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irisinluv · 8 months ago

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Isekaied as the Yandere Villain!? PT 1

All I could do was stare at my reflection. This had to be a joke. I was going to wake up in my bed, right this instant.

“FUCK!”

Ok, so, pinching myself hurts. That’s fine. This is like. Some sort of lucid dream. What do they say to do if you’re lucid dreaming? Oh, that’s right, put your finger in your palm, it’ll phase through!

I resist the urge to scream as my finger meets solid flesh.

You see, I’m not in the right body. Or the right world from what I can tell. No, I’m supposed to be back home, waking up in a panic as I realize my alarm didn’t go off cuz my phone died after I stayed up way too late reading manga.

But of course, I’m not late to work, I’m in a lavish bedchamber right out of the latest webcomic I’d been reading! And by the looks of it…. I’m the crown princes crazy fiancé! As much as I love reading about the Isekai trope, I never wanted to be in one! And come on- as the Yandere Villain!? Couldn’t this at least be original? There’s hundred of stories just like “my next life as a villainess,” why couldn’t I be like… a stable hand or something? Ugh. Ok. Think!

I need to get home. Do the protagonists ever get back home in the stories I read? I pace around my room and rack my brain over every webcomic I’ve ever read, every manga I waited in line for, every anime I binged, even the unfinished manhwas! I can’t think of a single fucking one where they get home?

Well this isn’t going to stop me. I have a cat who’s going to absolutely flip if she’s not given fresh kibble in the morning. She has enough in her bowl for another 2 days but she needs it topped off ok! She’s a princess! I can’t be stuck here! Who’s going to throw her pompom toy for her if I’m not there???

What did all these have in common? What’s the barebones trope layout? Ok let’s see

1) person either died or falls asleep and wakes up in a new world…. Check

2) person is the villain!…. Check

3) to avoid the characters terrible death, person tries to change the story, ends up being new protagonist…

Ohhh… hey…. Do these Isekai characters ever just…. Play along? Even the “reincarnated as a baby” ones, they only play along till they’re old enough to try to run away or rework the political structure of the entire city. Maybe that’s it. Make it to the books natural end, and you’ll wake up where you belong. It’s like when you get part of a song stuck in your head. Play the whole song, and it’ll get out.

Ok, I’ve trained most of my adult life for this- I can totally ace this trope! I just have to stalk the crown prince, act totally in love with him, and be a bitch to the female lead. Then my finance will leave me, I’ll do some crazy dramatic act to try to kill the female lead, and then I’ll be exiled or executed, and wake up to feed my cat. How hard can it be?

Hard. It’s very hard.

Where the hell did he go!? My fiancé, the crown prince Eric, was JUST HERE. I swear! He turned that corner back there and then went down this hall… at least I think it was this hall? Ugh! This is impossible! For someone with such loud shoes and an armed escort, you’d think he’d be easier to follow! Now my feet just hurt. They don’t make these fancy shoes to run around the castle all day. They’re meant to daintily peek from beneath my many skirts as I host a tea party or some shit.

Ok. I’ve got this! I’ll just peek into each room until I find him, maybe I can get a better feel for the layout, or maybe find his office and see if he has a schedule or a day planner or something I can use to make this whole stalking thing easier.

I begin snooping, and it’s a bit of thrill to be honest! Back in my real life, I’m the kind of person to hide a wrapper deep in the trash can if I’m babysitting, sitting on the floor playing a game on my phone after the kid goes to bed rather than “making myself at home” the way the parents insisted as they showed me how to access Netflix. I’ve never been a snooper. Now…. Well. It’s totally on brand for this character! I’m not me, I’m a psycho lovesick fool! I giggle a bit at that as my fingers trail over a shelf of beautiful pottery in some sort of sitting room.

“What’s so amusing dearest?”

I practically screech as my heart leaps to my throat and I whirl around, and see the very person I’d been searching for has snuck up on ME…. That’s so unfair!

“W-what? O-oh! Nothing! I was just- uh, admiring the pottery?”

I stutter out as I try to recall how to act like a human being while simultaneously trying to stop feeling my own pulse in my ears. The idiot has the nerve to LAUGH! Full on snort and everything!

“What are you doing in this wing anyways? Weren’t you meant to be out riding today?”

Shit. I was so busy trying to figure out his schedule, I didn’t consider maybe the body I was shoved into had a schedule of her own. Ok. Play it cool- I’ve got this!

“Yes, well, I decided I wasn’t in the mood and wanted to stay in today instead.”

His brows furrow

“Oh, but you love riding? Are you feeling ill? I can fetch the royal physician for you if you-“

“No! That’s- that’s quite alright! I simply wanted a change of schedule, that is all. Um… what about you? What are your plans for the day?”

He looked a bit surprised at that, and a small smile danced on his lips.

“I was just going to the library to do some paperwork, boring stuff really, and then of course our dinner at its regular time.”

I nod like that means anything to me. Ok think, if I were crazy in love with this man, what would I say?

“Would you like some company? Reading in the library sounds really nice, maybe we could have some tea as well?”

Ok. I’m already fucking this up. He looks confused…. God damnit …. I knew I shouldn’t have skimmed over those early chapters- but the translation was shit ok!?

“Well… I’d actually love that. But are you sure? You haven’t exactly shown interest in reading, and you’ve never requested something like this before…. In fact I don’t think I can recall the last time we’ve interacted outside of dinner or a scheduled social event in… well. Ever.”

Wait…. What? Isn’t my character like goo-goo-ga-ga over him? Are you telling me she never asks to just… spend time with her lover? They only talk during dinner and parties or whatever?

“Of course, I think it’ll be relaxing! Just lead the way!”

My brain is working overtime as I smile politely at him as we reach the library and I pretend to browse for books. I’m missing something here. What is-

Oh. Shit. That’s right. I’m supposed to be really insecure and awkward about him. That’s why she stalks him- she spends all her free time obsessing over this man from the shadows, threatening the competition…. Yet chokes up when it comes to how to act natural. Her inferiority complex is what drives her entire character. And then to him, they’re just two nobles in an arranged marriage who speak on dull subjects like the weather and horse rides…. And who barely interact.

This must have been a real big shake up, she always stays out of sight, they never run into each other by chance. And she certainly never would ask to sit and read with him…. Maybe watch him do his work from a hidden keyhole somewhere, but that’s right…. She IS more of a traditional lady with her hobbies. She was raised to be the perfect noble wife, so naturally, her hobbies include things like dancing, needlepoint, and horse riding. The only studies she’s interested in are etiquette and things that noble ladies are supposed to know.

Well…. Shit. That’s so like me to already have fucked this up. But that’s ok. That’s ok- he’s going to meet the female lead and fall in love and so I just have to be the obstacle they need to overcome. Surely the details don’t matter too much…. It’s my first day in the job ok? Not everyone’s perfect!

I find a book that honestly actually sounds interesting, it’s historical, but it’s giving Hellen of Troy, the closest to a dark romance I think I’ll get from an academic personal library like this. I settle into what looks like the comfiest chair in the central area, and begin reading. The prince and I exist comfortably, the only sound being the scratch of his pen, and the occasional rustle of paper as he flips a document or I finish a page. We continue like this for several hours until he puts down his pen and clears his throat, getting my attention.

“I know it’s a long way from dinner…. But I was thinking I’d grab something light for a mid day meal and then take a walk about the gardens …. Would you care to join me?”

Honestly, some lunch and pretty royal gardens sounds like so much fun, so I agree. As we begin walking, I ponder how I can recover from all this.

You know what.. this can totally still go to plan. This is just me being the evil villain and sinking my claws into him! The female lead will appear, and I’ll reveal my true, nasty side to her! She’ll have to fight to save the prince from his marriage to me!

*insert evil laughter!*

“You’re smiling.”

“W-what?”

“A smile. It suits you. You’ve been doing that a lot today….. I like it.”

Ok and now I’m blushing. I go to reply when I suddenly find myself weightless for a moment, and then hit the ground with a hard thump.

“Ow! What the-!?”

My eyes snap up and glare at this pretty blonde girl who just rammed into me, and sent me flying

“Do you not know how to watch where you’re going!? Owww…. Ugh.”

Ok I’m sorry I’m usually a nice and understanding person but I’ve never been literally knocked over before! Who does that to a person?

Eric helps me to my feet and sends a reproachful glare toward the girl, asking me if I’m alright with most concerned look…. And the girl gasps and says,

“C-crown prince Eric! I apologize! I’d didn’t recognize you!”

She drops into a curtsy and lowers her eyes all demure and modest as if she hadn’t just bulldozed me. I send an incredulous look toward Eric…. She… didn’t see HIM? I’m the one she took out? He gives me an equally puzzled look and so I decide, you know what, fuck it. I’m this evil person in this world…. I need to act like it!

“And not recognizing his highness is an excuse for taking out the princess consort, soon to be crown princess? Are you blind or just daft?”

Oh my god I really just called someone daft! This feels like when you stay up late thinking all the witty comebacks you could’ve used against your high school bullies, except actually using them in the moment!

And Eric is being a sweetie and letting me handle this, waiting expectantly for blondie to answer me, just prompting her,

“Well?”

“Forgive me…. Princess consort…. You are right. My oversight in inexcusable. It appears neither of us were looking where we were going. I hope we can start fresh!”

I scoff- that’s it? Who does this bitch think she is? Yes, I was looking at Eric, but I was going a walking pace, who rounds a corner with so much force that you knock someone over?

Suddenly something clicks- oh shit! This is the female lead!!!! This scene happened in the story, just without the prince here. This is good, that means this is on track. Although I gotta say- I was much more on the female main characters side when reading it. Now, I just feel like she’s one of those mean girls in high school who’s not *technically* doing anything mean. Anyways- what was I supposed to say? That’s right.

“Yes…. Well. I’m sure we won’t be seeing much of each other anyways. If you’ll excuse me-“

Nailed ittttt…. Now her line?

“Well, actually…. My name is Lady Cressida, and I’ll be staying in the place for several months as my father is a foreign ambassador overseeing trade agreements with his highness the king. So I imagine we will be seeing *plenty* of each other. That goes for you too your highness! So please- forgive me, I look forward to getting to know each of you better!”

Oh that’s so cool, seeing her recite the lines from the story. But ok- I have a role to play as well. I scoff and grab Eric’s arm, pulling him behind me as I storm off, playing the part of entitled lover, stuck up and irritated at this ambassadors daughter who DARED to speak to my love.

Yea, this will work, Eric will think Cressida is a genuine sweetie, and see me as being the unreasonable bitch who’s refusing to accept her apology, or apologize for not looking where I was going either. And now I’m manhandling him- totally unlady like. God I’m killing this aren’t I? Minimum wage job and demanding cat, here I come!

What I don’t see, as I lead Eric by the arm, is the cold glare he shoots towards Cressida, before smiling down at our connected hands, an unreadable look in his eyes.

Part 2

SERIES IS DISCONTINUED- sorry y’all, just not inspired to write this anymore and don’t wanna force it.

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cxffecoupx · 8 months ago

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what 2 am with them looks like

seventeen × gn reader comfort, healing (kinda, idk) warnings: mentions of making love, food wc: 1.3k author's notes: this was a random thought, and has been in my drafts for so long, so i decided i had to complete it. writing this gave me a peace i didn't know existed, so i love this work very much. i hope you guys love it too <3

➼ choi seungcheol

in bed. he's probably fucking you into the next week, making you cum at least 5 times before he kisses you gently and washes you up and prepares to sleep. if not this, then you're probably on your side of the bed. the other side of the bed remains empty, because your cuddly clingy boyfriend is wrapped around you, strong arms trapping your movements and legs tangled together.

➼ yoon jeonghan

dumb conversations. lying in bed, your head resting on his arm, your arm wrapped around his torso that shakes with the laughter. it's probably one of your lame jokes that only he finds funny, or one of his hilarious stories about seungkwan and chan, but it's got you both clutching your stomachs after a while. he pulls you close with his arm that's under your head and presses a light kiss to your forehead before finding another interesting topic. when do you sleep that night, that's a question you both have no answer for.

➼ hong jisoo

deep conversations. you're both sitting in your bedroom, hugging pillows as you slip into deep conversations about the universe and your future. you aren't sure how you got here, you were in your bed to sleep one moment and in the next, you're both sitting as you talk about your wedding and your house and the stars and the moon and his mom and his job; the conversation flows easily into the next topic. he only stops when he sees you suppress a yawn for the 3rd time before kissing you and suggesting you both go to sleep.

➼ moon junhui

watching cat videos. it all started a few hours ago, with you and jun on either side of the bed, scrolling through phones. you roll over to him, perfectly landing your head on his chest as you show him your screen. "look junie," you said as you shoved the phone into his face. he chuckles before holding your hand and focusing on the video of an orange cat tripping over it's own feet. he laughs watching it, and it ends up in you lying on his chest as you both watched every single cat video available on the earth. your laughs filled the room and tears filled your eyes, but it felt so good, spending time doing silly things like this.

➼ kwon soonyoung

passive watching soap operas. its the time of calm and quiet after the rush of the day, so when you turn on the tv after dinner, you stay like that until late hours. except the focus has moved from the drama on the tv to drama from work. from sitting at the ends of the couch, you end up tangled somehow - his head resting on your lap or him sitting on the floor, hands held with yours. the tv drones on at a low volume, but by then you've both shared all the tea from your work and are giggling over the littlest of things. in the morning, you're both probably on the floor, one of the cushions as a pillow and keeping warm by hugging each other.

➼ jeon wonwoo

playing games. after much practice and pain, you'd finally gotten better at the games wonwoo often played. most nights you'd be a team going against your other friends, but sometimes you prefer to play against him. and when that happens, it ends in either of the two ways: you're winning and start shaking your hips, or he's winning and decides to deliberately lose to help you win. either way, he wants to see your happy lil dance.

➼ lee jihoon

in his studio. jihoon's seated in his studio, working on a new track. when you arrive, he immediately pulls you to him, making you sit on his lap as he hands you his headphones. you look at him, confused, but wear them anyway and listen as he plays the track he was just working on. as you fall deeper into the melody of the song, he grips your hips in anticipation. it was a song to you, from him, containing the most heartfelt emotions he'd felt for you, but couldn't communicate properly. so he decided to put them into a song, a language he speaks so well and one that you understand.

➼ lee seokmin

having breakfast cereal. you'd gone through great lengths to find and buy the brand of cereal you both highly enjoyed. so now that you have it, why wait for the morning? when he wakes you up in the middle of the night, anxious and groggy about your reaction, he'd worried you'd judge him. but maybe it's the sleepiness hanging in his mind that he forgot you both basically share the same braincell. so the next minute you're stumbling into the kitchen, looking for bowls and cartons and giggling over spilling milk and noisy spoons. by the time you're done, your stomach's filled with food and heart's filled with love.

➼ kim mingyu

moments of soft intimacy. the evening goes by peacefully: you both come home, tired and exhausted; have a silent dinner mingyu lovingly prepared and talk about work; after some leftover work you both head to bed. but slowly, the stroke on the cheek becomes kissing, drawing shapes on your back as you kiss and nip at the base of his neck. mingyu's vulnerable now, only with you, but neither of you are in a rush to haste. his hands cup over your ass and thighs; your hands are braided in his hair. his palms knead the flesh of your breasts; your fingers gently brush across his chest and abs. whether or not you make love comes later, but you sleep peacefully in each other's embrace.

➼ xu minghao

sky-watching. when you poke him awake, he's definitely concerned, but the first thought that pops to his head when you say you cant sleep is to go sit in the balcony. so now, at 2 am, you're in the balcony, a cup of warm tea in your hands and xu minghao at your side. its silent, but its a comfortable silence that wraps around you like a blanket, and warmed up by the tea he specially made for you. and although for others, the silence might seem awkward, minghao knows that this is exactly what you need to escape from the thoughts racing around in your mind.

➼ boo seungkwan

late night walks. seungkwan's energy peaks after he comes home and sees you, so walks to tire you both out becomes a staple in the routine. youre walking the streets in matching hoodies (that's because you take one of his) and even in the cold, he makes it a habit to hold your hand in his. you wander through new streets every night, discovering new neighbourhoods, having a quick snack from the convenience store, and usually stumble over a park or play area. you can feel seungkwan's eyes light up and the next thing you know, youre on the swings, side-by-side. with the little squeeze of your hand, he lets you know he's ready to go back.

➼ chwe hansol

watching a movie. to hansol, any logical being would be asleep at this hour. (un)fortunately for him, you weren't as logical as he thought. but maybe he enjoys it because why else would he allow you to keep him awake at this ungodly hour, watching 'Tangled' for the twentieth time now? all frowns erase the moment he sees pascal on the screen, and a smile places itself. he becomes so engrossed in the movie he doesn't even notice that you'd fallen asleep about halfway through the movie. when he does notice tho, he silently closes the laptop and places it away, before slipping back into the bed to get his precious sleep.

➼ lee chan

listening to him talk. chan loves to talk, and you love to listen to him talk. while mostly by this time you're both dead asleep, sometimes you end up in the balcony, the wind playfully ruffling his hair as he goes on and on about something he's so so passionate about. it could be the most trivial things, but the way his eyes go wide as he's expressing his emotions and the way they catch the moonlight in them like little stars. you're gonna be pretty tired the next morning, but when chan's with you, you couldn't care less.

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prythianpages · 2 months ago

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Stuck | Eris x Reader

Eris x Reader | not much of a summary bc this is a small drabble inspired by Sydney Rose's We Hug Now

warnings: angst, mentions of break up

a/n: I was in the mood to write something angsty & ever since this song popped up on my tiktok fyp, it's been in an endless loop in my head.

Eris turned the small charm over in his fingers, the wood warmed from being tucked in his palm for too long. It was a tiny, crudely shaped hound you had carved from dark wood. You had sworn it was a lucky charm, insisting he carry it with him.

It was ridiculous, really.

The edges were uneven, the legs a little too short. The figurine did not come even close to the beauty of his hounds.

He had wanted to refuse, to toss it back and tell you he didn’t need silly, little charms. But you had been so happy to show it to him, your eyes shining bright and filled with something softer than he deserved. So he had kept it, shoving it deep into his pocket the night he left for a mission, telling himself it was just to humor you.

And yet, here he was. Years after you had gifted it to him. Turning it over in his hands like it was something precious, a rare jewel. And to Eris, it truly was.

Because what once had been a silly little charm was now the last piece of you he had left.

Did you even remember it? Did you even remember him?

Eris clenched his fist around the hound. Not harsh enough to break but enough to feel the jagged edges bite into his palm. He bet you were happy. Bet you had found the life you always spoke of, gotten everything you wanted.

You weren’t haunted by the ghost of laughter. You didn’t wake in the dead of night expecting to find someone beside you, only to be met with cold sheets. You weren’t trapped in a palace that felt emptier with every passing day.

You weren’t stuck here, like him.

You most likely found a husband, already making plans to start the family you wanted. Perhaps even opened that tea shop you always spoke of.

Eris wanted that for you, wanted you to have all the things you dreamed of. The things he could not give you, given his current circumstances. He really did.

But the thought of another man standing at your side, of children with his eyes instead of Eris’s, left something gaping and hollow inside him.

Because you had been his. His mate.

And he had never even told you.

But it didn’t matter, did it? Because he is sure you moved on, still oblivious to the strings of fate that tied you to him. What you had—what he burned and reduced to ashes—was nothing more than a closed chapter to you. A small moment in the grand story of your life.

But when he lost you, the world ended for him.

a/n: I’m trying to get out of my writer's block by just writing whatever comes to mind. But I do have another drabble/angsty Eris piece that centers around reader’s POV & you can read about it here.

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits15, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith, @xadenswhore

#eris x reader #eris x you #eris x y/n #eris vanserra x reader #eris fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #eris angst #the mark eris left behind

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satanxklaus · 3 months ago

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♥︎ 𝐛𝐨𝐲'𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 | oscar piastri x singer!reader smau

✦ pairing : oscar piastri x singer!reader | ex!pierre gasly x reader ✦ summary : in which y/n soft launces her relationship with an F1 driver, fails miserably, and ends up hard launching with a lyric from her breakup song ✦ content warning : profanity, use of y/n, hate towards y/n ✦ faceclaim : pinkpantheress, girlies from pinterest, pairings on pinterest

a/n: hey guys. it's been 6 months since i last posted (yikes) im so sorry about that. i've been busy with working at the hospital and uni to top it all of. so here's a new one, its quite a long one. lmk what u think. enjoy! xx

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒

y/ninstagram ✔

liked by lando, lilymhe, icespice, oscarpiastri and 563,420 more.

y/ninstagram ✔boys a liar pt.2 out now neowwww on youtube with the one n only @/icespice 😍💋

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icespice ✔ princess treatment onlyyy grr rahh 💅🏼

user13 mama an ice spice behind YOU 💜

lilymhe ✔ song of the year!! love it xx

⤷ y/ninstagram ✔ love u babes muachhh 😘

user12 was not expecting this collab at all omg

lando ✔ oi mate quite the music video 🔥🔥 liked by author

⤷ user17 ariana what are you doing here

user14 literally the worst collab ever. imagine your whole personality being about your ex. embarrassing 🤮🤮

⤷ user20 imagine ruining your own relationship and then getting mad when the person profits off of it. embarrassing 2x

user15 i'd literally kms if i fumbled a bad bitch like y/n😭😭 she's so cunt love her sm

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y/ninstagram posted a story

replies to your story

user25 ⤷ OMG two lando post ??? ur not even hiding it girl 😏

⤷ lando ✔ so nice to have a fan at the paddock 🥰 ⤷ y/instagram ✔ wow fame changed you. suprised your head could fit into that ugly green helmet 🙄🙄 ⤷ lando ✔ leave my beautiful helmet alone u witch!!

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⤷ lilymhe ✔ girl .... ⤷ lilymhe ✔ not the papaya i'm expecting ⤷ y/ninstagram ✔ i stg he's my childhood bestfriend 😭that's so gross dont even try ⤷ lilymhe ✔ OH so what you're saying is oscar piastri has a chance 😬🧐 ⤷ y/ninstagram ✔ 🤫

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user48 ⤷ get away from himmmm

user9 ⤷ homie hopper 🤢🤢

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y/ninstagram ✔

liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri, pierregasly, and 742,270 more.

y/ninstagram ✔ one day, i just wanna hear you say, "i like you" 💗💘

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user20 mother is serving face at the paddock

user15 BODY IS TEA

user19 oscar in the likes,, pierre being messy again 👀👀

lando ✔ thx for the support babes 🧡

⤷ y/ninstagram ✔ log off for me ur so annoying ⤷ user10 bro bagged a baddie idk if i wanna be lando or y/n😭😭 ⤷ user27 are they dating?

user15 NOT PIERRE LIKING THIS PLS BE SERIOUS

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oscarpiastri posted a story

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user81 ⤷ PAUSE who is that

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⤷ y/instagram ✔ OH so you're getting right into it huh ⤷ oscarpiastri ✔ i'm a man of my word, babe ⤷ y/instagram ✔ cheeky 😘

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⤷ lando ✔ damn you're fast, fast ⤷ oscarpiastri ✔ you're the one that gave me her number, mate

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user22 ⤷ oscar "private piastri" finally giving us crumbs??? HISTORIC

user11 ⤷ i have a feeling this is y/n.....🤔

user76 ⤷ if this isn't y/n, i'll eat my mclaren merch

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y/ninstagram posted a story

replies to your story

⤷ lilymhe ✔ bitch you are NOT slick 🤣🤣 ⤷ lilymhe ✔ ok miss "just instagram likes" ⤷ y/ninstagram ✔ omg kys 😭😫 ⤷ lilymhe ✔ just hard launch already. everybodyyy knows ⤷ y/ninstagram ✔ log awffff

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⤷ oscarpiastri ✔ i'm not getting that hoodie back, am i? 😌 ⤷ y/ninstagram ✔ what do u mean ?? it's literally mine ⤷ oscarpiastri ✔ haha what's mine is yours, darling 🧡

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user16 ⤷ SOFT LAUNCH?? girl we know thats oscar 😭😭

user11 ⤷ that hoodie is a big giveaway queen... but issokay love that for u

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y/ninstagram ✔

liked by oscarpiastri, lilymhe, lando and 1,376,092 more.

y/ninstagram ✔ i'm obsessed with you in the way i can't believe 💗😍

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lando ✔ LMAO finally

⤷ user22 lando is living for the drama, i just know it ⤷ user15 so... wrong papaya then 💀

user15 oscarpiastri in the likes.. bro didn't even try to play it cool 💀💀💀

user19 not even a soft launch at this point 😭 this is a full press release

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

oscarpiastri ✔

liked by y/ninstagram, lando, logansargeant, lilymhe, and 2,768,320 more.

oscarpiastri ✔ Not a liar 🏎🧡

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mclaren ✔ your honor i love them so much 🧡🥺

lando ✔ I'M FREE !! about damn time 😔😔

y/ninstagram ✔ took you long enough, piastri. love you <3 💋🧡

user55 this boy is not a liar, alright periodd

user33 oscar piastri, i owe you an apology, i wasn't familiar with your game🤩

lilymhe ✔ STREAM BOY'S A LIAR PT.2 FOR CLEAR SKIN AND HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP. CLAIM NOW!!

⤷ y/ninstagram ✔ I LUV U GORGEOUS GORGEOUS GIRL xx 💋 ⤷ lilymhe ✔ ugh im on my knees for u plsss ⤷ oscarpiastri ✔ thats funny cuz she's my gf ??? @/alex_albon come and get your girl please ⤷ alex_albon ✔ i need a vacation...

user16 THREW MY FOOD JUST TO GIVE YOU A STANDING OVATION 👏👏👏

user10 nooo a white man got to herr 😭😭

user37 imagine pierre seeing this rn. must be SICK to his stomach

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

⚠ 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 ⚠ : 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞.

#f1 x reader #oscar piastri x reader #f1 imagines #formula one smau #formula one x reader #op81 x reader #oscar piastri #op81 #oscar piastri fic #f1 fanfiction #oscar piastri smau #f1 smau

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manicmanuscription · 5 days ago

Text

Selfish? or Rational?

SJM x Reader Week 2025: Day Two @sjmxreaderweek

Prompt: Friends / Family

Pairings: Azriel / Reader

Summary: The long awaited breakfast scene! This is the third part to unapologetically selfish and it just fit so well with the prompt!

A/N: I'm really not happy with this so I'm so sorry if I disappointed you guys. I really struggled with finding the right format but nothing fit and then it was just hanging over my head and aaa. I do maybe want to write one more part a few months into the future bc I have a cute idea but we will see. But for now this is the end of this mini series thank you for reading! (if anyone has any ideas how i can fix this finale please please lmk!!)

Tags: angst, fluff, ic beeing lowkey messy (but not really.)

Word Count: 1237

SJM x Reader Week 2025 | Acotar Masterlist

Cassian watched his brother as if he had grown three heads. He knew Azriel had hidden his mate from him, in fact his own mind was still reeling from that piece of information. But to actually see it? It was something else entirely Azriel had pulled the chair out for you after silencing all the questions his family had thrown out there. Growling that his mate needed to least eat before dealing with their nonsense.

So now here they were all settled at the table once again and Cassian was mesmerized. You worked in tandem to prepare each other a plate of food from the options laid across the table.

You poured Azriel his tea the way he liked it and black coffee for yourself. Him returning the favor by buttering biscuits for you and so on.

They were in sync and he could not stop staring. It was a simple task and yet so domestic, you looked up at him and give him a sweet smile when he passed you the small tin of jam unprompted.

As if they’d done this little song and dance a thousand times and with an aching heart Cassian realized they had.

And he had no idea about it.

Until he did, and just didn’t believe his brother.

Nausea rolled in his stomach at the guilt and heartbreak. He wasn’t the only one shocked at his brother’s actions. The rest of the Inner Circle not even trying to hide their interest in the couple sitting in front of him.

Nesta comfortingly grabbed his hand under the table as she continued eating. He barely noticed the touch too focused on the foreign side of his brother he was currently seeing. The only sound heard in the room was the small ticking of a clock until finally Mor broke first. “How long have you been seeing each other? We didn’t know about you until recently.”

“Four years.” You responded with a slight wince. Four years of his own brother hiding you away. Three years since he started acting shady. Two years since he told them and one year of Cassian absolutely tormenting him over a fake mate that was very much real.

“My brother said you travel, is that true?” Rhysand asked diplomatically steering the conversation away from Azriel’s actions. Although from the storm brewing behind the High Lord’s eyes Cassian assumed it wouldn’t last long.

“Yes. I do. I work closely with Thesan and occasionally Helion. Which unfortunately requires me to move across borders quite often.”

“What work do you-” Rhysand started but Mor interrupted him. “So busy you had no time to meet us?” She crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her hurt behind defensiveness.

Azriel snarled and it shocked and amused Cassian. His brother was usually levelheaded. He opened his mouth to respond but you put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry it truly wasn’t malicious intent. I'm in Velaris only a few weeks out of the year and it’s been hard on both of us. The time we have together we prefer to spend alone.”

She didn’t have to mention what Azriel did for work. Their family barely even saw him even less since being mated but they all knew it wasn’t just his schedule alone that put a dent in your relationship. Rhysand’s hand tightened on his glass and if they werent friends for so long Cassian wouldn’t have noticed it was from guilt.

Luckily Feyre pressed a kiss to his cheek as they conversed without speaking. “I can’t imagine being away from your mate for so long.” She finally said aloud after a few moments.

“It’s been difficult.” And opened your mouth to say more but Amren beat you to it, looking directly at the Spymaster. “Are you going to say anything or just let her do all the talking?”

A violent gleam passed in his brother’s so fast if Cassian blinked he wouldn’t have noticed it. “I don’t recall you having much of a place to voice your opinion.” She just hummed low in her throat and continued to observe you. Azriel and Amren had their own weird relationship, as if they were strategists first and friends maybe second or third. He didn’t understand the double meaning behind her comment but Azriel did and he just pressed himself closer to your chair, shooting the female a challenging look.

The tense moment quickly passed as everyone had questions for you and Azriel, even Elain and Varian tossing their two cents in every once and awhile. You just sat through it all with a smile on your face, answering politely and even returning barbs and underhanded comments as if you’d been apart of the family for centuries.

“So yes I founded the Saving Soul’s community and-”

“Saving Soul’s?” Elain asked.

“Yes, it's a proficient group of Healer’s and Innovators that try to advance medicine through lot’s research and unique cases of illness. It’s why I travel so much I was recently across the continent for research in prosthetic limbs”

“You founded it?” Rhysand asked, surprised. “Yes, Thesan and I grew up together and he helped me create the project once it was on it’s feet and he became High Lord I’ve been managing it with a few others.”

Rhysand and Feyre gave each other a knowing look before turning to you and you moved before they could voice whatever shared thought that had clicked for them.

He just shook your head slightly and the conversation moved forward. After all you didn’t want Azriel knowing you and your team had requested border permissions for Illyria, your next study was wing repair which meant moving home. Permanently.

“Looks like he gave you a good time when you came home.” Mor pointed out to the scarf that revealed a few purple hickeys.

Your hand shot up to your neck as you gave Azriel a scathing look. He just sat back in his chair unable to hide the smug smile. “I told you!” You snapped.

Mor started laughing and even Nesta cracked a smile. “How did you guys meet?”

“Well that’s certainly a story.”

Cassian didn’t speak the entire breakfast. Everyone was content to let you in with open arms as soon as they noticed how smitten Azriel was.

As everyone finished lunch and headed home Cassian was the last to leave. He had seen how absolutely in love his brother was but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Years gone by without his own brother sharing something so important with him.

Nesta was saying goodbye to Nyx and it gave him a chance to catch Azriel as he was leaving. “Hey Az can we talk?”

Azriel looked over at you briefly. The male was rushing you out of here the second breakfast was over and he turned to him before nodding. “Yeah what’s up?” He asked as the males moved to a quieter part of the house. “Listen Cassian I know your upset about this-”

“Are you happy?”

Cassian had seen it but he needed to hear it.

Azriel smiled, a true smile. His brother never smiled.

“Yes.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” He said, giving him a squeeze on the arm before going off to find Nesta, and he meant every word. He could let go of the hurt, he understood why of course. All he wanted was for his brother to receive everything he wanted, and with a quick glance at you it looked like he had.

#sjmxreaderweek2025 #sjmxreaderweek #azriel x reader #unapologetically selfish #fluff #angst #azriel #inner circle #acotar #acotar x reader

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raekensluver · 10 months ago

Text

hearts aligned

description: you and your roommate spencer reid have always been there for each other. one night he comes back from work and you two discover a different side to your dynamic.

pairing: roomate!spencer reid x fem!reader

contains: fluff!! mutual pining, typical criminal minds violence, reader is described as having shoulder length hair

song rec: fallen star by the nbhd- "you're in my dna, i can't keep away no matter how hard i try"

w.c: 2.7k

an: *sob* i love him.

it was a mundane tuesday evening, the kind that bled into the fabric of the week seamlessly. the apartment was quiet, the only sound the hum of the refrigerator echoing through the hallway. the soft glow of the living room lamp cast a warm, buttery light, a stark contrast to the deepening shadows outside the window. you sat cross-legged on the couch, your nose buried in a well-worn paperback, the plot weaving in and out of your consciousness like a gentle stream.

the sound of the lock turning brought your head up with a jolt, the bookmark slipping from your fingers to land silently on the carpet. spencer reid, your roommate, stepped inside, his eyes weary but a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. his gaze swept the room before settling on you, the surprise in his eyes unmistakable. "you're still up," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to shake the very air.

you closed the book with a soft thud and gave him a warm smile. "yeah, i had some trouble sleeping," you admitted, your voice a little hoarse from the quiet of the night. "do you want some tea?" you offered, already pushing to your feet. his nod was all the encouragement you needed as you padded into the kitchen, the cold tiles a stark contrast to the warmth of the living room. while the water heated, you listened to the soft thud of his shoes against the floor as he moved towards his room, the jingle of his keys a familiar lullaby.

but when you turned with the steaming mug in hand, you found him hovering in the doorway, watching you. "you know, i can do that," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "i don't mind, really." his voice was gentle, a hint of concern lacing his words.

you paused, the ceramic warm against your palms, and studied him for a moment. his tie was askew, his shirt wrinkled from a long day's work, and his hair, normally a neat cap of chocolate waves, was disheveled. "you've had a long day," you said, your voice firm but kind. "just sit." you gestured to the stool at the kitchen island, the one that faced the stove where you were already setting out ingredients for a simple meal. "i'll make us something light."

he hesitated, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "alright," he conceded, his shoulders slumping slightly as he took a seat. the fabric of his pants whispered against the leather of the stool as he settled in, his eyes never leaving you as you moved with an easy grace around the kitchen. you could feel the weight of his gaze, a warm presence that made your cheeks flush, and your heart stutter in your chest.

you filled a pan with oil, the faint sizzle as it heated up a comforting sound. "so, how was work today?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual despite the sudden thrum of anticipation that had taken root in your veins.

spencer took a sip of his tea, his eyes thoughtful. "it was… interesting," he said, his gaze drifting over the steaming liquid. "but i'd rather not talk about that right now," he added, his voice a low murmur. "do you mind if we talk about something else?"

you nodded, setting aside the knife you were using to chop vegetables. "of course," you said, wiping your hands on a dishtowel. "what do you want to talk about?"

spencer leaned against the counter, his expression pensive. "tell me about your day," he said, his eyes searching yours. "i feel like i never get to hear about it."

you felt a flutter in your stomach. "it was…normal," you said, the words feeling almost rehearsed. "work, errands, the usual."

spencer's gaze remained steady, a hint of curiosity lighting his eyes. "anything exciting happen?"

you couldn't help but chuckle at his persistence. "well, if you consider accidentally matching my socks with my shirt 'exciting,' then yes, it was quite the thriller," you said with a wry smile.

his eyes lit up with amusement, the corners of his mouth twitching. "i see," he said, his voice teasing. "that does sound like a tale for the ages."

you rolled your eyes playfully, the tension in the room easing a notch. "it was definitely a fashion statement," you quipped, tossing a chopped carrot into the pan. the sizzle filled the air, the scent of garlic and onions mingling with the warmth of the kitchen.

spencer set his tea aside, leaning closer. "i'm sure it was," he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "but really, anything interesting happen?"

you met his gaze, a sudden realization dawning. "you know what, spencer?" you said, your voice earnest. "right now, this moment, is the most interesting thing that's happened to me all day." his eyes widened slightly, and you could see the wheels turning in his head. "just being here, with you, talking about nothing in particular… it's nice."

his cheeks colored slightly, and he ducked his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "it is," he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. "i don't get to do this very often."

you cocked your head to the side, studying him. "what do you mean?"

he shrugged, his eyes darting to the floor. "i spend so much time working, or reading, or… just in my own head," he admitted. "i don't get to just sit and talk with people. not like this."

you felt a warmth spread through you, a sense of connection that was more profound than any conversation you'd had with him before. "i'm always here, you know," you said softly, the words slipping out before you could second guess them. "if you ever need someone to talk to, or just to sit with."

his eyes snapped back up to yours, the surprise in them clear. "i know," he said, his voice a little gruff. "i just… i don't want to burden you."

you set the spatula down, moving closer to him. "you're not a burden, spencer," you said, your voice firm. "you're my roommate. and if you ever need anything, i'm here."

his eyes searched yours, the depth of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. "i know," he repeated, his voice softer this time. "it's just… i don't want to take advantage."

you reached out, placing a hand on his forearm. "you could never take advantage," you assured him, your thumb stroking a gentle circle against his skin. "we're friends, we're supposed to be here for each other."

spencer's eyes dropped to where your hand rested, the warmth of your touch seeping into his bones. "i know that," he murmured. "but i also know that you have your own life, your own things to deal with."

you gave his arm a gentle squeeze before retreating to the stove, the comforting dance of cooking resuming as if the moment had never happened. "and you're part of my life," you said, your back to him. "so, what's one more thing?"

spencer watched you for a moment, his eyes tracing the curve of your back, the way your hair fell in soft waves down to your shoulders. he took a deep breath, the scent of the simmering food filling his nostrils. "what's your favorite memory?" he asked, his voice a little rough.

you glanced over your shoulder, a smile playing on your lips. "just one?" you teased, turning back to the stove. "that's a tough one." you stirred the contents of the pan, the spices releasing a symphony of aromas into the air. "but if i had to pick, it would probably be the first time we moved in together."

spencer's eyes lit up, the memory obviously a good one. "that was… crazy," he said with a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "but also… nice."

you nodded, your smile growing. "i remember being so nervous," you said, the words bringing a warm rush of nostalgia. "i didn't know what to expect, moving in with someone i'd only met once before."

spencer's gaze grew distant, his mind traveling back to that fateful day. "i was the same," he admitted. "i had this whole speech prepared about how we should respect each other's space and keep things clean, but when i saw you, it all just… disappeared."

you turned to face him, your eyes wide with surprise. "really?"

he nodded, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. "i know it sounds ridiculous, but you just… you made me feel comfortable. like i could be myself around you."

you felt your heart swell at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. "i felt the same way," you admitted, your voice a little shaky. "i remember walking in and seeing all these boxes, and thinking 'what have i gotten myself into?'" you laughed, the sound a little too loud in the quiet kitchen. "but then you looked up from your book, and you just… you were so genuine, so welcoming."

spencer's smile grew, his eyes a soft brown in the muted light. "i've never regretted that decision," he said, his voice earnest. "you make this place feel like home."

you blinked, the sudden weight of his words settling in your stomach. "i'm… i'm happy to hear that," you said, your voice a little breathless.

spencer pushed himself off the stool, the sound of it scraping against the tile floor breaking the silence. he took a step closer to you, the warmth of his body radiating like a small sun. "i mean it," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "you're the best roommate i could ever ask for."

you swallowed hard, the heat of the stove behind you seemingly nothing compared to the warmth in front of you. "thank you," you whispered, your hand still clutching the spatula. "you're pretty great too."

his smile grew, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "yeah?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

you nodded, feeling your heart race. "yes," you said, turning back to the stove to give yourself a moment to compose. "you're always there when i need you, and you put up with my terrible cooking."

spencer chuckled, moving closer to peer into the pan. "i wouldn't say it's terrible," he said, his eyes twinkling. "just… adventurous."

you shot him a playful glare, but couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "adventurous, huh?" you said, shaking your head. "i'll take that as a compliment."

spencer stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently take the spatula from your grip. "i'll help," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. the air between you felt charged, the tension thick and palpable. your heart was racing, each beat echoing in your ears like the tick of a clock counting down to something you hadn't quite anticipated.

you let him take over, watching as his long, slender fingers deftly stirred the sizzling mixture. "i've been meaning to tell you something," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "i know we've been roommates for a while now, but… i've started to realize that i might like you a little more than just a friend."

you froze, the heat from the stove forgotten. your eyes searched his, looking for any sign of uncertainty or jest, but all you found was sincerity. "spencer," you began, but he held up a hand to stop you.

"i know it's weird," he said, his voice rushing out like a river that had been dammed for too long. "and i know we're friends, and roommates, but… i can't ignore it anymore."

you stared at him, your thoughts racing faster than the cars on the street outside. "spencer," you breathed, his name a question, a declaration, a plea all rolled into one. your hand hovered in the space between you, unsure of where to land.

his eyes searched yours, the warmth of his hand as he took the spatula a silent promise. "i know," he continued, his voice a little shaky. "but i can't help it. every time i come home and you're here, waiting for me, it's like… it's like coming home to a piece of sunshine."

you felt your heart stutter in your chest, the words resonating deep within you. "spencer," you whispered, the name a prayer on your lips. "i… i feel the same way." the words hung in the air, a soft confession that seemed to illuminate the kitchen with a gentle glow.

his eyes searched yours, a hopeful spark lighting them up. "you do?" he asked, his voice tentative, as if he was afraid to believe.

you nodded, your own heart racing. "yes," you said, your voice clear and firm. "i've liked you for a while now. i just didn't know how to tell you." the admission felt like a weight lifting off your chest, leaving you feeling lighter than air.

spencer's smile grew, a genuine, boyish grin that made your heart flutter. "really?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder.

you nodded, your cheeks flushing a soft pink. "yes," you whispered, your eyes never leaving his. "i just didn't want to mess things up."

spencer set the spatula down, the clatter against the pan a jolting sound in the quiet kitchen. "you could never mess things up," he said, his voice a soft promise. "not with me."

you took a step closer, the warmth of his body drawing you in like a magnet. "are you sure?" you asked, your voice a little shaky.

he nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "i've never been more sure of anything in my life," he said, his voice a low murmur. "you make me feel… alive, in a way i haven't felt in a long time."

you felt your breath catch in your throat, the confession so raw and honest that it was like a punch to the gut. "spencer," you whispered, reaching out to touch his cheek. your fingertips traced the line of his jaw, feeling the rough stubble beneath your fingertips.

his eyes searched yours, the question in them unspoken but clear. "what are we going to do?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

you took a deep breath, the scent of the food on the stove forgotten. "i don't know," you admitted, your voice a little shaky. "i just know that i don't want to ignore this anymore."

spencer reached up, his hand covering yours on his cheek. "neither do i," he murmured, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. "i don't want to pretend it's not there."

you stepped closer, your hand sliding down to cup his face fully. "then let's not," you said, your voice a little tremulous. "let's see where this goes."

his eyes searched yours for a moment before he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours tentatively. it was a gentle touch, a question that hung in the air between you, waiting for an answer. you responded with a sigh, your arms wrapping around his neck as you deepened the kiss. his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, the warmth of his body a comforting embrace that seemed to fit you perfectly.

the world outside the kitchen faded away, the only sounds the faint crackle of the stove and the thud of your hearts beating in sync. the kiss grew more urgent, more passionate, as if you were both trying to make up for lost time. your hands tangled in his hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingers like silk.

you two broke apart, breathless, your eyes searching each other's for any sign of doubt or regret. but all you saw was a reflection of your own feelings - a wild, unbridled hope that seemed to set the room alight. spencer's chest rose and fell in time with yours, his eyes dark with want.

"i've wanted to do that for so long," he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper that sent shivers down your spine.

you nodded, your eyes searching his. "i know," you said, your voice just as soft. "me too."

his thumb traced the curve of your lower lip, his gaze never leaving yours. "are we… are we okay?" he asked, his voice a little unsteady.

you nodded, your heart racing. "yes," you breathed, the word a soft promise. "we're more than okay."

edited 11.30.24

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kmgkmg · 3 months ago

Text

BOYS FROM MARS - CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

word count: 2.9k…

pairing: seungcheol x gn!reader

synopsis: you've sworn off men for the month of february, but you also might've fallen for the local cafe's baker two weeks into the month.

genre/s: fluff, non-idol!au, baker!seungcheol, ceramicist!seungcheol, strangers-to-lovers

warnings: does include mentions of wonwoo and dino together, but nothing happens.

rating: pg

a/n: dedicated to my favorite scoups stan @jasminecha <3 also a submission for k-vanity's love in the mix event! the full playlist can be listened to here. songs that inspired this fic the most include:

saturn by sza // universe by thủy // lucky by raveena // sunny days by wave to earth // never tell by luke chiang

“I swear,” you sigh to your friends, “life’s got to be better on Saturn.”

Between the messy situationships you got trapped in and the endless amount of male celebrities that got involved in scandals, you realized one thing. Well, you knew it a long time ago, it’s just been re-emphasized as of late. Men aren’t shit!

Valentine’s Day weekend came and went, with you successfully continuing your man-detox.

Your form of treating yourself on the Sunday after was grabbing boba with your friends. Jasmine tea with herbal jelly always healed you, and after the crappy week you had you were ready to recharge. Some sweet treats to go along with the drinks were an obvious choice as well, including the cafe’s famous egg tarts.

“Boys are from Mars, blah blah. You say all that but haven’t you been looking towards the kitchen since we sat down…” your friend Yeri observed, causing you to snap your head in her direction.

“Okay, but he is uncharacteristically hot for our town, right?” You frown, looking back at the man who hadn’t yet noticed your burning gaze.

A cafe recently opened downtown and you wanted to check it out ever since their TikToks worked their way into your algorithm. Who could turn down cronuts (croissant donuts) with fillings sounding as yummy as ube pandan, black sesame oreo, and dark chocolate rose? You ordered roughly fifteen minutes ago, but knew you were going to have to wait due to the amount of people in the store. What you didn’t expect was for the baker to be so attractive. Sure, the baristas and other staff are also very attractive, but something about the baker and his arms being so muscular made you lose focus. Not only that, he somehow managed to be so attuned to his work that he was oblivious to the amount of people drawn to him. He has to be from out of town, you think to yourself.

You finally shifted your gaze from the poor man just doing his job as he kneaded more dough, turning back to your friends. Your childhood friend, Wonwoo, was still stuck on the barista who greeted y’all. Yeri scuffed at the two of you, unable to believe her friends’ lack of self control.

“Some detoxes aren’t meant to be completed.” Wonwoo shrugs, getting up from his seat after hearing his name called by the barista who took your names earlier, Chan. He seemed similar to your ages, definitely the youngest of the people working at the cafe. He was definitely the type Wonwoo went for. Wonwoo flashed a bright smile, shifting his weight to lean closer to Chan. As he handed his phone to him, your friend and you rolled your eyes at his predictability. And then there were two…

The three of you had sworn off men for the entire month, a feat that would usually be completely achievable. Yet, after finishing your boba you were wavering ever so slightly. The mystery man continues his work, now sporting some flour on his face. Certainly that was an accident, but it only made him look hotter than before. After another five minutes Wonwoo’s and Yeri’s cronuts came out and you stared at your plate where only crumbs remained. Ordering another dessert to share isn’t the worst idea, you nod to yourself, eyes glued to the giant fruit tart in the display case. You ask your friends if they’d be down to share and they agree instantly. Almost too eager. You push your chair from the table, heading towards the counter to order. You turn back to Wonwoo and Yeri, wanting to confirm the order but see them giving you thumbs up and winking. Your face twists into confusion, before turning back as the hot baker walks to the cash register to take your order. You need to get out of this cafe.

Avoiding the cafe proved to be much harder than anticipated. The night you first visited you brought home some egg tarts, happy to share with your loved ones. Little did you expect that your entire household would fall in love with the tarts as well. You became the assigned tart buyer, stopping by the cafe to grab a four-pack nearly every day. A four-pack only cost $6, something that was unheard of in this economy. Besides the inexpensive tarts, frequenting the cafe so much did have its perks. One, for example, was that you were fast in filling up the punch card and now were two visits from a free drink. Another, coincidentally, was interacting more with the cafe’s baker, whose name you learned is Seungcheol.

“Did you see we’re supposed to get more snow next weekend?” He attempts to make small talk, grabbing the tarts for you and packing them away.

You hum a ‘mhm’ before reaching into your bag for your wallet. You were attempting to distance yourself from him, to let a crush die out as a crush, but he made it more difficult each time with his efforts in small talk. Why did his voice have to be so nice to hear?

“You’re good, Y/N, it’s on the house.” The familiar angelic voice interrupts your thoughts.

You felt your face heat up as you heard him say your name. You shake your hands fervently, “No, it’s okay I can pay.”

“I know you can, but at this point I think you’re the number one customer for these tarts. Are they that good?”

Your brows furrow at his question, “Are you kidding me? They’re so delicious, I mean the custard filling itself is not too sweet but still has a hint of vanilla in it and I taste the smallest amount of… almond?”

“Yes! That’s my secret, it’s like a few drops to each batter, but I didn’t know others could taste the difference as well.”

“It definitely makes a difference! Not to mention the crust is absolute perfection, it’s sturdy enough to last multiple bites but still soft to bite down on…” You trail off, becoming self-conscious of your food ramblings.

Seungcheol doesn’t notice your inner turmoil, but his eyes light up at your words. “You’re so much better than Chan or Mingyu when it comes to expressing your thoughts on the food! I will spend hours working on a new recipe for them to take one bite and say, ‘it’s tasty, Cheol’. It drives me insane!”

You nod, surprised by his extroverted personality. Unable to match the energy on this Wednesday morning, you do your best and manage to give him a faint smile before grabbing the bag that sat on the counter.

“Well, thank you for the free tarts, Cheol.” You hold up the bag, before leaving the shop.

“Anytime!”

As the bells at the top corner of the door rang out, Seungcheol watched your figure walk away from the cafe. He let out the breath he had been holding, placing his hand on the countertop. With his free hand, he grabs his half full cup of coffee, taking sips to cool down. Anytime? Wait did you just say Cheol?

“He’s single, you know?” Chan raised his eyebrows your way, as he whispered Seungcheol’s dating status for the table to hear. Chan’s shift ended thirty minutes ago and he and Wonwoo were already extremely cozy and used to each other’s presence. Wonwoo would not stop blowing up the group chat to give every update to their relationship as the days went on from the fateful first day y’all visited the cafe.

“It’s still February, you know?” You retort, eyes still glued to the baker.

“Yeah, yeah,” Yeri dismisses you.

She knew it was only a matter of time for the two of you to get together. Chan made a separate group chat excluding you to devise a plan to get the two of you together. He revealed Seungcheol would check the door each time a customer came in, then look dejected each time it wasn’t you. Not to mention, he usually only worked one or two days of the week, but his hours increased in hopes of seeing you again. Long story short: neither of you were making the first move and it was driving everyone insane.

A familiar melody played through the cafe’s speaker’s, causing your ears to perk up. wave to earth? Your favorite band, the band whose concert is ingrained in your bones, wave to earth? Taking a picture of your uneaten egg tart, you vowed to upload a story with wave to earth as the background music when you got home. You continued the conversation with your friends, reducing the glances Seungcheol’s way to a minimum of once every five minutes.

Around two hours passed, most customers cleared out leaving just your table and Seungcheol in the cafe. Your friends convinced you to talk to him once again. Before you could say anything, Seungcheol began the conversation.

“Sorry. I, uh, noticed how excited you were when wave to earth’s music came on. The playlist that was playing all night was mine and I loved seeing your reactions to the music. I’m careful in asking this, but would you want to grab a meal sometime? You know, outside of this cafe and all.”

Your eyes softened as your body slowly let go of the tension you were unaware that you had.

“I really enjoy running into you, Seungcheol. But, I am doing this ‘man detox’ where I’m trying not to be with anyone in February. I fall for people too easily and hopefully things will change.” You confess, grabbing your straw’s wrapper and throwing it in the waste bin on his left.

You wished he would go over this moment quickly, not wanting to fight his temptation and your true feelings for much longer. Sipping on your drink, you try your best to act nonchalant despite the butterflies in your stomach.

“I don’t think you can fall for people too easily, it just means you love people sincerely. And that’s not anything that needs to be fixed.” He counters, jogging back behind the counter at the sound of the oven’s timer.

You see Wonwoo, Chan, and Yeri walk out of the cafe, content with you finally having a long conversation with Seungcheol. Before you could reply, he continued speaking.

“The bit about swearing men off for a whole month I understand. Lucky for me tomorrow’s the first day of March though.” He slyly informs, not breaking eye contact as he puts the hot pastries on the cooling rack.

You scrambled to find your phone buried in the bottom of your bag. Once you finally fished it out, you checked and double-checked the date…February 28th. Why are the days going by quicker and quicker?

“I didn’t mean to make you so flustered when I thought about asking you out, we can pretend this never happen-”

“No!” You surprise the two of you from your increased volume.

Seungcheol chuckles before grabbing the ingredients to make frosting for tomorrow’s desserts. “Good, then how does next weekend work? I have a workshop to attend so I won’t be at the cafe for this next week. If you think it over and decide you don’t want to go, no worries. We can go back to a regular customer and baker relationship. If you do want to go out with me, here’s my number.” He explains, wiping his hands on his apron before grabbing a pen and writing his number on a blank punch card.

“O-Okay, let me think about it,” you muster out. Tucking the card with Cheol’s number written on it in your pocket, you left the cafe. Confused was an understatement.

You returned home and placed the tarts on the kitchen table before heading to your room. As you got ready for bed, you grabbed the punch card from your coat pocket. As if your hands had a mind of their own, his number was added to your contacts before you had time to think. Throwing yourself on your bed as you looked at his contact, you couldn’t help but feel giddy for next weekend. Tomorrow was the start of March after all.

“So, you don’t just work at the cafe then.” You look around in amazement at the ceramic studio you were standing in, unable to imagine him as anything else than a baker. Now his muscular arms were making more sense.

“No, not at all. I only help out there since Mingyu is on vacation visiting his family. Oh, Mingyu is the shop owner by the way. But, if you look under any of the plates at the cafe, they have my initials on them.”

“Wait, so why are you such a good baker?”

“Lots of part-time jobs to support my family. You pick up a few things here and there.” He explains, grabbing a collection of ceramics for you to choose from.

Seungcheol treated you to lunch and the conversation flowed like the two of you knew each other for years. The date was going well, suspiciously well. But you tried to withhold your default thinking, wanting to believe in whatever connection the two of you had.

“Would you like to try to make anything? A flower vase? A plate? A mug? It will take a while to get back to you since I share my kiln with another studio member, but I can expedite it.” He informs you, showing the different models of ceramics you could make.

You look at your options, unable to decide as they all looked cute.

After thinking for a while, you break the silence, “I do love flowers…” You decidedly point at the vase.

“Flower vase it is.” He nods, sitting down and throwing clay onto the wheel before shifting and letting you take over.

You could’ve sworn there was some reluctance in his movements. But once you looked back up at him, he moved his hands over yours to help you mold the vase into the shape you wanted.

The two of you spent over an hour in the studio. Seungcheol was a good teacher, not getting frustrated at your mistakes, even though you knew he could sense your embarrassment. He’s kind. Realizing the sun was setting, he did the finishing touches on the vase, before running into a back room, telling you he had something to give you.

As he left you alone for the moment, you looked outside to notice small white flakes falling from the sky. After admiring the view for a moment, his footsteps enter the room again, now he appeared with both of his hands behind his back.

“Choose a hand.”

You gesture to his left, to which he reveals a white rose. Seungcheol holds it out to you and you promptly wrap your fingers around the stem.

You tilt your head trying to see what else he was hiding, “What about the other hand?”

He holds out another white rose, before looking outside and also noticing the snow. “Shoot,” he murmured under his breath before grabbing his messenger bag from the worktable.

“It should be okay, the snow doesn’t look too heavy just yet,” You comfort him. Your eyes stay fixated on the flowers you’re holding, gently bringing them up to your face to smell them.

His voice calls for your attention, “Y/N.”

As you look up to him, you feel shy once again as he puts the scarf around your neck. Instantly, you feel warm. Although, you are unsure if it was due to the scarf or the actions of the man in front of you.

“It’s getting late, may I walk you home?” He asks, already putting his coat on and preparing for the cold.

You look at him with surprise, not used to men with actual manners. You put your coat on as well, walking through the studio’s doors as he held it open.

“That’s really sweet of you. If you do that though, I will never hear the end of it. Suddenly you’ll become my boyfriend and we’ll need to start planning our wedding out-”

“Our wedding, huh?” He smirks, holding his arm out for you to lean on as the sidewalk the two of you walked on became covered in ice.

“I did not mean to say that part out loud.” You purse your lips together, mentally hitting yourself for unnecessarily rambling.

“Let me at least walk you to the traffic lights then.”

“Deal.”

The lights came far too quick, and you found yourself disappointed by the lack of distance between your house and the intersection. There were barely any cars outside. Everyone must be at home preparing for the weather, you thought to yourself. Soon enough, the two of you reached your agreed destination. Yet, you found it hard to let go of his arm.

“Are you sure I can’t walk you home?” He softly offers again.

“It’s truly okay! My house is not even a ten minute walk from here.”

He squints his eyes, slightly skeptical. “Then text me when you get home safe, okay?”

“Okay, I can do that! Thank you for everything today Cheol, I had an amazing time.”

“Me too, Y/N.”

The crosswalk light turns white, indicating you could walk. You wave goodbye, crossing before realizing you were still wearing his scarf. He was still watching you from the other side as the light began to flicker.

“What should I do with your scarf?” You cup your hands around your mouth to project your voice.

He grins big before mirroring you, “Just give it to me on our next date!”

#k-labels #kflixnet #caratwritersclub #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #seventeen #svt #scoups #seungcheol oneshot #seungcheol #kloveinthemix #scoups fluff #scoups oneshot #choi seungcheol #seungcheol fluff #scoups x reader #seventeen x reader #kmgkmgoriginal

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getaapologist · 1 month ago

Text

Secret Garden, Disregard my Heart.

Yeah. I know. Random. Bound to happen. No, I still haven't seen the movie. Yes, I will very soon. This is a short little thing for (and because of) @glassbxttless (also, I get to see Spiritbox today, so this title is a little nod. And I kind of love a lot of Spiritbox songs for Michael? Maybe if I write more I'll use some others.)

Pairing: Michael x female!reader

Warnings: the gif? no, but seriously; 18+ only, your roommate is willing to help however he can; cuddly sex, breeding kink if you squint

Again, I haven't seen the movie yet, just a series of clips. This is probably so grossly out of character and makes no sense, but it's here. I'm sorry.

Miserable.

That was the best way to sum up your day. Your head felt like a dumbbell, with all the pressure of a balloon on the verge of popping. But there was nothing for it. You just had to wait it out.

There were things you could have tried to alleviate the symptoms, but who on earth had the energy for all that?

No. Vegetating on the couch was the preferred option.

Finding some boring animal documentary, you tucked in, pulling the knit blanket around yourself as you curled up on the couch.

Michael got home from work with a loud clatter as he abandoned his boots by the door, the sound not disturbing you in the slightest.

He didn’t have a stealthy bone in his body. It was how he lived his life, too, always hopping from one boiling pot into another, using his innate charm to distract and slip out of being caught.

“Hey,” he greeted, stepping through the living room. When he didn’t get a response from you, he turned back around, eyes raking over your form.

The pair of you hadn’t been roommates for all that long, a couple months at this point, but he paid enough attention to know this was unusual.

Tissues on the coffee table, tea gone cold. The way you were curled in on yourself. All clues that he made note of.

He knelt down in front of your sleeping form, his arms on his knees as he watched you, realizing quite quickly that you must not be feeling well.

“Hey, did you take anything yet?”

You didn’t stir.

“Oi,” he spoke gently, breaking through your fever dream, his fingers nudging at your cheek. “You take anything?” he repeated.

“Not yet,” you croaked out, sitting up to look for your glass of water.

He was already thrusting it into your hand, a concerned look in his eyes.

Without a word, he left you there on the couch. Soon, rummaging could be heard in the tiny kitchen.

He returned with some pills he muttered were for the pressure, dropping them into your palm before disappearing back into the kitchen.

In the time it took you to finally sit up on the couch and swallow back the pills, he was able to prepare you a big mug of hot tea, absolutely loaded with honey, and a nice steaming bowl of some canned chicken noodle soup.

The large tray was set before you on the coffee table. His eyes moved over you, catching on your messy, slept on hair, the way your shirt hung precariously off your shoulder. The way you visibly brightened at the offerings placed before you.

He scolded himself internally, averting his gaze. “Gonna go shower,” he announced quietly.

Michael was a bit odd. Mostly quiet until you got him talking, he seemed used to keeping to himself. But he had a habit of caring for others. It wasn’t a chore, or even a question. He just did it.

There were certainly worse men in the world. And he was a fine enough roommate. It just sort of happened. He was a friend of a friend of a friend who just needed a small favor. A month, maybe two. He paid everything on time. His job was stable.

He liked this new stability, he admitted one night. He didn’t feel quite so anxious. So you told him there was no rush to go anywhere.

Now there was no deadline. And you allowed yourself to look.

He was undeniably handsome, filling out his skimpy tank tops in a way that left you a bit warm in the face. If he noticed, he hadn’t said anything yet. And that thin little chain he wore, it was far too delicate for the musculature of his neck and shoulders. Eye-catching, too. Like it was on purpose.

It’s not like you were going to do anything with this blooming attraction.

That would be crazy.

Soup and tea finished off to the best of your ability, you couldn’t deny you felt much better as you laid back down.

Back and freshly showered, Michael stared down at your pathetic shape on the couch.

“You ought to try to sleep.” His smile was audible in his voice.

“I am,” you argued, curling in tighter.

He laughed, shaking his head, towel still in hand as he rubbed his curls mostly dry. “This couch is not fit for sleeping, believe me.”

Before you could protest, the towel was tossed aside and he was sliding warm, damp arms beneath your frame.

“Michael–!”

He picked you up off of the too-small couch effortlessly, as if you were just another of the bins, and carried you upstairs.

“I could have walked,” you grumbled, though you didn’t really mind too much.

Or at all.

He climbed each step so easily. “Didn’t feel like waiting.” A smirk.

His skin was still slightly wet from the shower, the thin tank forcing you to come into contact with it far more than you ever expected as your arms wound around his neck.

Once he entered the hallway, he branched off left to nudge open your door with his foot. He set you gently down onto your bed, reaching up and wrapping his hand around one of yours, lowering your arm away from his neck and onto your chest.

His gaze felt heavy, full of care. Care that maybe shouldn’t have been there.

“You gonna want dinner?”

He watched you curl up in the middle of the bed, your knees drawn in, a frown on your face.

When you didn’t answer, he started to turn to leave.

As if you’d been preserving all your energy for this one moment, your hand shot out of your blanket cocoon.

Your fingers found his wrist.

He looked down at you, slight confusion in his expression before his gaze traveled down his arm and along yours, finding your eyes already on his.

Nothing was said. You didn’t know how to articulate what you were really asking for.

He stood stock still as he began making a series of decisions and negotiations in his head. His stare was loaded, full of his racing thoughts.

Are you sure? Do you understand what you’re asking for? Will you regret this? Is it me, or are you just lonely? Is this okay? How far will this go?

Clearly the negotiations went your way, because suddenly he was sliding into bed behind you. The thick knit blanket was tugged away and tossed to the foot of the bed, and he drew the scrunched up comforter over top of the both of you.

He radiated warmth, his big arm falling over your waist, his large hand at your belly drawing you back against his chest. He was still damp from the shower, the thin cotton tank harboring moisture that bled through the back of your shirt.

It felt right. Crazy, but right.

You weren’t blind, even in this haze of sinus pressure, you could appreciate the way his hair curled down over his forehead as he’d carried you up the stairs, the way his big, sad eyes observed you. Always on the verge of being too intense.

And here he was, so tempting, so close.

It would be nothing to start edging past the point of no return. There was no time to properly weigh the pros and cons. You took a page out of his book and moved on impulse.

Just as he seemed to get comfortable, you nestled into the shape of him, something he picked up on immediately, his hands seizing your hips.

As if he didn’t want this to happen. The image of propriety, of decency.

Because that’s all it was, the image.

“You’re not feeling well,” he explained, as if that was honestly a deterrent. There was a tiny amount of stress woven into his voice.

“I don’t care,” you admitted. “Maybe it’ll help.”

A quiet laugh left his throat. You wanted to turn around to see the smile he must have worn. But the hands on your hips pulled, his own hips pushing up, the friction welcome for both of you.

Quiet gasps. Hands that squeezed, even as yours covered his own.

His lips pressed to your hair. “You really think this’ll help?”

The noise you made wasn’t an answer, and he wasn’t really asking.

Large hands slid under the hem of the oversized shirt, not an ounce of hesitation lurking in his muscles. They roamed like they’d been shackled all this time and were finally cut loose. The shirt was lifted, pulled almost harshly over your head, staying on the arm pressed into the mattress.

But it was good enough, as his hands found new skin.

His own shirt came off easily, thrown aside.

His breathing quickened into pants, his hips rubbing up on your ass as you pushed back against him. His heart raced as his fingers dived low, beneath the thin shorts, the underwear. He listened to you, his fingers swirling as you tensed beside him.

Could you feel it? he wondered. This superbloom of trust?

His chest pressed so tightly against your back, it felt like he was your second skin, peeling back anytime you separated even an inch.

Beneath the covers, it was stifling, sweat dripping down the back of his knees, the middle of his back, even his arms. He reveled in it. Maybe that’s what you needed. To sweat it out. It couldn’t hurt to try.

Frantic hands pushed your thin shorts and underwear down, past the swell of your ass, down your thighs until you reached down to tug them lower, eventually kicking them off. His own only made it to his knees. But it was enough for this.

Hooking your leg back over his hip, he finally found home, the grunt that tore from his throat sending a shiver down your spine.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his forehead pressing against your shoulder. His hot breath fanned out over your sweat-slick back. “You are…”

He didn’t finish his thought, instead opting to begin an agonizingly slow rhythm.

Too slow. Too shallow.

He could feel your dissatisfaction and smiled against your skin before pushing you over, flat onto your stomach. He stretched over you, reaching past your head for a pillow.

Finally taking the time to fully remove the underwear tangled around his knees, he allowed himself a moment to look at you, presented for him, pillow raising your hips up just enough.

Just an hour ago, he was talking himself down, begging himself not to screw this up.

But he didn’t account for you.

He pushed back in, much deeper, the press of his body weight over yours a sufficient distraction from the pounding in your head.

This. This was what you needed.

His muttered groans in your ear, one of his hands in yours, fingers laced together, crushed against your chest. His lips sometimes pausing their string of curses to press to the skin of your shoulder, the chain he wore tickling your skin, wet with his saliva as it hung in the way.

The forbidden nature of this sent a ripple of pleasure through him. He found himself thinking that this shouldn’t happen again, not until you reached this same level of desperation.

But he knew he was lying to himself. He wouldn’t be able to wait that long. Not with the way your every move filled him with adoration, a desire to protect, preserve.

Maybe this could be his life. Would you accept him?

As he pushed in as deeply as he could manage, your shrill, breathless sounds heralding the way you clenched around him, he decided he didn’t care.

He loved too much, too fast. He knew this. But this time, he would make sure you remained with him. He would convince you to love him. He just needed time.

So he pressed his face into the back of your neck, the sweat there melding with your own, as he succumbed, spilling inside you.

His body was a dead weight over you as you two fought to recover.

“Feeling any better?”

He sounded quite pleased with himself.

You smiled, squeezing the hand clutched to your chest like a precious possession. “Maybe.”

His lips pressed soft kisses across the span of your back. “Could… try again?”

A shiver.

“...Yeah. Again.”

#Michael hoard x reader #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn x reader #Michael x reader #joseph quinn #michael hoard #hoard movie

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potatoplace · 24 days ago

Text

A Match Into Water

Feysand x Vanserra!Reader

Poly!ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist | Request

Summary: You fall ill, slowly, until it takes over your life. Your mates watch helplessly as you're torn from them too soon.

Warnings: chronic illness leading to death, seizures, fainting rapid weight loss, let me know if I missed something

Words: ~5.2k

Author's Note: So this is for the lovely 🪐 anon, inspired by the song 'A Match Into Water' by Pierce the Veil - I hope I got the vibes right for it, I went with mega angst 🙏 let me know how you guys like it! I didn't start crying til the end, but uh... yeah this one was tough for me to even write, it just feels very heavy. So read with caution. It's up on AO3 too! 🫶

18+ only pls

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

It began with a cough.

Not often enough to cause any concern. Not even every day.

And when it did become every day, you had gone to see Madja, who told you to drink plenty of fluids and gave you a special tea to help soothe your throat, which had grown increasingly scratchy.

Of course, you’d done your best to hide it from Rhys and Feyre at first. They were always so busy and stressed as High Lord and Lady of the Night Court, and you didn’t want to burden them further.

But when you had fainted during Starfall, tumbling off the edge of the House of Wind?

Rhys had caught you, thankfully, and you awoke to the sight of his violet eyes filled with worry. When you turned your head to the right, you saw Feyre, her blue eyes sparkling with tears, some of them already pouring down her cheeks.

“Are you okay, baby?” she asked you, one of her hands cupping your cheek softly.

Your head hurt and you were exhausted, but other than that you felt fine.

You didn’t have to open your mouth, Feyre already curled against the inside of your mind just how you liked. “Good, good. Madja’s run all the tests, but she wasn’t able to conclude what made you faint.”

“And, Madja told us that you’ve had a cough for a few weeks?” Rhys questioned, though you knew he was asking why you hadn’t told them.

With the little energy you had, you pulled him into your mind, showing him how worried you’d been for him and Feyre, how overworked they’d been the past few months, and how you only wanted to save them any worry for you, over something as silly as a cough.

Darling, he whispered into your mind, his midnight voice filling your head and washing away the ache that had been building. A cough isn’t silly, when it lasts for weeks. We want to make sure you are healthy, above all else.

You’re our mate, Y/N, a very important piece of our whole, Feyre cooed, climbing into the cot you were on and cradling you in her arms. We wouldn’t know what to do without you. So please, if you keep having problems, let us know?

You hummed in agreement, nuzzling into Feyre’s chest. I will.

Rhys’s head came to rest on your chest, listening to your heartbeat closely, but shot up a moment later when the door swung open.

Madja stepped in, clipboard in hand. “Ah, Y/N, it’s good to see that you’re awake,” she said as she stepped towards your cot, standing at the end of it. “Now, I wasn’t able to find the cause of your fainting tonight with any of my tests. I was wondering if you had any abnormal symptoms before you did? Anything like shortness of breath, lightheadedness, chest pains?”

You bit your lip, your eyes darting between Rhys and Feyre. “Uhm… I started feeling lightheaded when we arrived at the House of Wind, I think?” you said quietly. “And just before I went out my chest started hurting pretty badly so I went to the balcony for some fresh air…”

Rhys inhaled sharply at the news, and you turned to look at him. “You fell from the House, darling.”

Oh.

“Hm. If it happens again, make sure to sit down immediately, and try having something to eat or drink. And I’ll have you come in once a week-”

“Twice a week,” Feyre interrupted as she stroked your hair.

“Very well, twice a week until you’ve had no incidents for three months. I also want you to take more baths, they should help with the coughing you’ve been experiencing, in addition to the tea I gave you,” Madja said, writing out the instructions for you care and passing the paper to Rhys. “If you feel able to have your mates winnow you or carry you home, I think it would be a good idea for you to have a long soak in warm water, followed by plenty of sleep.”

Do you feel ready? Feyre asked softly. You nodded against her, and a moment later you were pulled into her arms and whisked through the fabric of the world, landing next to the bathing pool in Feyre’s old room in the Moonstone Palace. Rhys appeared just after, tugging you and Feyre into his arms. He pressed a kiss to your head, then to Feyre’s before letting his arms fall.

Let’s get you into the bath, love, Rhys whispered, a soft caress in your mind.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

Just like your cough, the fainting only happened every so often.

Until it began happening weekly. And then daily.

Feyre had stopped most of her duties as High Lady, passing all those that didn’t require her directly off to Mor, who was more than happy to help, given the circumstances.

Rhys set foot in Illyria and the Hewn City maybe once a month, with Cassian taking charge of wrangling the war camps and Azriel overseeing Keir’s rule.

They much preferred staying with you whenever possible, taking you on short walks on the edge of the Sidra or snuggling on the couch, reading the latest novels Nesta had recommended together.

That was all you seemed to be able to do these days, if you wanted to stay conscious.

Currently you were sitting on a cot that had become so familiar to you, it was practically your second bed. Madja was standing before you, her hands hovering in front of you as she used her magic to scan your body.

She sighed and lowered her hands, writing something down in your chart. “I’m sorry, dear, but I still can’t find anything that could be causing these symptoms,” Madja said softly, giving your hand a squeeze when your eyes filled with tears.

“Do you… Could the Dawn Court possibly have answers?” you asked, rubbing your forehead to try to help with the pounding headache that had been building the past hour.

“I could ask some of my contacts there, they might have more experience with what’s happening to you,” Madja sighed, and you could tell she wasn’t hopeful. “It’s worth a try. Now… Have you reconsidered telling your family? I’m sure they would care to know, your mother and eldest brother at least.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to burden him, he’s just taking charge of the court now that father’s been eliminated,” you sighed. “I’d like to wait until I’m better.” You stood slowly from the cot under Madja’s disapproving eye, though she didn’t fight you on your decision to keep the news limited to the Velaris, following Madja to the door. It swung open, revealing Azriel, waiting to take you back to the River House.

If you couldn’t go to your appointments with Rhys or Feyre, you preferred going with Azriel. Cassian always had tears in his eyes, and Mor was overly cheerful, to the point your head ached from the positivity. Azriel was a perfect, neutral party. You knew he was worried for you, yes, but he never had misty eyes or tried to cheer you up, instead giving you the space to process whatever Madja had told you that day, usually the same news that she’d found nothing that would tell her what’s causing your health problems.

Today was no different. He let you walk through the clinic and out the door before stooping to lift you into his arms, taking off into the sky a moment later.

Our little secret, he had called it after one particularly bad appointment. You’d barely been able to walk that week, and had been so depressed at your situation. All you had wanted to do was go for a short flight, but Rhys and Feyre refused, worried that it might cause you to faint or have some other problem pop up. But Azriel had taken you to your appointment that day, and after had taken you into his arms, slowly ascending into the sky.

You’d cried in his arms, the freeing feeling of the wind in your hair washing away most of your worries, at least until you touched back down, just outside the River House.

Today, you looped your arms around his shoulders and looked around, gazing with lovesick eyes at the city you cared for so deeply.

The city you’d barely been able to be in, with your condition.

Your eyes traced the path of the Sidra, marked each building that you used to regularly visit, where your friends live.

Until the right side of your body started tingling suddenly, the pain in your head kicking up a notch-

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

“We told you, NO. FLYING. How simple of an ask was that, Azriel?!” Rhys shouted in the distance, loud enough to break through the fuzziness in your ears. “Do you realize that you could have killed her?!”

A voice murmured something softly, and you tried opening your eyes to see what was happening.

But they were so heavy, and you were so tired.

You listened to Rhys yelling for a while longer, drifting in and out of consciousness until you felt a soft hand grip yours.

“Would the two of you shut up?!” Feyre asked angrily, her voice clear and close. “Y/N can hear you.”

An instant later, your other hand was held in between two large, warm ones, and you knew instantly that it was Rhys. Two hands gently grasped your feet, through a blanket.

It took you a few more minutes to muster the energy to open your eyes, blinking wearily up at Rhys and Feyre’s worried faces.

You hated that it was becoming a familiar sight.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Feyre said thickly, tears shining in her eyes as she stroked your hair. “How are you feeling?”

You inhaled slowly, thinking. My mouth is dry, you pushed down the bond, your tongue like cotton in your mouth. Feyre beamed at you, lifting your head gently while Rhys grabbed a glass sitting on the table next to your cot, carefully pouring cool, soothing water down your throat. You finished most of it before you had them pull it back, feeling a bit more awake now.

What happened?

Rhys inhaled sharply, shooting a glare towards your feet. Standing there was Azriel, looking guilty and… scared.

“You seized in Azriel’s arms, mid-flight,” Feyre answered. “He brought you back to Madja’s immediately, but you’ve been out for an hour.”

It’s not Azriel’s fault, you whispered to her. I insist on us flying home, my puppy dog eyes are too good.

Feyre smiled at you, a sad thing. I know, love. Rhys will realize that in a bit too, and apologize.

You gave Azriel a soft smile, hopefully conveying that you in no way blamed him for what happened.

But you knew he would still blame himself.

Madja walked into your room, famous clipboard in hand and an assistant healer by her side. “Y/N, I’m going to be keeping you overnight for observation, just to be sure you won’t seize again without immediate care. Rhys, Feyre, you can stay if you’d li-”

“Yes,” your mates answered in unison, and Madja smiled at them.

“I thought that would be the case. Now, we can get you moved into one of our overnight rooms, the beds in there should be big enough to fit the three of you, but most certainly two of you,” Madja explained. “Now, Norelle will be doing most of your care overnight, but I will still be in the building, available at any moment if you need me. Right now, we still don’t know much about you condition, so tell her if anything changes or gets worse, okay?” she asked, expectant eyes on you.

“Okay,” you agreed, not missing the way your mates also nodded their agreement to her.

“Good. Now, let’s get you into that other room, it should be far more comfortable,” Madja said with a smile.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

You’d been discharged the next morning, with Madja repeating her instructions to sit down and have something to drink if you start feeling off, as well as having one of your mates call for her or Norelle’s assistance.

Only three days later, you had another seizure, hitting you while you were walking in the backyard with Feyre.

You were kept overnight again, and released in the morning, still with no answers as to why your body seemed to be slowly falling apart.

Five days later, you seized again, this time hitting your head on the living room coffee table when no one was in the River House.

You woke to a familiar face hovering above you, glowing hands tracing over your body. “Y/N, it’s nice to see you,” Thesan said softly. “How are you feeling?”

Your head ached terribly, much like it did before each seizure you’d had, and your entire body was sore.

Feyre relayed the information for you while Rhys carefully gave you small sips of water, his eyes completely devoid of stars.

“Hm,” Thesan hummed. “My magic can’t find anything wrong with you. Madja said that this all started with a cough, correct?” You nodded slightly. “And you began fainting at Starfall, preceded by lightheadedness and chest pains?” Another nod. “Those grew in frequency until you began seizing, yes?”

“Yes. Is there… Do you know what might be wrong with me?” you asked hoarsely.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I’ve seen a case similar to yours before,” Thesan answered, somewhat hesitantly.

“And?” Rhys asked shortly, his eyes finally ripping away from you.

“She… It was a difficult road for her, before she passed.”

Feyre sobbed beside you, and you managed to turn your head to look at her, ignoring the stabbing pain in your head as you did so.

Hey, it’s going to be okay, you whispered into her mind. It’s going to be okay.

Her eyes locked onto yours, the anguish in them bringing tears to your own. I know, baby, I’m just scared for you.

Don’t be, we’ve got the second best High Lord helping me now, you told her with a tiny smile.

Feyre chuckled wetly before turning to Thesan. “So, where do we go from here?”

“I’d suggest transfusions of my blood once every other week, and one of yours on opposite weeks,” Thesan explained, and you made a face. Ew. “That should help heal your body from whatever is happening to it, as well as plenty of rest. And since I’m here now, we can start your first transfusion today."

You nodded, ready to get it over with, and hopefully you would start feeling normal again soon.

Maybe you’d even be able to go shopping in the Palaces again, without being carried by one of your mates the entire time.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

A week later, and you’d had no seizures, and only two fainting spells.

Which was perfect, because your brother’s first ball as High Lord of Autumn was tonight, and you desperately wanted to attend.

“Please?” you begged Feyre as you pulled a gown made in autumn colored silks from the closet. “I really want to see Eris be crowned, Fey.”

Feyre sighed beside you as she tried to avoid your eyes, failing miserably. “Fine, but only because you’re so damn cute,” she cooed as she pinched your cheek, pulling you in for a sweet kiss a moment later. “But once we get back, it’s bedrest tomorrow, alright?”

You scrunched your nose, but nodded anyways.

Twenty minutes later, you and Feyre were dressed and ready to leave, meeting Rhys in the living room. He looked mildly upset that you were dressed for the ball, but a moment later he smiled softly at you, likely after Feyre had told him your reasoning. “Are we ready, sweet mates of mine?”

You both nodded before Feyre and Rhys sandwiched you between them, winnowing to the Autumn Court in the next moment and landing in the entrance hall of the Forest House.

Your head went fuzzy for a moment before clearing, and you ignored the worried looks your mate shot you as Eris approached.

“Eri!” you squealed as you flung yourself into his arms, relishing in the way he squeezed you tightly. Before, hugs like these were saved for behind closed doors, one less piece of information for people to use against him. “Being High Lord really suits you, you look amazing!”

“You look lovely as well, sweetheart,” Eris replied, though you could see the worry in his eyes.

You’d lost the smallest amount of weight, you supposed, but it must have been noticeable to him…

“Dinner is just about to start, but once that’s done, I’d like to steal you away from your mates for a dance," Eris said as he led you into the grand hall, the table already set for dinner service, roasts and all.

Dinner was lovely, even with some of the tensions shared between the seven High Lords and their Ladies - or High Ladies, in the Night Court and Winter Court’s cases.

You felt fine all throughout it, and felt well enough to dance once with your brother, after he was crowned with the gold leaf crown of the High Lord of Autumn, adorned with glittering rubies, diamonds, and emeralds.

But halfway through the dance, a dull pain shot up at the base of your skull before spreading further, your body tingling, and you were just able to contact Feyre before all went dark.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

“And when were you going to inform me?!” your brother asked furiously. “She is my sister, I deserve to know if she’s seizing every other day!”

A soft sigh came from your right, a hand gently squeezing yours.

More yelling, but you didn’t care to listen to it, instead shrinking into your mind, where Feyre was curled around you entirely, the inky night cocooning you so nicely.

You’d stay here forever, if you could.

Another hand clenched around your left one, so familiar that you knew it could only be your mother’s.

You drifted off again, coming out of your mind to the sound of more yelling. Your eyes cracked open, moving to the right to meet Feyre’s. Make them be quiet, please, you asked, the pounding in your head only worsened by the fighting.

She nodded, and mere seconds later the arguing ceased, Rhys and Eris making their way to your bed in your old quarters of the Forest House.

“Darling, it’s good to see you awake,” Rhys said quietly.

“Y/N, why didn’t you want me to know you’ve not been doing well?” Eris asked, his amber eyes locking to yours.

Because you would’ve dropped everything to see me, and you needed to secure the court, you told Feyre, and she passed the words on to Eris.

He sighed, but didn’t fight the truth of your words. “Still, I expect to know every detail of your care from now on, and for the two of you to contact me if anything even more serious occurs,” Eris demanded, eyeing Rhys and Feyre carefully.

Rhys nodded, and you knew that he’d keep his word.

“Now, I’m going to have the three of you stay the night until you feel well enough to travel, alright Y/N?” Eris asked, though you knew it was more of a demand than anything. You nodded. “Good. Sleep well, and I’ll see you in the morning. Mother should be back in no more than an hour, she’s off grabbing some tea for you, she insisted on being the one to make it for you,” Eris said, his eyes softening.

“Night, Eri,” you said quietly, watching him leave your old room before looking at your mates. “So… Bedrest?” you asked sheepishly before yawning wide.

“Bedrest,” Feyre confirmed, tears in her eyes.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

The transfusions helped, in a way. You were seizing less, but your appetite had vanished entirely for the first few days following them, no matter how you tried to stop it. You began losing weight rapidly, even as you were feeling slightly better from the healing properties of both Feyre and Thesan’s blood.

But the reprieve it brought you dwindled quickly as your health worsened once more, only two months into the new course of treatment.

Nothing could save you, it seemed.

You tried to keep your darker thoughts from Rhys and Feyre, but you were so exhausted most times that you existed within their minds, leaving your tired, sore body behind for most of the day. So they heard the loss of hope happening within you as you stayed bed-bound for over a week straight, seizing too often to even leave your room now.

Eris had begun visiting at least once a week since your incident in the Autumn Court three months ago, and had been coming close to twice a week for the past three weeks. Your mother joined him most times, but today had stayed home.

“…Going to try that, okay?”

You blinked yourself back to awareness, eyes focusing on Eris’s. “What?”

He smiled patiently at you. “We’re going to try something different today. Thesan believes that you have a blood condition, and that my magic may be able to burn it away,” he explained.

“Okay,” you said, too tired to try and understand his words. All you really wanted was to be in your bed at the River House, snuggled on both sides by your mates.

Instead, you’d been stuck in this room, an overnight clinic room of Madja’s that had been set aside exclusively for you, almost all of your things having migrated here, with how often you had to be here.

Rhys squeezed your hand lightly, afraid to bruise your now-delicate skin. “We’ll be right here, darling,” he said softly, and you could hear how he was fighting tears.

You must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, blinding pain shot through your body, heat burning you from the inside. A scream ripped from your throat and the pain stopped, but your nerve endings were on fire, every inch of your body feeling like a gaping wound as your clothes, the bedding, air touched it.

“What the fuck did you do to her?!” a voice roared from beside you, amplifying the pain in your head until you went unconscious, darkness overtaking you.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

Mount Ramiel quaked beneath him as he slammed his fists into the ground, roaring into the air with a sound of pure pain and rage.

Pain, because his mate was dying, in pain every waking second of every day.

Rage, because the Mother had seen this fate fit for his mate, one of three pieces to a whole, who he could not imagine living, breathing, without.

The creature within him burst through his skin, night exploding around him and covering the mountaintop as he raged, waiting to calm enough to return to her side.

To watch her wither away, losing weight, losing consciousness, losing life.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

Feyre sat at your bedside, quietly speaking to Thesan about any possible treatment routes that they hadn’t gone down.

Obviously, the thought that burning your blood with Eris’s healing fire was a misguided one, one that had sent you into a days long coma, still sleeping beside her. At peace, for once.

“I’m sorry, Feyre, but… I think it’s time to consider her quality of life, how much the treatments have affected her,” Thesan said carefully, watching as Feyre’s eyes sparked with rage, before calming into the numbed acceptance she had been displaying for weeks now.

“What would…” she sniffled, rubbing a few tears from her eyes. “What would you suggest, if we… If she wants to stop treatment? To make her… More comfortable?” Feyre hiccupped, grabbing your hand tighter.

Thesan sighed heavily. “We could give her medicine for the pain, but aside from that… I think the presence of her mates, her family, her friends would be the most helpful.”

Tears tracked down Feyre’s cheeks, and she nodded.

She could make that happen.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

You woke to the sound of quiet chatter around you, your eyelids leaden curtains that refused to part.

Hello, love, Feyre cooed into the expanse of your mind, sinking down next to you on the bed. Can you hear anyone besides me?

Yeah, you replied softly, curling into her presence.

Good, people wanted to talk to you. It’s alright if you can’t answer, they just wanted to let you know that they’re here, alright?

You hummed into your mind, the corners of your lips tilting up when Rhys joined her in cuddling you, physically and in your mind. You let yourself sink into the midnight darkness of them, let them hold you safely as your friends and family spoke to you.

“Y/N, it’s nice to see you,” Eris said thickly, and you felt him grasp your shin. “I can’t stop thinking about when you were ten, and you walked around declaring yourself as the High Lord’s heir apparent to all of our brother’s, me included. I’m glad I followed you, or Doran would have thrown you against a wall for it,” he chuckled. “And Lucien-”

“I made you a crown of leaves from outside, and the three of us had a ceremony in the woods, crowning you High Lady of Autumn,” Lucien finished. “It’s one of my fondest memories at Forest House, along with you covering for my dates with Jesminda. It took you an awful long time to learn how to read spellbooks.”

You giggled in your head, thinking of how happy he’d been, winnowing back into your room after seeing his first great love.

“Well I love how you were always ready to go shopping with me, even if you didn’t need anything yourself. We would chat for hours and have lunch and…” Mor sighed. “I loved having that time with you, Y/N.”

“You’re an amazing cook, probably the best I’ve ever met,” Cassian said, earning a few chuckles and a light slap, probably from Nesta. “And I’ve always thought of you as a sister of my own.”

“Y/N, you know that I love how you can beat me in chess, and we both have the same perfect taste in teas. You’re the one that I confide in, and you feel like a sister to me, as well,” Azriel said softly.

“I loved getting to work with you in the kitchen, Y/N, it was so amazing to learn from someone who knows so much. You’re also so kind, and you treated me so warmly from the moment we met,” Elain said with tears choking her throat, and you heard her turn and begin to cry, muffled, likely by Lucien’s shoulder.

“Maybe I didn’t trust you with my sister at first, but you have the exact same taste in novels as I do, and that… May sound silly, but it made me realize that you loved my sister and her mate, even without the bond. And I’ll always love you for loving her,” Nesta choked out, the most emotional you’d ever heard her in the fifty years you’d known her.

“My… My darling daughter,” your mother sniffled. “You have always been there, by my side. You kept my hopes alive Under the Mountain, and seeing you love so freely has brought me so much joy.”

The pain in your head kicked up when you tried to open your eyes to look at her, to see her once more. Suddenly every noise worsened it, before a wave of night washed down your spine and deadened your senses, and you heard almost everyone shuffle out of the room.

Mates stayed, though. Your Feyre, and your Rhys stayed behind, holding you close before sinking into your mind once more. They held you there, the sound of their heartbeats lulling you to sleep as they sent you images of Velaris, as if the three of you were flying again.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

Soft music floated through your mind as you came to, your eyes opening slowly to the sight of your room in the River House, and a careful, slow glance to the left and right let you know that your mates were laying beside you, their arms and legs tangled around you.

Hello, darling, Rhys purred into your mind as he nuzzled your cheek.

Good morning, love, Feyre whispered, planting a kiss on your forehead softly. Are you hungry? Thirsty?

Thirsty, you groaned, letting her and Rhys adjust you and pour water down your throat, easing the aching dryness that had taken root there.

It never seemed to leave you for long, always coming back to make you cough, to make you lightheaded, to make you fall unconscious.

I love you, Feyre cooed when they settled you back against the pillows, letting her lips meet yours gently.

I love you too, Fey-ruh, you said after a moment, your brain working slowly to pull the words together.

And you know I love you too, Y/N, Rhys said before pressing his lips to yours next, softer than ever before, like you would break at the slightest pressure.

Your lips pulled up at the corners, your eyes meeting his blank, teary violet ones. And I love you, Rhysie. You breathed heavily before putting another sentence together. Don’t either of you ever forget it.

Hey, now, Rhys said softly. Don’t be talking like that, love.

You felt Feyre shaking beside you, her grip around you tightening. It’s going to happen. Just… Don’t forget me. But don’t… You coughed, your entire body going rigid until your lungs calmed. Don’t forget each other, you pleaded with them, looking between them slowly, seeing the tears in their eyes. Promise me, you demanded. Please.

You might be leaving your mates, but you would be damned if they left each other to join you, lost each other after losing you.

Okay, we promise. I promise, Rhys assured you, stroking your hair.

I promise, we won’t forget us, but most importantly, we will never forget you, Feyre said, tears streaming freely onto the pillows now.

You breathed out a sigh of relief. Good. I love you, you said tiredly, relaxing as much as you could into your mates’ hold.

You hardly noticed as you went unconscious, the feeling slipping over you with the next push of your lungs.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

“This is it,” Madja said from the foot of the bed.

Your chest barely moved now, each breath growing shallower and shallower. You hadn’t woken in five days, the only liquids your body was receiving being from ice cubes, lifted to your lips to wet them.

Your frail, near lifeless body lay before them, and they could hardly breathe.

The sight of you withering away, the life in your eyes slowly dulling had been difficult, but nothing had prepared them for this.

Your death.

Rhys and Feyre crawled into the bed next to you, and pulled you against their chests, tears freely falling onto your skin, your hair, your nightgown.

They felt as your breath slowed further, your heartbeats growing fewer and fewer as your body finally gave out to the disease that had sapped your life from you in half a year.

When your last breath left you, when the golden thread that tied the three of you together shredded, severed, shattered inside of them…

Night erupted, covering the land in darkness, their anguished cries echoing throughout the Night Court as their mate lay in their arms, dead.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao @twismare @wrenisrad @icey--stars

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astraljedi · 6 days ago

Text

No grave can hold my body down (Tommy Miller)

Request: Can you write reader trying to find a way to tell Tommy she's pregnant but tragedy keeps happening. It could follow episode 2 from the latest season. Thank you in advance!

Pairing: Tommy Miller x Reader

Warnings: Spoilers for TLOU, Violence, descriptions of blood loss, wounded characters, death of a parent/love one, grief, heavy themes of loss. NSFW. 18+, scenes contain sexual themes, P in V, minor dirty talk, using sex as a release

Word Count: 6k+

Song: Work Song by Hozier

a/n: Request are open if you want to send something in! This is a continuation of "Safe and Sound" but you don't technically need to read it together. Enjoy!

- No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

My eyes flutter open to the sound of shuffling and a belt buckle clinking so early in the morning. I stretch my body, squinting from the bathroom light spilling across the room. It’s still dark outside, not fully morning yet—Frederick hasn't even started singing.

“Tommy?” I squeak, still stretching my limbs against the cold comforter.

“Mornin’. Sorry, baby, the council’s getting together.” Tommy sits on the edge of the bed, on my side, and presses a kiss to my temple. I reach for his hand, watching how the silver wedding band glints under the bathroom light. We've been married a couple of years now, but every time I see that ring, it still makes my stomach flutter. “Something happened on patrol, but I’ll try and find you later. Okay?”

“Will it take long? I wanted to talk to you about something,” I say, thinking of the sealed, untouched pregnancy test hidden in my bag. I want to take it with him, not by myself.

“I don’t know, but can it wait ‘til later? I really gotta go.” He leans down, gives me a quick kiss on the lips. “Try and sleep for a while. I’ll let the chickens out before I leave.”

I sink back into bed, watching him pull on his jacket and disappear out the door. But I don’t fall back asleep—the small bit of rest still left in me is gone. I wait until I hear the front door shut before I get up and pull the pregnancy test from my bag, heading for the bathroom.

The past week has been terrible. At first, I thought I’d caught some awful stomach bug—vomiting day and night, no appetite, and the heartburn felt like it was eating me alive.

Tommy stayed most nights with me, rubbing my back, bringing me warm soup, doing whatever he could to help me keep something down.

Even Maria had stopped by a few times, but right before New Year's, she handed me a sealed pregnancy test while Tommy was out. “This is sacred,” she said. “Had to pull a few favors, but just to be sure.”

Since Tommy’s Maria’s right hand, we’ve gotten close over the years, ever since I joined the community. “It never crossed my mind,” I admitted, taking the box with shaky hands. It wasn’t like we’d done anything to prevent it... but the idea of bringing a kid into a world full of infected has always haunted me.

Now, I’m leaning against the bathroom sink while the test sits on the counter, face down and terrified of the results. Three minutes have never felt this long. I pick it up and turn it over—two clear lines stare back at me.

“Shit.” I throw the test into the sink and scramble to the toilet, my stomach lurching as I throw up everything inside me. Even after a shower and brushing my teeth, my eyes keep returning to the test.

I grab it, shove it back into its box, and cram it into the drawer Tommy keeps saying he’ll fix but never does. It takes a minute to get it open, and once it does, I toss the box inside and slam the drawer shut with all the strength I have. If only I could the same with the storm of thoughts brewing in my head.

True to his word, Tommy let the chickens out and fed them. I stand at the window, watching them peck the ground, the early sun beginning to stretch across the yard. I open the fridge, but even the thought of eggs makes me gag. I settle for bread with a little butter and some tea, since even plain water seems to set me off.

Before the school year starts, I’d already planned to head to town for some trades. I pack my bag with two cartons of eggs and a few bars of my homemade lavender soap, hoping to exchange them for a couple of new bound notebooks for my lesson planning, and maybe any other supplies I can scrounge up.

Town is busier than usual—barrels being rolled through the street, trucks getting loaded, and people moving fast. Had to be a drill, probably connected to why Tommy left so early. I rush to get my trades done, even managing to grab a flannel and a jacket for Tommy in exchange for offering the seller’s kids free haircuts through the first half of the year.

I catch a glimpse of Tommy near the gates talking with a group and watch as he sends them off. It’s like he feels me watching—he turns around and spots me.

“Hey, what’s going on?” I ask once he’s pulled me into his arms.

“We’ve placed the town on high alert. Might be nothing, but two patrol members found a group of thirty infected using their own dead to hide,” he sighs, eyes scanning the street. I reach up to tuck a loose curl behind his ear.

“Are they okay?” I ask.

“Yeah. They sprinted back to warn us, and we sent out a squad to clear the infected. We just don’t know if there are more, so we’re preparing—making sure everyone’s up to date with protocols.” He nods toward my bag. “Shopping?”

“Just getting a few things before school starts. Got you a jacket too—for when it starts warming up a little.” I show him a peek of the fabric and he smiles. “Do you think you can come home early today? If nothing big happens—I really need to do something with you.”

“I’ll try. Depends on how this all plays out.” He gestures toward the town, and I nod. I understand. Tommy would do anything to keep Jackson safe.

He presses his lips to mine, but we break apart at the sound of bells ringing above the wall.

“Raiders or infected?” Maria asks, suddenly beside us.

“Infected!” someone shouts back. “Five minutes out!”

“Follow the plan. I’ll take the roof, you take Main Street,” Maria says to Tommy.

“Go to the shelter. Now,” Tommy orders. I grab his hand and pull him in for a quick kiss. When we break apart, we nod to each other—a silent promise to stay alive.

I run to the nearest store where people are already being ushered into the basement for shelter.

That’s when I hear a cry from my right. I turn and see Billie—a little boy I had in my class last year—standing alone, crying for his mom. I rush to him and grab his hand. I search for Franny, his mother, but she’s nowhere in sight.

“Hey Billie, we need to hide now, but I promise we’ll find your mom after, okay?”

He nods, still crying, but lets me lead him down into the basement. I find a spot near the back and sit on the floor, pulling Billie into my lap and holding him close.

“We have to be brave, Billie. Okay?”

He nods, curling into my chest. “Are the monsters gonna find us?”

“No. The town will protect us. And Mr. Miller is out there and you can trust him to keep everyone safe.” I squeeze him tighter.

The chaos outside is impossible to ignore—gunfire, shrieking, explosions. Billie cries into me, but I don’t let him go.

“It’s okay, buddy. We’re safe,” I whisper, though even my own heart feels like it’s about to pound out of my chest.

Each crack of glass, each thud or scream from upstairs makes me flinch. The infected have breached the town. Billie covers his ears with his hands, and I close my eyes, trembling every time the gunshots fire again and again.

Please be okay, I think. Please let Tommy be okay.

It takes hours—maybe more than two—for everything to settle, though the gunfire still rings out now and then, putting down those who got bitten. We’re still locked in the reinforced basement, but I’m growing impatient.

When they finally give the all-clear, the sky is beginning to set, thick with smoke. Fires burn in every corner, cremating the infected. The smell is awful. I pull Billie close, shielding his eyes from the sight.

“Billie!” a voice cries out—and there’s Franny, running toward us. Billie slips out of my arms and sprints to her, hugging her tight. Relief hits me like a wave, and I fight back tears.

“I was with Mrs. Miller! She kept me safe and told me I was being brave,” Billie tells her, pointing at me.

“Thank you,” Franny says, pulling me into a grateful hug.

“Have you seen Tommy?” I ask, but she shakes her head.

“I’m sorry.” She gives my arm a squeeze before heading off to find her husband.

I swallow the lump in my throat, forcing down the wave of nausea rising up again. My eyes scan the crowd, avoiding the bodies. I start to feel dizzy, overwhelmed by every face passing by—until I spot him.

Blood’s dripping down from a cut on his head, but he’s standing. He’s alive.

I don’t think—I just run. He turns at the last second, just as I reach him, throwing my arms around his neck.

“You’re okay,” I whisper, the only thing I could say, again and again.

He melts into me, his knees buckling and I let him lean all his weight into my arms. His face buries into my neck, and finally, I feel him exhale.

“I got you,” I whisper, and I don't let go.

The nightmare doesn’t stop.

The day had faded into complete darkness, fire overtaking the town at every corner.

“I’m worried about Joel, darlin’,” Tommy winces as the wet cloth meets his broken skin. “He was on patrol with Dina, and they weren’t answering their radios.”

“The storm’s been the worst we’ve seen. They probably found somewhere to stake it out,” I try to make sense of it.

“I don’t know. I have this feeling that something’s wrong, and it hasn’t settled down yet,” he says. I grab his hands and press a kiss to his rough knuckles. One moment I’m cleaning Tommy’s head, and then Maria comes rushing in.

“Tommy—” Maria rushes into the hall, and I don’t like the look on her face. My stomach drops, like it already knows.

Tommy stands up instantly, and with the look on Maria’s face, he already knows too. “No.”

“It’s Joel,” Maria says, eyes shifting from me to Tommy.

Tommy’s face is emotionless, his hands in fist by his side. His fear, his gut was trying to tell him and I tried to push it away.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.”

Tommy doesn’t say a word. He lets go of my hand and rushes to the door.

“Tommy.” I go after him, but he stops me, grabbing my arms.

“I need to be alone. I need to do this myself.” His face is emotionless, but he leaves a kiss on my temple. I watch him disappear through the crowd and rub the spot on my chest where my heart is. This can’t be happening.

“Where’s Ellie?” I ask Maria. “Does she know?”

“She was there.” Maria’s voice doesn’t break, but I can feel the walls cracking. “She’s at the hospital.”

I don’t know what comes over me, but I rush toward the hospital.

God, Ellie.

The long night fades to the next day, I’m still by Ellie’s side, reading a book while she’s still out on tranquilizers.

“Hey.” I turn my head toward the door and spot Maria leaning against the frame. “How is she doing?”

I close my book and stand from the uncomfortable chair. “Still out,” I say, standing by her. “I went to see Dina, trying to make sense of what happened, but she said she doesn’t remember.” My hands rest on my stomach and I lean back against the doorframe. My eyes are tired, my stomach growling angrily at me, but I haven’t had the chance—or appetite—to eat.

“Did you see a doctor?” Nothing passes Maria. She points at my hand resting on my non-existent bump. Ever since finding out, my hands keep drifting there. “Does Tommy know?” she whispers.

I drop my hand from my stomach and look back at Ellie. “I don’t think an unplanned pregnancy is the first thing I should tell my grieving husband right now. I haven’t even seen him since last night.”

“At least get checked out by someone, just in case.” She rests her hand on my arm.

“I’m fine, I promise, Maria. All I did was hide. You’re the badass on the roof shooting down infected,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.

“I heard you protected Billie. He can’t stop talking about how Mrs. Miller told him he was the bravest of them all.” Maria smiles a little. “You should go home. Ellie isn’t going anywhere, and the doctors have her.”

I look at Ellie, peacefully sleeping on the bed, and I ache for her. Once she wakes up, it’s going to feel like she never left that nightmare. It’s been years, and the look on my daddy’s face—his cold, lifeless body—still burns in my brain.

“You need to rest too. And your husband needs you right now,” Maria adds, but I’m still looking at Ellie.

But Maria’s right.

After she leaves—off to check on Dina—I press a kiss to Ellie’s temple and leave the hospital. I pull my jacket tighter to my body as I walk home. It's a bit farther than the hospital, but it feels longer than usual.

God, I need a shower. I need food I won’t throw up immediately.

I unlock the wooden front door and shiver from the awful weather outside. I shrug off my jacket, about to turn on the fireplace, but the house is already warm—fire crackling in the living room.

My eyes shift to the kitchen and spot Tommy leaning against the sink, watching the chickens through the window. He didn’t hear me. Doesn’t notice I’m home.

“My love,” my voice is soft but clear, but he doesn’t move a muscle. I take slow steps toward him and rest my hand on his lower back. He flinches—my touch pulling him out of his thoughts. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” I say gently.

He doesn’t speak. He shakes his head and pulls me into his arms. His nose brushes my hair, and his hands tremble against my skin. What I would do to take his pain away—for him not to feel this grief, this life without his brother.

He just had him back, this wasn’t fair.

We stay like that for a long time, holding onto each other in the aftermath of the nightmare. But only one of us lost a brother.

The town will rebuild, but Joel’s absence will haunt us. And the only two people who were there for his murder? One is out cold, and the other doesn’t remember anything.

“Let’s take a shower, yeah?” I mumble, pulling away a little and guiding him upstairs.

I unbuckle Tommy’s belt, remove his shirt, then help him out of the rest of his clothes. I strip down and turn the water on. He steps in first but then pulls me in under the lukewarm spray.

He crashes his lips against mine, desperate. He pushes me against the cold shower tiles, hands grabbing mine and pinning them above my head. I groan as his teeth bite into my lower lip, then move to my jaw.

He holds my wrists with one hand, the other trailing down my side to my core. My breath catches when he spreads my legs with his knee, fingers circling my clit. I gasp when he plunges two fingers inside me. My hands fight his grip—god, I need to touch him. My head spins from all the sensation. His lips, his tongue meeting mine, the hand holding my wrist up as the other thrust in and out me.

His lips find my hard nipple and he sucks, his tongue swirling, making my back arch. “Tommy.” I warn him, hips meeting each of his thrusts.

I know Tommy. He craves control—needs it after everything. He needs order, for things to go exactly how he wants. And when they don’t... he has me at his mercy.

He releases my wrists and kneels, tongue landing on my aching clit, sucking as his fingers keep moving in and out of me. I cry out, hands tangling in his now-wet curls. My mouth hangs open as my climax crashes through me—but he doesn’t stop. His groan rumbles through me and I cry out, his tongue sucking my release.

“Tommy,” I beg, overstimulated and dizzy. He pulls back and stands. He grabs my waist, turning me around, my hard nipples pressed against the cold tile as he grinds his cock against my back. I reach back for him, but he grabs my hands again, pinning them over my head.

“Don’t you dare move them,” he growls, biting my shoulder. I moan, and then he plunges into me—no warning, no time to adjust. I press my forehead to the tile and let him take me. However he needs. He lets go of my wrists and grips my waist, pulling me back into every thrust.

I don’t care if I wake up tomorrow with bruises shaped like his fingers. I’ll always let him use me—to feel and release his anger.

My walls tighten around him—he’s close, right on the edge. His hand slides down and rubs my clit, fast, needing me to come with him.

“You’re gonna take all my cum, right darlin’?” he groans, his thrusts turning sloppy. I turn my head and meet his mouth, tasting myself on his tongue. I shatter around him, eyes shut, forcing myself to keep my hands where he told me. Tommy buries his face in my shoulder and comes right after me, my orgasm triggering his own. My walls clench around him, juicing his cock as he chest falls on my back.

He doesn’t move. We stay under the water, catching our breaths. He stays inside me for a while. And If I weren’t already pregnant, this would’ve done it.

I wince when he finally pulls out. I turn and kiss him—soft this time. Gentler.

“Let’s clean you up,” I say, grabbing the cloth. I lather the lavender soap and run it slowly over his skin. My legs wobble, but his hands steady me at the waist.

He stands still, eyes closed, letting me care for him. Then he switches, does the same for me—gently washing down my shoulders, my stomach between my thighs. I sigh, still sensitive.

After the shower, I help him into sweatpants and tuck him into bed. I kiss his cheek and lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat drum beneath me.

I’m nearly asleep when I hear his soft sniffles. I look up and see his face wet with tears. My heart shatters.

I cup his cheek, wiping them away with my thumb. He pulls me on top of him and wraps his arms around me.

I don’t say anything. I just let him feel—feel the sadness, the anger, the grief.

Years ago, when he helped me move to Jackson after my dad died, we lay in this exact bed. He held me all night while I cried. Never let go. And now… it’s my turn to do the same. To let Tommy grieve in the same bed I once did. To guide him through the darkness, like he once guided me.

For now, the pregnancy test, this secret will stay hidden in that broken drawer.

Right now, Tommy needs me more than anything.

Three weeks have passed since New Year’s. Three weeks since the whole town was struck with tragedy. The hole Joel’s absence leaves behind is still so fresh—the front of his house overflowing with flowers from the people of Jackson.

Tommy isn’t doing any better. Grief doesn’t have a cure, and it never makes sense. Sadness lingers, always. But right now, he needs a distraction—and rebuilding the town has become that for him.

The test is still hidden in the drawer, but Maria keeps asking. I know she’s only looking out for me, making sure I’m okay, making sure this pregnancy is safe. But how do you tell a grieving husband you’re pregnant when his brother’s body was just laid to rest?

It’s eating me alive. But I have to wait—just a little longer. Tommy barely spends any time in the house these days. He leaves before the sun even rises and comes home late, slipping into bed after I’m already asleep.

But today… today he catches me off guard. I turn around and Tommy’s still in bed, just watching me.

“What?” I ask, giving him a weird look.

He doesn’t answer. He just leans over and starts kissing my neck. I sigh under his touch, letting him pull the oversized shirt from my body. His lips crash down on my nipples, and I wince—sharply, like I’ve been hurt. Tommy pulls back fast, eyes wide.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, confused.

I yank the covers up over my chest and sit up. “No, my period’s supposed to be here soon.” I cringe inside. I hate lying. And I know he doesn’t fully believe me, but he lets it go. Whatever mood he was in, it fades fast.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“No, it’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, getting out of bed. He adjusts his boner, trying to play it cool, and disappears into the bathroom. A second later, I hear the shower turn on. I lie back on my pillow, eyes drifting to the ceiling, waiting for my heart to calm down.

In the kitchen, he’s cooking eggs for himself, and I’m trying my best not to gag from the smell. I hide my face behind my coffee cup, fighting the wave of nausea crawling up my throat.

“You sure you don’t want some eggs with your toast?” he asks, pointing to the sad little plate sitting untouched in front of me.

“No. I’m not really that hungry this morning.” Another lie. I’m starving. I’ve been craving pie from the restaurant since last night, and the second Tommy leaves, I’m marching straight to Main Street to get it.

“Have you seen Ellie?” I ask, needing to change the subject.

“Yeah. I went to visit her yesterday. Dina’s getting released today—she’s feeling better, but she still doesn’t remember anything.”

Tommy’s hoping Dina might remember who was behind what happened to Joel—the people who took his brother away from him.

“If she does remember something, it might take a while,” I say gently. “We don’t know what kind of trauma she went through.”

“It’s not fair. I should’ve been there.” He scrapes the eggs off the pan and piles them onto his plate like he’s mad at them. I look away, focusing on my toast, breathing slowly through my nose, trying not to throw up.

“I get it. But you were here, protecting the town. If something had happened here while you were gone, you’d be carrying that guilt too.” I’ve listened to him, let him rant for weeks. But sometimes, he needs someone to ground him.

“I know you’re right,” he mutters, placing his empty plate in the sink—just a little too hard. “But it still makes me angry.”

“And it should. None of this is fair—especially when someone does something this evil. But we can still do what Joel would’ve wanted. We keep this town together.” I stand up, walk to him, and wrap my arms around his waist, resting my forehead against his back. His hands find mine, and he holds them there.

“I hate it when you make sense,” he chuckles. “But I love you. I’m sorry I haven’t been around that much. I know you loved him too.”

“I miss him. And I miss him storming in here, yelling about how Frederick would peck his damn feet in the yard.” I laugh, the memories of him bursting through the door, cursing at that rooster, rushing back all at once.

“He hated that rooster,” Tommy says through a laugh, and then we just stand there, quiet and still.

After breakfast, he heads out for a long day of work, and I head into town—on a mission to get my damn pie. Thankfully, school doesn’t start for another week, and I’m praying that by then, my symptoms will ease up. The idea of being surrounded by kids while trying not to puke at every smell? Not ideal.

At the restaurant, Maria slides in beside me in line. I feel awful. I’ve been avoiding her. I know she’s right—I do need to tell Tommy. I won’t be able to hide this much longer, but every time I try, the words get stuck.

And it’s not that I don’t think he’ll be thrilled—I see the way his eyes sparkle whenever I hold someone else’s baby or one of my students runs up to me in the street. Tommy Miller will make an excellent father. My fear is… is this too much too soon?

“Can you wait until after I eat my pie to ambush me?” I groan. “I’ve been craving this since last night.”

She laughs. “I remember those days.” She nudges my shoulder as we step up to the counter.

“Hi Franny! How are you today?” I ask, leaning against the counter.

“I’m good, hon. What can I get for you two dolls?”

“Can I get two pieces of pie? To go, please—I’m going to see Ellie after this.” My eyes are already sparkling with excitement.

“Doll, I think we’re outta pie,” Franny says with a frown.

Maria glances at me, and the tears well up instantly. “Oh no.” I don’t mean to cry, but the sadness rushes over me and I can’t hold it back.

“Can you check in the back, Franny?” Maria jumps in. “She’s been wanting to bring that pie to Ellie, you know… after everything.”

Franny raises a brow but nods. “Lemme double-check.” She disappears into the back.

“Honey, please don’t cry,” Maria says gently, rubbing her hands up and down my arms.

“God, I’m sorry,” I mumble, wiping my face.

“No need to be sorry. It’s just the hormones,” she whispers.

Just then, Franny comes back holding two to-go boxes.

“You’re one lucky gal. Marvin just pulled these out of the oven. Still warm—for you and Ellie.” She places them in a paper bag.

“You’re a lifesaver, Franny.” I grab the bag like it’s gold.

Maria snorts as we step outside. “That was a dramatic thank-you.”

“Please stop. I’ve been craving this and my stomach can’t take one more piece of toast and butter.” It’s already growling from the scent of pie through the paper.

“You can’t keep this up. You need to tell him,” Maria says quietly. “Franny has three kids—she’s gonna figure it out. So will the rest of the town. He deserves to know before the rumors start and that bump pops out.”

“I’ve tried,” I groan. “And then he starts talking about Joel or he’s stressed with work and the moment’s gone again.”

“There’s never gonna be a perfect time. But think of the baby. You need to get checked. What if something goes wrong? He’ll lose you both.”

That stings. My throat tightens, my chest aches.

“Maria, I love you, but right now… your words are hurting more than helping.” We stop outside the hospital, but I don’t move yet. “I know you’re worried. But I need you to be my friend right now—not the head of the council.”

I slip my arm out of hers and walk away, leaving her standing there by the entrance.

When I step into Ellie’s room after a quick knock, she scrambles up from doing push-ups beside the bed and I pretend I didn’t see it. She’s a fighter, doing what she knows best—surviving.

“I brought you some pie.” I hand her the container and plastic fork. “It’s our secret.” I grin, probably a little too happy about pie.

“You’re the best. The food here is awful.” She fake-gags and I laugh. From the times I’ve visited, her food’s mostly stayed untouched. Even after the end of the world, hospital food still sucks.

I don’t plan to stay until evening, but I can’t bring myself to leave. She’s reading one of the astronomy books I brought, and I curl up on the edge of her bed with my own. The sun’s setting when I finally stand to go.

I kiss the top of her head. “I’ll try to find more books, okay?”

She nods, and I wish I could stay. But my body’s already screaming at me. My lower back aches and I still have to walk home.

Snow crunches under my boots as I walk up to the house. The lights are on, the living room glowing from the fireplace. Tommy’s home.

“Hey, baby,” I say, kicking off my boots and jacket once I’m inside, away from the awful chill. Tommy’s on the couch, his back to me, but he doesn’t answer.

I walk around to face him, a knot of worry forming—and then I freeze.

He’s staring at me, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. His eyes drift to the coffee table and my stomach drops.

Right in the center of the table is the opened pregnancy test box. The plastic stick resting on top.

“You know I peed on that, right?” I whisper. He doesn’t say a word. Just keeps staring at the test that’s been haunting me for weeks.

“Tommy.” I beg him. Beg him to move, speak, scream—anything.

“I came home early to see my wife. I couldn’t find her, so I decided to fix the damn drawer in the bathroom she’s been asking about for months.” He pauses, finishes his drink. “I fixed it, by the way. After I found the box.”

“Please—let me explain,” I say, dropping to my knees in front of him. He chuckles, bitter, in disbelief, still not meeting my eyes.

“The vomiting. Not wanting to eat. Your breasts are huge, I caught myself staring at them more than usual and I know your body—it’s engraved in my brain. It all clicked. But the first thing I thought was that my wife wouldn’t keep something like this from me.”

The hurt in his voice shatters me and the tears start to fall down my cheeks.

“How long have you known?” he asks, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Since New Year’s,” I cry, but his face softens. He reaches for my elbows and pulls me into his lap.

“I wanted to take that test with you. That morning. But then you got called in and I… how was I supposed to tell you after everything?”

“You felt like you couldn’t tell me.” He cups my face, makes me look at him. “You’re my wife. This is our marriage. I deserved to know.”

I nod at his words, knowing he was right. “It’s been eating me alive,” I admit.

“Jesus, darlin’,” he sighs. “It’s been weeks. The stress you’ve been under—ain’t good for you or the baby.”

“I know. And I’m really sorry.”

His eyes meet mine—no anger left, just relief, and something warm. A look I haven’t seen in a while.

“We’re going to be parents,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine. I grab his hand and place it on my stomach, and he smiles.

“I can’t wait to see you wobbling around the house with a bump. It’s going to drive me insane.”

I laugh and press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “All I want is to stop gagging and vomiting at everything.”

Two Months Later

Spring in Jackson is like seeing a different town. The snow’s melted, and animals are out and lively again—chattering, foraging, like they know things are safer now. Flowers start peeking through the soil, soft greens come back to the trees, and it feels like the whole place is exhaling after holding its breath all winter. The energy just shifts.

The mornings still carry that sharp bite, but once the sun settles in, it’s warm enough to finally pull out my comfy, soft midi dress tucked away in the closet for months. I pair it with a light jean jacket to block the wind and my usual boots. The dress flows when I walk, brushing against my legs, but it still clings just enough to show the small, growing bump I keep catching myself running my hand over.

“My littles!” I clap my hands, voice lifting to catch the attention of the little ones gathered by the fence. It keeps them in until the end of the school day, but now it’s time to let them go for the day and meet back with their parents. “Remember to bring flowers and leaves for tomorrow’s activity! And no pulling random flowers without asking an adult first,” I add, giving them a knowing look as I unhook the gate.

They burst out, squealing and shouting as they run to their parents, backpacks bouncing behind them. “See you tomorrow!” I call after them, waving at a few parents too as they exchange glances and little grins over whatever their kids are chattering about.

I stay a moment longer, watching them scatter. There’s something so healing in seeing their joy like that. They are safe within these walls and untouched by the reality of what happens outside those walls. I rest my hand gently on my bump and let the wind brush over me, letting my body relax.

Too caught up in the quiet and in the sun on my face, I jump when strong, calloused hands wrap around my waist—one landing on the swell of my bump, the other tugging me gently back into a chest I know—I gasp and let out a small squeal.

“Tommy,” I giggle, breathless as his lips press to my cheek. “What are you doing?”

“I managed to slip away for the day,” he says, already leaning down to scoop my bag from the ground. “Got something to show you.”

Since we found out, he’s been so careful. Not overbearing, not in a way that suffocates—but in this soft, sweet way that makes me feel loved and cared for. And he always finds a way to rest his hand on my belly, like he’s afraid it will all slip away.

“Is it my flower garden?” I ask, trying not to smile too big.

“Um, no,” he grins, “but I’ll get to it. I promise.” He takes my hand, my bag swinging from the other, and we walk together in the welcoming warm spring weather offers us. “But I know you’re gonna love this too.”

When we reach the house, he drops the bag gently on the porch—but we don’t go inside. Instead, he leads me around back, toward the shed behind the house where he keeps his tools, his projects. I already know the smell of wood shavings and sawdust will hit the second the door creaks open. But he stops me just short, stepping behind me and covering my eyes.

“Have you been hiding a secret from me?” I tease, cheeks starting to ache from smiling too much.

“I have,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “But don’t worry. It’s a secret that was worth keeping.”

He guides me carefully, slow steps across the floor of the shed. When we stop, his hands slip away from my face. My eyes blink in the shift from dark to light, and then I see it.

A crib.

A wooden crib standing in the middle of the room.

it’s not brand new—it's the bones of something old, something salvaged. He’s refinished it, though—rounded the corners, replaced the railings, sanded it down until the wood is soft beneath my fingertips. I move closer, hands trembling as I reach out to trace the grain, and I feel the lump rise in my throat before the tears come.

The headboard has tiny carvings—little stars and a crescent moon. So simple, the details and the thought of him doing this himself for our baby made my vision blur.

“This is beautiful,” I whisper, still taking it all in. He steps behind me again, his hand finding the place it always goes now—right over our baby.

“I found it a while back,” Tommy says. “And I thought our baby deserved a safe place to sleep. One made with love from my hands… and a touch of their mama’s love for stars and the moon.”

He presses a kiss to my shoulder, hands still anchored to me like he needs to memorize every second.

“I know we’ve got plenty of time to set up the room,” he murmurs, “but I couldn’t help myself after I found this.”

I turn in his arms, my own wrapping around his neck. “You’re already the best damn dad. This is perfect, Tommy.”

He chuckles softly, his nose brushing mine. “I’ll be the best damn husband when I finish that flower garden.”

“No,” I whisper, smiling through another tear. “You’re already the best damn husband too.”

I close my eyes as his lips meet mine, and we stay like that for a moment. Soaking it all in.

It’s been a couple of dark months. Some days still carry the weight of Joel’s absence, the ache of the loss this town suffered when the new year came in like a blade. That kind of pain doesn’t disappear. But moments like this—quiet, full of hope—they keep us grounded. Keep us alive.

It reminds us we’re still here. And there’s still so much left to fight for.

#Tommy Miller Imagines #Tommy Miller x reader #Tommy Miller Fanfiction #Tommy Miller Fic #Tommy Miller x you #Tommy Miller #The Last of Us Imagines #tlou fanfiction #tommy miller fanfic #tommy miller imagine #the last of us #the last of us fic #tlou imagine

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amethystarachnid · 2 months ago

Note

HII

I just LOVE your work!!!

So can I please request trope number 9- with Wanda maximoff x Fem! Vampire reader...

So I was just thinking about like y/n and Wanda are really really close friends (both of them absolutely in love with each other)

That's all! THANK YOU!

LOVE LETTER

⤷ WANDA MAXIMOFF

ᯓ★ Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!Vampire!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance

ᯓ★ From: MARVEL Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ Word count: 5k

ᯓ★ Summary: you write a love letter to Wanda but forgot to sign it...

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think?

ᯓ★ First time working with a vampire!reader and I didnt really know what to do...hope you enjoy the story anyway!

ᯓ★MARVEL Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The compound is quieter at night. Most of the team has gone to bed, leaving only the faint hum of security systems and the occasional creak of the building settling. You’re used to the quiet, to the dark, to the way the world slows when the sun goes down. It’s comforting in a way it probably shouldn’t be.

You sit on one of the couches in the common room, a book resting open on your lap. You haven’t turned a page in twenty minutes. Your mind is too busy, too restless, but it isn’t the usual hunger or boredom that keeps you distracted. It’s her. Wanda Maximoff.

She’s in the kitchen, moving around with an ease that you envy, humming softly to herself as she makes tea. The overhead light casts a glow around her, catching on the deep red of her sweater, the loose waves of her hair. She’s beautiful. She’s always been beautiful, but in moments like this—unguarded, comfortable—she’s breathtaking.

You shouldn’t be watching her like this. You shouldn’t be thinking about her the way you do. She’s your best friend, the closest person you have in this strange, makeshift family of heroes and gods. She’s kind to you in a way most people aren’t. She doesn’t flinch when your fangs slip out, doesn’t shy away when your hunger is obvious in your eyes. She trusts you. That should be enough.

It isn’t.

You’re in love with her. Have been for longer than you’re willing to admit, but the fear of ruining everything keeps you silent. So you sit in the quiet, staring at the same page of your book, listening to her soft movements, pretending that this is enough.

Wanda turns from the kitchen with her mug in hand, catching you watching her before you can look away. Her lips twitch into a small smile, and she walks over, settling onto the couch beside you. The warmth of her body is immediate, sinking into you like the heat of the sun, even though you don’t feel it the way she does.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks, voice soft.

You shake your head. “Not really.”

She takes a sip of her tea, watching you over the rim of her mug. You force yourself to focus on her eyes and not the curve of her lips, not the way the steam curls around her face.

“What about you?” you ask.

She shrugs. “Too quiet.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Most people like the quiet at night.”

She nudges you lightly with her elbow. “You don’t.”

You glance at her, raising a brow. “I do.”

“No, you don’t,” she says with certainty. “You like the sound of people moving around. You like voices, music, anything that makes it feel less empty.”

She’s not wrong. You’ve spent enough years in silence to last a lifetime. You prefer the noise, the proof that you’re not alone, but she’s one of the few people who’s noticed.

“I guess you’re right,” you admit.

Her smile widens slightly, like she’s pleased with herself, and she leans back against the couch. You try not to focus on how close she is, how her knee brushes against yours.

“Are you reading, or just staring at the pages?” she teases, nodding toward your book.

You glance down at it, realizing you haven’t moved your hands in so long that it might as well be a prop. You sigh. “Staring, mostly.”

She hums thoughtfully and shifts, tucking her legs beneath her as she gets comfortable. “Maybe I should read to you.”

Your stomach flips, and you hope it doesn’t show on your face. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” she says simply, holding her hand out for the book.

You hesitate before giving it to her, watching as she flips to the beginning of the chapter. She clears her throat slightly before she starts, her voice slipping into the rhythm of the words with a natural ease. You listen, but not to the story. You listen to her, to the warmth in her voice, to the way certain words curl on her tongue.

You’re so in love with her it’s unbearable.

She reads for a while, the words washing over you in a way that feels almost hypnotic. You let yourself relax, leaning your head back against the couch, listening. She doesn’t stop until she reaches the end of the chapter, and when she does, she closes the book gently, looking over at you.

“Better?” she asks.

You nod. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Her gaze lingers on you, something unreadable in her expression. You wonder, not for the first time, if she knows. If she notices the way you look at her, the way you freeze under her touch, the way your hunger for her has nothing to do with blood. If she does, she never says anything.

She sets the book aside and shifts slightly, resting her elbow on the back of the couch, her head propped up on her hand. “Can I ask you something?”

You swallow hard, hoping she doesn’t hear the way your breath catches. “Of course.”

She hesitates for a moment, like she’s choosing her words carefully. “Do you ever get lonely?”

The question catches you off guard. “What?”

She shrugs, her fingers tapping idly against her cheek. “I was just thinking. You’ve been around for a long time, right? Do you ever feel… alone?”

It’s a loaded question, and she knows it. You glance away, focusing on a small crack in the ceiling. “Sometimes.”

She’s quiet for a moment before she says, “I do too.”

You look back at her, surprised. “You’re never alone.”

She gives you a small, sad smile. “It’s not the same thing.”

You know what she means. You’ve felt it too, that strange kind of loneliness that lingers even when you’re surrounded by people. The kind that makes you ache for something you can’t name.

“I get it,” you say softly.

She studies you for a long moment before shifting again, stretching her legs out until her feet press against yours. She does it so casually, so effortlessly, like she belongs in your space, like she knows you won’t push her away.

You don’t. You never do.

She lets out a quiet sigh, her eyes fluttering shut. “I like being here with you.”

Your heart clenches painfully. You want to tell her that you love her, that you would spend a thousand lifetimes by her side if she asked, but the words lodge in your throat, suffocating.

Instead, you say, “Me too.”

And for now, that has to be enough.

The idea comes to you late at night, long after Wanda has gone to bed and you’re left alone with your thoughts.

You can’t keep doing this—watching her from the sidelines, letting your feelings fester in silence, pretending that being just her friend is enough when it never has been. She deserves to know. And if you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud, maybe you can write it down instead.

You don’t think. You just move. You grab a piece of paper, sit at your desk, and start writing.

At first, the words come slow, hesitant, as if you’re afraid the ink itself will betray you. But then, the truth spills out in a rush—how much she means to you, how she lights up your world in a way nothing else ever has, how her laugh is your favorite sound, how her touch lingers longer than it should, making your undead heart ache for something you fear you’ll never have.

You write it all. The love you’ve kept buried deep inside, the yearning, the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, she might feel the same.

When you finish, your hands shake. You stare at the letter, rereading the words until they blur together, and for a second, you consider tearing it up. But no, you can’t keep running from this. If you don’t do something now, you never will.

You fold the letter carefully, clutching it tight as you step into the hallway. The compound is eerily silent at this hour, everyone fast asleep, and the only sound is the faint hum of the ventilation system.

Wanda’s room isn’t far. You know the way by heart.

When you reach her door, your pulse races, an old habit that never quite faded despite what you are. You take a shaky breath and crouch down, carefully sliding the letter underneath her door, pushing it through the small gap at the bottom.

And then—just as the paper disappears into the darkness—you realize.

You didn’t sign it.

Panic grips you. Your name isn’t on the letter, not even initials, nothing to tell her who wrote it. You reach out instinctively, fingertips barely brushing the edge of the paper, but it’s too late. It’s already on the other side.

Shit.

For a long moment, you just kneel there, frozen, staring at the door like it might open and hand you back your mistake. But it doesn’t.

You can’t knock now. You can’t barge in and say, “Hey, by the way, that love letter? It’s from me.” No, that would be humiliating.

Maybe—maybe it’ll be fine. Maybe she’ll just come to you. She’ll read the letter, recognize the way you write, the things only you would say, and she’ll know. She has to know.

Right?

—

The next morning, you barely get any sleep, too busy thinking about what might happen when Wanda reads the letter. But when you finally drag yourself to the common room, stomach twisting with nerves, she’s already there.

And she’s smiling.

Not just any smile, but that soft, private one, the kind you’ve only seen when she talks about something—someone—she loves.

And she’s talking to Vision.

You stop in your tracks, confusion gripping you as you watch them. Wanda is holding a piece of paper—your letter. And Vision is standing in front of her, hands clasped behind his back, looking… pleased.

Oh.

No.

You listen, dread sinking into your bones as she speaks. “I just—I never expected something like this from you,” she says, her voice warm, touched. “It’s beautiful.”

Vision inclines his head, a small, knowing smile on his face. “I only wrote what was in my heart.”

Your stomach drops.

No. No, no, no.

This isn’t happening.

He didn’t—he couldn’t—

But then Wanda is reaching for him, touching his hand, and the way she’s looking at him—it’s the way you’ve always wanted her to look at you.

Your whole world tilts.

It’s a mistake. A terrible, awful mistake. But you can’t speak. You can’t move. All you can do is stand there, frozen, as Wanda tucks your letter to her chest, like it’s something precious, something she’s going to hold onto.

She thinks it’s from him.

And he’s letting her believe it.

You feel sick.

The realization crashes over you like a wave, drowning you, knocking the air from your lungs. Wanda is smiling. Vision is standing there, silent but accepting. Your love letter—the words you bled onto the page, the confessions you were too scared to say out loud—none of it belongs to you anymore.

It belongs to him.

You can’t be here.

You turn on your heel, leaving before either of them can notice you. You don’t know where you’re going, only that you need to get out, to get away from the sight of them together, from the sound of Wanda’s voice filled with warmth that was meant for you.

It was supposed to be you.

—

The days pass in a blur. You avoid Wanda as much as possible, which isn’t easy when you live in the same compound, but you try. It’s not like she notices. She’s too busy with him.

Every time you see them together, it feels like a knife twisting in your chest. You wonder if Vision knows what he’s done to you, if he realizes that by taking credit for your words, he’s stolen more than just a letter—he’s stolen your chance.

Or maybe he does know. Maybe he doesn’t care.

And Wanda—God, Wanda. She’s so happy. She looks at him like he hung the stars, like she finally has something good in her life, and you hate yourself for wanting to take that away from her.

You tell yourself it’s better this way. If she’s happy, if she never has to know the truth, then maybe it’s for the best.

But that doesn’t stop it from hurting.

—

A week later, you find yourself on the rooftop, staring out at the city. It’s late, and you should be inside, but you can’t bring yourself to be around the others, to watch Wanda and Vision fall into something that was never meant to be theirs.

You hear footsteps behind you. Soft, familiar.

You don’t turn around.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Wanda says, stepping beside you.

You force yourself to stay still, to keep your voice even. “Why?”

She leans against the railing, tilting her head as she studies you. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Your grip tightens on the metal. “No, I haven’t.”

She gives you a look. “Don’t lie to me.”

You sigh, staring out at the city lights. “I just… needed some space.”

“Did I do something wrong?” she asks, voice quiet.

You want to laugh. She has no idea.

“No,” you say, because it’s the truth. She didn’t do anything. You did this to yourself.

Wanda watches you for a long moment before looking down, a small, almost shy smile tugging at her lips. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

You don’t answer, but she continues anyway.

“I think I might be in love with him.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. You knew this was coming, knew it the moment she read your letter and thought it was from him, but hearing it out loud is something else entirely.

It breaks you.

You swallow the pain, bury it deep, and force yourself to nod. “That’s… great.”

She nudges you lightly. “You don’t sound happy.”

You force a smile, even as your heart shatters. “I am. If you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

She beams at you, and it’s cruel, how beautiful she looks when she’s talking about someone else.

You think about telling her the truth. You imagine what would happen if you said, It wasn’t him. It was me. Would she look at you differently? Would she hate you for lying, for waiting too long?

You’ll never know. Because you’ll never say it.

So you let her believe. You let her love someone else with the words you wrote.

And you break, silently, as she thanks you for being a good friend.

You stop going to the common areas.

At first, it’s easy to make excuses. Training sessions you don’t feel like attending, team movie nights that suddenly seem unbearable, morning coffee runs that you conveniently sleep through. The others don’t question it right away—after all, everyone has their off days—but as the week drags on, you hear them talking outside your door.

“She’s barely come out.” That’s Steve, ever the concerned leader.

“Maybe she just needs space.” Sam, rational as always.

Then Wanda’s voice—soft, worried. “I’ll check on her.”

Panic grips you. You don’t want to see her. You don’t want to look into her eyes and pretend you’re fine, pretend it doesn’t kill you every time she touches Vision like he’s something precious, something worthy of her love.

You hear footsteps approaching, and you move fast, slipping into bed and pulling the covers over your head just as there’s a knock on your door.

“Y/N?” Wanda’s voice is hesitant. “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer. You hold your breath, hoping she’ll leave.

Another knock. “I… I miss you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. The words are worse than silence. She doesn’t even know what she’s doing to you.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hear her sigh, and her footsteps retreat.

You exhale shakily, your chest tight with unshed tears.

You can’t do this.

—

The next day, Natasha comes knocking.

You consider ignoring her like you did Wanda, but it’s Natasha. She won’t leave just because you pretend you’re not here.

“Y/N,” she calls, voice firm. “I know you’re in there.”

You say nothing.

She sighs. “Okay. If you want me to kick the door down, just keep ignoring me.”

You groan, rolling onto your back. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

You hesitate. You wouldn’t put it past her.

With a sigh, you force yourself out of bed and open the door just enough to see her standing there, arms crossed, looking unimpressed.

“You look like hell,” she comments.

“Thanks,” you mutter.

“Can I come in?”

You don’t really want company, but you also don’t want her breaking your door, so you step aside, letting her in.

She surveys the room—dimly lit, curtains drawn, unmade bed, the faint scent of old coffee lingering in the air. You know what she sees.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” she asks, turning to you.

You shake your head, avoiding her gaze. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

She snorts. “Yeah, and I’m the queen of England.”

You try to keep your expression neutral, but the weight in your chest is suffocating.

Nat watches you carefully, her voice softening. “Y/N… whatever it is, you don’t have to deal with it alone.”

That’s what breaks you.

The lump in your throat grows unbearable, your vision blurring as your breath shudders. “I—” Your voice cracks, and suddenly, you’re crying, the dam bursting before you can stop it.

Nat’s arms are around you in seconds, strong and steady. You cling to her like she’s the only thing keeping you together, sobbing into her shoulder.

Between ragged breaths, the words spill out—how you love Wanda, how you wrote the letter, how Vision took the credit, how it’s killing you to watch them together.

Nat is quiet as you talk, holding you, letting you cry. When you finally stop, exhausted and drained, she pulls back slightly, her hands firm on your shoulders.

“Well,” she says, “that’s a pile of absolute bullshit.”

You blink up at her, sniffling. “What?”

She raises a brow. “Vision took credit for your letter? And Wanda just believed him?”

You nod miserably.

Nat shakes her head, muttering something in Russian that you’re pretty sure is a curse. “Unbelievable.”

You wipe your eyes, exhausted. “I just… I don’t know what to do.”

Nat squeezes your shoulders. “First, we’re getting you out of this room before you turn into a full-blown vampire stereotype.”

You give her a weak glare. “That’s offensive.”

“Then come prove me wrong.” She smirks. “C’mon, I promise not to throw you into the sun.”

Despite yourself, you let out a watery laugh.

—

True to her word, Nat doesn’t let you isolate yourself again. She drags you to training, to breakfast, to the common room—even to team briefings you could technically skip. And every time Wanda and Vision walk in, Nat finds a way to make a comment.

The first time, it’s subtle.

“Wow, Vision,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “Didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

He tilts his head. “Pardon?”

She gestures vaguely at Wanda. “The love letter. Smooth move.”

Wanda smiles. “I know, right? I was so surprised.”

Nat hums. “Yeah, I bet.” She flicks a glance at you, and you stare at the table, willing the floor to swallow you whole.

The second time, she’s bolder.

It’s during a mission debrief, and Vision is explaining strategy. Nat, sitting beside you, mutters under her breath, “Funny how he’s got such a way with words when he’s taking them from someone else.”

You elbow her. She just smirks.

But the third time—

It happens at lunch, when Wanda and Vision sit across from you and Nat. You barely look up from your food, but Wanda smiles at you. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

You nod mutely.

Vision clears his throat. “Yes, it is good to see you socializing again.”

Nat scoffs. “Oh yeah, wouldn’t want her locking herself away again over some misunderstanding.”

Wanda tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

Nat shrugs, sipping her drink. “Nothing. Just thinking about how some people take credit for things they didn’t actually do.”

Vision stiffens slightly, but says nothing.

You shoot Nat a look. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

She smirks, but follows you out of the room.

“Nat,” you hiss when you’re alone, “what are you doing?”

She crosses her arms. “Getting under his skin.”

“Why?”

“Because he deserves it.”

You run a hand through your hair, frustrated. “This isn’t helping.”

She softens. “Y/N… you can’t just let this go. He lied. And Wanda—she’s smart, but she’s blind to this. Someone needs to open her eyes.”

You swallow hard. “And what if she still chooses him?”

Nat hesitates, then sighs. “Then she’s an idiot.”

Your chest aches.

She places a hand on your shoulder. “But at least you’ll know the truth is out there.”

You nod slowly, but deep down, you’re terrified.

Because the truth won’t just change Wanda’s perception of Vision.

It might change how she sees you.

It happens so suddenly that you don’t even have time to stop it.

One second, everyone is gathered in the common room, chatting after dinner, and the next, the truth spills out in a way no one could have predicted.

Vision is the one who causes it.

He’s recounting something—a tactical observation, some philosophical discussion—and Wanda, sitting beside him, casually nudges his arm. “You always have a way with words,” she teases, smiling. “Like that letter.”

Your stomach tightens.

Natasha, who’s lounging on the couch across from you, raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, that letter,” she says smoothly, sipping her drink. “Still can’t believe you came up with that all on your own.”

Vision pauses, glancing at Wanda, then at Nat. “It was simply a reflection of my sentiments.”

“Oh?” Nat tilts her head. “So if I asked you to write another one, just like it, right now, you could?”

The room stills.

Wanda frowns slightly. “Nat, what are you—?”

“Come on, Vis,” Nat continues, setting her drink down. “You’re a poet, right? Should be easy.”

Vision hesitates.

Too long.

The silence stretches, and the air shifts. The ease in Wanda’s expression fades as she studies him. “Vision?”

He clears his throat. “I—”

And that’s all it takes.

You see the exact moment realization dawns on Wanda’s face. Her brow furrows, her lips part, and she turns—not to Nat, not to Vision, but to you.

Your blood turns cold.

You don’t wait for her to say anything. You can’t.

You’re on your feet before you realize it, moving fast, retreating from the room, from their gazes, from the truth unraveling all around you.

You don’t stop until you’re in your room, the door slamming shut behind you.

Your heart pounds, your breath comes fast, and the weight of what just happened crashes over you like a tidal wave.

It’s over.

Wanda knows.

She knows it wasn’t Vision.

She knows it was you.

And she must be furious.

You pace, running your hands through your hair, panic clawing at your insides. You were never supposed to tell her. She was never supposed to find out.

What if she hates you?

What if she thinks you tricked her?

What if this ruins everything?

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the thoughts away, but they won’t stop.

Then—

A knock.

You freeze.

You don’t answer. Maybe if you stay quiet, she’ll leave—

“Y/N.” Wanda’s voice is soft, just outside your door.

You swallow hard. Say nothing.

Another knock. “Please.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to see the anger in her eyes, the disappointment, the pity.

“Okay,” she says after a long pause. “Then I’ll talk, and you can listen.”

You don’t stop her.

She takes a deep breath. “I should have known.” A humorless chuckle. “No—I did know. I think, deep down, some part of me always suspected.”

You frown slightly, your hands clenching at your sides.

“I wanted it to be real,” she continues, voice quiet. “I wanted to believe it was from him because… because I thought maybe if I gave him a chance, I could feel something. Maybe I’d finally get the normal love everyone always talks about.”

Your breath catches.

“But the truth is… I never really loved him.” A pause. “I cared about him. But it was never… it was never what I wanted it to be.”

You can’t move.

“Do you know who I do feel something for?”

Silence.

Your hands shake.

“I think you do,” Wanda whispers.

You inhale sharply.

She’s waiting for you.

And suddenly, you realize—she’s not angry. She’s not here to scream at you, to tell you that you ruined everything.

She’s here because she wants to be.

Slowly, with a deep breath, you step forward and open the door.

Wanda stands there, looking up at you with wide, uncertain eyes.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admits. “I’ve never felt this way before. And I was scared. I am scared.”

You swallow, voice hoarse. “Scared of what?”

She smiles faintly. “Of what you make me feel.”

Your breath stutters.

She reaches out, hesitant, fingers brushing yours. “But… if you’re willing to be patient with me… maybe we can figure it out together.”

Your eyes search hers, and for the first time in weeks, you see the truth.

She wants this.

She wants you.

Your hand tightens around hers, and for the first time in what feels like forever—

You breathe.

The first time you wake up with Wanda curled against you, you almost forget to breathe.

Not that you need to—but still.

It’s been a few weeks since that night outside your door, since she held your hand and told you she wanted to figure this out. Since you both agreed to take things slow.

And you have.

There are no labels, no grand declarations—just stolen moments, quiet touches, and a slow unraveling of something you’ve both been afraid to name.

You don’t kiss yet. You don’t rush anything.

And yet, waking up like this, with her warmth pressed against you, her steady heartbeat thrumming so close, you feel like you might fall apart.

She stirs slightly, shifting closer, her hand resting lightly over your stomach.

You exhale shakily, staring up at the ceiling.

You don’t know how long you can do this without breaking.

Wanda makes a soft noise, then buries her face against your shoulder. “You’re thinking too loud.”

You tense. “Sorry.”

She hums, voice thick with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitate. You don’t want to ruin this moment.

But Wanda has a way of pulling the truth from you.

“…Nothing.”

She tilts her head, her cheek pressing into your arm. “Liar.”

You let out a breathy laugh, but it’s hollow.

Wanda shifts, propping herself up on one elbow to look at you properly. Her hair is tousled, her eyes soft with sleep, and for a second, you let yourself pretend that this is normal. That this is something you can have.

Her fingers skim over your wrist, tracing absent patterns. “Tell me.”

You hesitate, staring at the ceiling.

Then, finally— “I can’t give you everything.”

She stills.

You swallow hard, forcing the words out. “I can’t—I can’t take you out to dinner in the sunlight. I can’t—I can’t grow old with you. I can’t give you—” Your voice catches. “I can’t give you a normal life, Wanda.”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy.

Then, after a long pause, Wanda shifts, leaning over you slightly. “Do you want to know a secret?”

You blink up at her. “What?”

Her lips quirk up slightly. “I’ve never had a normal life.”

You huff out a laugh, but it’s strained. “That’s not the point—”

“Yes, it is,” she interrupts gently. “I don’t want normal, Y/N.” She pauses, then continues, softer, “I just want you.”

Your breath catches.

She watches you carefully, her fingers brushing lightly over your cheek. “I don’t care if we have to go on late-night dates or if you can’t drink wine with me at dinner or if you never age another day. None of that changes how I feel.”

You want to believe her. God, you want to.

But—

“What if you change your mind?” The words come out small. “What if one day, you wake up and realize you want something more? Something I can’t give you?”

Wanda frowns slightly, searching your eyes. Then, slowly, she leans in, resting her forehead against yours.

“If that happens,” she murmurs, “then we talk about it.”

You inhale sharply.

She pulls back slightly, studying you. “I can’t promise you forever. I don’t think anyone can.” She pauses. “But I can promise that right now, there’s no one else I’d rather be with.”

Something tightens in your chest.

You swallow hard, your hands curling into the sheets. “…Okay.”

Her smile is small, but real. “Okay.”

And just like that, you let yourself breathe again.

—

It takes time.

Wanda is patient.

You are cautious.

You learn each other in small ways—fingers brushing when you sit together, sleepy conversations at 3 AM, the way her powers spark softly when she gets flustered.

She learns that you don’t like mirrors, that your hands are always cold, that your favorite way to fall asleep is listening to the sound of her heart.

You learn that she dreams in color, that she talks to plants when she thinks no one’s listening, that her magic feels like warm honey when she lets it touch your skin.

One night, she holds your hand under the stars and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

You freeze.

Your throat feels tight. “Are you sure?”

She squeezes your hand. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

So you let her.

And it’s slow, and warm, and careful.

And for the first time in forever, you don’t feel like a monster.

You just feel hers.

#amethyst arachnid #marvel #marvel fanfiction #comics #marvel x reader #gaming #movies #x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #the scarlet witch #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff fanfiction #elizabeth olsen #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch x reader

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sheepispink · 3 months ago

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Distance makes the Heart grow Fonder ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Chapter 6 of my Sweet As Sugar Series (baker!reader x lt ghost

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Summary: Simon leaves in deployment, though just before he goes, your father unintentionally sets a fire alight in Simon’s chest, one he’s never felt in years. It brings him to a realisation he didnt think was possible.

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It’s surprising; in Soap’s entire career, he never thought he’d see the day that Ghost actually looked reluctant to come back to work. Usually he was the one to complain about everything he missed, especially in the mess hall when they grabbed their meals together. Though today Ghost’s eyes were particularly downturned, and he hadn't interrupted Soap once to tell him to do less speaking and more eating. “Ye not gonna tell me to shut up today?” He tilts his head towards the masked man before promptly shoving a bland potato in his mouth, chewing it without a care in the world.

“This tea is horrible; that's why.” He grunts, placing the cup down onto the table with so much force the liquid almost splashes out of the cup altogether. “Thought ya didn't care about the taste?” Soap raises a brow, even more confused. When had his Lt thought twice about how good his tea tasted? Sure, he’d been bragging about the cafe in town for a while now, but he didn't think anything would sway Riley this much. He’s only seen the man this annoyed that time he was given rice instead of pitta when they grabbed their post-deployment kebab.

“My standards have been raised.” Ghost scoffs a little, watching as Soap gulps down a large swig of his strong coffee as always—licking his lips from the three sugars he had just stirred in. “Are you going to finally tell me who that lass was now? Gaz is dying to know too.” He rests his elbows on the table, grinning cheekily at the man opposite, who only shoos him back and narrows his eyes in a faux glare. “You told Gaz?”

“Wait till Capt’ comes back–”

Ghost wasn't sure how to feel about his team’s sudden interest in his private life, but he supposed it seemed natural given that he wasn't one for making friends, let alone getting close to the baker girl in the town they frequented off deployments. “She works at the bakery, that’s all. I helped her with some heavy things.” He chooses to omit the part where he had willingly joined you on a mini road trip and spent time with you at the winter market. Soap will definitely never know about the incident at your apartment either.

”Wait, she’s the one who makes those pastries your unit had? We ‘ave to pay her a visit too. I mean, my mouth watered when i smelt ‘em.” He laughs, remembering the time he had begged Ghost to let him try just a tad of the cookie you had graciously provided him once. He’d take the death glare, especially since after he ate half, he had easily decided it was the best one he’d ever tasted. Besides, he wanted to see what had caught Ghost’s eye to the point he spent more time off base than on. Unfortunately, the masked man had caught onto it quickly, standing with the tray in his hands. “Yeah, you go spillin’ crumbs on yourself in the middle of the briefing we have in ten.” He rolls his eyes, already expecting the alarm in Soap’s eyes as he quickly stands and throws his tray away too—he always had a tendency to rely on Ghost as a personal reminders app.

————

The meeting seemed to last forever, and he had to adjust himself to stand straight every so often just so his mind wouldn’t wander off with the memories of only last week. Though, he couldn’t keep them away for much longer since as soon as he was on the treadmill, everything in his mind was let free. The thing was, even though he hadn't said it directly, Johnny was right—you had caught his eye in a way that he couldn't even figure out himself. From the day he saw you in that shop, dancing along to a song that you embarrassedly shut off as soon as he entered, to the pretty smile you flash every time he enters the shop. In fact, your demeanour seems to light up without you even realising; it’s adorable, really. He notices the pep in your step, the slightly higher pitch in your voice, and even the way you greet the customers with happiness just ‘cause you’re eager to draw your doodle on the side of his coffee cup again. Maybe if he had a little more experience in all of this, he would’ve teased you about it all, or he would even go as far as to admit that you’ve made his heart thump more than any life-threatening situation will. Though, if he told you that then you might just force him to a doctor out of sheer worry.

What if you don’t even see it the same way? What if you’re just being friendly and he’s acting like a creep, reading into all of your actions? He ramps up the speed on the treadmill a little more, his thighs starting to burn the more forceful his strides grow. It’s empty in this room, no sound around save for the heavy thump of his boots bouncing off the walls. He’s heard female soldiers complain before; they huff about how the younger soldiers ogle, and the older lieutenants shamelessly give their remarks. What if he ruins everything and makes you uncomfortable? He’s not even sure he can handle a relationship; he always thought he could never commit to it, nor did he think he could put the constant energy and thoughts into caring so much for somebody. But with you, it just comes so naturally; he barely has to think twice when he converses with you, even less when you chatter to him about something that happened the other day. Relationships always seemed like obligations to him, even if the girl was nice or sweet; something always sucked the life out of him dry until he broke up with them just for their own sake. He didn't want the same to happen to you; no he wouldn't dare hurt you in such a cruel way.

Then what, should he just pull away from you altogether?

That thought alone stills him, the idea of never seeing you again making his body still like a bucket of cold ice dumped over his head. His feet falter as his heart stammers, and his hands can only graze the handles before his knees hit the floor with a painful slam—sliding off the treadmill altogether in a heap of limbs. He looks down in shock, more so down at himself as he sits on the floor in front of the treadmill he had accidentally pushed to the maximum speed. Damnit; he really has fallen for you.

————————-

The little bell rings as he pushes the glass door open; it’s the day before he leaves for deployment, and he was hoping he’d see your grin one last time before he goes. To his dismay, you’re not on shift today, likely doing a grocery run or something similar. Today, your parents are handling the shop, and although you informally introduced him once, he’s almost sure that they don't approve of him. It’s not like they’ve made it obvious; it just seems inevitable due to his chosen attire and his line of work. Naturally, he hadn't expected your father to smile at him widely and know his order before he could say it.

“Flat white or black today? No tea today, unfortunately.”

Simon can only blink in surprise, clearing his throat in hopes he doesn’t sound too hoarse. “Flat white. I’ve got deployment tomorrow, so I'll have to indulge now rather than later.” He doesn't usually add on detail, but he feels like he’s obliged to, just for the sake of seeming a little better towards your parents. Thankfully, there’s not a hint of the disdain he expected on your father’s face; he only laughs, ringing in the order whilst he turns to make the drink for him. “I’d hardly call a flat white an ‘indulgent’, kid.”

Simon barely gets the chance to acknowledge the fact someone just called him ‘kid’ before he’s talking again, and he feels himself stand a little straighter to make sure he doesn't look like some sleazy boy.

“She’s gonna be upset, y’know? Maybe you’ll be better off paying a stunt double to take your place instead of saying you’re on deployment.” The man chuckles again, his face lighting up the same way you do, and you’ve clearly learnt his technique of pouring the steamed milk too.

“I’m sure she’ll forget by the second day; the other customers will have to suffice with all her stories.” Simon brushes off your potential reaction, almost positive that you wouldn't even lose sleep on the matter. Besides, you’re plenty more friendly than he’ll ever be; he’s sure you’ll make quick friends with the other regulars.

“Forget? I won't hear the end of it until you return. I don't know what you did to that girl, but she’s been as bright as the sun since you showed up.” The older man pressed the lid onto the cup, turning around to hand it to Simon. “We’re grateful, y’know? She had a tough time when we first opened; it didn't help that we couldn't afford her further education.”

“I.. didn't know that.” He can't say much else, the words spilling out and surprise evident in his tone.

“We travelled a bit before buying this bakery, so she’s never had many constant friends; it was out of our control.” The man packs up a small bag, placing it on the counter for Ghost to take as well before giving him a grateful smile. “She’d have come around eventually, but the point is, she’s very fond of you. Always makes sure she has your favourite biscuits restocked too.” He chuckles, and Simon stares down at the bag, the faint outline of chocolate bourbons inside. He truly was a lucky man.

———-

Ghost had a hypothesis, and that was that the simplest missions were always the longest. Well, not literally, but they felt as if they dragged on forever. He was positioned up in these mountains to scope the area prior to his team’s entry; however they wouldn't be here for another two hours anyway due to unforeseen circumstances. That meant that for the meantime, he was a sitting duck. It also gave way to the thoughts he hadn’t been able to consider ever since he first processed them, promising himself he’d debate it later after this all blew over.

The thing is, he couldn't fathom the idea of you feeling low or even having a few friends. He considers himself to be on the loner side, considering most people perceived him that way, and he didn't exactly contact anyone outside of the military save from his old boss when he worked as a butcher—he always said happy new year to him. The difference is, he kind of liked it that way, but clearly you haven't been given a choice in that matter. It fills him with an urge, one that’s a little out of place for him yet fits perfectly in his chest. He wants to make sure you’re happy, well, as far as he can do so anyway. And on the off chance you do get upset, he wants to be the one to cheer you up after.

It’s weird to him, having someone that needs him as a presence in their life, someone who’ll miss him when he’s gone. But what’s worse for him, is that he realises now that he misses you every time you’re gone. He thought he had gone crazy the first time Johnny went on deployment without him, and he had to listen to Gaz talk about the latest football game all lunch— not that Johnny usually had anything better to say either. He had only realised he missed him when Soap described the same feeling when Gaz had left for deployment. He figured it comes with working closely with others very often; after all, being forced out of a routine would never feel right. So, he was even more surprised when he had only spent a month and a bit getting to know you, but somehow every moment away just seemed duller.

That night the evac trucks take him home quietly, along with the rest of his team. They’re exhausted, Soap and Gaz more so than himself; they're practically nodding off beside him. Not that he minds being their pillow for the ride, but he does stop to wonder what it’d feel like if your head was the one on his shoulder. He’d probably wrap an arm around you—if you’d allow him, of course—and maybe just sit in silence whilst a movie plays. You’d be happy with someone around, he’d be happy to have a quiet night in, and maybe a quiet sleep again.

That’s the moment he decided what he was going to do and what he’s currently doing right now. It’s two am, and he’s just got back, barely even washed up yet. His phone is in his hands, your little profile picture grinning at him cheekily as he stares at the unsent message.

“Are you free for dinner on Wednesday? My treat, and an apology for leaving you for so long.”

—————————-

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@hidden-treasures21 @bieberismysoulmate @gallantys @tessakate @galactict3a @krispymagazinepizza-blog @silas-aeiou @kupids-arrow

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x you #simon x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x you #ghost x female reader #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #cod fluff #cod fic #cod x reader #cod x you

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the-californicationist · 5 months ago

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Hey Cali! This is my first ask (ever) so bare with me. Would you do Soap losing his v-card? Like, we know he’s confident in his abilities as a lover now, but what was he like as an awkward first timer? Maybe in his late teens/early 20’s? Thank you!!

I feel like Johnny tried his best to grow up as the good Catholic lad his ma wanted him to be, despite his early and obvious inclination to lustful stimulation. But the Good Book (mostly) only forbade the true act of sex, so… he decided to practice all of the other skills.

It started when he saw his first pair of gorgeous, hanging tits. His sweetheart had come swimming with him down by the pond behind his house, wearing nothing but a bra and knickers on a particularly hot summer day. She and Johnny had been jumping into the pond and dunking each other under all day, until one time, she came up but her bra stayed down, and there they were. The perfect, puffy nipple of her breast called to him like a siren’s tune, and he dedicated himself to learning every little thing he could about them from that point on. When he licked them with the tip of his tongue, or when he suckled them deep inside his hot mouth, or when he nipped at them with his sharp teeth; he memorized the noises she made like it was his favorite song.

But then, he discovered the juicy feel of her pussy lips on his mouth, and he was done for.

Sneaking off to throw rocks at the window of his pretty lass, coaxing her downstairs before stealing her away to hide in the heather with his head buried between her legs, licking her sweet cunt until his mouth went numb, holding her down with all of his strength, telling her what a bonnie wee lamb she was and to keep those soft thighs open for him. Never could seem to slake his thirst after that first time.

All the while, his poor neglected cock would leak and spill in his jeans, wet from his helpless rutting into the soft ground as he humped and licked and sucked until he came. The number of times he’d had to lie and say that he’d spilled tea down his trousers was getting to be ridiculous.

Or, when he took his little lamb on a date to see a scary film, holding her close as she hid her face from the movie monsters, he would comfort her. He’d coo and whisper to her to come a bit closer until she was nearly straddling his thigh. Then, he’d loop his hand below her skirt to feel that sticky heat that lay so close to him, playing just inside the rim of her sensitive hole. And when she gasped again, this time it wasn’t because she was afraid of the big baddies on the screen.

And he felt justified in his tireless training. When his bonnie girl would protest, saying it was wrong, it was a sin, that he shouldn’t be rubbing her there. He’d frown and shake his head, saying that she shouldnae fash her wee self. He wasnae prodding deep into her pussy with his thick, drooling cock. After all, it was just his fingers curling and pressing and digging for the spot that made her eyes shine with hot tears of pleasure. By the time he’d take her home, the poor lamb would barely be able to walk straight on those shaking legs.

It wasn’t until he met you that he thought about taking his practice to the next level. You let him take things so much further than his sweetheart had done. She’d never allowed him to lay his heavy body above her in her bed, and even if you were still fully clothed, she would never have convinced him to thrust himself against you over your silky pajamas, humping his cock over your slippery shorts.

And she never would’ve thought to tell him to take his clothes off while he was practicing. You know, to make it seem more like the real thing. It was no problem. Surely it was safe enough if you were still fully dressed, right? Well. Mostly dressed. Okay, maybe your satin slip was hanging low beneath your swaying tits, hypnotizing poor virginal Johnny as he pretended to fuck you.

But, when you finally got him to strip down, he could see the benefits. It did feel so real. As he shoved his swollen cock against your silk shorts, he could almost feel your body’s warmth embracing him in a carnal, forbidden way. And he would come so quickly at first. It took weeks of practicing before he could keep himself from spraying ropes of milky come all over your belly after only five minutes of grinding against your quim.

You loved watching him hone his craft, watching as his blue eyes begged and pleaded for release, his huge muscles twisting and bulging with every bed-shaking thrust, pushing his cockhead against your covered clit until you were a shuddering, whimpering mess.

Eventually, he could last long enough to pull you over the edge two or three times, enjoying dipping his fingers just inside the wide leg of your pajama shorts to pull your taste onto his fingers, licking you like a bowl of homemade frosting. Just a taste, bonnie.

The only problem was, the wetter you became, the more your silk shorts seemed to slide around, sometimes letting the hot body of his prick slip between your folds on accident.

Mostly on accident.

Surely Johnny would never be grinding himself exactly in the direction that moved your shorts to the side the easiest. Surely he could feel that he was thrusting against your soft flesh rather than the safety of your clothes. Surely that wasn’t his jerking, prodding cockhead that had slipped into the cradle of your quim…

Oops.

Looks like he’ll be on his knees asking Father for forgiveness, and you’ll be on your knees, looking up at him, stretching your throat out again, begging him for some more practice.

#johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #cod smut #call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod #cod mwii #virgin!soap #virgin!reader #please forgive me #x female reader

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sephines · 3 months ago

Text

Declan O'Hara x Reader: you say you wanna go slow

Declan O'Hara x cis woman reader

Summary: Takes place after Maud has left for London. You're working for Venturer, and you and Declan have been secretly sleeping together for a while now. After a long day of pent up sexual tension shared between the two of you at a garden party at the Priory, you're finally alone together, and desperate to get your hands and mouth on him.

Word count: 3.8k

Content: pure smut, 18+, reader age not mentioned so can be whatever you want, mostly reader pov w small instances of Declan pov, swearing, infidelity (sort of), smoking, alcohol, lots of teasing, dirty talk, relatively fluid power dynamic (both Declan & reader alternating between being a little more submissive or a little more dominant), slight instances of inflicting pain, blowjob (inc face fucking), not enough here to constitute a praise kink but definitely praise, basically all about my oral fixation

Author's note: This is the first time I've ever written smut so I'm a little apprehensive to post but I really enjoyed writing it! Not me saying 'I'm only going to write little snapshots' and then writing almost 4k words of achingly slow, drawn-out foreplay culminating in a blow job. This is essentially a long, slow, sensual tease. Not sure if it'll be everyone's cup of tea but I tried to just write from a place of my own fantasy. Bc of the slow pace I imagine it would be best read slowly and taking time to imagine everything if possible!

There are probably some inconsistencies wrt what Declan's study looks like. I also initially played around with writing in an Irish dialect for him but wasn't sure about it so scrapped that - so imagine him speaking in his gorgeous accent.

Title is from the Haim song Gasoline.

If you enjoy it I would really appreciate feedback/reblogs/likes! Thank you 🌹

It’s dusk on a hot July day. You and Declan are in his study, the taste of cool whiskey and melted dark chocolate on your tongues. You’ve been at a garden party for Venturer at the O’Haras all day, and the grounds had only cleared out about half an hour ago. The two of you have spent the day teasing one another from afar - a stolen glance here, long, lingering eye contact there. About two hours into the sweltering afternoon, knowing how much it turns you on to see his chest hair peeking out, Declan had caught your eye over the buffet and loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, smirking at you before turning around to speak to someone you didn’t recognise. Forty five minutes later, when you noticed him watching you from across the dancefloor, you rested your hand on the bicep of the good-looking man chatting to you and leant forward to whisper something in his ear, knowing that seeing you flirt with someone else would amp up Declan’s desire for you. The day was littered with moments like this: loaded looks, subtly suggestive comments in company, finding small ways to push each other’s buttons.

You’ve been alone in the Priory, having encamped in Declan’s study armed with a leftover bottle of whiskey and slabs of dark chocolate from the party, for thirty minutes now, and still neither of you have made a move. You’re relaxing in the sunshine streaming in through the glass doors, but the tension in the air is thick - it’s like you’re each silently daring the other to give in first, neither wanting to buckle.

Declan’s sitting in his chair, legs splayed, head tilted back over the headrest as he takes drags from a cigarette, letting the low evening sun fall over his cheekbones, his mouth, his neck. In the heat, he’s taken off his shirt, and his bare chest rises and falls slowly, luxuriously, in front of you. You take in the coils of dark hair - thick up top and leading down his stomach to the top of his belt - and the light sheen of sweat glistening atop it. Your breath hitches and you feel your own head tilt back in desire, your teeth biting down on your lower lip.

Declan’s eyes are closed. He can’t see you drinking him in like this - it adds a thrill to the experience, almost lends him a little vulnerability, you a sense of getting to indulge in your own desires unwatched, unseen. The thin gold chain draped across his collarbones catches the sunlight, and there’s something about the delicacy of it against his strong, muscled shoulders and torso that you find impossibly sexy. Declan doesn’t usually put an enormous amount of effort into his appearance, and imagining him taking the time to clasp the chain around his neck feels so deliciously at odds with how unbothered he comes across.

He slowly lets his head fall back down to center, and opens his eyes lazily. He sees you looking at him intently, and immediately clocks the look in your eye. A smirk spreads across his face as he stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray beside him, not once taking his eyes off of yours’. He knows the effect he has on you. It’s enough to make your pulse quicken.

Involuntarily, you bite down harder on your lower lip. You feel exposed now - it’s an entirely different experience to watching him without his knowledge. You feel suddenly as though you’re the one under inspection. You’re sitting on your knees on the hardwood floor across from him, dressed in a low-cut crop top and flowing mini skirt, palms on your thighs. Your hair is pulled into a claw clip at the back of your head, and you can feel beads of sweat across your neck and your cleavage. Declan might be shirtless, but you feel just as naked, achingly aware of how little fabric covers your body, of how little Declan would need to do to have his hands on your bare skin.

He tilts his head at you, raises his eyebrow almost imperceptibly, exhaling the last plume of smoke from his cigarette. You know what he’s saying: I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of telling you, “c’mere.” I need you to act. I need to see how much you want me. You meet his gaze, frustrated and turned on in equal measure, and smirk at him in return. You love the little games you play, the way he teases you, the way you can communicate without words.

You crawl forward until you’re kneeling between his thighs, letting your eyes drink in the swell of his chest and the slope of his stomach. His body is muscular, but there’s a slight softness to it, too. There’s something about this that feels rawer, more primal, more sensual to you than if he were incredibly chiselled. You let out a sigh. You’re so heady with want for him. You let your palms slide down his pecs, move to follow them with your mouth. Before you can feel the touch of your lips against him, he reaches down and cups your chin in a strong hand, lifting your jaw gently but firmly, to look up at him. You let out a whimper of frustration. He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, your mouth opening slightly in response to his touch.

Desire glows in his eyes - it’s intoxicating to see how much you want him. He wants your mouth all over him just as much as you do, but he wants to tease you, too, to build the suspense for both of you. Your big eyes look up at him intensely, heavy lidded with lust. Both of you are breathing heavily, letting the moment of anticipation stretch out.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he says.

You moan and take his thumb into your mouth. He lets out a groan and grasps the other side of your face, pulling you up towards him. His thumb slides across your bottom lip as your mouths meet. The kiss is hard and messy, your lust for each other spilling over. You clasp one hand across his throat, feeling the cold metal of that delicate chain under your thumb. The other is tangled up in his hair, pulling sharply on his dark curls. He removes the claw clip from your hair and tosses it to the side, allowing loose tendrils to fall down around your shoulders. You feel as though you’re melting into one another.

Declan breaks away to murmur, amidst ragged breaths, against your mouth, ‘I’ve wanted you like this all day.’ The kisses you share become urgent, fervent, hard. ‘Needed you like this.’

Hearing him say this makes you moan. You pull away from his mouth just slightly, catching his eye and murmuring, ‘I know,’ a smirk spreading across your face.

He chuckles and shakes his head. ‘You’re such a fucking tease.’

You smile at him, smug, before he pulls you into another kiss.

His hands travel down your shoulders and over your tits, your waist, until he reaches the waistband of your skirt and slides it down your hips along with your white lace underwear. You feel a little thrill at being so exposed.

Declan positions you gently away so he can look at you, taking in the swell of your breasts in your crop top and the curve of your hips, your lush pussy and swollen clit. You’re so gorgeous. He feels his cock straining against his trousers. He sighs and shakes his head at you, ever so slightly, as if in wonder. His thumb circles your nipple, causing you to sigh in pleasure, before his hand travels down your waist and to the soft swell of your ass, squeezing hard.

You reach up to kiss him again, your touch firm yet caressing on his jawbone and neck, and this time it’s deeper, more languorous. Your tongues slide against each other and you moan into one another’s mouths.

Moving one hand to those dark curls, you tug gently at the nape of his neck until he tips his head backwards, letting you kiss lightly across his jaw, then deeper down the soft skin of his exposed throat, feeling the vibrations of his low moans against your lips. This is what you’ve wanted all day: to put your mouth on every inch of him, to feel his hot, strong body against your lips, under your tongue. You’re so hungry for him.

You pepper your kisses with little bites, and he responds by tightening his grasp on your hair, making you moan in turn. Your kisses meet his collarbone, and then you sink onto your knees, moving down to his chest. You’re just melting into the moment, into him, into the swell of his pecs against your lips, finally, when he uses his grasp on your hair to tilt your head back and away from his torso. His thumb brushes against your jaw. You look up at him, whimpering in frustration.

He returns your gaze intently. You’re breathing heavily, dizzy with desire. The moment unfurls out in the silence between the two of you, in the eye contact you share. The anticipation feels delicious - so overwhelming you almost can’t bear it, and yet somehow satiating in itself.

‘Declan….’, you breathe, ‘...please..’

You can see his breath quicken in the way his chest moves. He moves his thumb gently from where it rests on your jawbone to stroke your lower lip. ‘I just want to hear you say it. How much you want me.’

You let out a sigh. The desire you feel for him, the frustration in not being able to fulfill it, has you weak. You want to tell him just how much he drives you crazy, how incredibly sexy you find him, but you can’t find the words - they swim in your mind untethered from one another.

‘Declan…I…’ you begin in between ragged breaths, looking up at him, ‘...I don’t even…have words for how much I want you.’ Your voice is quiet, almost a whisper. He’s brushing his thumb ever so lightly, ever so gently, back and forth over the center of your bottom lip. You let your gaze drift down to where his muscled chest rises and falls in front of you. ‘You’re so fucking…sexy to me…’ You shake your head slightly in wonder. ‘I can hardly stand it…’

He lets your words hang for a moment, his eyes growing heavy with lust, his pupils widening.

You’re wondering how long he’s going to keep you waiting, if he's going to make you say more, when a softness fills his eyes.

‘Open your mouth,’ he says, gently. It’s more like a suggestion than a command, and you feel safe following his instructions - Declan knows your desires so well, knows what you want and need. You can trust him to give it to you.

As you do so, he reaches to the bronze side table beside him and curls his fist around his glass of whiskey, lifting it towards the two of you. Drops of perspiration coat the outside of the glass.

Catching his eye and realising what he’s doing, you offer up your tongue to him. Slowly, one hand still wrapped up in your hair, pulling your head back, he tips the glass downwards, pouring the cool, strong whiskey onto your outstretched tongue. The feeling of the cool liquid hitting your tastebuds, the rest of your body so hot in the evening sun streaming through the windows, sends a shock down your spine. Declan continues pouring, so the whiskey flows onto your collarbones and down to your breasts, soaking through the white cotton of your crop top and coating your nipples. It feels luxurious.

It feels like he’s touching you without touching you.

Declan watches intently as the whiskey drips down your body. Your hair is messy, your lips swollen. Your cheeks are flushed, and a slight tan has formed after a day spent in the sunshine - across your forehead, your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose. Across the swell of your cleavage, which rises and falls heavily, droplets scattered atop your bare skin. His gaze gets stuck there - the now wet, whiskey-soaked cotton of your white top clings to your breasts, revealing the full curve of their shape. Your nipples peek through your lacy white lingerie, even harder now, having been drenched in the cold liquid. Seeing you like this has his cock aching for your touch. He lets out a sigh, the hand in your hair softening slightly.

Slowly, deliberately, you reach up and take the glass from his hand. His eyes follow your movements. After a moment’s pause, you position the glass just below his jaw, and pour the remainder of the whiskey onto his chest. He tips his head back in pleasure as the amber liquid flows down his pecs and onto his stomach.

Without thinking, you lean forward and lick, slowly, from the soft skin of Declan’s stomach upwards to his chest. The taste of the cool, strong whiskey mingles with the salt of his sweat on your tastebuds. Feeling him hot against your tongue like this, finally, makes you moan. He lets out a groan simultaneously, the hand in your hair tightening its grip. Finally, you have him where you want him. You begin kissing the soft flesh of his throat again; bite down hard on his earlobe.

‘Fuck,’ he whispers.

‘I love it when you swear for me,’ you whisper, almost inaudibly, into his ear. You know the feeling of your breath against those sensitive nerve endings will send shivers down his spine.

He lets out a small noise - half moan, half chuckle - and then tightens the grip on your hair, hard. The movement sends a sharp sting through your scalp. You gasp in both pain and pleasure, just as he had intended.

Moving down, you pepper his collarbones with light kisses, before placing a deep kiss on his chest. Your hands roam across his strong shoulders and arms, and you let your desire overtake you. You’re guided less by what Declan might want, now, and more by what you need - where your mouth wants to go, the sensations you want to feel against your lips, against your palms. You’re barely even thinking at all. You want to taste all of him. You let your mouth roam, kissing deeply across his pecs - the taste of his sweat and of the whiskey, the texture of the dark coils of hair coating his chest, the hardness of his muscles against your lips and tongue all make you moan into him. You kiss down his stomach slowly, luxuriously, taking your time.

As you inch closer to the waistband of his boxers peeking out from over his belt, you feel his breathing quicken, and feel achingly aware of the rock hard bulge just centimetres from your face. You let your lips brush delicately against the soft skin of his lower stomach, looking up at him as you do so. He’s gazing intensely down at you in anticipation.

You undo Declan’s belt and the button of his trousers, unzip his fly. He lifts his hips, watching you, so you can slide his trousers down to his ankles. As you do so you sigh at the sight of his hard cock constrained in tight grey boxer shorts, at his thick, strong thighs, covered in those same dark coils of hair. You sit back for a moment, taking him in, and stroke him from his stomach to his inner thighs. You squeeze slightly, feeling the strength of his muscles, then use just the lightest touch of your fingernails to stroke the sensitive skin there. His breathing quickens more still. He can’t keep his eyes off of you.

Hungrily, you lean down to kiss deeply along his inner thighs. You can hardly control yourself now - you want to be full of him. Pausing once you reach the edge of his boxer shorts, you look up at him, lift his hand to your mouth and suck his index and ring fingers in one motion, deep and slow.

Declan can’t help but let out a deep moan. Seeing you like this - your face mere centimetres from his throbbing cock, your lips wrapped around his fingers - and feeling your hot, soft mouth around him, so close to where he wants it, is almost too much for him to bear. The look in your big eyes only adds to the intoxication: there’s a mixture of mischief and innocence there. He knows you know what you’re doing to him, and at the same time, you’re surrendering to your desire for him.

Desperate now, impatient, you slide down his boxer shorts and let out a sigh at the sight of his thick, hard cock breaking free from its restraints. You feel a pleasurable tightening in your lower stomach, in your pussy. You hover above him, letting your heavy breaths tease him, before brushing your lips gently up his length. You moan softly at the feeling of him hard against your lips, at the feeling of finally getting what you’ve been aching for all day.

Declan bites his lower lip, breathes in hard. He doesn’t want to let himself go, not just yet, but it’s taking every ounce of his willpower not to moan. He reaches a hand down and brushes the side of your cheek and jaw gently, before using his fingers to pull those messy waves away from your face, keeping them clasped in a fist at the back of your head. He wants to see you, and he wants to make things easier for you.

Unable to hold back any longer, with your hands on his hips, you take Declan into your mouth in one swift motion, both of you moaning loudly at the sensation. You don’t have the patience to tease him any longer - you’re greedy for him. You take him deeper, sliding him in and out, sucking him deeply. His moans drift down to you, consistent now - he can’t stop himself. Neither can you. It feels so fucking good to have him hard and aching in your mouth, finally. His grasp on your hair tightens, and you pause for just a moment at the tip of his cock, looking up at him. His eyes are glazed over, and an expression of frustration overtakes his face as you let the seconds pass, unmoving. Needy, he begins to thrust, slowly, into your mouth. You feel your own eyes glaze over as he does so, let them close as you begin sucking him again.

Your hands are clasped on his hips, feeling the soft flesh of his stomach and the hard muscles beneath, your thumbs circling around the dark hair. The feeling of your hands on him like this; of his hot, thick, throbbing cock thrusting slowly in and out of your mouth, against your tongue, filling you, his fist bunched up tightly in your hair, is bliss. You feel entirely in the present moment, lost to anything but the sensations overtaking you.

Declan is the same. His head is thrown back now, eyes closed too, overcome with pleasure.

A sudden cool breeze floats through the ajar glass door, caressing your bare clit, your wet opening, your nipples still coated in whiskey. Your moans deepen in response to the new stimulus. The cool air against your naked skin only highlights your arousal, how exposed you are.

The same sensation is enough to break Declan out of his dazed state for a second. He dips his head down in your direction, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes. He lets his thumb trace down your jaw. The sight of you on your knees, flushed lips wrapped around his cock, eyes closed, blissed out, makes him dizzy.

‘You feel so fucking good,’ he murmurs, through ragged breaths. ‘You’re so fucking good to me.’

You whimper at the sound of his praise in that thick irish accent, and his grasp on your hair tightens again, sending sharp stabs of pleasure through your scalp. Declan leans back again, giving way to his pleasure. His fist clenches in your hair, his breaths quicken, his groans deepen. You muster up the energy to open your eyes and look up at him, and see his head tipped back, mouth open, strong chest heaving. The hand not clasped in your hair is digging his fingernails into the soft flesh of his thigh. That delicate golden chain glints against his throat in the soft sunlight. God, he’s gorgeous.

There’s something about being in the position you’re in that allows you to feel submissive and dominant all at once: on your knees below him, your pussy slick, exposed and aching for him, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth, you desperate to take him. And at the same time, seeing him come undone before you, unravelling, entirely at your mercy. Exactly where you want him.

You move your arms down to his thighs and hold them down, sending a signal to him to stop thrusting. He follows your lead, sighing as he looks down at you for a second before tipping his head back. You wrap one hand around the base of his cock and begin pumping, working in tandem with your lips and tongue.

Declan lets out a loud moan, his fist curled around your hair even tighter now. As you work him harder and faster, his breaths become quicker still and your name begins to float down from his mouth to you repeatedly, peppered with the occasional ‘fuck’ and ‘Christ’.

Suddenly, he stiffens, moaning loudly, and you work him fast through his orgasm, his release filling your mouth. You swallow deeply, and feel the hand in your hair soften, his body going slack.

You kiss up his stomach and chest lazily, before positioning yourself flush against him and placing gentle kisses on his neck, caressing his collarbones. His head is still tipped back, chest heaving, spent. He brings a strong arm up to your head and strokes your hair, the other on your waist.

‘You’re amazing,’ he murmurs, finally lifting his head to look at you. He tucks your messy waves behind your ear and brushes his thumb across your cheekbone, before pulling you in for a long, deep kiss.

When you break apart, you lift your top and bra over your head, needing to feel your bare skin against his. He sighs at the sight of your bare tits and gives you a lazy smile. You let yourself drape over him, your nipples brushing up against the hair on his chest, your arms wrapped around his neck, lips brushing against the soft skin of his throat. Declan moves his strong hand through your hair tenderly. Both of you catch your breath, spent, the rest of the evening laying luxuriously ahead of you.

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