.

The Robin. The youngest of Gotham’s protectors. The one who never seemed to age despite showing up in newsfeeds for years. You’d admired him for as long as you could remember. And now he was lying there, bloody and broken, on your balcony.

Without a second thought, you unlocked the door and dropped to your knees beside him. His breathing was shallow, and his eyes fluttered—just barely conscious. You could see the blood soaking through his armor, a large gash over his abdomen, and bruises crawling up his forehead.

You felt nauseous. But more than that—you felt afraid. Not of him, but for him.

You dragged him inside as carefully as you could, straining with effort. He was heavy and limp, and the visor across his eyes had gone completely black. You moved on instinct—grabbing the first aid kit your parents had forced you to learn how to use. You never thought you’d have to do it, but now with them out of town on a date and you alone, the CPR, stitching, emergency trauma management—it all came rushing back.

Stripping him out of his armor was a challenge. His suit was layered, armored, and nothing like the crop tops and short shorts you were used to handling. But you managed. You bit your lip to suppress your panic as you revealed the full extent of the abdominal wound. It was bad.

You got to work—disinfecting, stitching, wrapping the wound with as much care as you could. His pulse was weak but still there. Still alive. You thanked every force in the universe for that.

When you moved to tend to the injury on his head, you finally paused to look at him. The sharp line of his jaw. His dark lashes. The furrow in his brows, even unconscious. You were tempted to lift his mask, just to see who he was. The curiosity itched at you.

But you didn’t. He was vulnerable, and a hero. That was sacred. You couldn’t take advantage of that.

You treated the head wound next—wrapping it gently before cleaning up the blood smears around your room. His suit went into the tub to soak. Later, you moved it to the dryer and even started mending the massive rip across the torso with your pink sewing kit.

Finally, with considerable effort, you pulled him into your bed. He looked so small and out of place lying there among fluffy pillows and pastel sheets. Like something out of a dream. You just hoped when he woke up, he wouldn’t freak out.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Damian’s eyes opened slowly.

Where was he? The cave?

No… this wasn’t the Batcave. He remembered the fight—Bane, downtown Gotham. His father had warned him not to engage, but of course he hadn’t listened. His head throbbed.

A bunny. A fluffy white bunny was sniffing his face.

Damian blinked hard.

Behind the rabbit sat a girl, illuminated by moonlight through a cracked window. She looked angelic—soft hair, porcelain skin glowing in the dark, wearing a soft pink nightgown that made her seem almost too delicate for reality. She was stitching… his suit?

His eyes darted down. Sheets. Pillows. Bare chest. He was in someone’s bed—her bed.

Damian bolted upright and immediately winced, pain lancing through his side as he collapsed back with a groan.

You jumped up, dropping the suit to the floor. “You're awake!”

His visor narrowed on you instantly.

“Who are you?” His voice was gravelly, low. Suspicious. “Why am I here?”

You straightened instinctively. “I’m (name). You, um… kind of crashed into my balcony window?” You pointed to the still-smeared glass. “You were bleeding—a lot. I couldn’t just leave you there. I—I knew I couldn’t call the hospital, so I just… I did what I could.”

He stared at you for a long moment.

“You… treated my wounds?” he asked, voice quieter now, though still guarded.

You nodded, trying not to seem too flustered. “Yeah. I hope that was okay. I didn’t look under your mask, I swear.”

There was a pause. His gaze studied you—sharp, but not unfriendly. “You saved my life,” he murmured.

You blushed faintly. “I mean… you save people all the time. I figured maybe you deserved to be saved for once.”

You offered him the dried suit. “It’s still a little damp. Sorry, I didn’t know how to—”

Damian snatched the suit and sat up again, biting back a groan as he pulled a green needle from his utility belt.

You stepped forward. “Wait—what are you—?!”

He jabbed the needle into his arm and you winced on his behalf.

You gasped. “What was that?!”

“Adrenaline,” he muttered. “Temporary stimulant. I can function for the next hour.”

You stared as he stood, pulling his armor back on with precision. You noticed the tension in his jaw, the focused set of his shoulders. He didn’t like being weak. Or vulnerable. Or—possibly—helped.

Still, you couldn't deny he looked strangely… perfectly placed in your overly pink, cutesy room. Like a shadow among clouds.

“You really don’t have to go. You’re hurt. I have extra pillows—tea—Band-Aids shaped like bunnies—” you tried as he rushed toward the balcony in your room.

He paused briefly at your balcony door. Your bunny hopped up behind him again, brushing against his boot.

He stared at it, then—just barely—cracked a tiny smirk.

Then he turned back to you. “Your full name?” he asked flatly, like it was a demand rather than a question.

You were quick to answer without a second thought.

He gave a single nod. “I’ll remember that.”

And with that, Robin vanished into the night sky.

You blinked once. Then twice.

“…Did that really just happen?”

You turned, glancing at the rumpled sheets and pink nightgown you hadn’t realized was still riding dangerously high on your thighs.

Oh yeah. That definitely happened.

[pearlessance]

I'll Crawl Home To Her

summary: all the ways joel miller loves his pretty, little wife. and all the ways she loves him right back.

pairing: husband!joel miller x wife!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, traditional gender roles, pussy eating, vaginal sex, semi-public, exhibitionism kinda, dom/sub undertones, car sex, biting, dirty talk, joel is a certified munch, feminine reader, a whole bunch of tooth-rotting fluff

wc: 4.1k

note: something soft and sweet, tysm for reading, let me know what you think! <3

[masterlist] [read on AO3!]

Being Joel Miller's wife was, in short, marital bliss.

He loved taking care of you, and it showed in everything he did.

Joel always woke up earlier than you. On days he had to work, his alarm would rouse you just enough that you’d roll over to his side of the bed the moment he vacated it, soaking up his warmth and his scent, snuggling into his pillow. He’d kiss your forehead and tuck you in tight, and you’d fall asleep seconds after he whispered, “Have a good day, baby girl. Love you.”

And once you did finally roll out of bed, sunlight leaking in through the kitchen blinds, you’d find a fresh pot of coffee and your favorite mug sitting on the counter.

He worked long hours, but you could never fault him for it. He was doing it even in his old age to grant you the freedom to do any and everything you desired. Supporting you in all your endeavors no matter how fleeting.

When you’d picked up the hobby of gardening, Joel had taken you to three different greenhouses in one weekend and helped you till a section of the backyard to plant your seeds. And later that week, he’d come home with the back of his truck full of pretty white bricks to outline your garden with.

You’d mentioned once with your hands covered in suds how the dishes were your least favorite chore. You hated how they piled up so quickly, hated leaving them in the sink, how they felt never-ending.

“I can do the dishes, darlin’,” he’d said. “Just leave them for me an’ I’ll do ‘em after work every day.”

You loved him for the offer but refused. He already spoiled you enough as it is. You couldn’t imagine watching him standing at the sink every day after working for ten hours. “Are you crazy? No, I’d never let you do that.”

“Don’t bother me none,” he insisted. “S’only fair, considerin’ how good dinner is every night.”

The compliment made you flush, but still, you stood firm. Even when he’d come up behind you with a dish towel in hand, ready to take your place. You’d slapped his hands away. “Joel, no. Let me. Please.”

“Alright, fine,” he said, setting the towel on the counter. His hands found a new way to occupy themselves, though. Slipping beneath your skirt, squeezing at the softness of your thighs. “But at least let me get my desert.”

He’d had you bent over the countertop that night with your panties around your knees. He’d hummed his I love you’s against your spit-soaked clit in the middle of the kitchen and you’d felt like the most spoiled girl in the world. 

Even more so when he’d come home from work early the next day. He and Tommy walked through the front door with a brand new dishwasher in tow and spent all night assembling it.

Once, you’d been late coming back from the grocery store. Janet, the older woman who lived two houses down from you and Joel, had been berating the cashier for not accepting an expired coupon.

Confrontation had never been your strong suit, but it felt less like conflict and more like second nature to step in and defend a teenage girl just trying to do her job. You attempted to reason with Janet, explaining that it wasn’t the cashier's fault, that the use of her coupon perhaps just wasn’t meant to be. You’d even offered to pay for her entire shopping haul if it meant a break for the young girl. 

Of course, this wasn’t what Janet had wanted to hear, and she instead turned her anger on you. Your cheeks had warmed in embarrassment as she yelled your name aloud for all the other customers to hear, telling you to ‘keep your nose where it belonged.’ 

The whole interaction had frazzled you. But more than that, it had made you late. And while being screamed at so publically had certainly thrown you off kilter, the straw that broke the camel’s back was seeing Joel’s truck in the driveway when you got home. 

He had mentioned once how much he loved having someone to come home to. Had explained how seeing you standing there with a smile on your face waiting for him on the front porch every day made the long hours and unbearable heat worth it. But because of Janet, you weren’t there. 

Joel, your Joel—who always takes care of you, who would do anything for you, who puts your happiness above his own, the most selfless man you’ve ever known—had come home to an empty house. Worked twelve hours beneath the Texas sun to come home to absolute silence.

It didn’t matter that you’d left a note on the kitchen table, you’d meant to get back before he could ever read it.

The tears had come quickly. The embarrassment, the frustration, the anger you felt on that young girl’s behalf, came rushing to the surface all at once.

He’d left the door unlocked for you, like usual, and the moment you stepped inside you could hear the familiar, heavy sound of his boots on the wooden floor. “Hey, sweetheart. How was your—?”

Before he could ask any questions you’d flung yourself into his arms, needing comfort, needing to show him how much you loved him. To prove to him that you weren’t home but you wanted to be, more than anything. “I’m so sorry,” was all you managed to choke out. 

Joel, who valued your safety above all else, immediately stiffened yet pulled you closer, wrapping his big arms around your shoulders, his warm hand splayed across the small of your back. “Hey, hey—shh, what happened? Talk to me, sweet girl. C’mon.” 

He cradled your face in his palm, holding you gently as if you were the most precious thing because, to him, you are. He wiped your tears away with the rough pad of his thumb and listened as you explained, “I—I wasn’t here waiting for you! I’m sorry—I…I tried to come home as fast—as fast as I could but—!”

“S’okay, baby. I know you’ll always come home to me, alright? I’m not mad. Could never be mad at you, y’know that.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, to the arch of your brow, to the bridge of your nose. He rubbed soothing circles into your skin until your tears slowed and your breaths found their normal cadence once again. And then, because he knows you, he asked, “What really happened?”

And you tell him. Every detail. And Joel stands there, holding you, listening with bated breath. 

When you finish, he pulls his shoulders back with a newfound objective. “M’gonna go talk to Lee,” he said.

Janet’s husband was a good man, you knew. Similar to Joel in the way of being a nurturing sort of husband. A hard-working man with never a bad thing to say about anyone. “You don’t have to,” you tell Joel. “What she did was wrong but I’d rather she takes it out on me than a kid at their first job.”

He shakes his head. “Can’t just let it go,” he said. “She disrespected my wife. Not the kinda thing I can turn the other cheek to.” 

“Joel—don’t…don’t—” You weren’t sure what you were asking. His insistence didn’t surprise you in the least, but you didn’t want to start anything that would disrupt the peace the two of you’d spent so much time cultivating.

He seems to understand you despite your lack of vocal explanation. “Just gonna have a word with him, sweetheart. That’s all.”

Before he walked out the door, he asked very specifically for the Mediterranean chicken dish you’d made for him last week. Which was strange only because he never asked for anything specific; he simply asked you to cook whatever you felt like, and insisted that somehow you knew his cravings better than he himself did. 

It wasn’t until fifteen minutes later, as you put the chicken in the oven that you realized he’d done it to distract you, to take your mind off the situation at hand while he went and handled it. Helping you without even being in the same room.

When he came home, Joel answered all of your questions at the dinner table and said that he and Lee had shared a beer and talked it over. Warned you to expect an apology the next time you and Janet crossed paths. 

And sure enough, that weekend there was a knock on the front door. 

Joel stood behind you, a looming, protective presence at your back. A safety net as your neighbor apologized for her actions and offered a plate of chocolate chip cookies as amends.

You forgave her, of course. Even invited her in so the two of you could talk about it over a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade on the back porch. She compliments you on the roses growing in your garden and you clip a couple off to send her home with.

Problem solved. Amends made. 

All because of Joel. 

Your closest friends even teased you about it from time to time, making jokes about how spoiled you are, and about how much he cares for you.

When you’re out having a girls' night with the three of them, you share laughs and chips and salsa and have one too many glasses of wine. They all discuss sharing an Uber, but you interject to say, “No worries. Joel will make sure we get home safe.”

And they tease you about that, too, telling you, “You’ve got that big man wrapped tight around your little finger.”

But you’re not wrong, and you suppose your friends aren’t, either. Because he shows up at the diner ten minutes after you send him a text message, and deals with four drunk young women with such grace it’s almost astonishing. Even pulls a soft, secret smile as he listens to the group of you giggle together at something that’s probably not nearly as funny to him.

You asked him about it later, about that gentle amusement he wore, and he explained simply, “What makes you happy makes me happy, darlin.’” 

And you understand exactly what he means. Understand how your happiness, your frustrations, your love is mirrored perfectly in his heart. Because you feel it, too.

It’s why whenever he says he’s craving something, whether it’s fast food or some elaborate dish, you’ll always find a way to get it onto his dinner plate that night. It’s why you make an extra stop during grocery shopping to get that local ground coffee he likes. 

He’d said once how much he loves the way pale blue looks against your skin, and every time you shop for clothes you find yourself gravitating towards the shade. 

You do his laundry and put a towel in the dryer every time he steps in the shower so it’s warm when he gets out. You teach him about skincare and he sits dutifully in bed every Sunday night with a face mask on and a pore strip on his nose. You schedule his doctor and dentist appointments and have never once been successful at fighting off your wide grin as you tell the receptionist on the phone that you’re his wife and they refer to you as Mrs. Miller for the remainder of the call.

Give and take, push and pull—the two of you fit seamlessly together. You take care of him, and he takes care of you, and whatever was left each day you figured out together.

So, when you make your way to the kitchen one early morning to see his lunch still in the fridge, untouched, and his coffee mug in the sink and not the dishwasher, you know something must have gone awry. Something to disrupt his morning routine.

You find your phone only to read a text message he’d left you at six this morning. 

Good morning, sweet girl. Slept through my alarm, might have to stay over today to finish. Love you.

Joel’s an independent man, you know. Perfectly capable of taking care of himself. And you know he’ll likely buy lunch for himself and Tommy, likely some gas station pizza and a soda. But you don’t like the idea of him needing to do that. Don’t like the idea of him eating anything you don’t make for him just the way he likes.

So, you spend the morning getting all dolled up. You wear that pale blue sundress he likes. You curl your hair, coat your lashes in mascara, and spray that expensive, vanilla-scented perfume he got you for your birthday last year. 

And then you grab his lunch from the fridge and make your way to the construction site. You find Joel’s truck easily and park beside it. You’re not sure why, but being here makes your heart race. 

You’ve met the majority of the guys on his crew, and they all know who you are. Countless times you’ve forced Joel to bring in containers full of cookies and pastries you’d bake the night before to share. He’s even brought a couple of them home for dinner before, and invited their wives and kids to fill your home with a little extra love and laughter for the evening.

But for some reason, this feels…different. Like you’re encroaching on their territory, invading space that doesn’t belong to you.

They’re working inside some big structure that has only the framing and roof finished, wooden beams allotting space for each room. You can hear them shouting at each other and the sound of hammers striking nails into place. Somewhere a little further into the building, there’s the mechanical whirring of a drill, but you see no face you recognize.

One of the younger-looking men up in the rafters notices you first. “Well, hello there pretty little lady. Did you need some help?”

You open your mouth to speak, to ask where you might find Joel or even Tommy. But then—

“Dean, you look at my wife like that again and it’ll be the last time you have eyes to look at anyone.” Joel rests his hand on the small of your back as he saddles up to your side. You turn to face him, and can’t help your smirk upon discovering the intimidating scowl on his face that he directs to Dean. “Understand?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry about that, Mrs. Miller.”

“It’s alright, Dean. You didn’t know,” you insist. But Joel narrows his eyes even further and doesn’t stop until you playfully hit his bicep. “It’s fine.”

His expression softens considerably when he looks at you, deep frown turning into a warm smile instead. “Hey, baby girl.” Joel pulls you close, pressing his lips to yours, kissing you softly. Nothing out of the ordinary for him, nothing you don’t expect. But what you don’t expect is for his hand on the small of your back to sink lower, grabbing a lewd fist full of your ass.

The surprise has your lips parting, but Joel only takes it to his advantage, tongue slipping between them to glide smoothly against yours.

When he finally pulls away your face is flushed and he wears that satisfied smirk like armor. He glances up at Dean, whose ears are now red-hot even though he tries very hard to pretend like he’s busy. “I’m taking a twenty. Be back in a bit.”

He takes your hand in his and leads you back outside, and once he opens the passenger door of your truck he’s quick to put his hands on your hips and lift you to help you inside. 

You expect him to close the door and round the front of the truck to get in behind the wheel, but he doesn’t. Before you’re even able to turn and tuck your legs inside, he’s pushing you back against the leather seats and sliding his calloused hands up your thighs beneath your dress. “Joel,” you say, but you don’t attempt to stop him. 

The passenger door’s propped open, just enough to shield him from view as he stands behind it. “You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your panties. He tugs them down and peppers open-mouthed kisses across the exposed skin of your chest, teeth nipping at your cleavage. But then he’s biting you—hard, and pressure pools low in your belly as his tongue flicks over the hurt to soothe. “Always take such good care of me. Had such a rough morning but seein’ you changes it all around.”

You’re giggling uncontrollably, overwhelmed by his sudden need, basking beneath the warmth of his praise. Your hands find his hair, tugging lightly at the ends. “We shouldn’t,” you say. “Someone will see. You’re crazy, old man, do you know that?”

“Yeah, crazy for you.” Normally you’d scold him some more, accuse him of being the absolute cheesiest man that you’ve ever met. But you don’t have the chance before he’s pushing your knees apart and pressing those hot, wet kisses to the inside of your thighs. “Can front all you want, but I’m not dumb, baby. Think you got all dressed up and came all this way for nothing? Nuh-uh.”

This hadn’t been your intention in the slightest, but now that you’re here, and his head’s between your thighs… “I just brought your lunch!” 

Joel smirks. “Fuckin’ right you did.”

You have to cover your mouth to quiet your laughter. “But…seriously. Aren’t you hungry?”

“Starving, sweetheart,” he says. “Now spread your legs.”

You do. Of course you do. 

And Joel makes quick work of you, wasting not a second before his tongue slides through your wet heat with expert precision. He hooks his arms around your thighs and drags you to the end of the leather seat, pressing his face against you. Your clit pulses with need and he takes care of that ache for you, too. Sucking it into his mouth, lapping at you with the flat of his tongue, ratcheting your pleasure to an almost unbearable place.

It doesn’t take long before your back is arching off the leather, hands tugging desperately at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. You’re whimpering his name and he’s letting out these deep, throaty groans that have your toes curling in your high-top sneakers.

In just a couple minutes he has you right there—right on the edge, so close to your orgasm you can taste it, and then he pulls away. You’re whining immediately, desperate whimpers falling for your lips. 

“Shh. S’alright, baby girl. I’m comin',’” Joel tells you. And then you watch through bleary, tear-filled eyes as he undoes his tool belt and sets it on the floor of his truck. 

The clink of his belt buckle reverberates through your ears, and you whimper again but before you can start begging he’s got his cock in his hand and he’s pressing the big, heavy tip into you. “Oh my God,” you cry, breath stuck in your lungs. 

It feels so good—he always does. He says, “C’mere, baby,” before gripping the front of your dress and pulling you up towards him. He hooks your legs around his hips and sinks into you slow, real slow. Gives you time to adjust to the size of him, time for your pussy to make room for it. He kisses you hard, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see the men on his team working thirty feet away. 

Your heart races in your chest and you think about warning him again that this might be a bad idea, but then he’s sinking his cock alllll the way into you, pushing against that sweet spot inside, and everything else fades into nothing. 

There’s nothing but Joel—your gentle, safe, loving husband, who always takes care of you and always will.

He pulls out slowly, moaning low, and then slams back into you. Again and again and again. He sets such a punishing pace that your eyes roll back and you have to sink your nails into his shoulders just to ground yourself, his gray cotton t-shirt soft and familiar beneath your fingertips. “Fuck, fuck, Joel.”

“Pretty pussy’s squeezin’ me so fuckin’ good, baby,” he says. “Know just what to give her. Know just what she needs.”

You can feel your slick coating the inside of your thighs, your orgasm creeping right back up your spine as if it’d never faded in the first place. He squeezes your thighs hard enough to bruise but it only brings you higher, gets you closer. Your clit pulses and you swear you can feel his cock throbbing inside you in tandem, a perfect man made just for you.

His hips slam into you, bringing you closer and closer and closer, until finally— “Joel, Joel, I—oh my god, shit—!”

“Ohh, sweet girl…you gonna cum for me? Hm? Feels that good? Needed it that bad, didn’t you,” he says, and it’s not a question because he just knows.

“Yes, yes, please—Joel, I’m gonna—!”

He takes a hand and grips the back of your neck, forcing you to look up at him. “I know, baby, s’alright. Give it to me. Yeah, that’s it. There you go.”

Your orgasm hits you hard, makeup smearing as your eyes water. Every nerve ending flares on end, euphoria washing over you and pulling your senses taut. “Cum with me, cum with me, oh god.”

He fucks you through it, and it only takes a couple more meaningful strokes before his hips are stuttering. Joel presses his forehead to yours and kisses you gently, spilling inside you with his cock pressed into you as deep as he can get. He cums with you and the words that leave his mouth as he reaches the summit give you goosebumps. “Love you, sweet girl. Love you so fuckin’ much.”

When he finally comes down, Joel’s panting breaths are in perfect sync with yours. He kisses your cheeks, your nose, your forehead. And when you start giggling he breaks out that soft, gentle smile and it turns your insides to mush.

You wince as he slowly pulls out of you and stuffs himself back into his jeans, pulling on the leather of his belt and fastening it back into place.

“Still have a couple minutes before you have to get back,” you say, cheeks warming as he helps you slide your panties back up your legs. “You really should eat something. Like, actual food. Sustenance.”

“Oh, I’m plenty satisfied,” he jokes. But when you unzip his cooler and sift through it, pulling out the turkey, tomato, and cheese sandwich you’d made him last night, he takes it from you with greedy hands. 

He eats quickly and you watch him in awe, unbelieving that he’s real, and much less that you’d somehow convinced him to love you. A perfect man, all your own, so beautiful and kind and selfless. You don’t think anyone’s loved anymore more than you love Joel.

Playfully, he taps the tip of your nose as he wolfs down the last bite of his sandwich. “What’re you thinkin’ about?”

“Just you,” is your answer.

“Me?”

“About how much I love you.”

His smile widens and he reaches his hand out, cradling your face, running his thumb along your cheekbone. “I don’t deserve you, sweetheart.”

You press your face into his hand, bottom lip jutting out. A part of you wants to beg him to come home early, to use a sick day, and hold you for hours. But instead, you kiss the palm of his hand and jump out of the truck, gravel crunching beneath your feet. “You should probably get back. Don’t want you staying any later than you have to.”

Joel lets out a heavy sigh but nods his head in agreement. He closes the door of his truck and opens the door to your car instead. “Get home safe, alright? I’ll try and get this done as soon as I can. You want me to pick something up after for dinner? Kinda cravin’ pizza.”

“Let me know when you’re leaving the site and I’ll call and put in an order for pickup. Get one for Tommy too so he can take it with him. Wanna make sure he eats. Sound good?”

He kisses you hard and nods. “Sounds real good. See you at home, baby girl.”

“I’ll be waiting on the porch,” you promise.

Like you always are. Like you always will be.

[mejaemin]

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ✦　

so hot… - yoon jeonghan

wc: 0.6k summary: jeonghan’s new haircut is so attractive that it woke you right out of your sleep! warnings: fluff, jeonghan baby talking reader (i KNOW he would do this nobody can tell me otherwise), the haircut 👅 an: this hair cut has me feeling 1,000 feelings at once

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ✦　

you’re not even awake right now. you’re completely delirious, to the point where your eyes are barely open, your hands shaking with the feeling of getting up so abruptly, not even getting a chance to get rid of the drool on your cheek. you felt your bedroom lights turn on, and through the one eye you cracked open, all you saw was something different about your boyfriend, and that alone was enough to get you on your feet.

the whine that fell from your lips paired with your disheveled self stumbling across the bedroom definitely caught him off guard with the way his eyes widened, cheeks a little pink as he opened his arms for you.

“hey angel..” he chuckles, smirking at the way you run your hands through his cropped hair, still in your sleep addled daze. “it’s nice, hm?”

you don’t say anything, very overwhelmed in the moment. it was definitely a mistake to get up like that, your head aching a bit and your heart beating out of your chest due to using energy you hadn’t gotten yet. you dip your head into the crook of his neck, pressing your lips to it as a response. he’s so warm, and you don’t know if you’re alive or sleeping against him, but you’re so comfortable that you feel like sleeping standing up.

“you’re still so sleepy, aren’t you, baby?” you don’t even need to see his face to know he’s pouting at you, always having an urge to baby talk you all the time.

you’re so tired that all you can do is whine, bringing yourself a little closer to him. his hands find your waist, rubbing circles that are so soothing he’s really not helping your case. his lips find the top of your head, and you stay like that for a few minutes until you eventually end up actually falling asleep.

it’s only seconds before you wake up again, gentle hands pushing hair out of your face. your eyes open barely a crack, and jeonghan’s looking down at you with the sweetest lovestruck look in his eyes. you open your own a little wider, and then fully upon remembering his new haircut, smiling to yourself at the sight.

“ ‘s so nice, hannie… so hot..” it’s not even on purpose, but your face is so puffy from sleep that you have a natural pout on your lips, and it only makes your boyfriend coo at you even more.

“thank you so much, angel. now why don’t you go lay back down, okay? i’ll join you in a moment, i just need to undress.” he gently leads you back to your shared bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin before turning away.

he sets his glasses on his nightstand before making his way to the closet. on the way he pulls off his sweatshirt, nothing underneath because what’s the point? you’re falling in and out of consciousness as you watch him get undressed, fair skin completely on display and so beautiful that it keeps you tethered to the living world. a quick glance at the time tells you it’s nearly midnight, jeonghan’s “date” with seungcheol going late into the night.

finally, in nothing but a pair of boxers, he flicks the bedroom light off and crawls into bed next to you. pulling you into his chest, you’re able to finally relax and go back to sleep, not without letting him know one last thing.

“i love it, hannie, love you.. your hair.. want you so bad..” you mumble into his chest.

he chuckles, running a hand up and down your hip. “okay, angel. we’ll see about that in the morning,”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ✦　

svt 🏷️ @coquettejunnie

[starksweasley]

not so secret

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: you and bucky were planning to keep the engagement quiet (for like, five minutes), but none of the thunderbolts believe in knocking.

wc: 1.9k+

Bucky woke before the city did. Which was saying something, considering the Avengers Tower usually never slept. But for once, it was quiet. In fact, it was almost suspiciously quiet, and he found himself blinking into soft sunlight instead of being jolted awake by fire alarms, Bob’s screaming, or Walker bench-pressing in the hallway.

You were still pressed against him, warm and soft and exactly where he wanted you. Your hand was splayed over his chest, resting right over where his heart beat steady and unbothered beneath his skin. And nestled on that hand, catching the morning light like it was born to, was the diamond ring.

His diamond ring.

Bucky just stared for a moment, letting his brain play catch-up.

You’d said yes.

The same you who tucked herself into his side each night without fail. The same you who stole his hoodies and slept with your ice-cold feet wedged between his calves like you owned the space. The same you who laughed at his grumpiest grumbles and brushed his hair and told him he was good, even when he didn’t believe it. Especially when he didn’t believe it.

And now you were wearing his ring like it had always belonged there.

He had the gall to smile. A real one. A crooked little thing that crinkled at the corner of his eyes and pulled warmth from somewhere deep in his chest. He reached up to push a wayward strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“Good morning, Mrs. Barnes,” he murmured, voice low and still scratchy with sleep. “Kinda.”

You made a faint noise in response, something halfway between a groan and a chuckle, and blinked up at him.

“That’s not how names work, baby,” you rasped, stretching like a cat against him.

He whined dramatically and buried his face in your neck like the coward he absolutely was. “Shut up, fiancée.”

Your laugh puffed warm against his hair, and Bucky felt you smile even before he heard it. The kind of smile that settled into your whole body, that made you shift closer like you could crawl into his chest and stay there forever. 

“You’re lucky I love you,” you mumbled. “Even after last night’s disaster.”

He peeked up, face scrunched up. “It wasn’t a disaster.”

“You dropped the ring.”

“I dropped my phone. And then the ring. But that was because you gasped. You made that sound like something exploded.”

“I thought the table was on fire.”

“It wasn’t. Just… lightly smoking.”

“And then you read your speech off your Notes app.”

“It was formatted.”

You giggled, sickeningly in love and thoroughly unimpressed. “You had bullet points.”

Bucky grunted and flopped back onto the pillow, hand dragging down his face. “Romance is dead.”

“You set the kitchen on fire with scented candles. You brought romance back and then killed it again. Very poetic.”

Still, your hand found his under the blankets, fingers curling into his palm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Which, for the record, it was.

The quiet stretched between you again, not awkward, not empty—just full. Like your bodies had gone still but your hearts were still talking.

And then—BANG!

The door slammed open with such force, Bucky genuinely thought it had come off the hinges.

“Okay so who short-circuited the kitchen this time?!” Bob’s voice rang out, frantic, toaster in hand, wild-eyed. “Walker’s eyebrows are HALF GONE—OH MY GOD.”

It took Bucky exactly one second to react.

“HEY!” he barked, grabbing the comforter like his life depended on it and yanking it up to cover you so fast it might’ve broken the sound barrier. You squealed under the sheets as the motion sent the actual toaster flying out of Bob’s hands and clattering to the floor like an offended robot.

“Buck—” you gasped, breathless with laughter. “You are so dramatic—”

“I will kill him,” Bucky muttered, already halfway up in bed, hair a mess and eyes full murder. His arm reached around your front, desperately grasping the edges of the blanket to make sure it didn’t slip down your chest. 

Bob, still planted at the foot of the bed like a poorly programmed Roomba, blinked. Then blinked again. And then he saw it.

Your hand, peeking from beneath the duvet. The ring. His eyes locked on it like a sniper scope.

“Wait. Is that—are you—IS THAT A RING?!”

There was a beat. One, long, painful second where the information processed behind his eyes.

And then— “BUCKY’S ENGAGED!! HE DID IT! HE LOCKED IT DOWN!” Bob shrieked, honest-to-God shrieked, and then turned and sprinted out the door, toaster smoke still trailing behind him like a tail. 

You groaned and dropped your head into Bucky’s shoulder, laughing so hard you wheezed. Bucky just stared at the door, eyes wide.

“He’s telling everyone, isn’t he.”

“Yup,” you gasped.

“I liked it better when it was our secret.”

“Mmhm. But admit it, you kinda like the chaos.”

A long pause.

“I hate how well you know me.”

And there it was two minutes later: absolute chaos.

Bucky had barely finished muttering a threat to murder Bob “in his goddamn sleep” when the sound of rapid footsteps, multiple footsteps, thundered down the hallway like a pack of wild horses. You barely had time to register the incoming stampede before the bedroom door slammed open again, and this time it didn’t stop at just one uninvited idiot. No, this time the entire squad came charging in like it was a scheduled morning briefing and not your private just-got-engaged-still-in-bed moment.

Yelena entered first, unapologetic and smug as ever. Her face was slick with a green clay mask, blonde hair piled in a messy bun, and fuzzy pink bunny slippers smacking against the hardwood with aggression. She looked like a Pinterest board threw up on her and she was proud of it.

Ava didn’t bother with the door. You shrieked as she just phased in directly onto the end of the bed, landing cross-legged with the grace of someone who did not fear death or your privacy. “Morning,” she said flatly, already regretting being awake.

Walker swaggered in shirtless, the faint scent of burnt hair trailing behind him. His right eyebrow was missing, and his protein shake was dripping down the side of the cup like it, too, was having a rough morning. “What’s all this fuss?” he asked, clearly having no idea and still deeply eager to insert himself into it.

Alexei was last—if you didn’t count Bob, who had re-entered like a returning sitcom character. The Red Guardian stomped in still fully suited up like he’d been waiting for an excuse to wear the damn thing again. He was chewing a bagel with zero urgency and looked utterly delighted.

You didn’t even have time to react before Yelena pointed accusingly.

“I KNEW IT,” she crowed, face mask cracking with the sheer force of her grin. “I knew you two were disgustingly in love. Pay up, Ava.”

Ava, without breaking eye contact or moving a muscle, reached into her hoodie pocket and tossed a crumpled ten-dollar bill at Yelena’s feet like she was making an offering to the chaos gods. “This is stupid,” she deadpanned. “I wanted drama. Not a rom-com with a six-zero war criminal lead.”

Bucky made a strangled sound, equal parts offended and deeply betrayed. 

Walker squinted at you both, then at the bed, then at your left hand, and finally let out a low whistle. “So how long were you gonna hide it, huh?” he asked, tipping his protein shake toward the ring like it was a toast. “You think we wouldn’t notice the rock the size of a mini frisbee?”

You groaned softly (for the umpteenth time) from beneath the blanket and elbowed Bucky in the ribs. “I need your sweatshirt.”

With a muttered curse and some careful one-armed maneuvering, he reached blindly toward the edge of the bed where his hoodie had landed the night before. It took him a full fifteen seconds to find it while still holding the blanket up with a white-knuckled grip like a man defending a fort. You snatched the hoodie the second it was within reach and, under the comforter, managed to shove it over your head in a tangled, slightly humiliating flurry of limbs and curses.

You sat up, dragged your fingers through your hair, and tried to salvage at least one ounce of dignity as you held up your left hand.

“Yeah,” you finally said, voice hoarse but good-natured. “He asked last night.”

A beat.

“After nearly setting the kitchen on fire with candles.”

Yelena turned to Bucky with a smirk like a knife. “You cooked? No wonder she said yes. She probably thought she was gonna die.”

“False,” Bucky muttered, burying his burning face into your shoulder like he could disappear into his your hoodie. “Everything was under control.”

“You burned pasta, Buck,” you said, gently patting his thigh.

He groaned louder.

That was when Walker, always the menace, decided to start playing “Single Ladies” off his phone at full volume. 

Yelena immediately joined in, throwing her clay-covered hands into the air and doing a half-committed version of the dance. Bob screamed and jumped in beside her like it was Broadway. Alexei started filming with his tablet and narrating like it was a National Geographic special: “And here, we see the modern American bachelor ritual in full display…”

Ava, still seated at the foot of the bed, stared into the middle distance and muttered, “This is hell.” But she was smiling a little despite herself.

You glanced at Bucky, who was still clinging to you like he might actually combust if he let go, and whispered through your laughter, “Wish we kept it a secret?”

His only response was a long, suffering moan muffled into your neck.

But even with the entire team screaming Beyoncé lyrics ten feet away, you could feel it in the way he held you.

The answer was no. He wouldn’t trade this chaos for the world. Not if it meant getting to love you out loud. But Bucky had his limits, especially when said chaos was standing three feet from your half-naked form and singing (moreso squawking) at full volume.

“Out,” Bucky commanded flatly.

No one moved.

“I’m serious. Out. Now. Before I start naming weaknesses.”

That got them scrambling. Walker tripped over Yelena’s bunny slipper. Ava phased directly through Bob, who screamed. Alexei took his sweet time: bagel first, dignity second. But within thirty seconds, the room was empty. 

Silence.

Bucky exhaled, long and slow, then let the blanket fall from his death grip.

You flopped back onto the bed with a thud, eyes wide and disbelieving, one arm tossed dramatically over your face. “That did not just happen.”

Bucky collapsed right on top of you and stuck his nose into the curve of your left collarbone. “It did. And I want to move.”

“To where?”

“Somewhere quiet. Unmapped. No cell signal.”

You laughed and ran your hands through his dark hair. His hand came up to find yours, fingers lacing gently together. “So… guess everyone knows now.”

“Good.”

Then he leaned up and kissed you. Slow, certain, and smiling against your mouth.

When he pulled back, he smirked. “Think it’s too early to elope?”

You raised a brow. “You trying to skip the party?”

His grin widened. “Just trying to skip Bob’s speech.

[inbabylontheywept]

Kartchner Caverns

The first time I traveled to Tucson I was in a car full of zooted children. I would've preferred being one of those children, but alas, any medication that makes me sleep also makes me sleepwalk. And after an incident where I tried to climb out of the car while it was still going sixty (thank God for seatbelts), I was condemned to a childhood of car trip sobriety: No more poor-man's time travel. No more ambien. One less morally ambiguawesome parenting decision from my crazy-ass dad.

I was talking with him when it happened.

I can't remember exactly what we were talking about - something to do with our final destination in Mexico. But at some point, we woke up my little brother. 

(Nothing good happens from waking the dreamer. Best case scenario, the dream ends. Worst case, it doesn't.)

I remember starting when I felt one of his small cold hands reach up to grab my shoulder. Our dad did the same, and it jerked the car a little bit - startling someone whose hands are on the steering wheel has its risks. Dad and I both turned to look at him, but he wasn't even looking at us. He was leaning over the console, staring into the red and purple sunset ahead, watching the rolling skyline of Tucson like it was drowning in dreams. Like he was drowning in dreams. 

We waited for him to speak. It took a while. Normal social conventions don't apply to people when they're unconscious. The fact that he could talk was just some broken line code in the fabric of the world. 

"Wow," he said at long last. 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" my dad replied. And my little brother shook his head like he just heard the silliest thing in the world. 

"It's terrible," he said. "Awful. Is Mexico always like this?" 

"We're still in America," my dad said back. 

My little brother squinted into the sunset, doubt and derision etched into his face. After a few seconds, both emotions softened, and he nodded in wonder. 

"Eagle feathers," he said, chuckling softly. Like he'd just solved some clever little riddle. Then he fell like an angel into something deeper than sleep. 

𓆙𓆙𓆙

(There is a word for angels that fall.)

𓆙𓆙𓆙

The second time I went to Tucson, I hid from the sun. 

You'd be surprised how easy it is to do down there. Society accommodates it in ways you just won't find anywhere else. When it's 109 outside with single digit humidity, of course you stay indoors. Of course the outdoor markets open at 6 pm, and of course they don't close until 11. Of course. You make the sun mean enough, and everyone becomes a vampire. 

So I roamed the streets at night, kicking up red gravel, watching coyotes wander in between the sea of strip malls. Strip malls are such an Arizonan atrocity. Nobody bothers to build up because there’s nothing to be gained from density. The city will never be walkable, because the problem isn’t infrastructure. It's the sun. And you can't solve the sun, so you might as well lean into driving. Mash the whole city flat and crawl through the dust like rattlers. 

(I met a man once, by the canals, that said the strip malls were some sort of American curse upon the inheritors of Johnny Appleseed. There's one God in this world, he said, and it's the god of don't-eat-apples. But then we invented apple pie and gave it to everyone. So this is our hell.)

Still. It made the days long down there. Lurking at night and hiding all day gives you something like cabin fever. I needed something to do outside. Something that was outside, but also, somehow, inside. What's inside and outside at the same time? What kind of klein-flask ouroboros nonsense fits that bill?

Kartchner caverns. 

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I wouldn't say the caves were like walking into Dante's hell - more like finishing the journey. At some point in my life, I'd blown past limbo, lust, gluttony, greed, and anger. I'd spent two decades plus change living in the fires of heresy. Every layer past would only get colder. 

And each step into that cave did. 

My tour guide and psychopomp was a friendly old man. Familiar in the way that all old people feel familiar to me. I view the world more as a pile of metaphors. He viewed it primarily as water-soluble minerals. 

It was a good work dynamic. 

"These here," he said, gesturing to a long, slender series of impossibly frail stalactites, "are called soda straws."

They were beautiful. I can wax poetic at the keyboard, but in real life, my exclamation of wonder is primarily Hot Damn.

"Hot damn," I said, and he nodded good naturedly. 

"They're pretty fun aren't they? Took a few eons to make 'em but I think it was worth the wait."

I was charmed by the way he talked. I knew it was just a fluke of tenses, but there was something funny about the way he described them - as if he personally oversaw each of the dainty little spires. We went further, and he pointed out more formations as we came across them. 

"Behold!" he said just a few feet further. "Fried eggs!" 

And I had to admit: There were fried eggs. 

"Behold!" he said further still. "A shield!"

And lo, there was a shield. It didn't look terribly shieldlike, but who knows - maybe he made the shields first and got better as he went along. The eggs were beautiful.

We kept walking, deeper, and deeper into the cave. At the surface, it had been hot enough for my sweat to dry into a stinging white powder. Down there it was cold enough to see my breath. The feeling of descending into hell was replaced with the feeling of being swallowed by some ancient, fossilized snake. 

"We call this serpent-stone," he said, gesturing to an expanse of wall. 

And then all I could see was the snake that was swallowing me. 

Now, I want to bring something up right about now. At this point, you might be tempted to write off the unease that I was feeling as claustrophobia. Which would make sense - caves unsettle a lot of people. But not me. I'm borderline claustrophilic. When I was a child, I didn't feel comfortable reading until I was wedged somewhere. Behind a shelf, or in a cabinet, or even underneath the beanbag my parents had intended for sitting. Those were my happy places. I liked being crammed into tight spaces. 

I did not like that cave. 

The section of serpent-stone narrowed the further we went. The room started off maybe six feet wide, but eventually it narrowed down. First to five, then four, then three. Two. And it didn’t stop at one. 

The old man put me in front at that point. Said that if I got stuck, he could just push me forward. Didn't occur to me until I'd gone another hundred feet forward, sideways, that maybe getting dragged out would be better. But I was strangely reluctant to bring it up. I’d already let myself get cornered. There was nothing to be gained from letting him know my thoughts. 

But the only way to keep them secret was by going forward. So I poured myself through the crack, slick as slip.  

There's a grain to the scales of serpent-stone, both in the shape of the formations and in the texture of the individual pieces. They're metamorphic, but there's enough sediment left to ‘em that they have a grain. They bite when you go one way, and slide when you go the other. It felt like I was ratcheting myself in. Even if I could slip forward more, I didn't think I could go back. Not without wearing myself down into something skinless and screaming. 

Water began to pool up in sections. It was cold enough to avoid the stink that still waters normally carry, but things stranger than algae festered in the waters beneath my feet. The puddles felt thick, almost slimy. A dozen steps later I saw little ropes of the stuff trickling down my feet. 

Eventually, it got so narrow I couldn't turn my head. I could still hear the old man behind me, but only through little things - the occasional sharp inhale, or steps just an eighth of a beat off from my own. But never words. I remember stopping at one point, just to get pushed, just to know he was there. And he refused. All I heard for fifteen minutes was his breathing behind me. 

He'd called my bluff. There was nowhere to go but forward. 

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I don't know why it took so long to get dark down there. I wasn't carrying a flashlight, and if the old man had been carrying one, I'd have seen it bob with his steps. There was a sort of soft glow to everything but that had faded hour by hour. Eventually it didn't matter that I couldn't turn my head sideways - I wouldn't have been able to see the man if he'd been two inches in front of me. I walked, and I walked, and I walked, and just when I was about to get stuck for real - stuck in a way where I wouldn't be able to step forward, where I'd have to be pushed (or dragged back along the sharpness of the scales) - I popped out of the serpent stone crevasse like a cork from a bottle. 

Plunk. 

I can't tell you the relief that I felt at that moment. It didn't matter that I didn't know where I was, or how I got there. I'd never been claustrophobic in my life, but at that moment, I couldn't stand even the proximity of the crevice. I scrambled forward, stumbling over the rough cave floor, desperate and eager to find the next wall. To get some sense of where I was. 

I never did. Even as I calmed down, even as the relief of being free of that infernal vice sat upon me like a crown, I never found another wall. Anywhere. I walked until fear made me crawl, as low and blind as any worm. I crawled until my pants tore and my knees bled and my spine ached. 

And I found nothing. 

When the vastness of the space truly sank in, when I realized that leaving that first wall had been a mistake, I turned back. But some choices can't be unmade. There were no walls. Not anymore. No matter how far I crawled, how hard I tried, there was no end. There was nothing but perfect darkness, broken stone, and endless snaking trickles of cold cavern water. 

I dipped a finger in one of the rivulets. Just to feel it. Just to ground myself in something. I felt the waters slither past, and I found something like sight in their motion. 

Water always goes down. Whatever else I lacked down here in the stone, in that moment, I knew up and down. And for the first time in hours, I had a choice. A real choice. No instinct or panic or too late realizations: Up or down. 

I went down. 

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I’d visited a rope factory once. Watched the threads dance and spin and weave into something mighty. I got a blind man’s sense of that from my trickle. I felt it meet more of its kind, braiding into them like thread. I liked pretending it was still my rivulet, but eventually, I had to admit it was lost in the mess. Picking out one thread from a rope would be easy, compared to picking out one trickle from a river. 

Funny how water can drown in itself. 

The first contaminant to the water was iron. I could smell it in the air -  strong as blood. It should have unsettled me, but I’d smelled water like that before. My grandpas well-water stained everything it touched rusty red. His sinks, his showers, his fields. Even his teeth. He was wealthy enough that he could've wiped the stains off decades back, but he told me once that he liked the way it made other people uncomfortable. The way it reminded everyone who saw him smile that by sacrament or soil, they too drank of god. 

The next contaminant was the thick water from before. Apparently, the stagnant pools weren’t as still as I’d thought. Somehow, over strange eons, they too could seep through the stone and make their way into this deep river. It was scentless, but I could feel it catch around my ankles on some steps. It seemed like a memory from a different life. I just didn’t feel like the same person that crawled through the serpent-stone crack. I was just some stranger wearing his shed skin. 

Then at long last came a smell of deep sulphur 🜏. It was an odd contrast with the sharply cold air, and the strangely warm waters. It was the least pleasant of the bunch, but I endured it well. I followed until the tears streaming down my cheeks felt as normal as breathing. Until the rush of the river was replaced by the pounding of waves. 

I’d arrived on a beach. I couldn’t see the ocean in front of me, but I could hear how vast it had to be. There was a terrible stench, worse than the sulphur - the smell of some vast death. Godly carrion. A wound in the world long left to fester. 

I sat there on the beach of that ocean. Afraid to let those dark waters touch me. Thinking and waiting and worrying about what would happen next. 

A voice spoke just twenty feet behind me. I recognized it. I never would’ve recognized it before, but there was a knack to the way this place wore me thin. Like a razor getting sharpened instead of a shirt going ratty. 

“You’re very close,” the old man said, and I remembered him from all those years ago - sitting cross-legged in the moonlight by the bank of the canal. Looking up at me, eyes dark, and calling me over to tell me a secret. 

There's one God in this world, he said then. One God. And it's the god of don't-eat-apples. But then we invented apple pie and gave it to everyone. 

So this is our hell.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I turned around. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t have been able to see him. I shouldn’t have been able to see anything. But I could see the outline of where he was on that shoreline. Not as a  bright thing, but as a darker shade of absence. A little hole in the dark. 

I could have run. But that would’ve required taking my eyes off him, and at that moment I couldn’t bear the thought. He was the only thing to see down there. The only reason I had eyes. But somehow, more important than the joy of seeing was the feeling that as long as I kept my eyes on him, he was trapped. Pinned to this world like a butterfly on cork. 

There was a half second pause. The voice was a memory, but seeing through the gaps was new to me. The thing in front of me wasn’t an old man. It wasn’t even good at pretending. I was oddly embarrassed that I’d ever been fooled by it. What I was looking at was something older than this cave. Something trapped down here so long it could not bear the thought of light. The dream of something dead. The sloughed skin of a snake. 

The first apple eater. 

I could see shades of absence. More than the hole in the dark. I could look at the thing and feel the place where its wings should have been. Its first ones, at least. 

It lunged for me. 

I’d forgotten it could do that. 

It slammed into me like the water from the bottom of a dam. The power was nothing compared to the cold. I couldn’t see a thing, but what I could feel made bile climb up my throat. 

It was melting. Running down itself in little streams, like snow melting in the sun. Like the river I followed all the way down here. A hand ran over my face and I could feel it pouring into me, and in my fury I did the only thing I could think of: I reached up, and I wrapped my hands around its neck, and I clenched so hard that I could feel the tendons in my wrist sawing up through my skin, taut as piano wire. 

It was like squeezing wet clay. It deformed under my touch, stretching longer and thinner and smoother even as the muscular length of his impossibly long body wrapped around me. At some point the fists beating on my chest turned into wings. Stolen wings, to replace the ones that were stolen from it, and there was a scream in the cave it was so awful that I prayed it wasn’t mine. 

It was a terrible race. We were killing each other the same way. There was no question about someone dying here in front of the empty throne of god. I just didn’t want it to be me. 

Eventually, it could stretch no more, and my hands could crush more than just nightmare and shadow. The wings beat on me weaker, and weaker, until eventually some cartilage in its great neck snapped under the pressure of my thumbs.

It was like cracking a glow stick. There was a flash of light, brief as thunder, and I could see the waves in front of me. An ocean of rotting meat and bones. The outline of some great, dead serpent, fifty feet tall. And a tower of dead bodies, stretching back to ages that I could not recognize. The only corpses I could recognize were those at the top, with their strange helmets and iconic breastplates. 

Conquistadors. 

When the light went out, the body went with it. Most dreams don’t leave anything behind. Even when they’re made by gods. 

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I don’t know how I left the cave. 

I followed the river up. At some point, it stopped being the river I followed down. The tributaries feeding into it spread out like a fan, and fool that I am, I kept picking left. It shouldn’t have worked. Part of me wonders if I somehow bent the river to my will. Filled in for the dead thing bobbing in the lake, or the echo that I strangled on that starless shore. 

Or maybe I just got lucky. 

I can remember finally breaching the incline and seeing an exit into the desert. Not the one I stepped in through, but good enough. I can remember getting closer and closer, before stepping out into the burning sun. I thought it was finally over.

I thought wrong.  

I can remember looking into the bright blue sky and seeing exactly what my little brother saw on that drive all those years back. 

I don’t know what I killed down in the cave. Some dead thing in the dark, dreaming it was alive. An altar of blood and bone, designed to hold a fragment. 

But the real thing sat there in the sky. Curled up so tight and so smooth, you could mistake it for a ball. Waiting, and watching, and hating. Alive but dreaming death. The mould that stamped out the form of what lay in the cave. 

Quetzalcoatl, I learned later. The feathered serpent. 

I moved the month after that. Went somewhere north, somewhere cold, somewhere that a snake wouldn’t follow. Most days now, I look up, and I just see the sun. A flaming ball of gas. A little, red, star. 

But only most.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

𓆙𓆙𓆙

𓆙𓆙𓆙

𓆙𓆙𓆙

𓆙𓆙𓆙 𓇳

Thanks to @qsatisfaction and @foldingfittedsheets for being my editors on this piece. And thanks to @dr-robert-chase-apologist for providing the prompt.

[cherryxbooo]

Yeah, I’m the lucky one

Summary: Hiding it when you're sick from your boyfriend is one thing, but hiding it from your clingy boyfriend is a whole other challenge.

Reader x Lando Norris

Genre: fluff

The paddock is alive with energy, buzzing with anticipation, the sound of engines roaring in the distance, and the hum of the crowd outside.

Lando is in his element, calm yet radiating an excitement that’s palpable.

The focus in his eyes is like nothing I’ve ever seen, and it’s clear that today matters more to him than most.

The weight of the race, the pressure of the expectations, and the fire in his heart are all simmering beneath the surface.

It's a mix of raw determination and adrenaline, and it brings out the best in him.

But me? Well, I feel the complete opposite.

I woke up feeling off, my head pounding and my body aching with a fever I couldn't shake.

I knew I should stay in bed, but I couldn’t. Not today.

Not with everything he’s worked for. I couldn’t let something as trivial as being sick get in the way of him having the best race of his career.

He’s been talking about this day for weeks, getting ready for it with an intensity that I’ve only seen in the world of motorsport.

But as I made my way through the paddock, trying my best to act normal, I felt the weight of my own discomfort pulling me down.

I’ve been silently counting the minutes until I can just crawl into a quiet corner and hide.

But the last thing I want is for him to see me like this. He’d immediately worry, go into panic mode, and lose focus.

Lando, with his big heart, would put everything aside just to take care of me, and I don’t want to do that to him.

Not today. Today is about him.

As I stand next to his family, making small talk with his friends, I feel dizzy.

The lights are a little too bright, and the sounds a little too loud.

I try to steady myself, offering a weak smile whenever someone glances my way, but the effort feels exhausting.

Lando’s mum catches my eye, and for a brief moment, I see a flicker of concern in her expression.

But she doesn’t say anything, just gives me a warm, reassuring smile. I’m grateful, but I can tell she knows something’s off.

Then, out of nowhere, I feel a familiar hand on my back. A small shiver runs down my spine as I turn to face Lando, and I instantly feel a warmth spread through me, despite the fever still creeping in.

“Hey baby, you okay?” His voice is soft, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes, like he’s always aware of everything around him, especially me.

I don’t want to worry him. I can’t.

So I give him a smile that’s more practiced than I’d like to admit,

“Yeah, just a little tired. Big day, huh?”

Lando raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

He studies me for a second, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual, his hand gently squeezing my back.

The touch is warm, comforting. “You sure? You don’t look so great.”

“I’m fine,” I assure him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“You focus on the race. I’m just here to cheer you on.”

Lando hesitates, his lips pressed into a thin line as if trying to gauge if I’m really okay.

But then he nods slowly, though his concern doesn’t quite vanish.

“Alright… but if you need anything, you let me know, okay?”

His voice is almost a whisper, like he’s trying not to give away just how much he cares.

“I will,” I promise, trying to keep my tone light and convincing.

But as he walks away to prepare for the race, a sense of loneliness settles over me.

The noise around me feels overwhelming, and the crowd only amplifies the ache in my head.

I find a quiet corner, away from the chaos, hoping to just breathe for a moment.

I didn't realize that I had been hiding away for a while already.

But before I know it, Lando’s voice cuts through the distance.

“You’ve been hiding from me.”

I turn to see him standing there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed with a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

His presence alone seems to calm the storm inside me.

“I wasn’t hiding,” I protest weakly, though my voice cracks just slightly.

“Just… taking a break.”

Lando raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“Taking a break from what? From me?”

He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch my cheek, his fingers warm against my skin.

I close my eyes for a second, leaning into the touch, even though I feel like I might collapse at any moment.

“From the chaos of the paddock,” I admitted softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze softens, the teasing in his eyes fading. He steps in closer, his body brushing against mine as he gently cups my face with both hands, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“Hey…” His voice is tender now, a deep, comforting lull.

“Are you really feeling okay love?"

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat suddenly unbearable.

“Yes, don't worry Lan. I'm fine.”

I whisper, my voice slightly breaking as I fight the urge to lean on him completely.

I stare up at him, feeling a mix of love and pain.

I don’t want to be the one who holds him back, but I can’t deny how much I crave the support and warmth he gives me without even thinking.

Lando lowers his hands, but not without giving me one last comforting touch, his fingers brushing my wrist.

“You need to rest,” he says firmly, but there’s a hint of playfulness behind his words now.

“I’m not going to let you make it through today without me taking care of you at least once.”

I laugh softly, despite the dizziness still swirling in my head.

“I’m fine, Lando. You go be amazing out there.”

He looks at me, his eyes soft but filled with determination. “I will be. But only because you’re here.”

Before I can say anything else, he leans in, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll make sure to get at least P3 for you.”

And with that, he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of engineers and teammates.

But the moment he’s out of sight, I feel my energy drain completely.

Regardless of how I felt I still made my way to the rest so I could support Lando and be there for him.

Everywhere I look, there’s movement, excitement, and a sense of urgency.

Lando’s already suited up and surrounded by his team, getting ready to focus on the race that could mean everything for his career.

I’m supposed to be the one cheering him on, being his support, his calm, but instead, all I can do is try to survive the overwhelming wave of heat coursing through me.

Every few seconds, my head spins, my chest feels like it's on fire, and the nausea rolls in like a tide.

It’s getting harder to keep it together, but I’m trying. I can’t let anything distract him.

I can't make this his problem today, not when he’s been working so hard for this moment.

I take a seat next to Max and Pietra, hoping the three of us can keep the mood light and give Lando a little peace before he heads into the race.

I force myself to laugh at Max's joke about the weather, but it comes out more like a wheeze.

My throat feels like it’s coated in something dry and scratchy, and each breath feels like I’m not getting enough air.

Max doesn’t notice, but Pietra does.

She’s always been that way, observant, kind, and so very perceptive.

I’ve always admired how in tune she is with people.

She shifts in her seat beside me, her eyes narrowing as she studies my face.

“You okay, Y/n?” she asks gently, her voice laced with concern.

“You look a little pale.”

I immediately try to put on a smile, but it feels like the most exhausting thing I’ve done all day.

“I’m fine, really,” I say, hoping I can convince her.

“Just a little tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Pietra doesn’t buy it, not even for a second.

She leans in closer, her gaze steady as she inspects my face, my trembling hands.

“You sure?” she presses, her brow furrowing.

“You don’t look fine. Maybe you should lay down for a bit?”

The room suddenly feels like it’s closing in on me.

The dizziness that had been simmering beneath the surface is starting to take hold, and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes focused on her.

I swallow hard, trying to push the wave of nausea down, but it’s impossible to ignore now.

I nod weakly, doing my best to stay composed.

“I’m okay, Pietra. Just... a little dizzy. I think I’ll sit down for a moment.”

Max, still glued to his phone, glances up briefly, probably sensing the shift in the air.

His eyes scan me quickly before he leans closer to Pietra, muttering something under his breath, probably about how pale I look.

I’m about to wave it off, to reassure them both that it’s nothing, when Pietra’s soft hand touches my shoulder.

It’s warm and grounding, her touch gentle but insistent.

“No, you’re not okay, Y/n,” she says firmly.

“You’re not fooling me. You need to go back to the hotel and rest. Max and I will handle everything here. Don’t worry about Lando. He’ll understand. He doesn’t need to know right now, and you’re not helping him by pretending you’re fine.”

My heart clenches at her words. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to make him worry.

He’s about to race, about to compete for something so important to him.

The last thing I want is to make this about me. But Pietra’s expression leaves no room for argument.

Her hand squeezes my shoulder, and I feel a wave of guilt hit me hard.

“I... I can’t just leave,” I whisper, my voice shaky.

“I don’t want him to—”

“Y/n,” Pietra interrupts, her voice soft but full of authority.

“Lando will be fine. He’ll be more upset if you stay here, pretending to be okay when you’re not. Let us take care of everything. He doesn’t need the distraction. He needs you to get better, not to keep pretending.”

I shake my head, still fighting it. “But he’s going to think I don’t care.”

“He knows you care. You don’t have to prove it by running yourself into the ground,” she says, her tone firm yet reassuring.

“You need to listen to your body. Max and I can make sure everything’s fine here.”

I hesitate for a moment, my vision swimming in and out of focus, and then I feel it, the dizziness getting worse.

My stomach turns violently, and I barely suppress a gasp. Before I can protest, Pietra’s up and at my side, helping me stand.

“Max,” she calls out to him, her voice tinged with urgency.

Max looks up from his phone, his attention now fully on us. He doesn’t need to ask questions.

Without a word, he stands, motions to security, and gestures for them to clear a path.

“We’re getting you back to the hotel,” Max says, his voice gentle but decisive.

“No arguments.”

I open my mouth to protest, to tell them I’m fine, but the dizziness overtakes me again.

I feel my legs wobble, my knees threatening to give way beneath me. The nausea is so strong now that I can’t hold it back any longer.

My head feels like it’s filled with cotton, and my heart races as I fight to keep everything together.

“Okay,” I whisper, too weak to resist any longer. “Okay, let’s go.”

Max’s arm wraps around my shoulder, steadying me as Pietra follows closely behind.

I glance over my shoulder at the paddock, seeing the hustle and bustle of the team preparing for the race.

And even though I want nothing more than to stay and support Lando, I know Pietra’s right, he doesn’t need to see me like this.

As we make our way out of the paddock, past the busy crew and excited fans, the world seems to blur again.

All I can think about is Lando, how much he’s worked for this, and how much I wish I could be there cheering him on.

But right now, all I can do is focus on getting back to the hotel and trying to heal.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Pietra murmurs, sensing my anxiety.

“Lando will understand. We’ll make sure he stays focused.”

“Thank you,” I whisper back, squeezing her hand.

Max looks over at me, offering a reassuring smile.

“No problem, Y/n. We’ve got you.”

And as they guide me toward the exit, the sound of the engines roaring to life in the distance feels far away, almost like a distant memory.

All I can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that, by the time Lando crosses the finish line, I’ll be okay.

Meanwhile,

The race was intense, there was no other way to describe it.

Lando’s heart was pounding, his breath coming in quick bursts as he fought to stay focused on the track ahead.

Each corner, each straightaway felt like it mattered more than the last.

The roar of the engine under him, the vibration in his hands as he gripped the wheel,it was like the world was screaming at him to push harder, to get everything he had into every lap.

And he did.

Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, the world outside of his car becoming a blur of colors and sounds.

But amidst the chaos, there was something else tugging at his mind, something he couldn’t quite shake.

Just before the race started, he had caught sight of Y/n sitting among their friends, looking beautiful as always, but something was... off.

Maybe it was the way she had looked at him, her tired eyes betraying a sense of exhaustion that didn’t quite match the energy of the day.

Or how quiet she seemed, like a flicker of something hidden behind her usual smile. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but something wasn’t right.

But there was no time for that.

He pushed those thoughts away, focusing back on the race, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigated the track with everything he had.

He couldn’t afford to think about anything but the next corner, the next lap, the next move.

And when he crossed the finish line, the elation of victory should’ve been enough to make everything feel perfect.

After all, he had gotten P2.

The cheers, the confetti, the roar of the crowd, it was everything he’d been working for, everything he’d dreamed of.

But in the midst of it all, he couldn’t shake the nagging thought of Y/n.

His gaze searched the area, instinctively looking for her.

He was surrounded by teammates, sponsors, friends, but all he wanted in that moment was to see her smile, to know she was okay.

He scanned the area again, but she wasn’t there.

Not where he had left her. His stomach tightened, his mind racing. Something wasn’t right.

Lando quickly moved through the crowd, dodging everyone on his way, his eyes darting between faces, searching for any sign of her.

He was so focused on finding her, he almost didn’t see Max and Pietra standing off to the side.

When he finally noticed them, his heart skipped a beat. You weren't there.

Lando’s pace quickened as he approached them, his voice betraying the worry he couldn’t hide.

“Where’s Y/n?” he asked, his words coming out sharper than he intended.

Pietra exchanged a glance with Max before she sighed, the look on her face telling Lando everything he needed to know.

"She wasn’t feeling well," she said softly, her eyes clouded with concern.

"We had to send her back to the hotel."

Lando’s chest tightened, a heavy weight settling over him.

His pulse quickened, the sudden rush of guilt and worry clouding his thoughts.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, his voice rising slightly, not in anger, but in genuine confusion.

Max stepped forward, his expression calm but serious.

"Mate she didn’t want to distract you. She said it was important not to take your focus away from the race."

Lando’s mind was spinning now, the elation of his victory evaporating as quickly as it had come.

Guilt was flooding him, he couldn’t believe Y/n had been struggling, that she’d hidden it from him.

She’d always been there for him, supportive, understanding, even when he was caught up in his own world.

And now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d let her down.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the weight of the situation was suffocating.

He didn’t know what to say.

All he could think about was how she had been sitting there, probably feeling miserable, and he hadn’t even noticed.

The race, his career, all of it felt so insignificant compared to the thought of Y/n being alone and sick.

“Why didn’t she just tell me? I would’ve understood. I could’ve—”

Pietra stepped forward, her hand gently resting on his arm, grounding him in the moment.

“Lando, she didn’t want you to worry. She knew how much today meant to you. She didn’t want to take that away from you.”

Max nodded in agreement.

“She’s always there for you. But she’s not the type to let herself be a distraction, not when you’re in the zone like that. You know how she is, she cares about you more than anything, but she didn’t want to pull you away from your focus.”

Lando let out a long breath, feeling like the weight of the world was pressing down on his chest.

“I should’ve noticed,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to the ground.

"I should’ve been paying more attention."

"You’re not a mind reader, Lando," Pietra said, her voice calm but firm.

Lando realized that she was right.

He quickly greeted the rest of his family and did some other duties before changing and heading back to the hotel.

Lando arrived at the hotel room, his body still buzzing from the race, but his mind consumed by a different kind of worry.

As soon as he entered, the first thing he did was quietly close the door behind him.

The soft hum of the air conditioning and the dim light from the lamps were the only sounds in the room.

His eyes immediately fell on your figure, still asleep, your peaceful face glowing softly under the sheets.

The sight of you, so vulnerable yet so beautiful, made his heart ache with both affection and guilt.

He quietly pulled a chair from the small desk and sat down beside the bed, never taking his eyes off you.

He wanted to be close to his girl, but he didn’t want to wake you.

He knew you needed rest, but the worry of the day, the worry about you, hadn’t let up.

He reached out, brushing a lock of hair from your face.

His fingers lingered there for a second before he let out a soft breath, resting his chin in his hand, his elbow on his knee.

He could almost hear the questions running through his mind, wondering why you hadn’t told him what you had been feeling.

He could feel the weight of your absence, the quiet ache in his chest from not knowing exactly what had been going on with you.

The minutes seemed to stretch on, each tick of the clock amplifying his thoughts.

He hated this uncertainty, this feeling that something had been left unsaid.

Then, after what felt like forever, a soft groan escaped from your lips, and Lando’s attention snapped to her immediately.

Your eyes fluttered open, blinking against the dim light in the room.

Your gaze slowly focused on him, confusion settling on her face as she took in her surroundings.

Lando watched her with a mix of relief and concern, his heart lightening at the sight of you waking up but still heavy with the questions that lingered in his mind.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Lando said softly, his voice full of warmth and affection.

My vision cleared, and I smiled sleepily at him.

Lando’s heart squeezed.

"You’re awake. I’ve been here waiting for you to wake up for, like, ages now." He chuckled softly, though his eyes were still filled with concern.

"But seriously… why didn’t you tell me?"

I sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing on me.

My hand reached for his, finding his fingers weakly, and I squeezed them, my fingers trembling a bit.

"I didn’t want to be a burden," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I didn’t want to ruin your day or take away from the race. It was important to you. I just… I didn’t want to distract you."

Lando smiled at me softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand.

"You’re never a burden, Y/n." He looked at me with such sincerity, it made my heart ache in the best way.

"You are always my priority, okay? Not the race, not the fans, not the win. You. Always."

I felt my heart flutter at his words, my eyes softening as I looked back at him.

The tears I’d been holding back threatened to spill, and I could feel them welling up.

Being sick just makes people extra emotional, give it a break yeah?

"I’m sorry," I murmured, my voice breaking slightly.

Lando shook his head, his heart aching.

He leaned closer, cupping my cheek gently, his thumb brushing over my skin.

"You don’t have to apologize," he whispered.

"You never have to hide anything from me, especially not when it comes to you."

I felt the weight of his words, the tenderness in his touch, and I wanted so badly to just melt into him.

I was so grateful for him, for the way he always made me feel safe, loved, and heard.

Lando sat beside me on the bed, leaning back just enough to grab the water and medicine he’d set out earlier.

"You need to drink this," he said softly, his voice gentle but firm.

"Get some rest, and I’ll be right here with you. Just take it easy."

I hesitated for a moment, but then reached for the glass of water he held out to me.

My fingers were still shaking slightly, but I took it from him gratefully.

There was a small, tired smile on my lips as I drank, and Lando’s eyes never left me.

He was watching me closely, making sure I was okay. It felt nice to be looked after this way.

After I finished the water, Lando sat back down next to me again, his hand finding mine once more.

"You don’t ever have to hide something like that from me, okay?" he said, his voice soft but serious.

"If something’s wrong, you have to tell me. Promise me you’ll tell me next time."

I looked up at him, my eyes full of emotion, and I nodded slowly.

The tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over, and I felt a few of them slide down my cheeks.

Before I could say anything, Lando quickly wiped them away with his thumb, his touch light, tender.

"I’m sorry," I whispered again, my voice barely audible.

He slightly laughed, "You're such a crybaby when you're sick babe."

Lando leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment.

"You don’t have to apologize," he said, his voice full of love and affection.

"I love you, baby. I love you, and that’s all that matters." His voice was quiet but strong, filled with reassurance.

I pulled him closer, resting my head against his chest, letting out a small, exaggerated sigh.

"Mmm, this is the best pillow ever," I mumbled, half-laughing, half-groaning in exhaustion.

Lando wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in tighter.

His chin rested on top of my head, and he chuckled softly.

"You come first," he said with a mock-serious tone, trying to sound all deep and dramatic.

"Always."

I snuggled in a little closer, feeling his warmth.

"Oh, I know now," I said, glancing up at him with a grin.

"You’re basically my personal butler, aren’t you? Always there when I need you."

He let out a dramatic gasp. "But of course! My whole existence is to serve you, my queen."

I rolled my eyes, fighting back a laugh.

"Thank you for being here," I said, the words half-sweet, half-teasing.

Lando smirked, pressing a kiss to my hair.

"Please don't cry again... and well yeah, where else would I be? I’m not going anywhere."

Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added,

"Besides, you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. You know that, right?"

I couldn’t help but laugh lightly, feeling him grin against the top of my head.

"Oh, I know," I said, playfully tapping his chest.

"You're my big soft marshmallow. I practically own you."

Lando chuckled, his arms tightening around me. "You absolutely do. And you’re not even sorry about it."

I smirked, rolling my eyes. "Well, I am your number one priority, aren’t I?"

His eyes sparkled with affection, and he pulled me a little closer.

"You’re my number one everything, Y/n. No competition."

I snorted, unable to help the grin that spread across my face.

"Good. Glad we’re clear on that."

As we sat there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside felt miles away.

All that mattered was us, his heartbeat, my tired sighs, and the way we fit together like we’d always been meant to.

For a moment, everything else faded, and all I could think was: Yeah, I’m the lucky one.

The end

[leviraaaaaa]

“Your hands are fucking cold.”

You freeze when one of his eyes peer open, your hands pausing on his face where you were tracing his cheek.

You'd been awake for a few minutes now, watching him sleep. As the light sleeper he was, you knew you shouldn't be touching him when he's asleep. But he was lying just beside you, all curled and comfortable, his dark hair disheveled and his face so soft, you couldn't resist.

“Did I wake you?” You whispered.

“No.” He shakes his head, closing his eyes again. “Been up for a while. Just resting my eyes.”

You smile a little, scooching closer to him under the blanket. You could feel his body heat through the thin shirt he wore. “Never thought I'd see you lazing around.”

“It's weekend.”

“Since when do you care about weekends?”

“Fucks sake.” He groaned in response, scowling. His eyes opened as he shot a heatless glare at you. “It's one day I take a break and I'm facing a fucking interrogation. I'm getting up.”

With that said, before you could process what was happening, there was an empty space beside your arms and a blatant lack of warmth. You blinked confusedly.

"Hey—what? No!” You protested, but you were slightly late. He was already out of bed. You pushed yourself up to a half-sitting position, trying to keep your eyes open.

“What no?” He asked, glancing at you sideways as he stretched out his arms.

“Get back under here! I'm sorry!”

“Weren't you the one pestering me that I was laying around?” His raised his brow.

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean I want you to leave!” You whined.

He sighed, turning to the bedside table. He picked up the watch that lied on it. “It's way too late anyways. I need to get my shit done.”

“What shit?” You grumbled, half rising and crawling to the edge of the bed. You tilted your head to get a glimpse of the watch in his hand. “It's seven.”

He raised a brow at you questioningly and you are appalled.

“Levi, it's seven. On a weekend. Seven.”

“What's your point?”

You gaped at him for a few seconds, mouth parted. What kind of a psychopath were you dating?

“Sleep in?” You suggested, like it was obvious. “Please?”

Levi scoffed like you said something funny and you weren't sure how you should be feeling.

“You never get any rest!” Annoyance creeped into your tone as you glared at him. Why did this man hate life so much?

He doesn't respond, blatantly ignoring you as he slipped his feet through his slippers.

“Levi. Just sleep a little more. Come on.”

“I've slept enough.” He mumbled. “It's seven in the fucking morning.”

The absolute disgusted face you made at that statement was unreal. The absolute mortification you felt at that statement was unreal. You knew your boyfriend had serious issues, with insomnia and shit, and that he woke up early. He always left bed before you even woke up but you never thought it was serious to the point he got up at seven on a weekend. What time did he get up on normal days then?

You brainstormed fast. You really, really wanted him to come back here.

“Look!” You pushed your arms out the blanket, wiggling them around to get Levi's attention. It did. Levi was frowning, confused. “Look!”

“What?”

“Cold hand. Colder feet. I am freezing.” You said seriously “As my boyfriend, it'd be very rude of you to leave me to freeze to death.”

“You're under a damn blanket, stop being dramatic.” He rolled his eyes.

“Okay, and? You're warmer.”

“The fuck?’’ Levi looked at you. “Am I your personal human shaped heater or some shit?”

You considered. “...kinda?”

“You little shit.”

“No, okay, listen.” You sat up fully straight now, all sleepiness gone. You were on a mission and you were not going to rest until you succeeded. “I don't know who told you what but it's not a crime to sleep on weekends.”

Levi did not look convinced. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking at you. “Sure you'd know all about sleeping in. Takes the whole squad to wake you even on regular days.”

You shrugged. If he was trying to shame you, he was failing. You were a proud bed-rotter and not even Levi could overcome your love for naps (he came very close). “Yes,” You agreed, then pulled up the blanket and patted the empty spot beside you where he was resting before. “Now get in and let me teach you the blessings that weekends are.”

He stared at you. You stared back.

“Ackerman, do not make me come out there and drag you in, okay? I am cold, I will be colder. And then I will be pissed for the rest of the day.”

He watched you for a couple seconds, all grumpy and gloomy and serious, your messy hair on your head like a dark cloud hanging over. With your sleepy eyes and pouty lips, it was tempting. Highly. Even for him.

He considered. Paperwork. Erwin. Whatnot. He glanced back at you.

Dignity. He prayed silently. Walls, spare him dignity. Fuck it, he should really get going.

Should he?

Screw dignity. He caved.

“Fine.”

Your eyes instantly lit up, almost jumping in happiness when he sat back down. Enthusiastically, you pushed the blanket on him, wrapping your arms around him the moment he lied down, trapping him to ensure he can't change his mind. Your legs find his legs and you pushed them between them, scooting closer until you're practically flattened against him, snuggled against his chest, absorbing the warmth he offered, your eyes closing almost immediately. An arm wraps snugly around your waist and you swear you're half asleep right then and there.

“I didn't come back for you.” You hear him say. A man's gotta defend his pride after all. But you noticed the flush on his cheeks.

“Sure not.” You reply as you yawn.

“Serious. Don't think this'd always work. I just didn't have the mood to deal with paperwork.”

“Uh huh.” You were not convinced. Not the slightest bit.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“I'm not.”

“You are. You're turning this into some gooey shit and it's weirding me out.”

“Okay. Whatever.” You nodded mockingly. “Says the guy who's here cuddling with me and getting blushy blushy. I'm sure this isn't gooey shit.”

“Fuckd sake.” He draped an arm over his face in fluster. “If you don't shut up, I will leave.”

“Shutting up.” You bit your tongue. Miracles were ever so rare, what idiot would you be to push your luck?

You kept silent a while, watching him as his eyelashes fluttered shakily. He was still stiff, his muscles tensed. The dark shadows had definitely lessened, you noticed, ever since you'd been pestering after him to get enough sleep all week. It's working, he had definitely been less tired. But it's not enough. This insomniac bastard can hardly get 4 hours of sleep on average and that did not sit right with you.

He was tired. You knew. You could tell

“Levi.”

He doesn't speak, only hums softly in response.

“Sleep. Don't just lie down.”

“Can't.” He shook his head slightly. “Can't sleep so late.”

“It's seven.”

There's a hint of a smile on his face. “I think it's already been settled that we have very different views on what's early and what's late.”

You rolled your eyes. “Stop criticizing my sense of time and go to sleep and let me sleep as well.”

“Can't.” He told you simply, his voice soft. “Doesn’t mean you can't. Go to sleep, I'll be here.”

Shaking your head, you push yourself up slightly. Your fingers trailed up to his neck and he freezes slightly. You traced the feeling of his undercut under your fingers, scratching down with your nails. “Let me help you then.��

His eyes open to find yours questioningly. You smiled, shifting closer and traveling your hands higher until they were running between the dark strands of his hair. You pull at them, just the way you knew he liked and it works, his shoulders almost instantly relaxes visibly and a soft sigh escapes him, his eyes fluttering shut. You shift up, higher until you can press his head to his chest and that's all it takes. It's like he melts into you.

“Shit.” He groaned softly.

“Feels good?”

He doesn't say anything, but his breathing relaxes, starting to get even.

“Go to sleep, Lev.”

He doesn't protest anymore, closing his eyes.

You play with his hair a little more, another hand softly massaging one of his shoulders. A couple seconds passed by in silence and through, you could only listen to his heavy breathing.It's okay if he didn't sleep fully. You just wanted him to relax. Absentmindedly, you traced one of the hair strands that fell on over his forehead. His bangs came almost upto his eyes now.

“Huh,” You sighed softly. “Levi. Your hair got longer—oh…. asleep?”

Oh shit, he actually fell asleep.

And no amount of titans you've ever killed could ever give you the satisfaction and sense of accomplishment you felt at that second.

You stared at his peaceful face happily for a few seconds. Then, still hands on his hair, you felt yourself dozing back to sleep. It's like watching him relaxing has made you feel relaxed as well. And no sooner, you were drowning in his arms, drifting to a far away world.

.

Levi wakes up after 3 hours.

At first, he's confused. He's sitting up in bed wondering how it'd become this late. How could it be that it was past 10 and he was still in bed?

But then he looks at you, so deep in sleep like you wouldn't even feel if the world just ended and he remembers.

Right. Of course it was you.

Did you know how easy it was for him to sleep when you were around?

He stares at you softly, all curled up under the sheets. He shifts a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You groaned quietly at the touch, but that was about it. You did not look like you were going to wake up anytime soon.

He watches you, considering.

Dignity. He prayed. Dignity has been long gone since the day you came into his life. He really, really should be getting up now.

Should he?

Screw dignity. He caved.

Might as well go for another hour.

[rhaenyraeri]

vampire heart - remmick

minors dni, 18+!!

pairing: remmick x fem!vampire!reader

summary: one night, remmick couldn’t control himself. now you’re damned to eternity alongside him, without your say so.

warnings: smut, fem!receiving oral, overstimulation, themes of blasphemy?, crying after sex

word count: 2.9k

the room was dim, the candles in the windowsill, half melted onto the wood, were the only light. the flickers danced against remmick, highlighting the emotions cast on his face. blood covered his usual light blue shirt. he sat on the edge of your bed, claws ripping at the fabric of his jeans as they curled over his knees. his knuckles are white, the inner turmoil and anxiety he felt finding themselves exuding through his fingers. you’re standing in the doorframe of the bedroom, eyes locked onto him as your eyes furrowed at him.

a few nights ago, like usual, remmick came stomping up your porch steps after striding through the woods to your home. you’d let him in, and you could tell something was off. no matter the issues, he usually had the same gentlemanly demeanor towards you. but that night, he felt different. as soon as the door shut behind him, he pushed you up against the wall. he kissed you with more ferocity, more.. power. it was unfamiliar to you, but nevertheless played into it. that was until, however, he kissed down you neck and the darkest, strangest, inhuman snarl evoked from him. you’d never been around remmick when he fed, but if you were to guess, that’s exactly what his victims heard before their demise. your vision went dark, and the last thing you heard was remmick saying “no, please, no.” over and over again. and then, what seemed like just a second later, you woke up in bed. tucked under the sheets. you were still dazed by everything, not entirely sure of what happened until you went outside to get some fresh air. the second the sun hit your skin, a blazing pain coursed your skin. you jumped back until you hit the wall, the smell of burning flesh and ash filled your nose. and then it made sense quick; he’d turned you. and you had no say in it.

now, here the two of were, two creatures of the night, just staring at each other. his black eyes pierced red lights into your own— something you would have to adjust to for a while. finally, the silence breaks, as you hear a small sigh leave him.

“i-i know i shouldn’t have done that. i wish i could tell you i tried harder to prevent it but i’d be lyin’ to you. i knew that what i felt the other night was too much for me to control but i-i still came here. i knew what it would do to you, darlin’, and yet i did it anyway.”

your eyes drifted to the floor, taking in what he’d just said. he realized that his vampire nature became too much the other night. he knew he could hurt you— kill you, even— yet he still came crawling to your doorstep asking to be let in. you didn’t say anything at first, your reply wouldn’t make sense if you spewed out the first thing that came to mind. it’s too hard to focus now. your hearing is tuned in to every little nook and cranny, every little sound you can hear at once. your vision is pristine; hell, you weren’t even sure if it could get this good. every scent was stronger, and you could smell fear now. passerby’s that now drove past your suddenly empty home had the aura of fear, despair, and intrigue. your heart doesn’t beat, and somehow that’s the worst of it all. the emptiness in your chest heightened your other senses and feelings, but the vacancy hit the hardest.

“why? how was that night any different then the ones before?” you voice cracked, trembling at first as you’re still taking in everything. no matter the situation, he’d always come to your home for comfort and treat you like the best damn thing to ever happen to him. because you were. you are.

he got up from the bed, walking over to you and took both of your hands into his.

“i couldn’t.. i-i couldn’t lose you, darlin’. i got too into my head about losin’ you one day and it sent me spiralin’. you’re too fragile as a human, who knows what could’ve happened to you. what if you died a-and i didn’t know where you’d gone.. it destroyed me to think about that. i love you, darlin’, and i would do anything in this world to keep you around.” his eyes softened, the thoughts coming back to him hard. though this time, they’re filled with sorrow and remorse. he knew he did something horrible to you.

“remmick.. i-” you started, trying to find the response that described how you felt. you sighed, before trying again, “i wanted to be with you forev-“

“wanted?,” he cut you off, his dead heart breaking as he almost felt it skip. he tried to meet your eyes, but you looked down, squeezing them shut. you did want forever with him- you do, but as of now, you’re unhappy with him. slowly opening your eyes, you stared right into his as the look for despair sent more regret through his body.

“i did- i do, rem. but i didn’t ask for it that night. you took it upon yourself to change me. i wanted to come to terms with ending my human life before changing for eternity as a vampire. now i’m here, i-i’ve got family that i wanted to see a little longer. now i can’t, remmick, in fear i’ll kill them. i can’t forgive you.” tears started to fill your eyes, looking straight into his. his hands let go of yours, and he ran them up for arms to your shoulders, his grip firm but loving.

“i will spend the rest of my life regretting it, darlin’. i-i-i can’t go back and undo it or i would. i promise you, i wish i coulda controlled it better. my emotions got the best of me and it just happened. i-i’m not tryin’ to make excuses, just know i’m so sorry, sugar. if you want, i-i’ll leave. you won’t have to see me again. i’ll live out each day atonin’ for this.”

“no, you don’t get to leave, remmick. you don’t get to walk away. you did this to me, you stay. you suffer this with me. as much as you’ve really pissed me off, i can’t go on without you. fuck, i’m.. this life is gonna be forever, so we might as well stay together.”

this silence after is deafening, like he’s taking in a lifetime’s worth of pain all at once. he would spend the rest of his days crawling this earth on his hands and knees begging for your forgiveness if it meant you’d stick around.

after a few seconds, remmick nodded his head like he’d spent forever waiting for you to say that. your arms wrapped around his waist, pulling yourself into him. despite it all, you knew eventually you would forgive him. you had to. he’s the one you want to spend eternity with. you just had the last part of your humanity ripped from you without your say. it’ll take a long, long time to adjust to that, if ever. his arms hugged you back, holding you tight as one hand cradled the back of your head. you felt him shake, before hearing a small sniffle.

“i love you so goddamn much, sweetheart. i-i love you more than anything on this earth and you know i would die for you. i’m sorry i did what i did without you tellin’ me you’re ready, i really am. i just hope one day you can forgive me. i’ll spend every hour of every day makin’ it up to you and worshippin’ the ground you walk on until you do.”

you pulled back from the hug, putting a hand on his face. his eyes were red from the tears, lip trembling. he looked like a kicked puppy. you’ve never saw him this way. he’s never done anything to warrant these emotions— until now. and it’s tearing at your heartstrings. he’s never told you about how he became a vampire, but from the small comments he’d made, you figured he didn’t want this life at all. and now that he’d come to terms with it, he’d ripped life from the one he loved. something he didn’t want to do, but it’s happened. there’s no going back. they’ll have to go through eternity together.

you put your forehead to his, the hand on his cheek moved to the back of his head, playing with some of his hair. “i love you too, rem. we’ll just have to get through this together.” you kissed him, and you could feel every emotion he had for you in the way he reciprocated. it was loving, careful, but still strong. like he wouldn’t kiss you again.

“let me take care of you, sugar. let me make it up to you,” he whispered as he pulled back, taking your hand and leading you to your bedroom. he got to work on your dress, taking his time as to not ruin it. he laid you on the bed, standing back to look at you. “you’re so beautiful, darlin’.“

he crawled onto the bed, running a hand up your leg, then thigh, before hooking his finger around your underwear. his other hand followed suit, pulling them down and tossing them somewhere in your room. “so goddamn beautiful,” he muttered to himself before kissing your hip, then right above your pussy. he took your legs and put them over his shoulders, planting one more kiss directly onto your pussy. the shivers ran up your spine, chill bumps forming on your arms. he’d touched you like this before, more than you could count, but it’s different this time. your senses are heightened. it’s like the first time all over again.

his tongue licked a loving stripe right up your pussy, and he gave another kiss. “love you so much, i’ll spend every day between your legs showin’ you how much i mean it,” he promised, before licking your center with passion and tenderness, like he’s savoring you. the taste of you was something he’d never get tired of. his tongue dove deeper into your core, more than you thought was possible. the sounds of your slick and his saliva were all you could hear, and it’s all you wanted to hear right now. one of your hands went to his hair, gripping lightly as he went to work on you. each click and wet slurp gave you a reminder of how much he loved you. you pushed his face closer to your center, feeling his nose rub your clit as he didn’t let a drop of your arousal go to waste. he hummed against you, almost sending you over the edge then and there. he took a finger and inserted it into you, slowly working his magic. your moans grew more desperate, so close to your release. he pulled his mouth off before adding a second finger, and kissing your thigh, “you taste like heaven, darlin’. so, so good. could stay here forever.” he looked up at you as your breathing got quicker. your moans and whimpers for more were like a choir to him, the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. his mouth went back to work on your clit, humming one more time as you came on his face. the hand you gripped his hair with held him in place as your hips rocked against him, overstimulated as he continued licking and sucking, but you couldn’t get enough. the newfound feeling of vampiric senses changed how it all felt— so much more addicitng.

he stopped, kissing your pussy once again, then leaning his head against your thigh. his fingers came to a slow stop. he took them out and brought them to his mouth, savoring the taste for the last time. “mmm, so perfect, darlin’. i’ll never get tired of how beautiful you taste.” you gave him a small smile. he kissed up your stomach, then to each breast, and finally to your lips. the taste of your slick and the slightest bit of his vampiric drool filling your mouth as he kissed you with love and passion. he unbuttoned his shirt, laying it beside the two of you on the bed before shuffling his pants and underwear off.

“you ready, darlin’?”

you nodded, feeling him slowly push himself into you. his breath hitched, a content sigh falling out as he looked into your eyes. you whined, the sensation of him in you this time now felt different— good, different. he slowly started to move, his eyes not looking away from your face as the pleasure began to build up. his hips worked expertly on you. “fuck, you feel so good, rem,” you praised. words he didn’t think he’d hear again after he did what he did. his hips sped up, your moans encouraging him to pick up the pace. “you’re perfect for me, darlin’.” his moans are low, but he’s more vocal than usual. almost whiny at times. he placed a hand on each side of you, his loving thrusts getting more desperate and rough. your legs wrapped around his waist, giving him better access to your pussy. his cross necklace dangled in front of you, occasionally hitting you in the face as he bucked his hips faster into your core.

propping himself up, he took one hand and brought the pendant to his mouth, biting it to keep it out of your face. you’re supposed to be mad at him, you still are, but the way he looked down at you with the cross pendant bit between his teeth as he fucks you almost made you forget it all. he groans, he doesn’t have much longer until he comes, knowing you’re close too. another thing you’ll have to get used to. your breathing grows more rapid, his thrusts feel deeper and more desperate. drool seeps out of his mouth and into your face, and you move your head to find the perfect angle so it drips into your own mouth, drinking up every bit he offered to you. he moves to hold himself up with his forearm, the other hand going between you to rub your clit, bringing you closer to your release. you take one hand off his neck, moving it to pull the necklace out of his mouth and into yours. it was wet, covered in saliva and vampiric drool, and seeing you bite it, holding it almost like a leash, had him bucking his hips as he came. you followed suit just seconds after, his thrusts slow, guiding the two of you through your high. “i love you, sugar,” he whispered into your ear, kissing the shell of it as you slowly nodded, your moans preventing you from replying. his lips trailed down, planting small kisses on your neck; right where he had bit you a couple nights before. your eyes closed, as you tried to catch your breath. you let go of the pendant, moving your head up to kiss him on the neck, reciprocating the feeling. unspoken, but now known between you two as a sentiment of your life together. it reminded him again of how he went against what you wished, changing you for his own selfish ways. his hips picked up the pace again; rough, messy. you were getting overstimulated, but remmick was lost in his own world. there was no rhythm to the thrusts, just desperate jolts into your core. he’s still face level with your ear, and between each hoarse wail of a moan you let out, you heard a muttered phrase.

“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry.”

“fuck, darlin’. i’m sorry.”

“i love you so much.”

he’s fucking an apology into you, and you accept it and forgive him. you ‘shh’ him, holding him closer to you as the sloppy thrusts slow to a stop, the both of you overstimulated and exhausted. your eyes close as both of you calm your bodies down from everything. silence begins take over as the breathing comes to a calming pace. then you feel a cold wetness roll down your shoulder, then another, and then a sniffle. he’s crying. you kiss his neck once more, using your hands to guide his face to look at you, taking your thumbs to wipe at his eyes.

“rem, i.. i forgive you, honey. i do. it’ll all be okay. it’ll take me some time to get used to this, but.. i know i want to spend the rest of our lives together, and this is just a bump along the road. it’ll be okay, i promise. i love you so, so much.”

he rests his forehead against yours, the tears falling quicker and you’re there to wipe them away. “i’m gonna love you forever, sweetheart. forever. i’m gonna love you til death do us part.”

and from that night, the two of you worked on your small cottage, boarding up the windows to prevent sunlight, spending the rest of your days in your own little home. it wasn’t what either of you thought your life would lead to, and despite everything, it was ideal for the two of you. he found you a nice ring, and himself a gold band, and the two of you had everything you could ask for. you made it work. you had to. the two of you loved each other for better or for worse, and that reigned true for you, until that fateful night at the juke joint.

[millermouth]

summary: You didn’t expect to spend your birthday catching your boyfriend cheating in your own bed. You definitely didn’t expect to end the night on your knees for someone else while on the path for revenge. || nsfw (?) MDNI 18+, m!receiving oral, blowjobs, Joel smokes cigs, cheating (not w Joel/reader), annoying ex bf, age gap (15yr gap mentioned but not specified), no outbreak, reader is drinking age, revenge, based off a song but not gonna mention cause singer is a trumper boooooo || a/n: good morning I woke up with the need to blow joel miller like his life depended on it. had this in my docs for a few weeks and decided to finish it up with some goooood ol' smut. enjoy!

Tyler was easy on the eyes. He came from a rich family, always looked put together and had a job at his daddy’s company, but truly… that was about it. He wasn’t clever, or thoughtful, or even remotely romantic or slick. If he had tried to cheat, he didn’t have the brain cells to pull it off. But you weren’t stupid. The scrunchie under your pillow wasn’t yours and the way he started turning his phone screen down whenever you were together wasn’t subtle. You saw it coming.

But you held your tongue, waiting. You gave him rope, a chance to prove that you were wrong.

And then, on your birthday—your fucking birthday!—you walked into your apartment after a long shift, already picturing the glass of wine and that nice dinner he promised he'd made a reservation for. You were halfway to slipping off your shoes when you heard the moaning.

High-pitched, theatric as hell, and coming from your bedroom.

Oh, Tyler!

Yes, Tyler!

It was like nails on a chalkboard.

You stood frozen for a second, your hand on the wall. It felt like something inside you cracked. And then the heat came boiling with rage filling your chest, crawling down your arms.

You crossed the room, your steps marching and purposeful, heart hammering behind your ribs. You didn’t even knock as you slammed open the door.

There she was: naked and sitting square in your bed, bouncing on your boyfriend’s dick like it was a trampoline. She turned at the sound, and her face went pale. Tyler’s too. Like a couple of deer in headlights.

You didn’t flinch. There were no tears.

You looked her dead in the eye and said, calm and flat, “His dick’s not even that good.”

They scrambled, tripping over each other like some half-assed comedy sketch. You just watched, arms crossed, unmoved. Tyler, once she was gone, spent the next hour groveling. Begging, bargaining, spinning his bullshit into excuses—something about how he thought you didn’t care, how you didn’t love him enough, how it was your fault. You let him talk himself in circles until he started getting angry, like his pathetic little tantrum might undo what you’d seen with your own two eyes.

You waited until he shut up, then threw his duffel bag at his chest and said, loud and clear, “Get the fuck out.”

Which brings you to now.

You knew exactly where he’d be on a Friday night. It was with the same group of knuckle-dragging football bros, drinking cheap beer and hollering at whatever game was on. You pulled into the gravel lot and spotted his car instantly. That brand-new black Jetta gleamed under the parking lights like it was proud of itself. Rims all shiny and new, fresh wax job and leather interior. 

You parked a few spaces down and killed the engine. For a second, you just sat there, breathing, fingers curled tight around your steering wheel. Your pulse thudded hot behind your ears.

Then you looked around. The sidewalk was empty, the lot full of cars but no one to be seen. And the nice thing about dive bars was they didn’t give a damn about security, so no cameras that you could see.

Good.

You stepped out, walked up to the Jetta, and just stood there for a moment. The night was quiet, but all you could hear was the roar of your blood in your ears.

 What a stupid fucking idiot. 

You weren’t sure if it was meant for him or you were talking to yourself. Tyler was a dumbass, no question, but you knew what he was before all this. You’d seen the signs, but you ignored them, made excuses for his sorry ass. So what did that make you? 

Still, you shook your head. No. That wasn’t on you.

Any decent person wouldn’t cheat on the girl who stuck by him for five damn years. The one who pulled him through college, helped him look for internships, edited every shitty cover letter he ever wrote before he'd given up and begged his own dad for a job. And not to mention, the girl who gave the best head he’d probably ever get in his sad little life.

Your grip tightened.

You flipped your keys in your palm, pressed one between your fingers, and brought it to the shiny sleek passenger door. You dug it into the steel, and began dragging it nice and slow and deep, carving a line into the shiny paint.

The screech of metal on metal made your jaw clench, but you didn’t stop. Because it was so fucking satisfying too. You moved to the driver’s side, dragging it around to the front, then the other side. One long, continuous line until his car looked like it had been attacked by a wild animal with a grudge.

Maybe that’s what you were, afterall.

You stepped back and admired your work before turning back to your car for the next step.

Next came the knife—his pocket knife. The one he gave you last Christmas because he "forgot to buy a real present in time." You took it from your bag and knelt beside the driver’s side tire and made a clean slash, the hiss of air escaping was music to your ears.

You did all four, each one a little more satisfying than the last. By the time you were done, the car sat sagging on those dumb, overpriced rims, looking completely defeated.

And then you reached for the bat.

A Louisville Slugger. Wood, not aluminum. Shiny and classic. You’d kept it waxed and clean since high school softball. You gripped it with both hands and stepped up to the front of the car, lining up your swing.

Your body tensed, knees bent, and you drew it back.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Your heart kicked up in panic as you spun, bat raised and ready, in case one of Tyler’s meathead friends had stumbled outside to play hero.

But it wasn’t any of them. It wasn’t anyone you recognized at all.

A man stood just beyond the glow of the bar’s neon sign, a cigarette balanced between his fingers as he exhaled smoke into the night. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with messy dark hair and a beard to match. The light above him flickered, buzzing with moths, casting a yellow wash over his face.

You didn’t lower the bat completely, but your grip relaxed just a little.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

He shook his head slowly, taking another drag. “Nope. I’m good.” He tipped the cigarette with two fingers and gave you a look. “Can’t say the same for you, though.”

You rolled your eyes and turned your back on him, raising the bat again. “Mind your own goddamn business.”

He let out a low whistle. “Now you’re just makin’ me feel bad for the guy.”

You huffed a dry laugh. “He had another girl in our bed just hours ago, wouldn’t feel too sorry for him.”

That shut him up for half a beat. Then he gave a soft laugh behind you. “Shit. Sorry about that. Sounds like a real winner.”

“He’s a piece of shit.”

“I believe you.” He nodded toward the car. “Still wouldn’t do that.”

You swallowed, throat dry, peering back at him, eyes dragging from his dirty boots up to the dark glint in his eye, “You seem to know a lot about this kind of thing.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours.

“You could explain away the scratches. The slashed tires, maybe. But bashed in headlights?” He shook his head. “Harder to blame that on a wild animal.”

He dropped the cigarette, pinched it out beneath his boot.

“And for the record,” he added, blowing out the last plume of smoke, “I’ve never cheated. If that’s what you’re getting at.”

“I wasn’t,” you said, a little too fast.

Silence stretched between you as you felt all the adrenaline, anger, and fire draining from your blood. Your shoulders dropped, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in your chest. Your fingers loosened, the bat slipping from your grip and hitting the ground with a dull thud. You covered your face with your hands, trying to hold back the sting in your throat.

The crunch of footsteps moved toward you.

“Hey,” he said, voice low but close. He didn’t touch you, just stood nearby, hovering. “Didn’t mean to upset you.”

You shook your head, swiped your eyes with the heel of your hand. “I’m fine, I’m good. I just… I shouldn’t have come here.”

He was quiet for a beat, then said, “Come inside.”

You blinked at him, confused. “He’s in there with his idiot friends.”

“Yeah,” he said. Then he looked at you again, steadier this time. “All the more reason.”

You stared at him. “Are you saying I should…?”

He didn’t finish the thought for you, he didn’t grin or wink or push it. All he did was give a small shrug.

And now that he was closer, you noticed just how big he was. Broad in the shoulders, tall enough to cast a shadow over you even in the low light. He smelled like pine and something woodsy, warm and clean even with the leftover tang of cigarette smell. The scent clung to the cool night air as the breeze passed between you.

You looked up at him, and he met your eyes without flinching. Even in the low light, they held a thousand colors—green and gold and deep, earthy brown, all muddled together in a warm, unreadable hazel.

“I’ll buy your first round,” he said, voice softer now. “If you change your mind.”

Then he turned and walked back toward the bar with that same calm, heavy gait.

The inside of the bar was dim and loud, but not packed. Neon lights flickered above the bar shelves, a pool table clacked somewhere in the back, and country music played just low enough not to drown out conversation. You sat on a high stool, elbows on the bartop, a fresh drink in hand. Joel, you’d learned his name, was next to you, close enough that you couldn’t move an inch without brushing up against him. His legs were spread wide, thighs solid beneath his worn jeans, your knees between his, both turned toward each other in a natural way of things.

There were enough people that you at least were well hidden from Tyler and his friends who packed into a booth at the far end by the jukebox.

And you were two drinks in, starting your third, warm enough to finally feel loose.

“He wore loafers with no socks,” you said, scoffing into your drink. “Like, on purpose. He said it made him ‘look sophisticated’. I told him he looked like a youth pastor.”

Joel gave a low chuckle, eyes fixed on the beer bottle in his hand, but his smile curved deeper when you kept going.

“He couldn’t cook, couldn’t fix anything, couldn’t win an argument without quoting Andrew Tate. I swear to God, if I had to hear about ‘high-value men’ one more time—”

“Jesus,” Joel muttered as his lips met the rim of his drink, shaking his head.

“Yeah, real winner.” You echo his earlier quip, tipping your drink back, then nudged his inner thigh with your knee. “But the real tragedy is he’s never gonna find another girl who gives head like I do.”

Joel choked. Like, spluttering his sip of beer kind of choking.

You watched with satisfaction as he coughed mid sip, nearly slamming his beer down on the bar as he wiped his mouth, eyes wide.

“Jesus Christ, woman,” he rasped, clearing his throat hard, still catching his breath. “Warn a guy first.”

You tried not to grin, but it was impossible. “What? I’m just telling the truth.”

“You can’t just…say shit like that outta nowhere,” he said, still recovering, voice lower now, rougher. He looked over at you, eyes flicking to your mouth, then down to your legs before dragging back up again. “Damn near killed me.”

You smirked into your glass. “You walked up on me with a bat in my hand, remember? I’m not exactly the ‘ease into it’ type.”

Joel laughed, a quiet sound that curled low in his chest. He leaned toward you more fully now, his thighs pressed warm against yours. His eyes twinkled in the dim bar light as his grin settled across his face. He was handsome. Not polished or pretty, but rugged and built like a man who worked with his hands. Masculine in a way that felt rare now, like he was made of dirt and calluses and something heavier. You couldn’t tell exactly how old he was, but he had to be at least fifteen years your senior. And somehow that didn’t bother you. Not one bit.

You were leaning in too, your fingers wrapped around your glass, the condensation slipping over your knuckles as your blood warmed beneath his gaze. The space between you buzzed.

But then, remembering yourself, you looked away and sat back a little more.

“Thank you, by the way,” you said, voice a little softer now.

Joel’s smile faded into something more curious. “For what?”

“For... this. For making it so my birthday didn’t totally suck.”

His brows furrowed, the smile wiping from his face entirely. He was just opening his mouth to say something when he was cut off by the sound of your name beside you.

You turned, and standing there, in all his fuckboy glory, was your ex. 

You rolled your eyes as you set your sight on him, turning away as soon as you could. Joel’s knees still bracketed yours, still facing you, his hand coming down to your thigh to steady you.

“The hell do you want, Tyler?” you asked, voice flat.

You didn’t look to see the expression on his face, and you wondered what the slow cogs in his brain were thinking as he looked between you and the man in the barstool across from you.

“What the fuck is going on?” he asked, voice pinched and high with something that sounded suspiciously like jealousy.

You took a slow sip of your drink, thinking through how you wanted to go about this. 

You could feel Tyler standing there, stewing, his presence irritating as the whine of a mosquito. Joel didn’t move, didn’t even look his way. He just kept sipping his beer, calm as anything, one hand still resting on your leg.

Tyler finally broke.

“So what—what is this?” His voice was tight, defensive. “You cheating on me now?”

You turned, purposely slow, and looked at him like he’d just said the dumbest thing in the world. Then you laughed. Not a chuckle, a full, disbelieving bark that caught the attention of the bartender and a few people down the bar.

“Cheating on you?” you repeated, eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you out of your mind? We’re broken up, you asshole.”

Tyler blinked, thrown off by your tone. “We didn’t break up.”

“Yes,” you said, voice clipped. “We did. You just weren’t listening when I kicked your ass out of the apartment and told you never to speak to me again. You remember? When I came home from work to the sound of you fucking some girl in our bed?”

His face twitched, jaw tightening. “It wasn’t like that.”

“It was exactly like that,” you snapped. “You couldn’t even give me one night for my birthday.”

Tyler looked confused, like the words hadn’t registered.

“I was gonna take you somewhere nice,” he said, voice rising as he gestured between you and Joel. “I figured you just needed to cool off. We were gonna go out tomorrow.”

You stared at him open-mouthed. “Tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I had a whole thing planned.”

“Tyler,” you said, voice flat with exasperation, “my birthday is today.”

He blinked again. It took a second, but then he winced.

You gave a soft, bemused laugh, shaking your head like you couldn’t believe the universe had really let you waste five years of your life on this man.

And then, beside you, Joel started laughing.

Not a big, loud laugh like yours, but just a low, quiet one. A little huff that grew into a full chuckle, deep in his chest. He shook his head, sipping his drink casually.

Tyler’s head whipped toward him.

“The fuck’s so funny?”

Joel didn’t look at him right away. He tipped his beer toward his mouth again, finished the rest in a few slow gulps, then set the bottle down on the bar with a soft clink.

“Just amazed she lasted five years,” he said as if reading your mind and finally glancing over his shoulder. “You make dumb look like a full-time job.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile. Joel didn’t so much as blink.

Tyler bristled, standing up straighter. “You don’t even know her.”

Joel shifted beside you, his legs brushing yours as he twisted on the stool, planting one boot firm on the floor. He didn’t look at Tyler, hardly even acknowledged him. Like the kid wasn’t worth the breath it would take to answer.

“Know enough,” he said easily.

Tyler scoffed, puffing his chest like he could make himself bigger. “She’s not some prize, you know. She’s a fucking slut.”

The word hung there for a second. Long enough to feel the floor shift under you.

Joel went still.

Completely still.

His hand left your knee.

He stood and looked down at your ex.

And for the first time, Tyler actually looked nervous.

Joel stepped forward, close enough that Tyler had to tilt his head back just slightly to look him in the eye. Joel didn’t yell, didn’t shove. He didn’t need to.

He just looked at him hard and cold and steady.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, kid.” he said, not blinking, not smiling. “You’re gonna turn around and walk back to your little friends, and you’re gonna keep walking and count yourself lucky, because if you stick around long enough to say one more word to her, you and I are gonna have a different kind of conversation. One that ends with you choking on your teeth.”

Tyler didn’t move at first. He just stood there like he thought he might still be able to win whatever stupid pissing contest was playing in his head.

But Joel didn’t look away. He barely blinked, barely even moved.

And something in Tyler finally folded.

He scoffed, muttered something under his breath, and backed away. His footsteps were loud against the sticky floor as he turned and stalked over to the other end of the room.

You let out a slow breath, heart pounding harder than you’d expected.

Joel turned back to you, his eyes softer now.

“You alright?”

You nodded. Your voice wasn’t quite ready yet.

He sat back down beside you, the warmth of his presence sliding back into place. His legs bracketed yours again, your knees brushing his upper thighs.

“Didn’t mean to make a scene,” he added, picking up his empty bottle and signaling the bartender for another.

You looked over at him, studying the curve of his jaw, the easy set of his shoulders, the slow breath he took like nothing had just happened.

“That was…oddly really hot.” you said, almost before you could stop yourself.

He raised an eyebrow, but his grin tugged wide.

“That right?”

You blushed crimson, feeling the warmth of blood rush to your cheeks, “Don’t let it get to your head.”

He chuckled, soft and pleased, and when the next drink landed in front of him, he slid it your way instead.

“Happy birthday,” he said.

Looking back, you couldn’t exactly say how it happened. 

You remembered following Joel outside for a smoke, the air cooling your flushed, feverish skin. You shared the little white stick between you, the cigarette passing hand to hand, his fingers rough and warm every time they brushed yours. That simple touch felt electric.

You knew it was you who leaned in first. You were the one who grabbed his shirt, pushed him back against the siding, your fingers going straight for the thick hair at the base of his neck.

He smelled so damn good. Beneath the cigarette smoke and cheap beer was something deeper—pine, woodsmoke, a trace of sweat and musk that made your stomach twist with heat. He seemed so masculine and wild and grounding all at once.

His arms wrapped around you fast. One slid down to your lower back, the other tossing the cigarette aside without a second thought before wrapping a fist through your hair. He kissed you back just as hard, tongue sweeping into your mouth, like he’d been waiting all night for you to get the courage.

From there, it all moved very quickly. 

Because now Joel was looking down at you on your knees, the shadows of the side alley carving deep lines across his face. His voice came low and rough, barely more than a breath.

“What was it you said before, huh?” he said as his hand touched your hair, fingers curling around your ear as he tucked some of it back, “About givin’ the best head that prick ever had?”

You looked up at him with a slow, wicked smile, your palms dragging up his legs. You squeezed the thick muscle of his thighs, fingers digging into denim. Your heart thudded with anticipation, your mouth already watering as he cupped your cheek in one hand, thumb brushing your skin.

The other hand went to his belt.

The sound of the buckle unfastening made your breath hitch. The sharp metal clink, the slow drag of the zipper felt like a dare.

Joel’s hand dropped, wrapping around yours. He pulled your fingers from his thigh and placed them right over the hard bulge in his jeans, pressing your palm down slowly.

“Go on then,” he murmured, voice like asphalt, steady despite the heat you could feel radiating off of him. “Show me.”

You lifted your hands to the waistband of his jeans, tugging them down along with the band of his briefs, just far enough to free him.

His cock sprang up in your face, thick and flushed, the tip already glistening for you. It slapped lightly against his stomach, curved upward with a heavy weight before falling back into your eye line—aching, proud, and impossibly hard.

You swallowed.

He was thick from base to tip, the head swollen and flushed a deeper shade of pink, a bead of slick gathering at the slit and catching the low light. His cock twitched once as you stared, greedy for touch, for heat, for your mouth.

You wet your lips with a slow sweep of your tongue, your hand lifting as if drawn there by instinct. Joel hissed softly when your fingers wrapped around him. He was warm, so warm, the weight of him heavy in your palm. The dark, coarse hair at his base tickled your skin as you pressed your hand flush to him, steadying him as your grip tightened.

You glanced up, eyes meeting his.

He was so beautiful like this. Pants half down, jaw tight, hair mussed from your hands, chest rising with a slow, shaky breath. 

And in that moment, you made a decision. You were going to ruin him.

You were going to make him come in your mouth.

His expression told you he already felt it coming. His brows drawn, lips parted, eyes so dark they barely looked human. There was pride in that stare, but something else too. Need, barely held together, a tension you were about to unravel. He knew you’d ruin him too.

Your mouth opened slowly. Your breath stopping as you leaned in, the scent of him thick and heady, musk and skin and arousal coiling low in your gut.

You leaned in and ran your tongue along the slit at the tip of his cock, catching the bead of precum as it touched your tongue. He moaned breathlessly, and the sound went straight to your head, turning your thoughts to static.

You flattened your tongue along the underside, dragging it along the ridge where head met shaft. Then you pressed slow, wet kisses to the bulbous head, your lips soft, your breath warm. You licked and suckled, easing into a rhythm, teasing until his hips gave the slightest jerk.

Joel groaned, his breath hissing through bared teeth as he looked down at you. His gaze was heavy, unblinking, fixed on the sight of you between his legs.

And then, casually, he reached into his jacket and pulled out another cigarette.

You blinked, pulling away slightly to look up at him. “Seriously?”

He just grinned, the cigarette resting between his lips as he cupped the lighter and struck the flame. His eyes never left you, even as he took the first drag, the orange tip flaring in the dark.

You rolled your eyes, but you weren’t laughing. Something about it made your blood run hotter.

You sank down and took him fully into your mouth, lips sealing around the thick heat of him, your tongue flattening to feel every vein and ridge as he slid deeper. He let out a quiet curse under his breath, and his head dropped back against the brick behind him as he exhaled smoke into the night air.

You hated to admit it, but there was something so hot—so unfairly, stupidly hot—about watching him smoke while you blew him.

"You got the prettiest lips, baby," he groaned, "Look so good around my cock."

You pulled back slowly, letting your lips glide over him with just enough pressure to make his stomach flex as you moaned at his praise. Your hand wrapped around the base, slick with your spit, and you stroked him, watching his abdomen tighten with each pass of your warm slick palm.

Then you took him deeper this time, hollowing your cheeks as your tongue traced the underside, catching every pulse of blood in his veins. Your jaw ached almost immediately from the sheer stretch of him, but you didn’t stop. You wanted it to ache, to feel it for days after.

Joel groaned, quiet at first, like he was trying to keep it in. But the longer you worked him, the less restraint he seemed to have. His hips rolled slightly, not enough to choke you, just enough to meet your rhythm. You could hear the drag of his breath between his teeth, the low rumble in his throat as he let out a breathy curse. His free hand slid into your hair, just holding, his fingers curling loosely at your scalp.

His chest rose and fell in slow, uneven waves. The glow of the cigarette tip pulsed with each drag, the smoke curling upward and disappearing into the night as he watched you again.

You moved your hand in sync with your mouth, stroking the base as you bobbed slowly, building a rhythm he could sink into. Every time you pulled back, your tongue dragged along his length, warm and wet and unforgiving. You twisted your wrist when your hand met your mouth, just like you knew drove a man insane.

You could feel the tension in his thighs now, in the way his muscles tensed beneath your hand, in the little shudders that ran through him each time you went a little deeper. His groans were getting rougher. Louder.

You pulled back for a second, just long enough to kiss along his shaft, your mouth slick and open, tongue dragging up the side before you sucked his head in again, swirling your tongue in slow, teasing circles.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word barely audible, his voice rough as gravel, "Gonna let me come in your mouth? That what you want?"

You looked up at him, nodding as best you could as you licked at his cock again with eyes wide and doe-like. His head tilted back, lips parted around the cigarette, brows drawn tight. His hand tightened slightly in your hair, and you took that as agreement.

You smiled, slow and smug, and ducked your head again.

This time, you didn’t stop. You let him hit the back of your throat again and again, worked your hand in tandem, made every pull of your mouth feel deliberate. The kind of rhythm that unraveled men. You moaned around him, lost in it too.

You felt him start to shake.

"Oh god, oh god," he chanted.

His thighs were trembling now, the muscles locked tight. His hand fisted in your hair, not to stop you or guide you, but to hold on for dear life.

And when he came, he swore. Loud, rough, his body curling forward over you like the force of it knocked the wind out of him, cigarette burning forgotten on the ground. You hadn’t even noticed when he dropped it.

His cock pulsed in your mouth as thick ropes of his come painted your throat, and you took it all, salty and thick but somehow not entirely unpleasant. You were surprised how easy it was to swallow every drop.

You didn’t move right away. Just rested there, mouth soft around him, lips still closed as he twitched once, twice, breath dragging heavy from his chest. When you finally pulled off, slow and careful, your chin was slick, your mouth swollen, your throat sore in the best way imaginable.

Joel stared down at you, completely undone. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, then looked up at him, breathless.

“Told ya,” you said with a sly smile, voice a little hoarse but playful.

He let out a laugh that cracked right down the middle, then leaned back against the wall, head tilted up toward the sky, needing a second to recover before remembering how to speak.

You stood slowly, wiping your hands on your thighs before reaching into your bag for your lip gloss. The little click of the cap echoed in the quiet alley as you twisted it open and ran the wand over your mouth, smoothing it back to its glossy sheen. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the nearby window: hair wild, lips swollen, eyes a little too bright, and gave a small, satisfied smirk.

Joel hadn’t moved. He was still leaning against the wall, pants zipped back up, cigarette now completely gone, the filter crushed under the heel of his boot. His chest was still rising and falling like he hadn’t quite gotten a full breath back yet.

“Well,” you said as you tucked the gloss away and gave your jacket a tug into place, “thanks for the fun, Joel. I’ll see you around.”

You turned toward the mouth of the alley, but his voice stopped you before you could take more than two steps.

“Now where do you think you’re goin’?”

You glanced back over your shoulder, brow lifted. “You seem tired, old man. Didn’t think you’d make it to round two is all.”

Joel pushed off the wall with a slow roll of his shoulders, his mouth twitching into something between a grin and a challenge. He stepped toward you, his boots crunching quietly in the gravel.

“You live far from here?” he asked, voice low again, steady and curious like he already knew what answer he wanted.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, lips twitching. “Why?”

Joel stopped just to the side of you, looming close enough that you could smell the last trace of smoke on his breath, the salt of his skin. His hand reached up to push your hair behind your shoulder, and he dipped his head, speaking just beside your neck.

“Because I’d much rather fuck the birthday girl in a bed than in some dirty alley,” he murmured. “Somewhere I can really take my time.”

The goosebumps hit instantly, your lips parting as the space between your legs pulsed with fresh heat.

“Ten minutes,” you managed. “Give or take.”

Joel pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, but his hand moved to rest at your waist.

He looked down at you for a beat, then gave a small shake of his head. “You’ve been drinkin'.”

“So have you.”

“Neither of us should be drivin',” he said, voice still soft but firmer now, threading just enough authority through the warmth. “I’ll call a cab.”

You let out a slow breath, a half smile playing at your lips. “Being responsible is such a buzzkill.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his fingers skimming your side, tracing the curve of your hip, his hand up under your jacket, “but I’d rather make through the night so I can live to hear what you sound like with my cock in you, pretty girl.”

That shut you up.

[oldermenfucker]

Mama’s Boy | J. Abbot

summary: Your son interrupts you and your husband’s “fun” time every time Jack gets his hands on you. Tonight he’s had enough.

warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, unprotected sex, breeding, creampie, Jack’s getting cockblocked and he doesn’t like it ONE BIT lmao, your son is around 4-5years old, mom!reader & boy dad!Jack, totally inspired by Shawn Hatosy’s tweet about how he is so thankful for his (asshole) sons and his hot beautiful wife lol, English isn’t my first language<3

word count: 2k+

an: so this happened today… THE QUESTION IS: should I write a Robby version of it but with girl dad!Robby and sexually frustrated!reader??? YES OR NO?🤭

Reblogs & comments are always appreciated💕

Four months, twenty-two days, eleven hours.

  Not like Jack is keeping count or something, but those numbers? They are driving him nuts. 

  Four months, twenty two days and eleven hours without fucking you. Yes, he is using the ‘hush! He’s too young to learn this word!’ curse, because this kid… this fucking kid is interrupting him every single time he thinks he can get his hands on you.

  Somehow, you are always interrupted by the magical word of ‘Mama!’ Bouncing off the walls anytime he corners you against the wall, his hot mouth covering yours as he almost gets what he wants.

  But no. His own kid, the son he created with you, the very baby he would burn the entire world down for has to become a pain in his ass. Jack loves his son so much to the point you tease him about turning your little boy into a spoiled brat, but he just waves you off and keeps doing what he does.

  As much as he loves his son, his body and heart ache to hold you, whether it is cuddling, showering together, or enjoying a moment of peace on the couch with tea in his hands. 

  But his son has to be a total mama’s boy.

  He doesn’t fault the kid; you are magnificent, the most beautiful woman he has had the honor of meeting, the most perfect wife anyone could ask for, the mom of the year. He understands why this little boy is so enamored by you, but his patience has its limits.

  One time, he was so pent up after a rough shift that all he needed was to smother you with his weight and cling to you all day like a koala, but his precious son had a stomachache that needed to be taken care of.

  Another time you were wearing nothing but his shirt on, swaying to soft music while you cooked dinner for him after you put your son down on his night off, and it was the second most beautiful scene he had ever seen — the first being you on your wedding day — and you looked so soft and full of warmth that he wanted to do nothing but feel you thoroughly.

  But even then, his son woke up thirsty, and you had to jump off the counter when he had you with your legs wrapped around his hips and his tongue down your throat. And Jack to his delight watched as you kissed the baby’s hair and picked him up, walking over to Jack to grab a glass and fill it with water — He loved this sight, so pure and beautiful, but in that moment he wished he could have had all your attention even for a second.

  The last straw was when he arrived home after his rough night shift, checking on the little gremlin first before he pads into the room, finding you snuggling his pillow with the tightest tank top known to mankind and shorts that barely covered the curve of your ass.

  He had stripped himself off of his scrubs as soon as possible, kissing his way up from your ankle to your thighs and your shoulders, his heavy hands caressing your soft skin with anticipation. 

  You hummed and smiled sleepily, turning around in his arms to kiss him, but as soon as you wanted to do, you heard the soft whimpering ‘Mama?’ Coming from the doorway, making Jack groan and drop next to you on the bed, watching as his son shyly crawled his way between your arms, mumbling a soft ‘I felt lonely’ before he fell asleep.

  Jack has endured four damned months of having a hard on that he had to take care of with his own hand, but enough is enough. He will change that tonight.

  “I can’t believe you are ditching your shift on Ellis to take us out!” You laugh softly, putting on the red lipstick Jack so adores while he closes the door to your son’s room as he takes his afternoon nap before you leave for the restaurant Jack made reservations at.

  “Not ditching, sweetheart,” he walks into your shared bedroom to put his own clothes on, “Just letting my senior resident and the new attendee have their fun running the ER.”

  “Don’t be surprised when you go and find the floor on fire, babe,” you reply, putting on the new earrings you bought just for the occasion, not noticing the heavy look Jack is giving you.

  He is dying, he must be, because goddamn he can’t breathe as he watches you pull the fabric of your black dress up your thighs, giving him a nice view of your asscheeks hanging out from the thong you decided to wear for the occasion.

  He doesn’t reply, he can’t, because he is so busy gawking at you. Jack doesn’t even bother with dressing fully as he waltzes inside the bathroom you are getting ready in with his belt undone and the fly of his pants open, chest fully on display.

  He shuts the door behind him as quietly as possible to not wake the little demon up from his power nap, locking it as well just in case.

  You notice him through the mirror, giving him a confused smile as he stalks closer, his hands immediately on your hips. Jack rests his chin on your shoulder, pressing a kiss on your skin as he drags his eyes over your body, groaning while he takes you in.

  “What’s gotten into you?” You lean back into his chest, resting your hands on top of his as he wraps them around your waist, kissing you from your jaw to your collarbone.

  “I miss my wife,” his words come in a rush, and he turns you around in a blink of an eye, making you gasp as he grabs the back of your thighs, picking you up before he lowers you on the edge of the bathroom sink, “And I need her now.”

  You moan lowly, biting your lip when he attaches his lips to your neck, sucking and biting every inch he can get his lips on. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, legs spreading with a tap on the outside of your thigh so he can make room between them with ease.

  “That kid better be dreaming, cause I ain’t stopping if he wants to interrupt,” he whispers sucking on the thin skin of your lips as he pushes your dress up around your waist, growling at the sight of the thong you are wearing, “Fucking hell, sweetheart—“

  “Please, Jack,” you pout, wiggling to the edge while you press your heels into his butt to bring him closer, gasping when the cold metal of his belt rests against your heated thigh.

  “Don’t beg me,” he grins, pushing his pants down with his boxers until his cock is out, heavy and needy to be inside you before he reaches between your bodies, pushing the tiny cloth out of his way, “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes…”

  You can feel your face heating up when he finds out just how wet you are, dripping for him as if you are just as pent up as he is. The realization hits him like a truck, making his pulse quicken and his cock throbbing in anticipation.

  “Jack, we don’t have too much time—“

  “Don’t remind me, I’m trying not to make any sound that might be loud enough to wake him up,” he puts his hands on your waist, his hazel eyes staring at your face when you reach down to stroke his cock a few times before lining up the thick head with your soaked entrance.

  “Shit— fuck-baby…” You mewl as he pushes inside, stretching you out and filling you to the brim, making home inside your warm walls with ease, “So so good.”

  “That damn kid,” he growls, pressing his lips to yours when you whine loudly as he starts thrusting into, dragging his cock in and out of you in a quick pace, “I didn’t have you for months, he better not wake up now.”

  “You’re jealous of your own kid?” You squeal when he angles his hips just the right way to hit your sweet spot, having your head dizzy and hazy as he fucks you faster and harder.

  “I’m jealous of anyone who spends more time with you than I can ever do—“ he knows he is not envious of his own kid, it would be ridiculous, but also he wants his wife all to himself for fifteen minutes at least, and he was not getting that for four fucking months.

  You cling to him, nails scratching his freckled skin, leaving red angry marks all over his back while he buries his face into your neck, nibbling on your pulse point as he fucks you harder into oblivion.

  “Please, please, pleaseplease—“ you stutter over your words when his finger comes down to rub your clit, making your legs shake around his hips as he moves harder, nearing his own orgasm.

  The white hot pleasure crashes into your veins, having both of you quiver in each other’s embrace as you gush around his length and he shoots his warm sticky cum deep into you.

  Jack quickly silences you with pressing his lips to yours, muffling your loud moan and his deep groan in an instant as he finally finally releases all the pent-up lust, his shoulders relaxing after months of torture.

  Just when he rests his forehead on yours and tries to catch his breath, his ears perk up at the sound of the soft, slow footsteps.

  “Mama?”

  “Fuckin’ hell—“ he tips his head back and you take this as your cue to lean down and kiss his throat, caressing his jaw before you urge him to pull out of you, “He is too punctual for his age.”

  “He just hates pervy men around his mama.” he glares at you playfully when you reply, pecking your lips before he tucks himself back into his pants quickly before your son comes into your bedroom, helping you hop down from the sink, “He’s all yours, Jack.”

  “With pleasure,” he winks at you, and in an instant, you know he is going to say something to keep you alone in the house for the rest of the night.

  “Hey, bud,” Jack says as he finds your son on the bed, clutching his little bear in his hands, his feet dangling from the edge of the mattress, “What are you up to?”

  “I had a nightmare,” the baby mumbles, looking at Jack with those big, wide eyes, making his heart clench in despair.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, little guy. C’mere,” Jack picks his son up, sitting against the headboard as the little boy cuddles into his chest, sniffing a little before Jack starts rocking him slowly, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

  “No,” his son shakes his head, pressing himself tightly into his old man’s arms, “Will we go out now?”

  “Would you like to go out, buddy? We can always stay and order something,” Jack softly strokes the little boy’s head, kissing the crown of his head. “What do you say? Pizza night with mama and daddy?”

  “And SpongeBob!” Suddenly, the boy sits up, beaming with his little teeth at his dad, making Jack laugh and nod.

  “Yup, Pizza and SpongeBob!” They both turn around when you step outside the bathroom, makeup removed after hearing them change the plans, and the dress replaced with a pair of pajamas, “Look who’s here.”

  “Mama!” 

  “Yes, baby boy?” You crawl next to them, lying on the bed with your arms stretched out, and to your delight, Jack and your son both snuggle into you — somehow Jack manages to fit himself into the embrace, “Family night, yeah?”

  “Oh, definitely,” he grabs the back of your neck to pull you down, kissing you softly before he chuckles when your son makes a gagging noise, trying to separate you from Jack.

  “Ew!”

  “She was mine first,” Jack glares at the boy, and he glares back, both too interwoven into this playful banter to notice you looking at them with soft eyes.

  “No! She is my mama!”

[sluttapes]

⌞ 𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 ⌝

christoper owen & matthew bernard sturniolo

𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹ㆍ𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨ㆍ𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨ㆍ𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨ㆍ𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 (𝘯𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘰𝘣𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺.)ㆍ𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬ㆍ𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨ㆍ𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨ㆍ𝘱𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴ㆍ𝘤𝘶𝘮 𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨ㆍ𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘦ㆍ

you didn’t speak about it when the car pulled into the triplets’ driveway.

no one said a word.

not about what happened. not about how far it had gone. not about how far it almost went. the three of you just got out of the car like nothing happened, the silence tight between you, humming with something unfinished. and maybe it was easier that way—pretending the heat from the drive hadn’t followed you home. pretending you weren’t still pulsing with it.

inside, everything was familiar. matt’s room was still messy from the day you guys left—hoodies on the chair, a half-empty water bottle tipped on his nightstand, rumpled blankets he didn’t even bother to fix before collapsing into them. it was unusual for him, but leaving for the weekend was a rush, so neither of you really bothered with cleaning anything. not you at your place, not them two at theirs. matt just dropped onto the bed like gravity hit him harder than usual, face buried in the pillow. you hovered for a second in the doorway, unsure if you should crawl in too.

but he reached back blindly, fingers curling around your wrist and tugging you in without a word. like it was normal. like nothing had changed. so you napped there, the quiet warmth of his room settling over you both, thick and heavy like the rain had been earlier. matt fell asleep fast, his arm slung across your waist. your heart beat a little too fast for your own comfort, but the exhaustion won eventually.

chris had gone to his room. nick wasn’t home, which made the silence in the house even louder. and when you finally woke up, your body still half sore from the car ride and the weird adrenaline of the day, everything felt… suspended.

like the moment wasn’t over. just paused.

the three of you eventually found yourselves in the living room, sprawled out across the couch and floor. pillows. phones. silence. the tv was on but muted, some random tv show playing reruns you weren’t watching. no one was talking. no one knew what to say. your phone screen glowed in your hand, thumb scrolling with no real attention. but you could feel it.

matt kept glancing at you.

you could feel chris looking too—casual and sideways, eyes flicking up between long blinks. and then… they locked eyes. just for a second. like they’d been circling the same thought all afternoon and finally crashed into it at the same time. their expressions didn’t change much. but you felt it. the shift.

your spine straightened slightly. lips parting like your body knew something before your mind did. matt raised an eyebrow, just barely. the kind of expression that said you thinking what i’m thinking?

chris’s lips curved. not a smile. more like an agreement.

you looked between them slowly. and suddenly your phone felt heavy in your hand. because the air was different now. something was coming. and they both knew it.

you didn’t speak. none of you did. but the look that passed between matt and chris—it said everything.

and the way their eyes kept coming back to you? it said the rest.

your stomach flipped, heat curling under your skin again like it never really left. it had just been waiting for a spark. and now it was everywhere. thick in the room. dense in your lungs. matt leaned back first, arms stretched over the back of the couch, his eyes dropping down your frame with casual ease. his fingers tapped along the fabric behind you, like he was weighing something. deciding.

then chris sat forward slightly on the floor, elbows on his knees, phone long forgotten in his lap as he looked up at you. and you could tell by his face—he knew. he knew you were thinking about it. about both of them. about what it meant. what it could become.

matt’s voice cut into the silence, low and calm. “so… we gonna talk about it?”

your heart kicked up.

you glanced between them, pulse hammering in your throat. “talk about… what?”

his mouth pulled into the faintest grin. “you know.”

chris didn’t let you look away for long. “you liked it. don’t pretend you didn’t.”

you swallowed. your voice barely came out. “you don’t even know what i’m thinking.”

“no?” chris asked, eyes dragging slowly down your body, then back up. “i think i do.”

matt’s arm shifted—closer now, the side of his hand brushing your shoulder like an invitation. “you weren’t stopping either of us.”

you sat there, motionless, frozen between them. between choices. between the way matt looked at you like he already had you, and the way chris looked like he wanted to prove you 'belonged' to neither of them. or maybe both. the tension was unbearable now. and yet… you didn’t move. you didn’t want to move.

chris tilted his head, voice quieter. “you ever thought about it before, sweetheart?”

your lips parted. “about what?”

“both of us,” matt said. “at the same time?”

your heart stuttered. there it was. said out loud. no more circling around it. no more careful silence. you could barely breathe.

“you don’t have to say anything,” matt added, voice low, rough with something that sounded almost like restraint. “we can just stop. or—”

“or we don’t,” chris cut in, leaning forward. “and we keep going.”

you looked between them, pulse thudding like a drum. you’d never felt so seen. so stretched between two halves of the same thought—matt’s calm, steady heat, and chris’s sharp, hungry edge.

and the worst part?

you didn’t want to choose.

the silence after matt’s earlier question wasn’t silence at all. it was a roar. static in your veins, the hum of the muted tv, the ragged cadence of three breaths holding, then releasing. your skin prickled under their gazes—matt’s patient, smoldering; chris’s sharp, unyielding. the air clung to your throat, thick with the scent of rain still lingering on their clothes, the faint musk of sweat from the drive, the citrus of chris’s cologne cutting through it all like a blade.

you didn’t speak. you didn’t need to.

matt moved first. always the initiator, the one who bridged gaps with a smirk and a steady hand. his fingers grazed your jaw, tilting your face toward him, and his kiss was deliberate. slow. a question phrased as a statement. his lips were warm, familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

“you don't need to do anything you're not comfortable with” he murmured against your mouth, the words a low rumble you felt in your ribs. his thumb brushed your bottom lip, pressing just enough to part them.

“would never make you do anything you don't want.”

you let him keep going. because as weird, and as new as this feeling, this whole thing was, you wanted it. more than you cared to admit.

chris wasn’t one to watch. you felt him shift behind you, his knees bracketing your hips as he settled on the couch, hands sliding around your waist to pull you back against him. his laugh was a dark puff against your neck.

“you always gotta be first, matt?” his teeth nipped the tendon there, not quite gentle. “already had your fun of being first last night..”

you gasped, arching into the sting, and matt’s grip tightened on your chin.

“eyes here,” he said, softer now, almost apologetic.

his other hand slid into your hair, guiding your mouth back to his. this time, the kiss deepened, his tongue sweeping against yours, deliberate and claiming. you whimpered, torn between the heat of his mouth and the press of chris’s hardening length against your lower back.

“fuck,” chris muttered, palms skimming up your sides, pushing your shirt higher.

his touch was rougher, impatient, the softness of his hands catching on your skin as he found the curve of your breast.

“you’ve been thinking about this, huh? both of us?” he squeezed your tit, and your moan was swallowed by matt’s kiss. “knew it. always knew you'd get turned on by some shit like that.”

matt pulled back a little, his thumb on your lip, pressing in. “can you open up for me, pretty?” you obeyed, your tongue darting out to taste the salt of his skin.

his eyes were fixated on the movement, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he watched you do as he said. “such pretty lips.. you're so beautiful, sweetheart.”

you hadn’t realized he’d undone his jeans until he got up from where he was sat next to you, looking down at you with an unspoken question behind his gaze, making sure you were comfortable with this during every single second of it. his cock brushed your lips, thick and heavy in your hand now. you hesitated—too much, too fast—but chris’s fingers dug into your hips, anchoring you.

“don’t choke,” he taunted, joking because he knew how nervous you were about this whole situation. though his voice wavered when matt’s tip nudged your tongue. “bet she will, though. bet she’s dying to.”

matt’s hand tightened in your hair. “ignore him,” he said, but his hips jerked forward, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. you gagged, tears springing to your eyes at the sudden fullness in your mouth, and he froze.

“shit—” he rasped, thumb stroking your cheek. “just breathe through it. you’re okay. tell me to stop if you need to”

chris was already working your shorts down your thighs, his palm slapping your ass lightly.

“c’mon, baby. y'know you can take it.” his fingers slid between your legs, and you jolted at the contact, already soaked.

“jesus,” he hissed, dragging two fingers through your slickness before pushing them into his mouth. “can't believe you got to taste that pretty pussy before i did..” chris scoffed at matt.

but matt ignored him, fully focused on the warmth of your mouth around him. his cock pulsed against your tongue, precum bitter as he rocked deeper.

“look at me, beautiful” he demanded, and you forced your eyes open, blurry with tears.

his expression was torn—hunger and something almost tender.

“attagirl. taking me so well.” he brushed your hair back, tucking it behind your ear like this was something soft, something sacred. but his hips didn’t stop, each thrust measured, relentless.

chris’s hands returned, spreading you open, fingers now plunging in and out of your wet, needy pussy. you moaned around matt’s length, back arching, but chris held you firm, fingers curling.

“so sensitive,” he mocked, the vibration of his laugh against your neck making you shudder.

you couldn’t speak. couldn’t think. the room narrowed to the stretch of matt in your throat, the bruising grip of chris’s hand on your thighs, the coil in your belly tightening with every tight circle of chris’s thumb on your clit. matt’s praise blurred with chris’s taunts, until you were a sobbing, moaning mess. drool and tears streaking your face.

you barely processed the shift, and matt pulling back, and out of your mouth before chris was grabbing you, pulling you on top of him fully. your back hitting his chest. his fingers gripping your hips tightly. you cried out when his cock nudged your entrance.

“look at him,” chris growled, “look at matt. show him how much better i make you feel.”

matt stood in front of you, one hand fisting his cock, the other tilting your chin up. his eyes were black, fevered.

“you're doing so, so good, sweetheart.” he praised.

your lips part as chris sheathed himself inside you in one not so gentle thrust. the pain was white-hot, exquisite. you moaned, loud. nails digging into chris’s thighs, but matt’s thumb swept over your bottom lip.

“it's okay. y' got it,” he coaxed, though his own breath hitched when chris began to move, your tits bouncing, eyes staring up into matt's. “you’re okay. so good for us.”

chris’s laugh was a snarl. “she’s not okay,” he said, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. “she’s fucking desperate for this. always has been.”

his pace was punishing, each snap of his hips driving you onto matt’s cock when he pushed back into your mouth. “yeahhh, taht's it. suck him,” chris ordered, hands fisting your hair to hold you still.

“so fuckin' dirty. lettin' your best friend fuck your mouth like that”

the stretch of matt down your throat, the brutal fullness of chris beneath you, his dirty words, the way their groans harmonized as they used you—it shattered you. you came with a muffled scream, body clamping around chris as he cursed, his rhythm faltering.

“fuck, squeezing me so good—” chris’s hips stuttered, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “gonna make me—ah, shit—”

matt’s hand tightened in your hair, his thrusts picking up the pace. “such a good girl, y' got it, oohhh—fuck— y' got it, baby.” he choked out, your throat working around him as he came, bitter and thick.

chris followed with a growl, spilling into you, his teeth sinking into your shoulder to muffle his groans.

────୨ৎ────

the living room was quiet again. but it wasn’t the same kind of silence as before. this one was… heavier. not uncomfortable, just thick. like the air itself was holding onto what had just happened.

the couch creaked slightly as you adjusted, still catching your breath, your skin cooling under the weight of the aftermath. pillows askew. one of the blankets halfway on the floor. someone’s shirt draped across the back of the couch—maybe matt’s. maybe chris’s. you couldn’t tell anymore. your body ached in places that hadn’t been touched like that before. not by them, not by both of them. not with that kind of shared want. you sat there, wrapped in the warmth of it, still caught in the glow of what the three of you had done.

what the hell did we just do? you thought, but not in a way that felt like regret.

beside you, matt let out a quiet sigh. it was soft. steady. the kind of sound he made when he didn’t know what to say but didn’t mind the silence, either. you turned your head just slightly, and there he was—arm tossed over his eyes, his other hand resting near your leg, close but not quite touching.

chris was stretched on the other side, head tilted back against the couch cushion, lips parted like he was still catching his breath. one hand on his stomach, the other loosely hanging off the edge of the cushion.

no one was speaking. not yet.

but their breathing—your breathing—still filled the space. like a memory that hadn’t fully settled. you reached for the blanket, tugging it back over your chest as you shifted to sit up a little. your body was still buzzing, raw and real in the aftermath. your heart had finally slowed, but your thoughts hadn’t. you weren’t sure if you should say something. if you should joke about it. laugh. break the weird tension before it had time to stretch too far. but then matt moved. his hand brushed your knee gently, grounding you.

“you okay?” he murmured, voice rough, sleep-heavy.

you nodded. “yeah. just… yeah.”

chris’s voice chimed in next, a little smug, a little curious. “you regretting it already?”

your head turned toward him, and for a second, you thought he was being serious. but the way his mouth curved told you he wasn’t. not really.

“no,” you said, honest. “just… thinking.”

matt shifted to sit up, running a hand through his hair. “we probably should talk about it. we don't have to now, but like... you know..”

no one answered right away. you weren’t sure what there was to say. not yet, anyway. but you knew one thing for sure. things would never go back to the way they were before.

and maybe… you didn’t want them to.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

@tits4matt @loser41ifee @sweetshuga @nickysturnss @courta13 @sophsturns @starsforu @h3arts4nat @emely9274 @chestersturn @watercolorskyy @httpssturns @cherryystemm @adoremattsturns

[suksatoru]

dabi's dearest.

dabi as a father—who knew he was such a family guy?

You click the small white circle towards the bottom of your phone for just about the hundredth time, angling your phone over Dabi as he slept soundly—and the white haired baby on his chest peers up at you with a gummy smile.

You smile, pocketing your phone as you reach your hand forward to ruffle your little baby boy's unruly white hair. Dabi shifts in his sleep, mumbling your name quietly before he goes slack again.

"He's tired, hm?" you hum, carefully lifting the baby off of his broad chest as you lay yourself onto the couch beside Dabi, pushing your baby's hair from his forehead as an adorable pair of eyes stared back at you.

"We really need to cut your hair," you huff, pushing back yet another stray strand out of your baby's eyes as he babbles on about something—staring at his dad with a chubby, outstretched hand.

Dabi's eyes flutter open—and his hands instinctively reach towards his chest, which felt entirely too light. His eyes catch onto your smiling face quickly as the confusion from his face fades, before he turns to you with a lazy grin.

"Punk woke up before me, huh?"

As if in response to his words, the little baby in your arms lets out a gurgle of excitement with twinkling eyes—crawling towards his father in an instant as Dabi outstretches his arms to welcome him into his embrace. He nestles right onto Dabi's chest, and soon enough—you too are curling yourself against his bare skin with a content sigh, smiling when you see Dabi already peering down at you with a soft grin.

"Want another one?"

Your smile falters in surprise as you attempt to form a coherent response—sputtering out a bewildered huh?! as Dabi laughs loudly.

"What? He's pretty cute. Look at him chewing on my shirt—we can get another one to chew on yours so it's fair," He says as if were the most casual thing in the world, pulling back your son's cheeks gently from his tattered shirt at the little boy whines—latching his gummy teeth back onto Dabi's shirt the second he looks away and turns towards you.

"Or maybe they'll both chew on your shirt," you mumble, huffing in embarrassment from Dabi's previous comment. How long have you and him been together? Years. Even after all this time, he can still leave you blushing wildly with his shamelessly flirtatious comments. Dabi grins a lopsided smile, looking down at the sleepy baby on his chest as he tilts his head, staring down into the little boy's eyes.

They were a pair of eyes he once hated. They reminded him entirely too much of his father and reflection in the mirror—oh the nights he'd spent begging silently for his baby to have your wonderful eyes. Dabi didn't usually get what he wanted, but things had changed quickly regardless. Now, he lived to see those cerulean eyes crinkle with life and laughter. It was such a sight to see.

"He's teething. We gotta get him some sort of a chew toy I think," you say quietly, and Dabi scoffs

"Like a dog?" he smirks—and you glare at him, gently slapping his chest while trying to keep yourself from smiling.

"No dumbass, like—well, I don't know," you suddenly say, a tinge of frustration clear in your tone as you look at your baby, who peers back cluelessly. It's hard to not smile when he reaches forward and starts playing mindlessly with your hair.

"Hey... come on now, we'll figure this out," he says determined, ruffling the little boy's hair with a sharp grin "It's my baby boy, he'll be fine. Matter of fact—he'll be the best. You and me as his ma and pop? Oh, bless his soul." He teases, gently tugging on your hair in the same manner the little boy in his lap did—and you squirm with a laugh when he moves his palm further back, cradling your head and pulling on the strands with an oddly loving look in his eyes.

"Ok, ok! He can barely walk—you really think he's all that though, huh?" You giggle, nudging your son's chubby cheek with a curled knuckle as Dabi rolls his eyes with a small smile, tracing circles lightly on your hip as he shrugs

"He could totally kick my ass."

"He can't even talk!"

"Sure he can. Say dad." Dabi commands, looking down at the little boy as he babbles something incoherent curiously—looking between you and Dabi with wide eyes and a childish smile. You giggle quietly, watching Dabi trying to get the baby to say dad over and over again—his confidence in the little baby never once diminished. Over the next couple of days, you'd catch him trying to get your son to say the word 'dad' far too many times.

You'd tease him relentlessly for it—but he'd bounce back with a cocky response, defending the white haired baby perched on his hip as he huffed and pouted. You should've taken Dabi's stubbornness into account, his relentless nature was fueled by his determination, and your baby seemed to fall victim to this fact.

It's only a few weeks later when you're laying with Dabi in bed after putting your son down for the night when you hear a quiet cry from his nursery. You lift your head off of his chest, but he pushed you back down gently.

"I got it—go back to sleep, doll."

After mumbling your sleepy response of okay, you sink into your pillow and prepare to fall back asleep—but Dabi's thunderous footsteps sound through the hall, and you quickly move to sit up in bed with confusion when you hear him yelling.

"He said it! Say it again, you punk! Say it, say it!"

"Dadda!" the little boy gurgles the moment Dabi appears in the doorway as you let out a quiet gasp. Your legs move automatically, and you're embracing the two of them in a hug moments later, laughing.

"Your daddy just wouldn't leave it alone, hmm?" You smile. Your son's very first words were as clear as day—accentuated by a toothy grin he offers the two of you. He jostles the baby in his arms gently, and the look of pure fulfillment on his face has you smiling harder.

This was his own little family. He'd finally felt the love of a real home.

[nightplvmes]

MORNING (fluff)

Rafayel one shot ⋆｡° | pairing : rafayel x fem!reader (third person pov) ⋆｡° | word count : 1k ⋆｡° | fluff, lazy morning, clingy rafa likes and reblogs are appreciated!! ★ masterlist here

She was about to fall asleep, her eyes slightly closed, until she felt hands around her. A yawn escaped her lips and she turned to look over her shoulder. Rafayel was trying to make room for him on the bed.

She shifted and crawled to the center of the bed to make room for him. Seconds later, she felt his weight on the bed. His arms wrapped around her again, this time pulling her closer to him. It was cold, and his warmth was actually comforting. She yawned and shifted gently in his arms so she could turn until she was facing him.

"I thought you were going to work," she murmured in her sleepy voice. She didn't know how long ago Rafayel had started his morning routine, but she knew it had been long enough for her to fall into a deep sleep for at least a few minutes.

"I work at home," he replied, causing his girlfriend to roll her eyes. He knew what she meant: starting some paintings he had pending. He already knew what she meant, but he liked to tease her every time she asked the same question.

"You know what I mean."

Rafayel nodded, pressing his body against hers. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, smelling her scent. There was a peculiar scent she had every time she woke up, and it had become his favorite. He'd mentioned it to her once. "Yeah, I just… wanted to say good morning to you."

"It doesn't count as good morning if you wake me up." She gasped when Rafayel pulled her against him again. She knew there was something more to it. It didn't have to be something bad, exactly, but she knew it wasn't just Rafayel wanting to say good morning to her. "What's wrong?"

He sighed when he stopped hiding his face to look at her. "I wanted to spend some more time with you," he admitted. "Besides, you smell so good. I hate that you smell so good," he complained before burying his face in her neck again, inhaling her scent.

She smiled, trying to wriggle in his arms, but Rafayel was stronger than her, and there wasn't much she could do while she was still sleepy. "You're late. Thomas called me yesterday asking if you'd thrown away your phone because you weren't answering." It had become a habit to call her when Rafayel didn't answer, which was… often when he was with her.

"One day won't change anything." He stopped hiding his face again, this time to place a kiss on her cheek. "It's your fault for smelling so good," he complained… again.

She laughed again; his lips tickled her, but she didn't dare push him away. She turned her face to look at him, but Rafayel took the opportunity to press his lips against hers, a small, lazy kiss. Like those kisses you give when you know there's more to come.

"You can do many things in one day." She shook her head. He had that look on his face that told her he wasn't leaving her side anytime soon. "I promise to stop showering and rolling in mud next time," she joked, causing her boyfriend to snort and her to giggle.

"Do that, and I'll put you in the shower myself." He squeezed her hips, and she raised an eyebrow, sensing that his words actually had a double meaning. "I didn't mean that, but you could put it into practice right now."

"Stop it, you have work." She shook her head. It wasn't that she didn't really like the idea of taking a bath together, but she hated being the reason he wanted to stay in bed all day or preferred to spend his time with her and was now he had pending work.

Rafayel nodded, giving up. He wouldn't get anywhere fighting with his girlfriend, especially since he knew she was right; he couldn't keep putting off work. "Fine." He sighed in frustration and placed one last kiss on her cheek before getting out of bed.

She watched as he left the room after a few seconds. The room fell silent, and she felt guilty for practically kicking him out of bed when she really would have liked to be curled up next to him for the rest of the morning.

She let out a yawn and shifted back in bed to settle in and sleep for another couple of hours. She was still tired; she could feel it throughout her body, but when she settled under the sheets and closed her eyes, sleep never came. Minutes passed, and if she continued like this, she was sure it would be hours, but she couldn't go back to sleep. All she could think about was Rafayel and how much she missed his warmth.

She gave up and got out of bed, having to tiptoe as the cold from the floor penetrated her feet. It took her a couple of seconds to reach the big room where Rafayel usually worked. Despite the quietness, he felt her presence almost immediately.

"Wouldn't you go back to sleep?" Rafayel's question echoed throughout the room even though he was facing away from her, preparing the materials he would use for his next painting.

"It's your fault, you made me wake up," she replied, and now it was her arms that wrapped around him from behind. He smiled and one of his hands wrapped around hers to bring it to his lips, placing a soft kiss there.

Was she too needy? Was there something wrong with wanting to be close to her boyfriend on certain days? It wasn't that she couldn't be without him; she could survive perfectly without him; she just preferred not to.

He guided her to the chair in front of the blank canvas and made a space for her on his lap, as he had done so many times before. She rested her head on his shoulder, her gaze fixed on the canvas, waiting to see the beginning of his next work.

And spending the morning on her boyfriend's lap, receiving his kisses, seemed like the perfect way to start the day.