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luveline · 2 days ago

Text

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

You try to break up with your boyfriend. Aaron just wants to know why. (And what he can do to fix it.) [4k]

c: fem, stripper!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff epilogue, suggestive themes mdni. requested here

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I don’t want to see you anymore.

The text doesn’t compute at first. He reads it twice. Reads the sender’s name, his heart stopped clean in his chest.

He puts down his pen.

The idea that the text wasn’t meant for him crosses his mind, but that might further break his heart. He knows you have clients, but you don’t contact them outside of the club.

His second thought is that he’d been a client unknowingly, but he made it clear to you those few months ago that he liked you as you, not as a service provider, and not as something to be bought. You thought he was trying to acquire you as a private escort. He explained it as what it was truthfully, if vulnerably.

He’s being broken up with, he surmises. Over text. By a woman he adores, who he’d thought was happy. Aaron opens his phone to call you, clicking your contact, bringing it to his ear. You don’t answer. He calls again and he’s clearly declined three rings in.

He puts his phone down and has a few minutes of unbreathable heartbreak. Just a few minutes, his hand to his stomach, trying to think of things as reasonably as he can.

Aaron doesn’t care that you’re a stripper. He might’ve at first. Denied his attraction to you, because of course he had feelings for you when you were standing against the side of the club in your dancing lingerie, who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Every fool lucky enough to see you undressed must assume the same thing. He thought it wouldn’t work, and that you’d never be interested in a man like him.

Interviews for information lended themselves to rare moments of conversation. He liked how you talked, how your eyes moved to his, the way you watched his mouth. Your unusual friendship with Spencer drew you closer, and activated a rare seed of jealousy within him that helped him place you in his life. He had real, tangible feelings for you.

And now it’s over.

He scrunches his eyes closed and gets up from his desk. Puts his coat on, but leaves his things where they are on his desk.

“Hotch?” Morgan asks as he descends the steps down from his office into the bullpen.

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

“What happened?”

Aaron turns to Morgan, hiding his panic as well as he’s able to. “I have a small emergency. It’s fine. Can you make sure things are okay here?”

“Hotch?” Morgan asks again.

Aaron keeps on going. He tries your number again on the way down. Three times, a fourth by the time he’s at the parking garage.

The fifth time, you answer.

He almost breaks the phone, its plastic body creaking in his hand. “Honey?” he asks.

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Aaron. Is it hard to understand?”

He’s taken aback. Some part of him had held onto the hope that it was a mistake. “Yes,” he says slowly, struggling to pull his keys out as his car comes into view, “it is.”

“I don’t want to be with you.”

“Have I upset you?”

“Would that make it easier?”

“No. I don’t think anything would make it any easier. Honey, this feels so sudden. Can’t we talk about it?”

“I don’t want to see you.”

“Please.” He can’t imagine never seeing you again. Just a few days ago he was sitting at the dinner table with you laughing opposite, your socked toes brushing his ankle. “Please, give me the chance to fix this.”

“Aaron, it’s not really fixable. Please don’t call me again.”

“Y/N,” he says, firmer now. Anger leaks into his tone —what’s going on? “Let me come over. We need to talk about this.”

“No–”

“It’s not fair to me for you to do it over the phone.”

“…Okay. Fine. I’m at home, but I have work at six.”

“I’m on my way.”

He hangs up. Your terse allowance is all he needs to get in the car and drive, checking his watch. There’s plenty of time between now and six. He can figure out what’s wrong and hopefully change your mind.

He thinks about it more seriously as he’s parking outside of your place. Perhaps he doesn’t want to change your mind. You aren’t acting like you, none of your kindness can be found in such a swift dismissal, but he thinks of your foot under the table, your sock rubbing along his ankle without comment.

He takes the stairs to your apartment. It’s not the nicest place to stay, but it’s far from a slum, either. He doesn’t worry about you when you’re home beyond the usual everyday fears: Is she eating? Sleeping? Having a good day?

Now he’s thinking, What did I do?

He gets to your apartment and pauses at the threshold. After a moment's deliberation, he knocks.

“Come in, Aaron.”

He pulls down the handle and lets himself in. You’ve mail piled on the sideboard and your shoes tucked under it, a coat rack further in bragging scarves and coats and jackets of all different colours. He’s always liked the interior of your apartment. It doesn’t feel as cold as his own, parts of your personality peeking in through everything, from the flowered tiles in the bathroom to the glass lampshade in the bedroom.

You’re sitting in the kitchen with the light off. “Hey,” he says, voice already laden with relief he doesn’t mean to share.

“Hi.”

“Can I sit down?”

You gesture for him to do as he likes.

Aaron sits down at your table. It’s a small square just big enough to share dinner, plain wood edged in a darker slate grey outline. Sometimes when you’re feeling especially pretty, you’ll lean heavily on an elbow and grin at him, enticing him in for a kiss.

“What’s this all about?” he asks quietly.

“I just think we’re… at the end of our relationship.”

You don’t sound truthful. He knew there was something strange in your voice over the phone.

“What’s making you feel that way?”

“Does it matter?”

Again, avoiding and evasive.

He meets your gaze unflinchingly. “I care about you. I love you,” he says. “I know I can’t be who you pictured for yourself, and if you really can’t see a future for us, then… I’ll have seen it alone. I just wish I could understand this sudden change. Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re not who I picture for myself,” you agree.

“No?” he asks.

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t see us together. We’re not the right fit.”

You twist a ring around your middle finger. He thinks he’s starting to understand. “Do you think we’re not the right fit?”

“Please don’t use your psychoanalysis on me.”

“It’s not psychoanalysis, sweetheart, it’s– I know you.” He grimaces. “I’d like to think I do. And I’m allowing myself the audacity to believe you were happy with me just a few days ago. What happened between then and now to change your mind?”

You stare at your two-toned table. Your mouth opens to talk, little but air making it out. Your shoulders begin tightening like you’ve been keyed between them, twisting and twisting.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask.

Dramatic, he’d hope you could say you don’t love him, or don’t care about him enough to let him convince you the rest of the way. “Is this really what you want?” he asks instead.

Your staring turns to squinting. With a start, he watches a small tear drip from the corner of your eye to your nostril, to your cupid's bow.

“No,” you say carefully, “it’s not what I want. I don’t like you being against me.”

“Then what’s making you feel this way?”

You cover your eyes with one hand. “I wanted to do this over the phone,” you say in a squeeze.

He reaches for you but doesn’t touch. “I couldn’t let you.”

“I just want you to be happy,” you say, so high he can barely understand you. “I’ll never be like you, Aaron. You’re so smart, and you’ve done so much. You’re a hero, and you must look so stupid with me. What do you think people say when they realise what I am?”

“It doesn’t matter to me what they say. I know you, and they don’t.”

“What about what I think?”

“What do you think?”

You wipe your face roughly, eyes lit with an anger he’s unprepared for. “I told you, don’t psychoanalyse me. I don’t want to have to explain it, I just want to say what I have to say. I don’t want to be with you because you won’t be happy, and neither will I.”

Aaron isn’t too prideful to recognise when he needs to fight for what he wants. He reaches over the table and takes your arm into his hand, picking it up, feeling down The length of it until he’s curled his hand over your smaller fingers. “We are happy,” he says softly, giving your hand a small shake. “I understand where you’re coming from. When we first met, I couldn’t have predicted that I’d be here with you now. I do wonder what people think when they ask me what you do and I tell them you’re a performer. I know we agreed to it, but there are moments where I feel like I’m being cruel to you. But just because there’s a stigma surrounding what you do, it doesn’t mean that you’re any lesser than me. You’re not less intelligent, or less accomplished. We chose different paths and I’m glad we did. If you weren’t a dancer I never would’ve met you.”

“Do you know how it feels for me to come home to you sometimes?” you ask weakly.

“I’d hope it feels as it does for me. Every time I see you, I’m relieved.”

“Aaron, I get this rush of safety, like you’re– I’m finally safe. I can take care of myself, you know that, but now I have you it’s that I don’t even want to. And that’s stupid. I know that that’s stupid.”

“What I’m thinking,” he says, soft, not as worried about being without you now as he is of the horrible way you’re feeling, “is that you’ve thought about all of this a lot. I’m glad you’ve taken time to reflect on us and your life, but I wish you’d thought more about what we both want.”

“I want you to be happy,” you argue, as you had a few moments ago.

“And I’m never happier than when we’re together.” He shrugs. “Love isn’t about work. Your job shapes you as mine shapes me, but you have to know that who you are is what’s important.”

“I don’t know who I am…”

“I know exactly who you are,” he says, rubbing a loving thumb over your knuckles.

“I’m… I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, on the phone. I knew if I talked to you like this I’d be too much of a coward to really see it through.”

“I see. You’ve planned my heartbreak weeks in advance.”

You shake your head sadly. “Aaron, we’re not good for each other. You make me this awful, weak version of me, and I’m no good.”

“We have been nothing but happy since we met.” Aaron pulls your hand up and kisses the side of your wrist. He isn’t ashamed of you. He doesn’t make you weak, you aren’t. “I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes it feels like we’re from different worlds, but it’s not that melodramatic. You’re my partner. I love you. It’s hard not to think about what others think of us, but I know exactly what I think of you, and I know what you think of me, too.”

You share a look.

“I’ve never heard you talk so much,” you say, your frown fading. “I’m sorry.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“When I thought I couldn’t get any more embarrassing,” you mumble.

“You aren’t embarrassing. Please, put the thought out of your head.”

“Thought out of my head,” you repeat, still mumbling as you flex your fingers, pushing them between his and intertwining your hands. You bring them linked to your forehead and take a heavy breath.

“Do you really want to break up?” he asks softly.

Your breath warms his arm. “No.”

“You can have the things you want, you know? I imagine that there are people who laugh when I tell them about you, but you have to know that their opinions would never matter to me.” He pulls his hand from your head to encourage you to meet his eyes. “No one else matters but me and you. We don’t have to factor in other people. We can just be together.”

“I’m not worth all the fuss,” you say under your breath.

“What, this fuss? Honey, a few weeks ago you cried in my lap because I got you that cake from the bakery. And you know what? I didn’t want you to cry, but getting to rub your back?” He chances a smile. “That made my night.”

“You like making girls cry.”

“Yes,” he says, trying not to grin like a fool as you stand from your chair and put yourself in front of him. He is no saint. He pulls you onto his thighs and wraps an arm around the small of your back, your legs either side of him. “That’s my goal in life, sweetheart.” His voice falls to a whisper as you hang your head against him, tip of your nose to a rough cheek. “Making you cry…”

Your arms creep to his neck. Resting on him, rather than hugging. He doesn’t mind, he’ll do the hard work.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“It’s okay.” He turns your face with his to press his lips to your cheek. “It’s alright, honey, bumps in the road happen with everyone.”

“All my fault.”

“Maybe next time, if you feel so strongly about something, you can just extend me that little bit of faith and… know that I’m here for you. Even if it did mean we wouldn’t be together, it doesn’t have to be that you’re alone, making such a big decision. Valiant,” he adds, enjoying the warmth of you seeping into his shirt, his face, his neck where your wrist is laid against it. “You’re not a coward. But I wish you wouldn’t be this brave about breaking my heart.”

“Stop making me feel guilty.”

His laugh is a breath against your cheek. “No, it’s fine, isn’t it? Use me and abuse me.”

“Shut up. Stop, what is this weird guilt tripping you’re doing?” You laugh at his absurdity. “I’d never abuse you.”

“I know. Just step on me a bit.”

“Stop, stop,” you mumble, your voice turning slowly from self-pitying to honey, all that love for him he knew you still had like threads of gold shooting through it, “I don’t wanna step on you, I never would…”

“Just rough me up a little.”

“Never.” You press your face to his neck. “Thank you for not letting me do it.”

“I won’t let you go so easily.” His hand trails up your back, feeling the softness of you beneath your t-shirt. Fat, muscle, all of it familiar, and treasured by his touching.

He squeezes you rather tightly, then, but you don’t complain, you just sigh.

“It’s not that you’re not who I picture for myself, like I said before,” you confess, leaning all your weight against him, barely held up by your legs either side of him. “You weren’t, but I didn’t realise that I could have you. I didn’t really know men like you existed. I should’ve known I was looking in the wrong age bracket.”

“That’s not very nice. In my line of work they call that a feedback sandwich, honey. Something cruel between nice things to distract me.”

“Sorry. Just had to get it in.”

He considers your teasing a return to normalcy, guiding your head away from his with a hand to the back of your neck. “If this was a ploy to make me leave work early, consider it successful.”

“I know your attention usually falls to other places, Mr. Hotchner–” You burst into giggles as he pinches the back of your neck, but it’s only to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your parted lips as your laughter fades away.

You scrunch his shirt in your hand and kiss him nicely.

“Sorry,” you say.

“Forgiven.” Even if he did almost go into cardiac arrest at his desk. “I like begging to stay. It builds character.”

“How long will you be like this?” you ask, shaking your head slowly, your smile poorly hidden.

You’d needed a reminder, is all. Aaron isn’t solely business and sternness, he’s an idiot, your idiot, who likes to tease you, and doesn’t care who knows that. When he’s working he’s one person, and when he’s with you, he’s another. Both have their qualities and faults, but only one version is the one he needs to be with you.

“At my age it’s perfectly normal to have a young and beautiful wife,” he says. “You’ve seen some of the other Section’s worker’s wives.”

“I’m not that young,” you say.

“So you admit it?”

You reward him with a tired sigh, cuddling into his collar.

—

…I'll never be your beast of burden. So let's go home and draw the curtains…

Aaron’s humming from the bedroom. He knows every classic rock song to exist, every word to every Beatles song. When the chorus comes, he sings under his breath, but you can hear him regardless. “Am I rough enough, am I rich enough? I’m not too blind…” he fades off.

The music hums under your feet. Record player open on the floor, his Some Girls vinyl on the plate.

You press a hand down your side.

To inspire less worry on your part, you and Aaron are trying to be more open about the other sides of your lives. His work feels alien to you, and you worry that yours is dirty to him, despite reassurance that a job is a job. You know that already, but you can’t make yourself believe that he’s as happy as he could be if you were, say, a checkout girl.

You’d make a cute checkout girl, he’d said.

This is cute, too. Babydoll lingerie with feather edgings, starkly white against your skin. You fluff out the ends and neaten the crotch of your panties. Nothing is on show that shouldn’t be, but it’s still lingerie. It’s meant to excite.

“Honey,” he says, dulcet tone carrying to the bathroom, “are you stuck again?”

You laugh. “I bet you hope so.”

“That’s accusatory in nature.”

“I’m coming.” You give it a last glance in the mirror and head into the bedroom.

Aaron’s sat against your headboard, flowery pillowcases behind his head and back. He discards the little figurine he’d been playing with out of boredom and looks you up and down, corners of his lips curling.

“Home only,” he says.

“I knew you’d say that.”

“You look stunning.” His eyes seem darker. All pupil.

“I have to wear some of these at the club, Aaron, that’s why I bought them.”

Something in your voice makes him smile. “You said I could veto the ones that are too beautiful.”

“I said too slutty.”

“Honey, they’re all revealing in their ways. And I don’t have a problem with it…” He takes a breath. “Much. But some of these are meant for…”

“The man who loves me?”

“Exactly.”

He’d said something similar about the light blue set with darker flowers, the black set that showed the curves of your chest, and especially about the pink one-piece with white ribbons. That one gave him pause.

“Spin?” he asks.

One day it might bother Aaron that you dance, but for now he’s gently approving. Just wants you to be happy. So you do a little spin without any attempt to be sexy and beam when he whistles.

“Beautiful. Really, honey, that’s the nicest so far.”

“I have a confession.”

“Yeah?”

“This one was for you.”

He’d know if you were lying. “For me?” he says, in that tone bordering stern, as much of his professionalism as you’re used to hearing these days.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t,” he says, seductions gone as he tips his head back into a pillow patterned with lavender and peony. “Unless you’re done trying those on, I don’t want to hear it.”

“This is the last one.”

“In that case.” He covers his face with a cushion.

You look down. Your stomach is a little bloated from lunch, and you have a shaving rash on your left knee, but Aaron won’t mind. He never does. Without worry, you tread to the side of the bed and climb onto it, one leg over his lap. The last time you’d been sitting in his lap, you’d been teary-eyed and regretful. Fuck, what was I thinking? you ask yourself, slipping a hand under his rising shirt to feel his abdomen. It’ll never not be weird, the FBI man and his stripper girlfriend, but it doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but him and you.

You ease the pillow down his face.

“Are you blushing, Aaron?” you ask.

“Not purposefully.”

“You look a little… hot.”

“That makes two of us.”

It starts slowly. The heat of you atop him, the pillows moved out of the way. You didn’t expect him to stay unbothered as you paraded your new spoils, but his willpower is remarkable, and he only breaks when you let yourself settle on his lap. His big hand cups your face.

“That’s funny.” You lift up enough to be in kissing range, but don’t kiss. You just wait for him to react, holding your weight off of his chest.

He finds the small of your back and drags. Your gasp isn’t your own, a breathy, excited thing as he brings your face to his for a kiss. Your lips almost immediately part in anticipation of his eagerness, of his hand on the back of your neck, and the unflinching heat of his mouth as he turns his head. Your noses brush. He wades in deeper, his own breath already failing him as the bridges of your nose press hard.

They aren’t rough kisses, but there’s something desperate there. He holds you to him until he can’t, ushering you onto your back, his weight bearing down sudden and steady.

“I can’t believe I nearly lost you,” he utters, stroking your cheek, edging back in to kiss you before you can reply.

You wrap an arm behind his back and hike your leg, soft thigh naked and waiting for his touch. You didn’t nearly lose me, you think. To be lost, you’d have to be something worth losing, and you’re not sure you are, but Aaron?

“I don’t think you could,” you mumble, forcing him to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the line of your throat. He nips at your neck, a shudder racing through you.

“I have no intent of letting it come that close again, sweetheart.”

His hand dances up your side to the soft hill of your chest.

You hold the hair from his face and let him kiss you. He’s here to stay, no matter how odd a pairing you might make. You love him. That’s all he cares about.

“Want me to do that thing you like?” you offer softly, mildly playful.

He laughs into your neck. “No,” he says, “I think tonight is about you, hm? You’re all dressed up. I think that deserves a reward.”

You knew he’d like the white babydoll.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

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beloveds-embrace · 3 days ago

Note

Hello! Thank you for feeding us the angstier timeline of the dukedom au!! I live for angst

You don’t have to entertain this thought ofc, the angst and how good you write for my brain worms worming. I just can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if König wasn’t there and instead the duchess had to suffer all on her own

(Or better yet, if he was there but ended up also leaving the duchess for someone else or was killed protecting the duchess)

Reader having to endure everything on her own which eventually leads her to falling terribly ill and in the olden times we all know how a simple cold could turn into more and yield deadly results

The stress combined with the overall lack of appetite (and the food not cooked well at times to add to that… more angst (: ) as well as other factors rendered the reader terribly ill

Maybe she fell into a body of water and had to save herself, or maybe she was caught up in a rainy storm on a walk with no one offering her warm clothing or a cover up until she eventually managed to get back that leads to pneumonia

Maybe she gets injured but hides it until the blood loss gets to her and infection sets in

Just so many options and flavours of angst

Anyway, thank you for sharing your writing with us! Agin, you don’t have to engage with this, so please don’t feel pressured!! I’m just having many thoughts and am currently going feral /pos

WAITTT WAIT I LOVE THIS

Because imagine clinging to König, to your one singular source of comfort in a manor that has no room for you, and in the end, he leaves as well.

You had been telling yourself that you had been simply more imaginative lately; König was simply busy, he wasn’t growing more and more distant! The way he looks at you now compard to before hasn’t changed. At all. His responses were in hums and nods, noncommittal but that’s okay, sometimes you did not feel like speaking- like existing- either.

Until he stands in your office, the light from the windows reflecting off his armour. You had been happy to see him, a smile on your lips to be in the company of the only one who didn’t seem to despise you.

When he tells you that he will not be doing this anymore, it feels, for a very split second, like your heart shatters into a thousand tiny pieces. You can feel the shattering of each, single piece.

Better place. He says, pity in his eyes but no regret. He pauses for a second. I wish… the best for you.

König leaves you like that; staring after his back in abject horror. Every step he takes echoes in your ears, until you are left alone in your office, hands trembling, and your ears ringing.

After that day, everything practically crumbled. You crumbled.

Without him, the weight of your isolation became unbearable. The disdain of the household grew sharper once it became known your only solace was no longer there, the whispers more cutting. Meals came cold, uneaten. Sleep eluded you, and the constant stress gnawed away at your strength.

One fateful day, you went outside in a desperate bid to escape the suffocation. The air was crisp, the sky gray with the promise of rain, and yet you still did not turn back. You wandered farther than you intended, your steps aimless even as the first drops began to fall.

The storm came quickly afterwards, drenching you to the bone. Your thin cloak offered little protection, and the chill seeped deep into your skin. By the time you returned, trembling and soaked, no one was waiting to help you. No fire had been lit in your chambers; no warm blanket was offered, and no company was given.

The fever began that very night, burning through you with a strength that left you bedridden. Days passed in a haze of pain and delirium. The wound you had hidden- an injury from your fall in the storm- festered, the infection spreading rapidly through your weakened body. You hadn’t the strength to call for help, nor the faith that anyone would come even if you did hoarse out your voice in your attempts.

Only when your condition worsened and you really, truly disappeared out of view, the household finally took notice. Whispers swirled, faint echoes beyond the fog of your fading consciousness, and everyone became alert of your absence, meals returned untouched and maids reporting it’s weeks since they’d helped you with anything.

John sat in his study, nursing a glass of whiskey as the fire crackled in the hearth. He told himself your absence didn’t matter- that you were retreating because you’d finally realized the truth. But when he closed his eyes, he saw your face as it had been on your wedding day- hopeful, trusting, and unaware of the coldness that would greet you.

Simon found himself pacing the halls around your room more often than usual. He would glance toward your chambers but never step inside, convincing himself it wasn’t his concern. And yet, something about the silence unsettled him.

Johnny had begun to notice the meals sent to your chambers were left untouched, the plates returned barely touched or sometimes not taken at all. He hadn’t cared at first, dismissing it as you sulking because no one was giving you attention. But now the thought lingered- had you even been eating at all?

Even Kyle, with his sharp tongue and sharper gaze, felt the unease creeping in. He found himself hesitating when passing your door, his usual indifference cracking as guilt gnawed at him.

In the end, it’s Kyle who couldn’t stand the silence anymore. He stepped into your room, telling himself it was simply to prove to himself that you were fine and just- sulking.

The sight stopped him cold.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn, and the air heavy with the faint, sour scent of illness. You lay motionless on the bed, your body shockingly frail, your skin damp with fever. Your hair clung to your forehead, and your breathing was shallow, each breath rattling in your chest.

You didn’t even notice him. Not even when he turned around and barked sharply for John, for a doctor now. You didn’t notice him at all. Not him, not John or Simon or Johnny when they appear while the maids run to get the doctor.

(Kyle will never tell anyone how utterly sick he felt upon seeing the dried tear-tracks on your face. The unfinished, rotten meals near the bed. The tear spots on your pillows. He will never, ever forget today. He doubts any of the others will be able to do so, either.)

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prettyboykatsuki · 2 days ago

Text

mixed messages | r. sukuna

✮ tags ; gn + afab!reader, unhealthy relationships, not cheating but reader flirts with gojo while tipsy for fun, undefined relationships, fingering / making out, jealousy, modern!sukuna, sukuna and yuuji r brothers 18+

✮ wc ; 2k

✮ a/n ; a snippet / extension of my modern sukuna post for @arguablyferal. i hope it gives a clear-ish idea of what he's like!!

some more like. relationship explanation in an authors note at the end.

✮ synopsis ; you've never been able to get a good read on him. would he really come to a party just to keep you from flirting with another guy ?

somehow you doubt it.

He's hitting on you.

Gojo is, you think. Though you can't be sure since it feels...a little conceited to believe that a guy like that suddenly developed a genuine interest in you. You can think of a couple reasons he would hit on you, all of them to do with getting on Sukuna's last nerve in their never-ending rivalry.

But it's weird because it doesn't really feel like he's just messing around. As in, it doesn't seem like it's just for that reason.

You know Gojo. Not as close as Shoko or Getou might but enough to comfortably call yourself a distant friend. A little more than acquaintance but less then close.

He's facetious—melodramatic, really—totally by design. By necessity, some of it is an act, but you're good enough at reading him to know what's playful and what's not.

That's why you think that Gojo is really hitting on you. He's using the fact Sukuna, your...whatever, isn't here attending with you. He was supposed to be here but he flaked last minuted on coming with you. You ended up taking Yuuji and his friends though, anyhow.

You're letting him do it. He's serious about hitting on you, and he probably knows you're not very serious about returning his feelings.

But you're entertaining it, despite yourself.

Everyone you know is looking the other way while it happens too. Gojo is leaned close, sitting next to you in a plastic chair, and you're just a little bit buzzed. Humid summer air warms your skin, makes you want to sink into the night.

You're not touching, but you're too close for not-quite-friends. Gojo edges on touchy. A soft nudge here and there, the kind of proximity you shouldn't have. Gojo is a breath away, sober because he doesn't like alcohol.

And he's super friendly, which is nice.

A beat of silence settles between you as the night rolls in a little heavier.

Gojo says you what you assume he's been thinking about all night, without any real introduction.

"You should break up with him," He says, just over a can of soda with a kind of sincerity that makes you restless. You feel your nerves flip.

Your mouth moves before your mind has a chance to fill in the answer. You laugh. "I know."

"You're really too good for him, tsk," Gojo laments, clicking his teeth. Playful again, using just enough drawback so that you don't suffocate in the honesty. You shouldn't entertain this but the attention is nice. "And gosh, you're so much more fun without that dark cloud hanging around you, y'know"

You giggle unconsciously at the thought of Sukuna as a dark cloud. Big and broad with a deep voice—it's an astute comparison. Shaking your head, you give him a playful glance. "Am I really more fun? I feel like I'm not as good a conversationalist as a certain someone,"

Gojo smiles at you proudly. "I'm having fun at least."

You close your eyes and take another, much longer drink. "Yeah, me too."

"If you know you can do better, why bother with him? I figure that bastard might be holding you hostage but," He's serious again, brows raised. "You've got more options, you know?"

You shrug, absently. You don't know the answer yourself. It's one thing that Sukuna never quite lets you leave but it's another thing you come back to him every time. You settle on your reply with closed eyes then laugh a little too loud. Gojo doesn't startle.

"Who knows? But you know, thank you anyway. It's good to have options. Maybe it'll knock some sense into me,"

Friendly again. He's a nice guy you think.

"If it doesn't, make sure to give me a call. I'm pretty great too, y'know."

You give him a lighthearted smile.

It's hard to hear much over the loud thump of music. You're not very in touch with your surroundings and the pleasant air around you all but swallows you.

It takes you a minute. Longer than you care to admit, to realize that someone is approaching you. Even longer to realize who.

Sukuna is looming over you and Gojo when you finally look up.

"Having fun?"

You blink, pulling away to make sure you're hearing correctly. Sinking back into your chair, your eyes flicker up to whats casting shadow overhead. His voice almost bellows, deep and coarse but not loud.

"I thought you weren't coming," Is all you can think to say. Sukuna rolls his eyes.

"Yeah. I thought so too,"

He doesn't ask you to get up as much as he tugs you towards him. He's careful not to pull too hard but you come up still on a stumble, drink still in hand, and face in his chest. Your heart thumps, embarrassed by the sudden warmth. His hand sits on your lower back and suddenly there's a conversation happening overhead.

"Quit sticking your nose where it doesn't belong," He spits. He's talking to Gojo you realize.

"Be careful there, nii-san. You're gonna make it seem like you care."

Sukuna tenses under you before he relaxes again - rolling his eyes. He's not happy about it but you can hear that he's trying not to let it show.

"Stay out of it." Sukuna demands. Gojo whistles.

"Sure, sure. You two have fun there."

Sukuna turns you around like that, your face still in his chest as he drags you away. You hear Gojo laugh faintly as you walk further away from the crowd.

You don't really get any explanation from Sukuna as he packs you and himself in the backseat of his car.

He's quiet the entire walk there, and the air is so heavy your lungs can't find a breath around it. He doesn't say anything to you even as he opens the back door. He tells you to get in but doesn't show any emotion you discern.

Instead you end up laying in the backseat with Sukuna over you - cramped as his tongue slips all the way into your mouth and his hands grab your waist. All too sudden, without any ceremony at all.

You kiss back because he's being so suffocating and it's all you can think to do to appease him. As soon as he lets you breathe, you put a hand on his chest and push him away.

You make eye contact but he still hasn't said a word. "Are you mad?"

He sneers. "You tell me,"

He ducks down again to kiss you and you let him this time, doing your best to gauge what exactly he's thinking. You know he's upset, rather - but it's weird. Something is different about it.

His mouth is hot as he hands slide underneath your shirt further- his knees keeping your legs apart as his thigh presses against your clothed sex. You shiver, moaning into his mouth and Sukuna swallows the noise. Gasping, you pull back again.

"All you do is piss me off you brat," He tugs your lip back between his incisors as he speaks, voice bordering on a snarl. "You should know better than to cozy up to that idiot."

You squirm. "I wasn't cozying—"

"You think I'm fucking stupid? Think I don't got eyes to see with?" And then, like he's predicting your next question. "Yuuji texted me."

"And you came?" You stop, keeping him from going any further. "You came 'cause Yuu-chan sent you a picture of me and Gojo-kun....?"

He ignores your question. "Take your pants off,"

You make a face at him but oblige, hands unbuttoning your jeans as Sukuna practically tugs you out of them and your panties in one go. He sits back up on his legs and maneuvers carefully to keep his hands between your thighs. His middle finger runs through your slit, palm putting pressure on your clit.

He's rushing more than normal, mouth crushing yours again in a kiss so heavy it makes you gasp. You feel like you're imagining it but each time you pull back - his teeth sink into your lips until they're throbbing from how hard he's bitten them up.

He's possessive. Always has been. He's territorial over you in one way or another over everything, but it's usually only when you threaten to leave. There's a merit to what Gojo said about keeping you held down. But even in that, there's never any emotion stronger than annoyance to follow your little tantrums. You wouldn't call what you feel now desperation by any stretch.

But it's something more then simple possession and it makes you ache.

"I wasn't gonna do anything with him." You say half-way between a breath. You see his jaw tick with irritation at the mere thought. "It was just for fun—"

He quiets you with his fingers. With his hands, rough - spitting hard on your clit from where above making it splatter against your thighs. His fingers fingers the thick layer of spit and drag them down against your throbbing clit to make it wetter. He touches you hard and fast, places kisses against your jaw and collar before sinking his teeth into the clothed shape of your tits.

His fingers find your pussy not long after. Thick, scarred, intrusive - he slips them in one at a time. As much as he knows you can take until he touches that spot inside of you that leaves your whole body tingling. Knuckle deep, he presses his palms up against your clit to make sure you have the right friction. You moan his name loud, eyes rolling up into your head,

The windows are starting to fog.

"Sukuna,"

He grabs hold of your face with free hand, bordering on a snarl. It's mean you think, but more then that there's a genuine frustration to it that makes you shiver almost shamefully.

"You're mine." He sneers. You feel your cunt twitch unhelpfully at but Sukuna doesn't budge. Doesn't even go to make fun of you He just keeps growling, leaning in to kiss you - forcing his tongue into your mouth and pulling away again. "Get close with that bastard and I'll kill him."

Your stomach flutters in arousal at the aggression in it. The unreasonable, unhelpful, trained part of your brain nearly screams. He wants you, he wants you, he wants. It makes you wanna—

"G-gonna—gonna cum, fuck, Sukuna."

He kisses you again, murmuring against your lips. "Cum,"

Your thighs clamp around Sukuna's wrists as he continues to finger you, grinding yourself the edge of his palm as you ride out your high. Your voice pitches into a high whine, spine arching. It's rushed but intense, scratching the itch but not enough to tamp down the heat completely. You squirt around his fingers in a full blown gasp and find you can barely get your head above water.

You cum hard, convulsing. He doesn't move his hand until you grab him by the wrist and shake your head. Surprisingly, he listens easily and pulls away.

You pause and stare at him after you've caught your breath.

"What's wrong with you today?"

"Stay the fuck away from that guy."

You roll your eyes. "He's right. It's starting to sound like you love me or something. I wasn't gonna sleep with him anyway so chill out."

He scoffs. "Don't even fucking dream of it. I'd kill you both."

You take a second to look at him. You can't read him to save your life. But he's looking back at you, into you maybe, in a way that makes you wonder if there's something about him you're missing. You wrap your arms around his neck just to see if he'll tell you to stop clinging.

He doesn't though.

"Did you really come all the way here 'cause of what Yuu-chan sent you?"

He glares at you. "Are you deaf? Didn't I say that?"

"But then it sounds like you were jealous."

He rolls his eyes. "You're stupid."

"....You were jealous? Really?"

"Shut up already," He says. And maybe it's the alcohol but you swear his face goes warm. "And seriously stay away from that idiot. If I see some shit like that again I'm locking you in the house and chaining you to my bed."

"Weird proposal but okay."

"Dumbass."

"You love me,"

He rolls his eyes and goes to kiss you. Doesn't deny it, you notice. You pretend not to be giddy.

"Whatever."

✮ extended authors note ; hi!! i hope sukunas personality made sense here.

my point with sukuna in modern is that i think it takes away a lot of his unsavory aspects but the deep sense of possession and ownership sort of stays. this is a modern au so he's different from canon in many ways.

he has a hard time committing but he also does not do things he doesnt want to so him spending time with you and wanting your loyalty are both genuine desires. he understands why you're entertaining gojo's flirting and rationally knows it's unfair to want loyalty from you.

but he's into you so he gets. fucking pissed anyway. skjsjd. anyways i hope u liked it and i hope it made sense!! i just wanted to add this incase!!!

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #writing tag #a.fc

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reignpage · 1 day ago

Text

Basketball Captain!Toji

Detroit Pistons: reaching for the ball

Warnings: 18+ minors and ageless blogs dni, bts of a modern au!smau (part 2 of Toji's series), can be read as a standalone but makes most sense with the context, cursing, mentions of blood and violence, general stupidity at a party, just one long foreplay really, not proofread

You really shouldn’t be here.

Not a party full stop, not trying to enact petty revenge against your shitty ex, and certainly not with Toji Fushiguro, captain of the basketball team, and resident fuckboy.

He’s taken you by surprise at every given turn. You hadn’t expected him to ask for your number from his friend, you hadn’t expected him to reach out just to complain about his placement on the List of the hottest men on campus, and especially did not expect him to let you into the gym just because it was raining, though he did shrug off your incredulous look with a nonchalantly delivered jab.

“Y’ were ruining my view with y’r ugly crying face.”

And somehow, you had let him convince you to use him to make your ex jealous, to show him what he was missing out on.

Now you, the girl who never drank, never wore short skirts, never stayed out too late, followed every rule to the letter, is now sitting firmly on Toji’s lap, slotting in perfectly like a puzzle piece, at a frat party.

It’s like you’ve somehow ended up in an alternate universe or woke up in someone else’s body. Maybe you’re in a dream. Except the searing brand of a heavy hand on your bare thigh is disproving any of those theories.

“You enjoying yourself?” His voice is low and gruff, you feel it vibrate against your body, lulling you into a sense of comfort. The rough denim of his jeans is warming your skin, his solid chest keeps you grounded, and his thick arms have you all wrapped up, balanced securely and protected from the night air.

You nod, head buried in the crook of his neck. Once in a while you inhale his musky aftershave, relishing in that freshly showered scent he always had. “My sources say Gojo throws a party at least once a week.”

“Guy likes to party,” is all he says.

There have been flashes of his white hair around the large house, disappearing among the crowds and into different rooms. He had greeted you when you first walked into the garden to make your way to Toji with a beer in hand like your partner in crime had instructed you.

Gojo was nice, very friendly, a little loud, but you knew that already. As the writer for the gossip column, you know every thing there was to know about everyone worth knowing. Which is ironic since you’re nobody and you knew none of these people personally. But the frat president knew you. He had greeted you like you were long time friends and pulled you into a tight hug.

“Hey, look who it is! My favourite person in the world.” He slung an arm over your shoulders and cheered with everyone else, seemingly oblivious to the heat rising on your face. “Thanks again for putting me top of the List. Nice to know people have taste.”

And then Toji was grumbling and wrestling you out of the rowdy guy’s grip to a quieter part of the house. He told you to explore the place, get familiar, freshen up your makeup ‘or whatever else chicks need’, and to text him if you find your ex first.

Now, here you are, making yourself comfortable on his thighs, goosebumps rising along your skin at the feel of his long fingers creeping up your leg and just teasing the hem of your ridiculously short skirt.

Some people would come over, once in a while, to talk to Toji. They’d say hi to you but they were mostly interested in knowing how the captain feels about the upcoming games. A few girls would stumble over, giggling and twirling their hair but they leave pretty quickly once they see Toji’s eyes fixated on you.

You have got to give him credit; he’s totally committed to the bit.

Perhaps a little too committed with how he’d frequently whisper right in your ear, warm breath trickling your neck.

“You look damn good tonight, ma.”

The way he says it, the low groan that he teases you with, makes you press your thighs together. It’s a completely inappropriate reaction; you really should not be feeling tingly from his flirtations. He doesn’t mean them. Toji is just playing the part, trying to goad your ex into a fight so he can ‘ruin the vibe’ at Gojo’s party.

Because, for whatever reason, Toji had beef with the man that seemed completely one-sided, if the hug the frat president tried to throw to the basketball captain was anything to go by.

You stutter out a ‘thanks’ and ignore the heat rising to your cheeks.

Toji huffs a laugh, tightening his hold on you before he leans back in the patio chair, taking you with him so you’re resting on him. Your skirt’s definitely ridden up your ass by now, but his large hand wraps around the flesh there like second nature.

Despite the chill in the garden, you’re content in his arms. The man runs hot.

It’s easy to get lost in his body; the man is built like a Greek god, all muscle and strength, carved straight from marble. And it’s precisely because he’s so firm and hard beneath you, that you forget your ex is just a couple metres away, leaning against a brick wall with a red cup in hand, glaring at you two.

“Dunno why Gojo let that guy into the frat when he’s so fucking ugly,” Toji grumbles.

You laugh.

Once upon a time, you thought you were lucky to be with him. That he was the catch and you were punching up; he certainly made you feel that way. Always reminding you that he could have any girl on campus, that the barista at your local coffee shop had given him her number with a smiley face, and that as a member of one of the most influential fraternities in the country, he could have any job he wanted.

But as you throw a glance at him, you realise all of that was false bravado. A Napoleon Complex, most likely.

And not once, since Toji picked you up, have you felt less than. He compliments you so frequently, so spontaneously, and so earnestly you can’t help but believe him.

“Why do you hate Gojo, by the way?”

The captain glances down at you, a slow smirk emerging on his face and you gulp at the sight of that scar stretching. You want to know more about it, simply because you’re a journalist, it’s in your nature to be inquisitive, and definitely not because you want to trace the skin there whilst feeling his voice rumble through his body and into yours.

With a shrug, he lifts his beer to his lips, and admits, “Don’t really hate the guy. Just wanna knock him down a peg or two.”

“I stalked Gojo for about two weeks just for a statement one time, y’know.” You stare at the people hooting and hollering over a table of beer pong, watching their jumping bodies, so light, so free like there isn’t a whole world of problems beyond the frat house’s territory. “When I finally cornered him after his lecture, he laughed and said I didn’t have to do all of that. I could have just texted him.”

Toji huffs an amused laugh. “That’s what’s annoying ‘bout the guy. He’s nice. Real fucking nice. But — and this is off the record, doll — guy’s got problems. And yet he’s always smiling. Just pisses me off, sometimes.”

And to that you just nod. You get it. There are some people out there who just seem to have it all, and you resent them for it, but they never hold it against you, and you resent them even more.

“How did you become friends with him anyways?”

“Just kinda happened.”

If you have to hazard a guess, you’d probably say it happened through the fact that they all run in the same circle. Big personalities like him and Gojo and Sukuna, are hard to miss. They’re the kind of people want to be around. Everyone knows Sukuna and Toji have been roommates since first year, allocated on a random basis at first, and they hit it off instantly, opting to room together since then.

With a sweep of the backyard, you enquire, “Where is Sukuna?”

“Somewhere, I’m sure. Guy doesn’t really like parties, actually.”

You gasp. “But my sources say he attends most of them.”

Toji places the bottle in your lap and you cradle it like it’s a treasure. He runs a hand through his hair and leans his head back with his eyes closed like he’s soaking up the moon’s rays. Earlier, you had told him you felt bad you were holding him back from enjoying his night, but he just patted your ass and said ‘it’s good to slow down, sometimes.’

“He does, but I think guy just likes to know all the drama. Likes to cause them too, the prick.”

You poke his chest. “Sounds like someone I know.”

He peeks at you with one eye, small grin on his lips.

“We’re a match made in heaven, doll.”

The conversation fades and you just rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady thumping of his heart and desperately trying to ignore the shiver that threatens to wrack up your spine with the graze of his thumb against that sliver of skin between your skirt and top.

Toji’s holding you like he’s been holding you since the dawn of time. There’s no awkwardness, no uncomfortable shuffles to accommodate your weight, and he doesn’t even look the least bit bothered that sometimes people will point and whisper at the star basketball player and some nobody cuddling up in the corner on a swinging bench.

You sense movement in the corner of your eye and spot a girl cozying up to your ex. He looks at you with a smug face.

“How did you know my ex would care?”

You stifle a gasp from the sudden clench of his hand over your waist. It was forceful but gentle, invoking flashing images of him towering over you, wrangling you into position. He could easily bend you over and take what he wanted. Toji is big and muscular, yes, but he’s also an athlete. There’s no doubt in your mind that he has the stamina and endurance to go all night and not break a sweat.

Shaking your head slightly, you bring the beer to your lips absentmindedly, taking a swig that leaves you blanching. How anyone could drink this, you’d never know.

“No guy wouldn’t care that his ex moved on pretty quickly. Plus, insecure little shits like him need to think that they got the better end of the deal. He needs to know you’re all sad and stupid over him so he feels important.”

Wise words.

It surprises you slightly.

Of course, most students at Eden are smart — being one of the top universities in the world means having high standards. But no one would ever go to a frat-party attending jock for advice, much less dating advice, and expect insightful revelations. You feel guilty for underestimating Toji. He’s actually pretty smart.

“Look, he’s got a girl on his arm and yet he keeps looking at you.”

It’s true.

You can feel his leery gaze sweeping up and down your body, and it makes you want to throw up. So you shuffle closer to Toji, impossibly closer, and he lets you.

“You look hot, doll. Just gotta own it, yeah?” His breath fans over you and it sets your skin ablaze. One hand rubs at your thigh, relishing in the soft, smooth skin and the other is gripping your hip. And beneath you, there’s something you’ve been giving your best shot constantly to pretend isn’t there.

Toji Fushiguro is hard.

And big, by the feel of it.

You already knew that, of course. You get lots of anonymous tips through your ‘Insider’s Line’, as you like to call it, voicing in exhilarated pants about recent escapades. It’s a hotline anyone could call. You’re the only person who has access to the voicemails that get left behind. And it’s never usually a tedious process to sift through the prank calls and the boring confessions to get to the juicy details about the ongoings on campus.

Many of those voicemails are to do with Toji. Whether that was about how he ‘so hot’ they could just ‘die or, like, combust’ or variations of ‘oh my god, that dick is fire, for real.’

You are not a prude.

You have too much exposure to much more graphic descriptions of people’s adventures to be shy about sex, not to mention, you’re an adult. A virgin, but still an adult with friends who are not shy about their sex lives, to put it mildly. In fact, you’ve got a certain art student friend who loves to rant all the ways she’d like a certain vandal to ‘paint’ her with his ‘artistic essence.’

Whatever that means.

And yet, despite all your pieces on the wildest, most inappropriate topics like ‘the hottest sex position right now’ and ‘is six inches really enough?’, you find yourself blushing at the realisation that the captain of the basketball team is sporting a boner that he doesn’t care to hide.

You clear your throat and with a whisper, you say, “I hope I’m not making you…uncomfortable.”

You wince at the awkward wording. What are you? A child?

Toji grunts.

“You referring to my boner, ma?” When you nod embarrassed, he taps your thigh with two fingers. “It’s your fault so you gonna lend a hand or what?”

If he was anyone else, literally anyone else, you’d be outraged. No man should talk to a lady like that and insinuate that they have a responsibility over someone else’s bodily reactions. It’s backwards and uncouth!

But…

Toji Fushiguro is not anyone else.

You know he’s joking; he doesn’t seem to have any qualms in making stupid jokes with you because he knows you write filthier things. He’s tested your boundary many times in the past couple days and you’ve grown accustomed to his humour.

And even if he isn’t joking, you have no problems with taking the opportunity.

You shouldn’t.

You just got broken up with the other day and it’s unwise to get personally involved with a person you write so frequently about. Bias must not be tolerated is your mantra.

Yet, your thighs are pressed tightly together, your nipples are poking through your top and you know he can see them, and if you were to slide a hand between your legs, you’d likely find wetness that is unbecoming of a lady.

Wait.

Among hundreds of voicemails, didn’t you receive one about how a guys likes girls sitting on his lap so he could feel their pussy?

Can Toji feel your pussy clenching, moistening and fluttering on his thigh?

You tilt your head up with a panic and you’re aghast. He’s already looking down at you with a challenging raise of his brow and a smirk playing on his lip. He knows what you’re thinking and he sees the question in your eyes.

Toji flexes his thigh in an answer, pressing it harder against you, and the friction is delectable. It leaves you reeling, hand clutching his chest for stability. His arms tighten around you, and he’s sitting up, no longer lazily lounging, but now drawing closer, muscles tense despite his calm expression. Green eyes flicker up and down your face, settling on your lips with a hunger you surely match. You’re entranced. He smells clean and fresh with a hint of something burnt, a maturity you want to explore. His scent is filling your head, washing away the smell of cheap liquor and weed.

Then, a foghorn like whoop pierces the mist.

Some guy had climbed the balcony and is threatening to jump into the empty pool. Everyone crowds around, laughing and cheering.

The moment is lost between you and your new friend, but he doesn’t let you up. In fact, he isn’t even looking at the idiot — not like you are, thinking about piece you could write about party culture — but rather at his stupid roommate, who stands on the other balcony, leaning against the railing as he looks on at everyone in disgust.

Perhaps it’s the sheer fact that they’ve been friends for a while, and so he knows Sukuna’s inclination for inciting violence and general nonsensical behaviour for his own sick satisfaction, that makes Toji so damn sure this is his doing. Or maybe it’s the fact that he knows his roommate has developed a fascination with pushing a certain someone’s buttons.

And when his phone pings and he receives a text from his pink-haired teammate, he knows it’s both.

If the fucker stains Gojo’s pool with his blood, you think he’ll complain to the Prez?

Toji doesn’t bother answering, he just pockets his phone again with a tsk. He’s totally gonna hide the guy’s car keys in retaliation later for ruining his moment. He was so close to getting a taste of a certain gossip columnist and the opportunity was gone and excusing herself to go inside for a blanket.

When she disappears from sight, weaving through the crowd still egging the loser on, the captain groans into the sky, squeezing his throbbing cock to adjust it. It’s gonna be a long night, he thinks, but then smiles to himself when he notices your dumbass ex still glaring with as much hate as the little guy can muster, and he knows he saw the whole thing.

Now, all he can think about is you returning as quickly as possible so he can pick up where he left off. He’s gonna push all three of you as far as possible tonight: the ex will know he’ll never be man enough for a woman like you and that’s why he couldn’t get you wet; you’ll learn to let go, trust the pleasure and embrace it; and Toji?

Well, Toji’s gonna learn that the quietest girls are usually the ones with the most to say.

#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #toji x reader #toji fluff #jjk fic #jjk smut #toji smut #jjk fanfic #jjk drabble #Toji fic #Gojo #Sukuna

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ham1lton · 8 hours ago

Text

X MARKS THE SPOT!

pairings: retired f1 drivers x retired f1 legend!yn.

faceclaim: jessica alba.

summary: being the first-ever female f1 world champion was hard enough. writing a tell-all about it, including all the details of your beef with that former driver? let’s just say the track wasn’t the only place things got heated.

warnings: mentions of misogyny. like a lot. so if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read!! your comfort comes first <3

author’s note: ignore timeline issues!! this was all inspired by that one anon who said something about yn writing a tell-all. this was written in like three hours. if you liked this, maybe send me an ask? :D

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by vogue, jimmyfallon and 2,837,018 others

yourinstagram: it was so fun talking to jimmyfallon about writing my memoir ‘lucky girl syndrome’! i talked about getting the call that i was being signed, getting name dropped in a kdot song (thank you for making me cool to my nephews!) and the legacy i want to leave behind. check it out!!!

view all 298,727 comments

user1: MOTHERRR

user2: omg i’ve already pre-ordered my copy!!

-> user3: i’ve reserved it at my local library 🫡

user4: i hope she spills all the tea. i wanna know exactly who the misogynist motherfuckers are.

user5: she’s the goat female driver idc!! first female championship winner!!

-> user9: during her time in mclaren, jenson was carrying her. but yeah let’s talk about that one rigged championship 😂

user6: she still looks so hot. my first celeb crush.

-> user7: i had pictures of her all over my wall. i think my mom still has them up 😓

user8: worst driver of all time. only there because she looked good in the race suit.

-> user11: if she wasn’t hot, no one would care about her driving.

user10: this was always going to happen when you allowed women into f1. ruined the sport. she was nothing but a distraction on the grid.

-> user12: she was incredible. she clawed her way to a championship when everyone doubted her. she proved that women can do anything. the only distraction are people like you.

user13: please please please tell me she says that her and jenson were a thing. i always used to ship them so bad. the photoshoot for british vogue was imprinted on my thirteen year old brain.

-> user14: ANOTHER JENSONYN SHIPPER!!! baitclaren was my fav mclaren era. y’all can have your twinkclaren!!

-> user15: remember when jenson shut down a misogynistic reporter who tried to imply that yn wasn’t a good driver?? that was his girl frfr!!

user16: i’m so proud of u yn. you’ve been through so much and i’m excited to support you.

*liked by yourinstagram.*

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

“SHE’S NOT THAT FAST — SHE JUST GETS LUCKY SOMETIMES. THAT’S ALL IT IS. RIGHT CAR — RIGHT TIME. LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.” — a senior mclaren engineer.

dedicated to everyone who ever rooted for me. thank you.

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

EXCERPT FROM LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.

by yn yln.

when i signed with mclaren in 2013, i thought i was living my dream.

i was the only female driver on the grid, paired with jenson button—a world champion, a household name, and, to some, a certified heartthrob. they already loved calling him “promiscuous” in the press, and suddenly there i was: the pretty young woman who happened to drive fast. to them, we weren’t drivers—we were a brand. two good-looking people in shiny cars. and that label stuck.

from the start, i wasn’t taken seriously. i’d show up to meetings and realize they’d given me the wrong time—jenson would already be there, halfway through strategising with the team. he always looked uncomfortable when i walked in late, knowing i wasn’t told the same things he was.

“you’re here now,” he’d say, smiling politely, trying to ease the tension. i liked him. he wasn’t the problem. he was respectful, and if anyone made an offhand comment about me, he’d interject with a joke to cut through the awkwardness. but even his kindness couldn’t fix what was fundamentally wrong.

my first podium was a moment i’d worked my entire life for. it was a race where i drove faster than jenson, faster than most of the grid. but the photo they posted of me on the team’s social media wasn’t of me crossing the finish line, or holding my trophy.

it was me in the garage, leaning over the car, my race suit unzipped halfway down. the caption didn’t even mention the podium. it was just… my body. i couldn’t stomach looking through the comments.

i’ll never forget calling my dad that night. he was furious. he asked me why i didn’t make a fuss. why i didn’t storm into the team’s office and demand better treatment. but what he didn’t understand was that it wasn’t that simple. you’re the only woman in a room full of men, and they’re already waiting for you to slip up. waiting for you to show too much emotion, to prove them right when they think women are too “dramatic” to handle the job.

so i kept my head down. i smiled at the cameras, laughed at the jokes, and drove my ass off every weekend. and every time i was faster than jenson, every time i outqualified him or finished ahead, they’d say, “she got lucky.” when he beat me, they’d say, “see? this is why she doesn’t belong here.” it was a game i couldn’t win.

being the first woman on the grid wasn’t just about being fast. it was about being everything they didn’t expect me to be: calm, collected, agreeable. i couldn’t afford to push back because i knew they’d use it against me. so i swallowed it all, every little slight, every dismissive comment, every missed opportunity. i thought if i just kept my head down and drove, eventually, i’d earn their respect.

but now, looking back, i realize… they were never going to respect me. not really. not as a driver. they respected what i did for their brand, for their image. they respected how well i played the part. but as a person, as an athlete? i was just another pretty face to them. nothing more. and that’s what hurt the most.

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

r/books

Discussion Thread:

“Lucky Girl Syndrome” by YN YLN: Thoughts, Reactions, and the Drama It’s Stirred Up.

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u/checkeredpast: just finished lucky girl syndrome, and WOW. she did not hold back. calling out mclaren for the way they treated her, the “wrong meeting times” sabotage, and the completely inappropriate podium photo… i can’t believe this stuff actually happened.

u/fastlaneandfurious: the part where she talks about the team using her as a “walking brand strategy” instead of a driver broke my heart. like, they wanted her to be the face of the team but refused to actually treat her like a serious athlete.

u/f1fanfiction: let’s talk about the fact that she outsold literally every sports memoir in history. 2 million copies sold in the first week. yn doesn’t just break records on the track, apparently.

u/nosteeringallowed: her calling out the media for labeling her as “lucky” after she beat half the grid is ICONIC. “they didn’t call my male teammates lucky��they called them skilled.” like, yes queen, drag them.

u/ynsthegoat: what got me was the chapter about the infamous team dinner where they wouldn’t even let her speak during strategy talk. then she went out and out-qualified jenson the next day.

u/overqualifiedandundervalued: “they said i was lucky, but luck doesn’t drive faster laps or win races. luck didn’t make me the first woman to win a championship—it was skill, it was hard work, and it was me.” CHILLS. absolute chills.

u/gridgossip: is no one going to talk about the tea she spilled on that one driver? the “polite but condescending” comments she got from him while he constantly undermined her. we KNOW it’s about seb.

u/wheresthefinishline: @ u/gridgossip no no no, it’s def about fernando. she’s been shady about him for years, and the way she described the “overly competitive teammate who couldn’t handle being outpaced by a woman” fits him perfectly.

u/holygrailpodium: the inappropriate photo after her first podium makes me so mad every time. she’s standing there in tears, holding the trophy, and they choose to post a picture of her leaning over the car with her suit half-open?? disgusting.

u/gaslitandgridlocked: her dad being her biggest defender was such a beautiful part of the book, though. “why do you stay quiet when you’re the fastest in the room?” hit me right in the heart.

u/podiumqueen: not me crying over how she kept driving through all of this, knowing they didn’t want her there. like, the strength it must’ve taken to win races when her own team wasn’t even rooting for her.

u/championshipenergy: the way she calls out how different her career would’ve been if she were a man was SO POWERFUL. “they didn’t need me to be fast, they needed me to be pretty. they got both, and they still weren’t satisfied.”

u/mimosasontherace: i can’t stop thinking about the last chapter where she talks about winning her first championship and how no one in her team even hugged her when the cameras switched off. like, they couldn’t even fake happiness for her.

u/driversanddivas: this book isn’t just a memoir; it’s a reckoning. yn exposed everyone who doubted her and proved that no matter what they threw at her, she came out on top. lucky girl syndrome my ass—she EARNED that title.

u/lightsoutandread: imagine being on the grid right now, knowing you were one of the people she called out. the absolute awkwardness.

u/trophiesandtrauma: if you’re on the fence about reading this, DO IT. it’s not just about racing—it’s about breaking barriers, sexism, and resilience. honestly, it deserves all the success it’s getting.

u/checkeredpast: she’s already announced a limited series deal with a streaming platform. you KNOW it’s going to be messy when they dramatize the “wrong meeting times” scene.

u/bookishracer: “lucky girl syndrome” is officially my book of the year. yn didn’t just tell her story; she made sure no one could ever erase it again.

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liked by f1stan, ynstan and 1,837,928 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: f1 legend and now best selling author, yn yln, took to harper’s bazaar to discuss writing and her career. however, her memoir went viral for more than its record breaking sales. yln mentioned that there was a certain driver that would be her biggest fan in public and then undermine her in public. it has been dubbed ‘x marks the spot’, with the hashtag gaining major traction on social media. what do you think ham1ltons? and who do you think the supposed driver could be?

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‘there was one driver who always seemed to go out of his way to remind me i didn’t belong. he wasn’t on my team, but his presence always lingered—sharp, dismissive, condescending. let’s call him x. in interviews, he’d say all the right things, calling me a “trailblazer” and claiming he respected what i brought to the sport. but in the paddock, it was another story. during press conferences, he’d interrupt me, throwing in some smug joke that made everyone laugh but left me feeling small. once, during a rain delay, he walked past my garage and casually remarked to my engineer, loud enough for me to hear, “well, at least she’ll look good sliding off the track.” and when i won my first race, beating him in the process, he didn’t say a word. no handshake, no congratulations—just a quick glance and he was gone. i’ll never know why he went out of his way to belittle me, but in the end, i didn’t care. that win wasn’t for him. it was for me.’

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view all 23,727 comments

user1: it’s definitely fernando. they’ve never liked each other, and he’s always been salty when anyone’s faster than him.

-> user2: nah, it can’t be fernando. he’s competitive, but he’s never outright disrespectful. i’m thinking nico.

-> user1: girl that’s the point 😭 x was never openly disrespectful.

user3: okay but what about lewis? we KNOW their relationship wasn’t always great. remember how tense they were in interviews back then?

-> user4: no way it’s lewis. he’s literally said she’s one of the most talented drivers he’s raced against.

-> user5: lewis can say nice things now, but what if he wasn’t like that back then? she didn’t say the guy stayed disrespectful. she also said x was nice in public, who knew what he was saying in private.

user6: everyone’s ignoring seb, but she’s shaded him before. what if it’s him?

-> user7: yn has ALWAYS defended seb. if anything, he was one of the few drivers who actually supported her. it’s not him.

user8: it has to be fernando. the whole paragraph is giving fernando energy, and you know it.

-> user9: nah, i still think it’s nico. remember when he threw shade at her in a press conference after she outqualified him?

user10: you’re all wrong. it’s michael. she’s talked about how intimidating he was to race against, and she never got along with him.

-> user11: yn literally called michael one of her idols. she’d never write about him like that.

user12: y’all are missing the obvious answer—kimi. he’s the only one who would say something that blunt and not care about the fallout.

-> user13: kimi didn’t even talk to her half the time lol. i can’t see him caring enough to belittle her.

user14: okay, what if it’s no one we’re expecting? maybe it’s some random mid-grid guy like grosjean or massa.

-> user15: yn wouldn’t waste a whole chapter on someone irrelevant. it has to be one of the big names. my money’s on fernando or nico.

-> user1: fernando for sure. yn’s always been lowkey bitter about him, and this just proves it.

-> user2: it’s not fernando!! why can’t you just accept that some drivers are cocky without it being him??

-> user3: okay but if it’s not fernando, who else would it be?? the smug comments SCREAM his vibe.

user5: we’re all arguing, but yn’s probably laughing at us right now. she KNEW we’d be doing this.

user16: yn ‘attention whore’ yln.

user17: at least we know it wasn’t my king jb 😻

user18: idk who tf yn is but this tea is so juicy 😭

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

[setting: thanksgiving dinner, complete chaos. plates of food are half-eaten, wine glasses are full, and cousin jess is recording everything on tiktok. the family is deep into an argument about “x marks the spot,” using jess’s infamous powerpoint as reference.]

uncle bob: jess, i still don’t get why you made a whole powerpoint about this.

cousin jess: because the people need to know, uncle bob. yn’s memoir is the drama of the decade, and you’re welcome for organizing all the evidence.

aunt carol: honestly, it’s that fernando. slide four proves it. all the press conferences where he interrupted her? it’s right there.

aunt fiona: fernando wasn’t that bad. he even congratulated her in, like, 2017. i think it’s nico. slide eight, jess literally wrote “petty king energy” under his name.

uncle hamish: it’s not nico. you’re all overthinking this. i say it’s jenson. didn’t he once call her “intense” in an interview?

cousin matt: jenson literally defended her against the media every other week, hamish. you clearly didn’t listen to slide six.

grandpa: i still don’t understand why this yn person didn’t just punch the guy.

grandma: because she has class, unlike this family. pass the stuffing.

aunt bobbi: wait, what about lewis? slide ten said they were “friendly but complicated.” maybe he was fake-nice to her.

uncle craig: fake-nice? lewis was the only one who liked her, bobbi. slide nine has like five examples of him hyping her up in interviews.

cousin jess: uncle craig, you’re wrong. he was supportive, but there’s that one time he ignored her after she beat him in qualifying. it’s suspicious.

aunt carol: you think it’s suspicious? no way. lewis isn’t smug enough to be x.

uncle hamish: oh please, you’re all just picking names because they sound dramatic. if anything, it was sebastian.

aunt fiona: seb? absolutely not. slide seven shows he called her “one of the best drivers on the grid” multiple times.

uncle bob: that’s suspicious. who compliments people that much unless they’re guilty?

grandma: compliments aren’t guilt, bob. stop eating the cranberry sauce straight from the bowl and get a grip.

aunt carol: you’re all wrong. slide four, people! fernando cutting her off mid-sentence! the man’s guilty as sin.

grandpa: why does anyone care about this? it’s all rich people in fancy cars. sounds like nonsense.

cousin matt: rich people drama is the best kind of drama, grandpa.

aunt bobbi: jess, why is kimi’s slide just a picture of him smoking with “#needthat” written under it?

cousin jess: because kimi’s innocent. everyone knows he doesn’t care about anything but being my dream man.

uncle craig: so why isn’t yn on the slide about drivers who were universally liked?

cousin jess: because she wasn’t universally liked, uncle craig. she was fast, hot, and female in a male-dominated sport. they were all salty.

uncle bob: well, now they’re all posting about how much they respect her.

grandma: of course they are. it’s called covering their asses.

uncle hamish: if i were yn, i’d name names. all this mystery is just fueling conspiracy theories.

grandpa: or she could just leave it alone so we don’t have to argue about it at thanksgiving. what the hell even is f1? is that nascar?

uncle craig: formula 1, dad. jesus, keep up.

grandma (snapping): if someone doesn’t pass me the cranberry sauce right now, i’m gonna be the next x.

[jess pans the camera to her grandma glaring at the table, muttering under her breath as the family keeps arguing.]

cousin jess (whispering into her phone): y’all, my family is losing it over x marks the spot. happy thanksgiving.

──��─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by landopriv, ynupdates and 4,738,918 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: an update on the ‘x marks the spot’ speculation. it started over who exactly is x, from f1 legend yn yln’s memoir and it is causing a stir! with former/current drivers taking to social media and journalists to prove their innocence. kimi räikkönen, when asked, said ‘yn deserved every win she got. people talked too much, but she let her driving do all the talking. always respected that about her.’

mick schumacher released a statement via instagram, with a montage of photos of him and his dad with the first female championship winner: ‘my dad always believed yn was one of the most talented drivers he’d ever seen. he admired her strength, her skill, and her ability to prove everyone wrong, time and time again. he spoke so highly of her and what she brought to the sport, and i know he’d be so proud to see her telling her story.’ when sebastian vettel made a rare appearance to the grid, he confirmed that he had bought a copy and thought that he was proud to watch yn ‘make history’.

now the sudden flurry of support is making fans of the sport wonder just who is genuine and who is covering his ass? what do you think ham1ltons?

view all 2,983 comments

user1: the way literally everyone is tripping over themselves to prove it’s not them is SO funny. one of you is lying, and we will figure it out.

-> user20: exactly!! the fact that EVERYONE is suddenly posting/talking feels so suspicious lmao. someone’s definitely guilty, and they’re trying to throw us off the scent.

user2: kimi’s response is so him. short, straight, and unbothered. it’s definitely not him.

-> user22: we’re all analysing this, but kimi’s out here just vibing like always. love that man.

user3: mick’s statement is beautiful and wholesome as always, but also low-key throwing shade at the others?? like, ‘my dad always supported her’ is giving ‘can’t say the same for you lot.’

-> user21: honestly, mick’s post is the only one that feels 100% genuine. his dad was always so supportive of yn.

user4: seb really said ‘i bought the book’ and dipped. man didn’t even deny anything outright. sus??

-> user5: nah, seb’s always been a yn fanboy. remember when he called her ‘the most talented driver on the grid’? it’s not him.

user6: the lewis and nico posts are giving major ‘damage control’ energy. both of them trying WAY too hard to sound supportive.

-> user7: facts. lewis called her a ‘champion’ like we wouldn’t notice how cold things were between them back in the day.

-> user17: tbh, i don’t think it’s lewis. yn has said before that he was always encouraging her, and they’ve stayed friendly.

user8: fernando’s post feels so rehearsed. like, when has he ever gushed over yn like that before??

user9: low-key think it’s nico. man was so salty about literally everything back then, and the ‘petty king’ vibes match the memoir perfectly.

-> user10: yesss, especially the part where she said he didn’t congratulate her after her first win. sounds EXACTLY like something nico would do.

user11: not enough people are talking about jenson. just because he was her teammate doesn’t mean he’s innocent. the whole ‘answer my texts’ thing was cute, but he’s a smooth talker.

-> user12: nah, yn always spoke highly of jenson. he had her back when mclaren was treating her like a sex toy. i’m ruling him out.

user13: so we’re all just ignoring that fernando spent YEARS shading her in press conferences? india ‘13 is permanently engraved in my brain.

-> user18: can’t lie, if it’s fernando, i’ll be disappointed but not surprised. his 2013 energy was… a lot.

user14: honestly, they’re all acting sketchy. the sudden love bomb of support is too much. one of you is x and we will find out.

user15: plot twist: what if x isn’t even one of the obvious names? imagine it’s someone random like felipe massa lmao.

-> user16: watch it not even be one of the main suspects and we’ve been dragging the wrong guy this whole time 💀

user18: it’s giving ‘we need to get ahead of the narrative’ vibes, and i’m here for the chaos.

-> user19: everyone’s pr team is in OVERDRIVE rn lmfaoooo

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @aliciaablueprint @theblueblub @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @yongi-lee @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

531 notes · View notes

tokkiwrites · 2 days ago

Text

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After breaking up with your boyfriend of four years, you’re left heartbroken and desperate to leave it all behind. But as fate would have it, just as you’re about to walk out the door of his house, you run into his fatherㅡ the man who’s always lingered at the edges of your mind. the next sensible thing to do is fuck him.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: pwp, bf's dad joel miller x f! reader, short description of toxic rs, fight scene, afab reader, i dont know if this is categorized as cheating :p , age gap, fingering f receiving, joel has a huge one but we alr know!, dirty talk, pet names, p in v unprotected, creampie, slight slapping and hairpulling.

✿ 🪽 𓈒 ﹫𝐭𝐨𝐤𝐤𝐢𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 ..＼ ♰ i have been neglecting you cute freaks, but i am here to feed you. behold! boyfriend's dad joel miller smut! around 2.6k words, so it's pretty short, but i hope you love it. not proofread!!!!! okay baiiii 😎🫶🏻

The fight tears through the house like a hurricane, each word leaving wounds too deep. "You never listen to me!" you yell, your voice raw and trembling. Your chest aches, your throat burns, but the word vomit won’t stop pouring out. "Four years, and it’s like I’m shouting into a void! Do you even care about us?"

"Do you even fucking hear yourself?" he fires back, pacing the room like he can’t bear to stand still. "God, all you do is pick fights! You always need something to be wrong. What the actual fuck?"

"Because something is wrong!" Your voice cracks, and the tears come faster now, hot and humiliating. You hate how small you feel, how desperately you want him to care. "I’ve been fighting for this, for you, and all you do is act like it’s a burden!" He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Maybe it is. Maybe you are." The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your breath catches, and for a moment, the room feels impossibly still. You don’t want to cry anymore, but the tears fall anyway, blurring your vision as you step back. "Fine," you whisper, your voice trembling. "If that’s how you feel, then we’re done. I’m done." He freezes, his expression shifting to something almost regretful— but not enough to stop him. "Fuck this." He grabs his keys from the counter and storms out without another word. The door slams behind him, the sound echoing in the quiet house.

For a moment, you just stand there, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you try to hold in the sobs threatening to break free. The silence feels suffocating, pressing in on you from every angle. You can’t stay here. You need to leave.

You grab your bag and wipe your face as best you can, hands still shaking. You tell yourself you’re fine, that the fresh air will help. But as you turn the corner into the foyer, you collide with something solid— someone solid. "Whoa there," a low voice drawls, steadying you with hands firm and sure. Your heart stutters as you look up and see Joel, your now ex-boyfriend's father.

Your breath catches in your throat. His hand is on your arm, warm and grounding, as his dark eyes search your face. His presence is like a balm, so different from the storm you just walked out of. He’s all quiet strength and rugged edges, his salt-and-pepper beard only making him look more like someone carved out of the earth itself. "Hey, sweet girl," he says, his tone warm and laced with that familiar twang. "What’s got you all worked up? You alright?" The sound of his voice is enough to break you all over again. You shake your head, the tears spilling over despite your best efforts to hold them back. You try to answer, but your words falter. All you can do is nod, though you know you’re far from alright. Not when his thumb is brushing lightly over your flesh, not when his scent— warm, woodsy, familiar— makes your knees fall weak. You can’t look at him, can’t look at the steadiness in his eyes or the way his hands ground you when you feel like you’re falling apart.

"Hey now," he says softly, pulling you into a hug before you can protest. His arms wrap around you, strong and safe, and for the first time all night, you don’t feel like you’re about to shatter. "C’mere, sweet thing. You gotta talk to me, mkay? What happened?" You press your face into his chest, breathing in hus smell that makes you feel like you’re home, even though you know you shouldn’t.

It’s absurd, really. You’ve always known he was handsome, but standing this close, it hits you differently. You’ve always noticed him in ways you shouldn’t, caught yourself glancing too long, wondering too much. And now, with tears still wet on your cheeks and your heart in pieces, he feels like the only steady thing left in the world.

"It’s over," you mumble against his shirt, your voice muffled but thick with emotion. "I broke it off with him. For r-real this time..." Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands settling on your shoulders as his brow furrows. "You and him?" he asks gently, but you could tell he wasn't quite sure in your answer. "You sure ‘bout that?"

"Y-yeah..." You nod, your throat tight. "So you don’t have to... act nice anymore. You don’t have to pretend like you like m-me or care or whatever. It’s done now..." His expression shifts, confusion flickering across his face before something warmer takes its place. His lips part slightly as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.

"Sweetheart," he says, his voice dipping lower, softer, like a secret meant just for you. "What the hell gave you the idea I don’t like you?" You blink up at him, stunned. "I just—"

"Little lady," he interrupts, leaning closer, his voice growing rougher, "it’s damn near impossible not to like you." Your breath catches as his thumb brushes over your cheek, his stare unflinching, as he examines your tear-stained face. There’s something in his eyes you’ve never noticed before—something unguarded, like he’s been holding it back for years. "Sweet thing like you," he murmurs, his lips quirking into the smallest of smiles. "Anyone with half a brain’d like you. But me? Hell, darlin’. I’ve liked you since the day I met you."

You step back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze fully, searching his face for any hint of pity, of kindness given out of obligation. "You don’t need to lie to me," you say, voice trembling. It feels like your heart is spilling out of you, breaking open right here in front of him. "Not just to make me feel better..."

Joel’s brow furrows, his dark eyes softening, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. A thread holds stretched taut between you. He doesn’t drop his hands from your shoulders, doesn’t let you pull away any further. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, studying you like you’re the most important thing in the world right now, like he’s trying to figure out how to put the pieces of you back together.

"What reason would I have to lie to ya now that you ain't with my sorry ass boy?" His voice is low, almost a whisper, but it carries a shiver down your whole body. You swallow hard, shaking your head. "I don’t know. I just—" You stumble over your own tongue.

Joel exhales slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line as his eyes bore into yours. simmering, waiting to swallow you whole. "Darlin’," he murmurs, "Let me show you then." Before you can even think, he leans in.

The world falls away the moment his lips meet yours. It’s soft at first, hesitant, like he’s giving you a chance to stop him if this isn’t what you want. But when you don’t pull away and when you melt into him instead, your fingers clutching at his shirt, he deepens the kiss, large hands sliding from your shoulders to your waist, pulling you closer.

His lips are warm and sure, washing away any heartbreak you might've felt.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests gently against yours, his breaths mingling with your own. "Am I lyin'?" Your chest tightens, the tears welling up again, but this time they’re different. They’re not the tears of heartbreak—you’re not even sure what they are, only that they feel a little like hope.

"Mister Miller," you breathe, his name dancing on your puffy lips. He smiles, soft and a little sad, brushing a thumb along your cheek. "I got you, sweet girl. You just let me." and you crumble completely. with no hesitation, he picks you up, taking you to the nearest bedroom, where he closes the door behind.

it felt wrong. it was wrong. but the way he looked looming over, you got your head spinning in all the right ways. the bed pooled under you, sheets rustling as you watched joel discard part of his clothes. you nip at your lower lip, scooting your body upward to remove the pants you had on. in mere seconds, both of you are naked, gasping, and holding onto each other like nothing else mattered.

You finally get to see joel fully naked and you can't quite understand how a man his age looks the way he does, and how he's still single, given the package he's been blessed with. "you can stop starin' now. you wanna get me shy?" joel teases, his shaft now on full view for you to gawk at. you're taken by surprise when he so easily pulls you down towards him.

he trailed kisses down your chest like flowers fall from cherry trees in the spring, your body reacting in ways you didn’t know were possible. "Please hurry..." and he chuckles, maybe proud maybe amused to see you this desperate. "'m sorry, darlin'" You purr under his touch, wrapping around him like he's a lifeline. his lips crash against yours again, rough palm slipping into your wet panties. you gasp, the feeling so strange yet so familiar. he lets go of your lips, thick fingers working their way inside of you. Joels eyes meet yours, and he curls his digits, speed picking up. the sounds youㅡ your pussy made, were pure music to him, constant encouragement to go harder, faster, loving the way you looked crumbling onto his fingers. "got such a pretty pussy. Sure you ok with an old man ruin it for anyone else?" he asked it as if it was the least absurd thing he could say right now. you nod your head profusely. "atta girl. knew you were the obedient kind first time I saw ya."

"You gonna come?" Almost mocking you, but you could bot form the proper words. You just looked deep into his glinting eyes as your hand made its way to his hardened crotch. "P-pleasee..." Joel almost loses himself, but he's steady with his movements. "Wanna come on my cock, hm? is that what you beggin' for?" your folds drip and clench around him deliciously, you don't want it to end. and when you're almost there... he stops. you whine in protest but you're quickly put back in your place with a firm tug at your hair. "You take what I give you, girl. Now ass up." you comply. in a second, your back is facing him, red cheeks now hidden into his pillow. you try to balance yourself up with one arm, but he grabs you by the wrist.

"Spread 'em." And you do just that, pulling at your flesh. like an auction. only it's you presenting your cunt for fucking. "Fuck, look at that..." he tuts, gathering some of your juices on his pulsing tip, dragging it up and down your puffy lips. "Pretty girl. She cryin' for me, baby?" a string of fain 'yesyesyes' reaches his ear. hes quiet for a bit but the moment he pushes the tip inside you feel your knees buckle, all the strength you had left into your arms fluttering away. you fall face first into the mattres under you as joel pushes down your lower back. it hurts, but the pain is delicious. your moans feel the room, the occasional slap to your ass interrupting them. Joel is strong, fast and brutal, leaving you no room to breathe, fucking so deep into you you're sure he's way past your bellybutton. "T-takin' it so well, pretty girl, so well.." your skin burns where joel touched it, whole head fuzzy and empty. "pleasepleaseplease" as the whole bed shakes and strums to his movements.

your back arches as waves of pleasure break over your body like water on a shore. your head was spinning, heart pounding, as his whole weight dominated over you. "That's it, baby, take it." his thrusts are rough, each hit making your body bounce, the urgency as he hit that very spot each timeㅡ your whole insides burning, too cock drunk to talk or respond, other than some pathetic whines that perfectly accompanied the wet sounds your pussy made. "been dreamin' about havin' you like this, baby. look at herㅡ" joel throws his head back, delivering a harsh thrust, the pain quickly melding into pleasure. "gonna come, hm?" he's stern and rough with his request. "hhhaㅡ y-yes, plea-se..." You don't know if you're crying because it feels too good or because of how long you've waited for this, no matter how unforgiving this could be.

eyes shot open when he roughly yanks your hair, your skin slapping on his being to only sound you can faintly make out in your dazed state. you let your whole body go, tongue lulled out as he takes out on you anything he might've been feeling. you were at his mercy, your moans irrefutable. your stomach flips and churns as that familiar feeling pools again in your lower tummy, and you were chasing it, crying. from what, you didn't quite know. maybe because you've never been fucked this good or maybe because it'll be over too soon.

the room was stuffy. "o-oh myㅡ god!" You yelp when joels speed picks up, shocked that he can go that fast, considering you've heard him multiple times complaining about his bad back. "shitㅡ i gotta come, baby. you gonna let me do it in ya? huh?" You nod your head so, squeezing around him like a ring, and he rewards you with a slap to your ass. "fuckin' slut." he laughs through breathy moans. you're holding on for dear life, reaching for anything your fingers can grasp at this moment. you're sure the neighbors are having a blast seeing the whole house shake. "that's it, girl. take itㅡ c'mon..." with a few more pumps his hips come to a halt, whole body trembling as he comes ropes inside of you. you let go, bliss washing over you, the ringing in your ears covering the soft curses escaping Joel's lips. steadying himself, he pulls out, voice cracking as he speaks again. "fuuck... baby, look at her." he smiles crooked, watching intently as his come drips out of you, cascading down to your thighs. you lick your lips, looking back and right up at him whilst spreading your legs wider.

"Don't do that. think I don't have it in me to fuck you again?"

you tease, "i don't know. do you?" and he laughs, pushing inside of you again, watching as your face contorts in pleasure. "Careful, girl."

you wonder when your boyfriendㅡ i mean exㅡ will come back home.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfic #joel miller fic #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #boyfriends dad ! joel miller

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leahwllmsn · 17 hours ago

Text

wait for me to come home

alexia putellas x reader

word count: 14.1k

You and Alexia have been best friends your whole lives. You’re adamant that moving away from Barcelona won’t change a thing between you. Alexia fears otherwise.

or classic best friends to lovers :)

“Can’t believe you’re really leaving.” It was midnight. You were sitting on your usual spot at the beach with Alexia, your head on her shoulder, both of you staring out at the sea. Despite the tightness in her chest, Alexia felt at ease with you next to her.

“I can’t believe it either,” you replied, your voice barely a whisper.

Alexia took a deep breath. You were only going away for a year, you said. It did nothing to calm the nerves she felt all over. One year, but that would be the longest you've been away from each other. Alexia still didn’t know how to feel, she didn’t know what to feel. She figured it still hadn’t sunk in, that you were leaving. Leaving her.

In the morning when Alexia would drop you off at the airport and you’d wave goodbye, that was probably when she’d feel everything. That was probably when the feeling of emptiness would set.

“I’ll call you everyday,” you said, hugging Alexia’s left arm tightly. “It will be like I’m still in Barcelona with you.”

Alexia chuckled, “You don’t have to call me everyday, cariño.”

You turned your head towards your best friend. “Are you saying you don’t want me to call everyday?”

“Don’t twist my words!” Alexia laughed. “It’s just that I don’t want you to feel pressured to have to call me everyday. You’re a busy woman. I’m the one who waits for you whenever you have night shifts and I watch enough of your Meredith Grey shows to know how busy things at the hospital can be.”

You snickered at her mention of Grey’s Anatomy. Alexia would always complain about how unrealistic the show was whenever you put it on, yet she still stayed by your side and watched the damn thing. You placed your head back on her shoulder and sighed. “I don’t care if I’m busy, I’ll always make time for you.”

Alexia gulped. It was the way you said it, your voice small, yet your tone firm, as if a world where you didn’t have time for her was just impossible. “I love you, you know.”

Alexia furrowed her brows when you didn’t answer straight away like you always did. She was about to open her mouth to say something, when you pulled away and stood up, stretching your hand out for her to take.

“Do you want to head back?” Alexia asked.

“No,” you cleared your throat. “Let’s just walk around. The sand is making me itchy.”

“It’s because you’re wearing shorts,” Alexia took your hand and stood up. “I told you you can sit on my lap, you didn’t listen.”

You dusted off the sand from the back of your legs. “Didn’t want to.”

“Why? It’s comfy.”

“How would you know? You’ve never sat on your own lap before,” you said, your tone teasing.

“Idiota.”

You kept walking along the beach, swinging your arms back and forth. It was quiet, but nice. Just the two of you, enjoying each other’s presence. Alexia felt her heart twinge when she realized that she didn’t know when she’d have another moment like this with you.

“Y/n,” Alexia spoke up after a few moments.

You hummed in reply.

This felt really nice, the way your hands were intertwined… Your shoulders bumping every now and then… Everything felt so right. Alexia took a deep breath and tried her best to not let herself get too emotional. She didn’t want to cry just yet, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop if she did.

“Ale, what were you going to say?”

“I’m in love with you.”

Alexia immediately shook her head, reminding herself not to let those words slip. She looked down and focused on the way her feet were kicking the sand with every step she took forward. “Nothing.”

You brought Alexia’s hand up to your lips and kissed the back of it. It was something you always did, but it still made Alexia’s heart drop every time.

Maybe it was because the gesture had always made Alexia fall for you even more, or maybe it was because Alexia knew the platonic way it meant to you when Alexia wanted more than that.

“I know you, Ale,” you stopped walking and turned towards her. “You’re thinking about something.”

“Hm? What makes you think so?”

You poked Alexia’s forehead softly. “You have that crinkle between your brows. And you’ve been biting your lip for the past few minutes.”

Alexia hated the fact that you knew her so well, because it meant that she could never hide anything from you. The only thing Alexia successfully kept hidden were her feelings for you. Apart from that, you knew her better than anyone, and she was the same to you.

Having known each other for more than two decades was a factor, but Alexia felt like it was simply because you were soulmates.

Alexia realized that no matter how hard she tried to move on from you, you would always be the one for her. Even though you didn’t feel the same way, she knew it would never change how she felt about you. She made her peace with it.

“It’s nothing,” Alexia said once more. “I swear.” You seemed to take the hint and didn’t pry further.

You tugged her hand and continued on walking, Alexia turning her head to the side every now and then, observing you. It was dark, the street lights were dim, and the moonlight wasn’t too bright, yet Alexia can still mention every little detail of your face—she had memorized them all after years of looking at you—from your warm eyes, to the delicate bridge of your nose, and the curve of your small lips. You were so beautiful that Alexia always felt breathless every time she looked at you, despite having known you since you were kids.

In that moment, with you humming along to a random song, your right hand interlocked with Alexia’s left one, there was nothing Alexia wanted more than to just confess her feelings for you. But she knew that you didn’t feel the same way, so telling you would just be pointless.

You turned your head to look at Alexia, catching her staring at you with that look on her face, the one look that you never could quite comprehend. When your lips formed a soft smile, Alexia couldn’t help but instantly reciprocate. Your smile was beautiful.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked, your tone bashful.

“I’m in love with you.”

“I’m so, so in love with you.”

“I’m so in love with you that my heart hurts every time you smile.”

Alexia shrugged. “Just thinking about how I will miss you a lot.”

“Ah,” you nodded. “So that was what you were thinking about earlier?”

“No. I was thinking about how I’m so hopelessly in love with you.”

“You got me,” Alexia replied instead.

You sighed, squeezing her hand. “I’ll miss you too. At least you have a million pictures of me in your phone that you can look at if you’re missing me.”

Alexia laughed at that. “You better have a million pictures of me too.”

“Of course, I do,” you snickered. “Even you in diapers, I have them all.”

“No, you don’t!”

“I do! Eli sent them to me.” You had asked Eli for pictures of baby Alexia and she didn’t disappoint. They were adorable, especially the one where Alexia was learning how to crawl, wearing nothing but her diapers.

“You better not show it to anyone.”

“I’ll post it on Instagram before I leave.”

Alexia rolled her eyes, “You’re such a brat sometimes.”

“I’m such a brat?” you let go of Alexia’s hand to pull out your phone from your pocket. You stopped walking so Alexia stopped too, arms crossed, waiting for whatever it was you were doing.

After a few seconds of you scrolling silently through your phone, you flashed your screen to Alexia, showing the picture you mentioned before. “Want to say that again, Putellas?”

“You’re so annoying,” Alexia groaned. “I swear to god if you post that—”

“Watch me.” Your face was smug.

“Y/n,” Alexia said slowly, her tone full of warning.

You grinned, tapping something on the screen before you started running. The sound of your laughter getting smaller and smaller as you ran further away.

“That little—” Alexia cursed under her breath before she started running after you. “Tonta! Come back!”

“No!” Your figure was getting tinier and tinier that Alexia couldn’t help but laugh along.

Eventually, Alexia was able to catch up with you once you stopped running. Your hands were on your hips, trying to catch your breath.

“Why are you making me exercise at one in the morning?” Alexia asked, exhaling loudly.

You shrugged in reply, still out of breath. Alexia had always been the more athletic one out of the two of you. “Just wanted to run.”

“I’m so tired,” Alexia groaned. “Training was tough today.”

You rolled your eyes. You knew she was just being dramatic. “That was nothing. You need to exercise more, Ale.”

“The nerve!” Alexia barked out a laugh. “Who’s the athlete here?”

“Not you if that run tires you out.”

Alexia smiled fondly at you. You get on her nerves a lot. She wouldn’t have it any other way. “Now what did you do? Did you post that on Instagram? Because I’ll kill you, idiota.”

“Oh no, I’m sooo scared,” you mockingly said, a pout on your lips. “Oh nooo.”

Alexia narrowed her eyes at you before she stepped forward and tickled your stomach.

“What are you—Alexia! Ale-Alexia stop it! Stop it right now!”

“Not until you delete that picture!” Alexia kept on tickling you. “Delete it!”

You were both laughing and Alexia didn’t show any signs of stopping until you tripped. You would’ve fallen to the ground if it weren’t for Alexia’s quick reflexes, her arms immediately encircling around your waist.

You were staring at each other, your breath heavy from all the laughter that had long died out. Alexia felt dizzy. Your lips were so close to hers, Alexia could just lean forward and all her questions about how your lips taste would be answered. Alexia saw you blinking back a couple of times, she even swore she saw your eyes dart to her lips.

The street lights were illuminating your features perfectly and Alexia could see your lips twitching slightly—as if you wanted to close the distance between you too.

Suddenly your phone rang, breaking you two apart. You cleared your throat and answered your phone.

Alexia let out the deep breath she was holding, rubbing the back of her neck. She had a feeling that she would kiss you if the phone rang a second too late, which would be a disaster. She was thankful to whoever called, because she would never forgive herself if she ruined your friendship just because of her stupid feelings.

“Sorry,” you said. “That was Leila, just asking what time I’d be at the airport tomorrow.”

“Right.” There it was again, the unsettling feeling in her stomach every time Leila was mentioned. Alexia swallowed hard, trying her best not to show her jealousy. She was the one who introduced you to Leila when you joined a night out with the Barcelona girls. Alexia didn’t know that you two would hit it off. She didn’t know that Leila would move to Manchester and shockingly, you got offered a job at one of the best hospitals in Manchester.

It felt like the universe was playing some cruel joke.

Alexia had to keep reminding herself that you weren’t hers, that you had every right to be with whoever you wanted. Alexia had no right to be jealous.

“That’s very cool, by the way,” Alexia said, putting her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “How you two are somehow going to the same country, same city.”

“Yeah, Codi said it was fate or something.”

Fate? Me tripping over your leg at the playground when we were five was fate. Me immediately crying and you wiping my tears away until my mom came was fate. That was meant to happen because it made my mom invite you and your mom over for dinner, and it made us become best friends ever since. That was fate. Leila going to the same city as you was merely a coincidence.

“Sure,” Alexia said, swallowing the bitterness in her mouth. “If that’s what you think.”

You sighed. “I don’t know. Ask me again in a year or so and I’ll tell you if Leila and I are fated or not.”

Alexia didn’t answer, instead she just kept on staring at you, taking in the sight of you standing in front of her for the last time.

In the morning, you were leaving. You’d have a new life in Manchester, one that Alexia wouldn’t be a big part of, seeing how she was all the way in Barcelona.

Alexia tried to bury deep, deep inside the pain that kept on reappearing every now and then, but it was getting increasingly difficult with the way you looked back at her—your eyes full of tenderness, as if you felt the same way Alexia did, as if it killed you to not be able to say exactly what you wanted to say.

But Alexia shrugged it off. There was no time to think about these made-up scenarios in her head. You were leaving soon.

Alexia stepped forward and hugged you as tight as she could, wanting to remember the way you felt in her embrace.

—

You kept your promise and called Alexia everyday. It lasted for two months before things became more hectic for the two of you and the daily calls stopped. In your defense, you really did try your best, but some days you had late night shifts and when you didn’t, you had date nights with Leila.

“Cariño! I haven’t heard your voice in two days! That is crazy. I was wondering if you were still alive.”

“Ha ha. So funny, Alexia.”

“Such a busy woman.”

Alexia was thriving even more if that was even possible, scoring more goals and assists, earning her more media duties and appearances. She was busy too.

You would catch her on your television sometimes, an interview or replays of her games. You were used to it, you knew Alexia before and after her rise to fame. But without the back and forth texts, without the calls and hearing her voice, without having her next to you, Alexia had never felt so out of reach.

“Hey, is it a bad time?”

“Hola, princessa. ‘m about to sleep. So tired. Call me tomorrow?”

“Okay, Ale. Sweet dreams.”

“Love you.”

Weeks with limited communication turned into months and the next thing you knew, you went from knowing everything about Alexia’s life, to finding out she had a girlfriend from your girlfriend.

Apparently Olga was a mutual friend. Leila had only good things to say about her.

You called Alexia that night, asking her about it. She didn’t have much to say, a tell-tale sign that she was uncomfortable, but why she was uncomfortable you couldn’t decipher it.

“Is she good to you at least?”

“Yeah.”

“Does she make you happy?”

“Sí.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

For the first time since you’ve known her, you felt like a stranger in Alexia’s life. You couldn’t tell exactly when things changed. It must’ve been the depleting texts sent each day, the less and less phone calls until it went down to none at all for a week or two, and when you two did have time for a call, it felt… awkward.

The first argument started when Alexia casually joked about how you were so busy and you didn’t have time for her anymore, how you have a more exciting life now in Manchester. She was laughing but you just got off a twelve hour shift at work and you were exhausted.

“Like you’re not the same?” you fired back, feeling a headache coming through.

Instead of changing the subject like you hoped she would, Alexia rebutted your claim. “I do have time for you.”

You let out a laugh. “Between football and your new girlfriend? You don’t, Ale. Don’t act otherwise.”

“Wow. Okay.”

You seemed to instantly snap out of it at the tone of her voice. Alexia sounded hurt and for a second, you felt guilty for starting a fight. But what she said hurt you too, because even though she said it in a joking way, you knew she meant it.

“Sorry,” you sighed. “Can we talk tomorrow? I’m not in the mood.”

“Right, yeah. Bye.”

The arguments seemed to snowball after that first one. Your calls were still rare, but when you or Alexia forced yourselves to call the other, it didn’t end well.

That should be the first warning sign for you—how you felt forced to call her when you used to want to hear her voice all the time.

“How was your day?”

“It was fine.”

“Can you at least act like you’re excited to talk to me?”

“If we’re just going to fight, Ale, you shouldn’t have called.”

“Whatever. Good night.”

The next thing you knew, there wasn’t a call that went by without some small, unimportant argument.

It got worse when you told her you weren’t staying for only one year as originally planned. You liked it here in Manchester. You had a good job and you were surrounded by wonderful people.

Alexia ignored you for the whole day only to call you early in the morning, her voice raspier than usual. You knew that meant she spent the night crying.

“You don’t know when you’ll be back?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back in Barcelona, no.”

“How am I supposed to go for… what? Another year without you? Two years? More?”

“You’ve been doing just fine so far. I don’t see the problem, Ale.”

“I miss you every night that you're not here. I don’t think that's doing ‘fine’.”

“Oh c’mon. We haven't been the same.”

“Just because we haven’t been talking as much doesn’t mean that I love you less, but whatever.”

It got even worse when you were supposed to fly back to Spain for Alexia’s birthday, but you had to cancel at the last minute because you were stuck with an emergency case at the hospital.

In hindsight, it was a stupid reason, something you could totally resolve by having one of your co-workers take over for you. But your mind went into overdrive, you somehow convinced yourself that you couldn’t leave the country.

Maybe it was out of fear of seeing Alexia again, not wanting to see how the distance had changed your dynamics.

Alexia’s reaction when you told her you weren’t going to be there hurt more than you could admit.

“You’d never miss my birthday and I’d never miss yours. That was a promise.”

“We were seven, Alexia.”

Alexia didn’t say anything else and you didn’t need to see her face to know how dejected she was. You ignored the pain in your chest, convincing yourself that you were doing the right thing. You didn’t need to fly for more than two hours for someone’s birthday.

The old you would’ve screamed at you if she knew what you were doing. Alexia wasn’t just someone. She was… she was your everything and more.

When midnight rolled around and you would usually be next to Alexia, wishing her a happy birthday with a present in hand, and instead you were all the way in Manchester, you felt that maybe you were dumb to let the arguments get in your head.

You took a deep breath and texted her a happy birthday. You weren’t sure if she would pick up if you called.

Alexia didn’t reply to your text until noon that day, saying how she was off to celebrate with her family as usual and she’d call you after dinner. She didn’t mention Olga, but you knew she was there from Alba.

You sat in your apartment alone in the dark, Leila was out with her friends. It was only then that it dawned on you how lonely you were. You couldn’t imagine how Alexia was feeling—that was, if she still cared about you.

You had been there for Alexia’s birthday ever since she turned six years old. You didn’t think that you’d ever miss one, ever. But here you were.

It was weird to see Olga in place of you, seated between Eli and Alba as she grinned at Alexia blowing the candles out.

That used to be you.

Instead, you were in a different country, wishing you were at a place where someone else had claimed your spot.

When it was way after dinner time and you still hadn’t heard from Alexia even though she said she’d call, you decided to send her a text. Something short and straight to the point: can I call you?

Alexia didn’t reply and you fell asleep with a feeling so hollow in your chest, you wondered if love was supposed to hurt this bad.

stop making promises you can’t keep, alexia

The loud ringing of your phone woke you up. You didn’t think that you’d see an incoming call from Alexia this early.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hello to you too, Ale.” Your tone was curt. In your defense, you had just woken up.

“You’re picking a fight,” Alexia stated. “I don’t know why, but it’s not nice.”

“Picking a fight?” You scoffed in disbelief. “Is this about my text? I was simply telling you to stop making promises, because you can’t keep them. You told me you’d call me, you didn’t.”

You said it so accusatory that Alexia felt a sudden rush of anger. “You’re being ridiculous. I fell asleep. I’m calling you now, aren’t I?”

“I’m being ridiculous? Is it not me who had to wait for hours for your call?”

Alexia let out a bitter laugh. “Saying all that like I don’t usually have to wait hours and hours for you too?”

“Well, you’re the one with the empty promises. You promised me that things won’t be different between us, well. Look at us now.”

“That’s not entirely my fault and you know it. If we’re playing that game, you said you’d call me everyday, you said you’d always have time for me. Look at us now, cariño!”

Alexia never raised her voice at you. That was how you knew things were truly different now. “I was busy. Some days I have twelve hour shifts, Alexia,” you replied simply, not wanting to raise your voice too.

“Busy,” Alexia scoffed at you. “But you still have time to watch Leila’s games every week.”

You immediately felt defensive at the mention of your girlfriend’s name. “Why are you dragging Leila into this?”

Alexia was about to give you a piece of her mind, about how having a quick call with her wasn’t as time consuming as watching a 90-minute football game, but you still had more to say.

“Leila has nothing to do with us turning into… into this mess!” So much for not wanting to raise your voice at her. “Besides, you have Olga too. You spent all your time with her and forgot the plans we made first.” You fired back at her, a part of you hated that Olga took your place, that Olga was able to be in Barcelona next to Alexia, doing all the things you used to do.

People would think you were jealous, but you weren’t. You just didn’t like her. You didn’t like that she was taking up too much of Alexia’s time. That wasn’t jealousy.

“What plans? If I forgot something, then tell me. I’m not a fucking mind reader, Y/n.”

“What was I supposed to do? Ask you to pick between Olga and I? Why would I do that when I know you’ll pick her!”

(You might sound a little crazy. But you wouldn't admit that to anyone. In your defense, it was hard being demoted to second choice.)

“What’s your problem with Olga?” Alexia accused you, she knew you all too well.

“I have no problem with her. What's your problem with Leila?”

“Don’t change the subject. I was once your best friend, I know you more than anyone, and I know how you usually are when you don’t like someone.”

The use of past tense shouldn’t hurt as much as it did. You knew things had changed between you. “Glad to know you don’t think we’re best friends anymore.”

Alexia let out an exhale. “You haven’t been acting like you’re my best friend for sometime. Don’t act all innocent.”

“Even though we haven’t been talking much, you’re still my person. But since I don’t seem to matter to you anymore, I’ll just…” you trailed off, suddenly feeling stupid for all of this.

Alexia could feel that familiar tug in her heart, the feeling of wanting to make everything in the world right for you.

But for once, she casted it aside. The anger she had at you overpowering everything. “I don’t think I matter to you anymore either, so I guess we’re even.”

There was a pause before you utter your next words. “You matter the most to me.”

Alexia could only scoff. “Sure, you have done such a great job of showing that I matter to you—you couldn’t even spare five minutes of your precious 24 hours to talk to me!”

Deep down, you knew that. You knew that you were guilt-tripping Alexia when you had your faults too.

None of you said anything else. For once, in the two decades that you’ve known each other, you both didn’t know what to say—had nothing else to say.

When all Alexia could come up with was “I don’t know who you are anymore. You’re really hurting me this time,” you knew you had to put an end to all of this.

“I think we should just… take a break from all of this.”

Alexia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. You didn’t think you had it in you to say those words either. Even though the conversations between you two had diminished, saying that you wanted to stop talking to each other felt so… final.

“What?”

“I’m tired, Ale.”

“You don’t think I’m tired too?” you could hear the urgency in her voice. “What does that even mean? ‘Take a break from all this’? You want a break from me, you mean? What ever happened to ‘you’re my person, Alexia?’” Alexia mimicked your voice. She was getting angrier by the second, you could tell.

“You told me I’m hurting you! I’m tired of hurting you. I didn’t even realize it, Ale. I never wanted that. All we’ve been doing is fighting each other. I don’t know how to stop this. I don’t see a solution to this, I really don’t.”

Neither of you knew where it went wrong. One day you two were fine—you two loved each other more than anything in this world—the next thing you knew, you couldn’t hold up a conversation where it didn’t end with exasperated voices and tired sighs.

It was the distance, you assumed.

You and Alexia were attached at the hip. The only time you two went separate ways was when she had away games and international duties.

It was a two and a half hour flight between Barcelona and Manchester, but neither of you had made the trip to see one another. Alexia seemed even more far away as the days went by.

She had Olga to turn to now, you could feel her not needing you anymore.

It was the distance that took Alexia away from you, you would convince yourself that. It wasn’t the nameless feeling in your chest that felt a lot like yearning, jealousy, and regret all at once.

You ended the call, not knowing whether you’d ever talk to Alexia again.

—

Losing someone that had always been a constant in your life was devastating.

It was miserable. You were the most miserable you had ever been.

Leila kept on asking you what was wrong, your friends in Barcelona updating her that Alexia was in the same state as you. Not that you cared.

You didn’t know how to live without Alexia in your life, but you’d manage. You’d learn. This wasn’t the end of the world.

You steered clear of your social media, not wanting to see any posts of her from your mutual friends or from the Barcelona account.

Leila and a couple of your friends eventually stopped asking you about what went wrong with Alexia, to which you were glad, but the emptiness you felt when no one brought Alexia up to you was starting to make you uneasy.

Alexia used to be in all your conversations, she was a huge part of your life. Now it felt like she was never a part of it.

A few months passed by, your birthday rolled around and you assumed—you wished—that Alexia would break this silence between you two. It was your birthday after all.

But you should’ve known how stubborn she was.

When you stayed up until the clock strikes midnight and there was no text from Alexia, when she used to pride herself on being the first person to wish you a happy birthday, you knew you had lost her for good.

You spent your birthday with pain in your chest like no other. You just wanted Alexia back.

Your friends in Manchester knew something was up with you, Leila figured that it was mostly because of Alexia. None of them could understand why it was upsetting you so much.

That night, you sat on your balcony and looked through the folder of pictures on your phone that contained decades worth of memories of Alexia. With each scroll, you could feel more tears running down your cheeks.

There was a photo of you when you were ten, Alexia next to you laughing at how ugly your haircut was.

Another photo was of you at prom, Alexia as your plus one. Despite the countless promposals you received, you’d rather have Alexia as your date than the stinky boys at your school.

When Alexia got called up for the national team for the first time, you were there with Eli to watch her score her first international goal. The photo you had was of her carrying you on her back. It was after the game ended and Alexia had too much energy that she had to carry you around the field.

The next photo was of Alexia sleeping at the library, you were studying for your exams when you were in University and Alexia had the day off. To her, nothing was better than spending it with you, even if it meant that she had to sit there and watch you study boring stuff. Alexia always had faith that you were going to be the best doctor in Barcelona.

You had a photo of when you flew across continents to watch her win the World Cup, grinning next to Alexia as she kissed your cheek, trophy in hand.

A photo of when she tore her ACL and you were there at her bedside as she was preparing to go into surgery. Alexia didn’t let go of your hand until she was in front of the operating room.

A photo of you and Alexia in a locker room, both in Barcelona jerseys. It was the day before your exam, but it was also the Champions League final. You brought your textbook and Alba kept on laughing when you studied during half-time.

Most photos were of Alexia doing mundane things. They meant the most to you because of how carefree she looked in all of them.

Alexia making stupid faces at you as you grocery shopped together.

Alexia laughing next to you in the driver seat as she drove you to work.

Alexia cooking dinner for the two of you, her eyebrows scrunching in concentration as she read the ingredients from her new cookbook.

Alexia sipping coffee in your favourite coffee shop in Barcelona. They served the best banana bread, you never wanted to share them with anyone, not even Alexia.

Alexia watching replays of her games on her iPad. She was laying down on your couch, your throw blanket draped over her feet.

Alexia smiling at you with that look.

As you reached the last picture you had on the album, a photo of Alexia taken by you the morning you left for Manchester—she was on the driver seat, a wistful smile on her face as she turned to look at you during a red light—you suddenly felt as if you couldn’t breathe.

You were in love with Alexia.

You were so desperately in love with Alexia, you had always been, ever since you let her become your first kiss.

You didn’t like any of Alexia’s relationships, because you were jealous. You thought none of her girlfriends could treat her well, no one lived up to your expectations. You felt like you were the only one who could understand her.

You hugged the blanket around yourself tighter, the gust of wind making your teeth chatter. You wanted Alexia there next to you, she would know that you were never a fan of the cold, always making sure that you were bundled up and warm.

You had a million thoughts running through your mind, mostly about how you missed all the signs of being in love with your best friend. Although deep down, you’ve always known that what you felt for Alexia was too intense to be strictly platonic.

But when someone kissed you, having it meant the world to you, only for her to wish it never happened, you felt like it was justifiable that you decided to lock your feelings away.

Now that you’ve uncovered them, you didn’t know how to go on and pretend that you were fine with having Alexia out of your life.

—

Barcelona was playing against Manchester City at the Etihad. This wasn’t something you could get out of, you needed to be there to support Leila.

You had some friends traveling to Manchester to watch the match, you decided to sit with them instead of your usual spot at the Friends and Family section. You wanted—no, you needed someone to distract you from the person you hadn’t seen in almost two years.

You ignored your friends’ teasing at your Man City jersey instead of the Blaugrana colour (with Alexia’s name and number) you usually wore. They didn’t mention Alexia to you, having figured out the fallout, but a part of you wanted them to. You wanted them to tell you about Alexia and how she’d been doing.

Your resolve almost crumbled, Alexia’s name on the tip of your tongue. If it wasn’t for the players entering the field and the loud cheers from the audience, you would’ve asked them about Alexia.

Alexia, who was no longer blonde apparently. You saw her run to the field, her brown hair in a neat ponytail. Even from afar you could still see her smile. You hated that you still felt like jumping off a cliff at the sight.

You hated that your gaze was always drawn to her instead of your girlfriend.

Later when the game ended and Barcelona eventually won, you went to meet Leila at the barrier, whispering how great she played despite it all.

You almost accepted her invite to a night out with some of the Barcelona girls. The temptation to see Alexia again was so strong, but you didn’t think you were ready yet.

You saw her anyway, in your dreams that night. Maybe it was that deep yearning that caused you to text her as soon as you woke up.

good game yesterday. always proud of you

—

Your reconciliation didn’t happen all at once.

You didn’t magically go back to being the same as you were before (there was some apprehension from both parties), but it was close enough.

It was scarily easy to integrate Alexia back into your life even though you hadn’t talked to each other for so long.

First it was the likes on Instagram posts, or a reply to your Instagram story of gloomy Manchester sky, or a comment on Alexia’s post of her match day outfit.

Then the texts started. A simple text from Alexia telling you that she was through to the finals of the Euros. Or a text from you containing a picture of your cat, Mr. Oreo. They were evenly spaced out throughout your week, it wasn’t too often that it felt like you two were rushing back into being friends, but it wasn’t too scarce to leave you wanting more.

It was just perfect.

The striking difference now was that you were letting yourself fall for her. Every joke she made, every selfie she sent you, you took your time to admire her and let yourself fall even more.

Now that you were very much aware of your feelings, it didn’t feel right to continue what you had with Leila.

You loved her, but you must not have loved her enough because you were still able to think of another woman.

You ended it with Leila on a Tuesday. She didn't have a game until Sunday and you figured that was enough time for her to not be distracted. Surprisingly, Leila took it well, as if she knew this was coming all along.

And it felt like the universe was laughing at you, because after you broke up with Leila, you received a text from Alexia.

I’m getting married

You felt your heart drop. You had to put your phone back in your pocket because your hands were trembling badly.

You were suddenly desperate to do something, anything, before it was too late.

Even though a part of you felt like it was already too late.

—

Alexia arrived at the airport three hours early. She spent those three hours walking from one end to the other, flowers in hand. Her hands shaking and her mind racing with the thoughts of finally seeing you again.

She passed by the exact spot you said your goodbyes two years ago, both of you holding back your tears as you exchanged promises that things would be okay. The moment you walked away and went out of sight, Alexia finally let her tears fall, feeling that a part of her left alongside you.

In the middle of pacing around the airport, Olga called, and Alexia felt guilty because her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of you. She instantly buried the feeling of discomfort the moment Olga talked about their wedding.

Alexia was getting married to Olga. Her mind shouldn’t picture you the moment weddings are mentioned. She closed her eyes and bid Olga goodbye, not remembering what her fiancé called her about.

You were her best friend. Nothing more. Why was it that even after years apart, her heart still ached and yearned for you?

Hours later, when you texted her to let her know that you’ve landed, Alexia made her way to the gate. She stood there, flowers tightly in hand, tapping her foot anxiously.

You two had been slowly rebuilding your friendship. You texted each other, but never a phone call, and Alexia was nervous to hear your voice again after going such a long time without it.

Alexia was the first to spot you. You were dragging your suitcase, looking from side to side, as if urgently searching for something. And the moment your eyes found hers, your entire body lit up—the whole airport could tell that you finally found what you were looking for.

Everything drowned out and to Alexia nothing else seemed to matter anymore, her only focus was on you. On how your eyes shone with happiness and how your lips slowly curved into the smile that Alexia had missed so much. When you were finally in front of her, something clicked within her, and every hurt, every anger, every sadness she had felt because of you disappeared and she was left with the feeling of nothing but love and fondness for the girl standing in front of her.

You were here and no matter how hard Alexia tried, she couldn’t feel half of what she felt with you with anyone else.

“Alexia, hi.”

Alexia didn’t say anything back, instead she immediately embraced you, hugging you with everything she had. She leaned down and buried her face in the crook of your neck, closing her eyes and squeezing you even more—just savoring the moment of finally having you there again.

Alexia thought back to the last time she hugged you, trying to remember every single detail—from the way your arms were wrapped around Alexia’s neck, to the way your breath tickled her ear—trying to decide whether anything had changed.

And when you kissed the side of Alexia’s head, laughing into her ears because she wouldn’t let go, Alexia decided that no matter how many years had passed and no matter how many arguments you two got into, your hug still felt the same.

—

Alexia,

The moment that has always replayed in my head for years is the night of your 18th birthday. We went to the beach after dinner and crashed someone’s party, and we both got really drunk. It was fun but the thing that made that night so memorable was because it was the first time someone kissed me and that person was you.

The moment it happened, it felt like everything fell into place, you know? I understood why even my five year old self hated seeing you cry and just wanted to protect you from everything so you’ll never cry again. I understood why out of all the people in the room, my eyes always search for yours. I love you, Alexia. It’s always been you.

I was the happiest I’ve ever been that night. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world for being able to be in your arms.

But when you woke up the next day saying that you wished that night never happened, it felt like the missing puzzle piece in my heart that you completed the night before disappeared again.

Ever since then, I tried so hard to fill this gaping hole in my heart. I made it my life’s mission to go out there and meet the most perfect girl in the world just to try and replicate what I felt for you. But every time I’m with someone, every time I’m face to face with some perfect girl, your face appears and I’m reminded that they’re not you.

I love you, Alexia. I love you more with all the ups and downs we’ve had. I love every part of you and I love you with every beat of my heart.

I think I’ve always known that I was in love with you. I was just never brave enough to label it as that. So I didn’t. It wasn’t until recently that I realized: I couldn’t just sit here and watch you marry someone else.

You could call it selfish, but I wasn’t going to risk the slightest possibility of you feeling the same way that I do.

I know Olga loves you, but I also know that she’ll never love you as much as I do.

To quote your favourite poet:

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,

I love you directly without problems or pride:

I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,

except in this form in which I am not nor are you,

so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,

so close that your eyes close with my dreams”

If you think that this is all wrong, please just ignore it, and I promise I’ll never talk about this again. But if you somehow feel the same, meet me at our usual spot at the beach tonight, 10 p.m.

Yours always,

y/n

—

It wasn’t like you didn’t know this would happen. This was why you never wanted to risk your friendship because of some silly feelings. You knew Alexia wouldn’t feel the same, your confession would go to waste, and you would be sitting on the beach, alone at night, waiting for someone who was never going to show up.

You thought of calling Alexia, to ask her what she thought of your letter. But you decided against it, this was humiliating enough.

Maybe Alexia was embarrassed? Maybe she felt bad for you. Maybe she didn’t know how to talk to you now, knowing that you had all these feelings for her. Or maybe Alexia just didn’t want to talk to you anymore.

You let out a big sigh and buried your face in your hands. You didn’t know what you were thinking. All those years of friendship… that was all it was: friendship. You should’ve known.

You checked your phone again. Nothing. No texts or calls.

You let out a laugh. Alexia wasn’t stuck in traffic nor was she late, she was simply not coming.

Feeling your eyes start to well up with tears, you took a deep breath before standing up. You didn’t plan on going back to your parents’ house just yet, stupidly enough a part of you still had hope that Alexia was going to show up. You needed to walk around and distract yourself, sitting in the same spot that contained so many memories of her wasn’t helping.

You took another glance at your phone, and when there was still nothing, you wished your heart wasn’t so weak when it came to Alexia.

—

Alexia never believed in fate or anything.

To be fair, she was five years old and watching movies where the princess always ended up with the prince and lived happily ever after seemed too good to be true.

That was until she met you.

You, who had your little legs outstretched on the grass as you snack on your cookies. You, who didn’t hesitate to wipe away Alexia’s tears when she tripped on your legs. You, who kept on apologizing even though it wasn’t your fault that Alexia wasn’t looking at where she was going, but you were trying to make her feel better.

You had been a constant in her life ever since then, with your wise wisdoms and never-ending ability to make Alexia laugh.

Alexia then understood that fate and destiny really did exist, because it was fate that brought Alexia to the playground at that exact moment—at that exact second—so she could meet you.

When Alexia lost you, she didn’t want to believe in fate anymore, because why was the universe so cruel that it left her on the floor of her apartment, crying and begging for you to come back.

You disappeared from Alexia’s life and Alexia saw firsthand how the world became gloomier, how her days seemed to drag on longer without your presence.

Just when Alexia completely lost all hope, the universe had other plans, and it was destiny that she left her phone in her hotel room that morning, because if she didn’t, her phone would be in her pocket as she was thrown to the swimming pool because Vicky and Esmee decided that playing a prank on their captain was a brilliant idea. Her phone would be ruined and she wouldn’t be greeted with a text message from you.

A simple text telling Alexia that you were proud of her, but it left her breathless because she hadn’t talked to you in a year. You two had no contact for a year, yet you were still proud of her. Like always.

Fate, destiny, the universe, and all of that had brought you to her, took you away, then brought you back.

It was also fate that made Alexia reach down into her purse and open the envelope you’d given her before parting ways earlier—something tugging in her heart, screaming at her to read the letter you wrote to her, even though she told herself that she would do it after you’ve left the city.

And sometimes, the universe had a sense of humour, because at that moment, as Alexia finished reading the last sentence of your handwriting, her fiancé appeared in the doorway of their shared bedroom.

“Alexia?”

“I’m sorry.”

—

The only thought Alexia had as she drove over the speed limit was to hope that you were still there, waiting for her. Just like what you had been doing all of these years.

All of those wasted years where you two could be together if it weren’t for the doubts that forbade you from truly loving each other the way you were meant to.

“You’ve always loved her more than anything, Alexia. Even when she’s a thousand miles away, even when you two weren’t on speaking terms… She’s still the one you love the most. I could never compete with her.”

From this whole thing, Alexia was just sorry that she had to drag someone else into her mess. She would never forgive herself for saying “yes” to someone, knowing that her heart wasn’t fully in it.

“Olga, I never meant to make you feel like you were at constant competition with her. I really do love you.”

“But not as much as you love her.”

“I never planned on staying in love with her forever, I really did try to love someone else—with you. And I did. All these years together, I meant everything I said and everything I did.”

“I’ve always known that she would always come first to you, yet I still convinced myself that that would change one day. I know it made me a shitty person, but I was happy when you fought with her, because I thought that was finally it, you know? Finally you’d move on from her. But not even the fall out made you love her any less.”

Alexia would take whatever life will throw at her for hurting someone so deeply like she did to Olga.

But the only thing she could do right now was to find you and hoped that you were the happy ending fate had in store for her. The happy ending she’d dreamt of all this time.

—

When Alexia couldn’t find you at the beach, she figured she was too late. She tried calling and texting, but you weren’t replying to any of it.

So she went to your parents’ place, taking a slight detour to your favourite florist, picking up the bouquet they had ready, not wanting to waste another second away from you. Alexia figured you must’ve left thinking that she was rejecting you. Even if Alexia wasn’t in love with you anymore, she wouldn't have just let you sit there all alone, fearing the worst. She needed you to know that.

Your childhood home was dark and quiet. All the lights were off and Alexia remembered that your parents were in Mollet del Vallés, visiting your grandparents.

You weren’t here but Alexia wasn’t going anywhere else. She would just be there and wait for you—she had waited decades for you, a few hours would mean nothing. She sat down on the pavement, not caring how dirty her jeans were going to be, and pulled out her phone from her pocket. She called the only person she could think of.

It took a few more tries for Mapi to pick up, and once the call got connected, Alexia spoke into the phone, “I have a problem.”

Mapi’s voice was groggy. “It’s midnight, you dumbass. Can you call me later?”

“No, this is urgent.”

Alexia can feel Mapi roll her eyes on the other end of the line, “When Ingrid kills me for being too noisy and waking her up, I’m blaming it on you.”

“Well, in that case, I hope she does wake up then.”

“Tonta.”

“María,” Alexia let out a tired exhale. “Do you know where Y/n is?”

Mapi groaned in reply. “Estúpida. I was asleep, how should I know?”

Alexia pressed her hand over her eyes and groaned, “I think I screwed up.”

Just when Alexia was about to elaborate further, even though she knew Mapi was half asleep, someone called out her name. Someone whose voice sounded exactly like you.

“Ale?”

Alexia quickly opened her eyes. It really was you.

“Y/n.”

And there you were, standing in front of Alexia, head cocked to the side as if trying to figure out why Alexia was sitting there in front of your house at midnight.

Alexia quickly put her phone back to her ear, “Uhm, I’ll call you back—Tomorrow. I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodnight, María.” As soon as she ended the call, she quickly stood up.

Your arms were crossed over your chest, you were making yourself smaller, you looked so unsure of yourself that Alexia wanted nothing but to hug you and tell you that she loved you more than she’d ever loved anyone.

But all you had was apprehension written all over your face. Alexia understood. You must’ve thought that by her not showing up, Alexia didn’t feel the way you did. “What are you doing here?”

Alexia gulped. Now that you were in front of her, Alexia didn’t know what to say. “Did we really kiss on my 18th birthday?” Alexia blurted out.

“What?” You were confused and still reeling from the embarrassment of the whole thing. You couldn’t process what she said.

“I don’t remember it,” Alexia continued. “I swear. I swear on Messi.”

“What?” Your tone was full of surprise. “You don’t remember?”

“No,” Alexia sighed, looking at you wistfully. “I would never stop talking about it if I did.”

You went silent for a few seconds, your face full of confusion. Alexia let you take it all in. “You don’t remember,” you stated in a questioning tone. “But you said you wished it never happened.”

“I couldn’t have said that, because I don’t remember—”

“Oh my god, you don’t remember?” It was like you finally realized what that meant. “Oh my god,” you groaned, placing your hands over your face. “I spent years thinking—I convinced myself that I wasn’t in love with you because you rejected me—”

“I didn’t!” Alexia interjected. “I would never– I was so hopelessly in love with you.”

You looked at her and your face turned paler if that was even possible. Your mouth agape, as if you wanted to say something but you couldn’t. How could you? When your best friend was telling you that she—

“Wait,” you realized something. “Did you say ‘was’? As in past tense?” You felt the hope that grew plummet to the bottom of the stomach. You knew it was too good to be true. “Is that why you didn’t meet me earlier?”

“No… No, Y/n, I read your letter too late. I didn’t know you were waiting for me. I would’ve dropped everything in a heartbeat to get to you.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly you were laughing. Your laughter echoing throughout the empty neighbourhood. Alexia stared at you, unsure of what this meant but she couldn’t help the growing happiness in her heart with every laugh that escaped your lips. “I should’ve just texted you, right? I wanted to be romantic with the letter.”

Alexia shot you a comforting smile. At least fate brought you both here, to this moment.

After your laughter died down, you took a hesitant step forward. “But… do you really feel… the way that I do?”

Alexia sighed, being the one to close the gap between you and took your hands in hers. “If my years and years of pining weren't obvious, I feel the same. I’m in love with you. I still am. I never stopped, if we’re being honest. I broke things off with Olga, it wasn’t right to stay with her if my heart belonged to someone else. She deserves way better than some girl who was too much of a coward to confess that she’s in love with her best friend and ended up stringing her along for years, knowing that she would never love her the same.”

“So you…” you were at loss for words.

“I’m sorry, Y/n,” Alexia continued. “This whole thing is a mess. I need to cancel my wedding preparations, I have to talk to a lot of people, but the only thing I know right now is that… I can’t let you go again. You’re my soulmate, I’m sure of it. I’ve been sure of it ever since we were kids. I won’t love someone as much and as deeply as I love you. So… yeah.”

You didn’t reply to Alexia’s statement, instead you placed one hand on the back of Alexia’s neck and pulled her in for a kiss. Once your lips met, Alexia’s mind went to two things: how she never wanted to kiss anyone else in her life and how exactly did she forget your soft lips when they tasted like heaven?

Alexia’s hands wandered to rest on your neck, caressing the smooth skin that felt electric under her touch. Alexia’s mind was full with thoughts of you. Your lips on hers. Your hands around her waist. Your perfume engulfing her. Your nose brushing against hers. Your laugh vibrating against her lips.

Your lips curved upwards into a grin and Alexia could taste the happiness on your lips. She leaned forward once more for a peck on your smile and when you scrunch your nose in response, Alexia pressed another kiss to the tip of your nose.

“That was… everything I’ve ever dreamed of.” Alexia hoped that you couldn’t hear how erratic her heart was beating.

“We can take things slow,” you whispered against her lips.

“I’ve waited my whole life for you, I don’t want to take it slow,” Alexia whispered back. “But… I agree. We don’t have to rush this. We have the rest of our lives to make up for lost time.”

Suddenly your eyes drifted to the flowers on the pavement, raising your eyes at that. “Is that supposed to be for me?”

Alexia’s eyes widened when she realized the discarded flowers, quickly taking them and shoving them to you. “Uhm. Yes. These… these are for you.”

“They’re beautiful,” you replied, taking the flowers from her but your gaze never leaving her face. “Thank you.”

She pouted when she realized you hadn’t even glanced at it. “You didn’t even look at it!”

You grinned at her, leaning forward and wrapping an arm around her waist. Your face back in its favourite spot against her neck. “I bet they’re beautiful, just like you.”

“Okay, flirt.”

Alexia quickly stepped back when she noticed that the flowers were squeezed in between you two. “You’re ruining my flowers.”

“I’m not,” you scoffed. You looked down and scrunched your nose at the sight. At least they still had the beautiful pink colour intact, your favourite. “Okay, kind of. But that was your fault.”

Alexia took your hand that wasn’t holding the flower and brought it to her lips for a kiss. “How was it my fault?”

“I couldn’t resist hugging you.”

Alexia laughed and wrapped her arms around your shoulder. Swaying you side to side and sighing in content. Everything felt good. It felt like everything had fallen into place.

“Now you’re ruining the flowers even more!” your voice muffled with the way your face was squeezed into Alexia’s neck.

“I’ll get you new ones, mi amor. In fact, I’ll get you the whole shop.”

You laughed into her neck, placing a gentle kiss there. “I’m holding you on to that.”

Alexia hummed. “I love you, cariño. I missed you so much.”

“Me too,” you replied.

“Say it back,” Alexia prodded, placing her cheek on the top of your head.

“Huh?”

“I… love… you.” Alexia said slowly.

Alexia felt your giggles tickle her neck.

“Princessa, say it back.”

“You already know the answer anyway.”

“Mi vida.”

“Alexia. I love you too.”

Alexia did know the answer—she had heard you say it a million times over and over. Despite that, Alexia still wanted to hear it a million times more.

—

Alexia had been to Manchester before but it was still hard to keep up with how busy the airport was. She couldn’t spot you—not at first. All she could see was people rushing to get somewhere despite it being the early hours of the morning.

Alexia dragged her luggage to a secluded corner and pulled out her phone to give you a call. She put her phone to her ear and kept on looking around while waiting for you to pick up.

It was on the second ring when Alexia spotted you. You were sandwiched between people and you looked so small that Alexia would’ve missed you if she didn’t see the giant flower bouquet you were holding.

Once you answered the call, Alexia laughed into the speaker, feeling her heart grow ten times bigger with the amount of love she felt for you. Alexia still couldn’t believe she was finally here, just a few steps away from the person she had missed so much.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because,” Alexia sighed in content. How did she spend so long convincing herself that she would be fine settling for someone other than you? “That bouquet is way bigger than you.”

As soon as Alexia said that, she saw you move your head in all directions trying to locate her. “You’re here. Where are you?”

“I am here.” Alexia stated, enjoying how clueless you looked.

“Alexia.”

“You always complain about how tall I am, how can you not see me?” Alexia kept her eyes on you—from your furrowed eyebrows to the small pout on your lips, one hand holding your phone to your ear and the other holding the flowers. She laughed even more when you kept on whining and your pout kept getting bigger as each second passed.

“You are annoying,” you groaned. “Can you just tell me where you are? I’m hungry.”

“Not because you miss me?” Alexia teased. “You only want me because I spoil you with lots of food.”

“Yes, that’s true!” you laughed. “So hurry up and tell me where you are so we can get food, Alexia Putellas Segura.”

“Ooh she’s using my full name now.”

“It’s because I’m getting impatient!”

Alexia laughed, finally dragging her luggage and walking towards your direction.

Once she was behind you, Alexia ended the call and tapped your shoulder, making you jump slightly. Alexia chuckled to herself at how ridiculous she was for finding everything you did adorable.

You immediately turned around and once recognition settled in, you squealed and jumped to hug her. “Alexia! You’re blonde again!”

“Mi amor! I missed you.”

When you broke apart, Alexia’s eyes started to well with tears. You were finally in front of her, smiling at her with your big smile and sparkly eyes. Two months without having you near felt so long.

“Baby,” you cooed. “Why are you crying?”

“Just emotional,” Alexia squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears from escaping. “I missed your stupid face.”

“No one will be able to guess that you're the crybaby in this relationship.”

Alexia scowled at you. She would never admit that she cried more than you. Besides, no one would be able to verify this fact because she never cried in front of anyone, except you. “I am not.”

“Sure. Can we get that breakfast now?”

Looking at you behind your big flower bouquet, Alexia felt breathless, only because she still couldn’t believe that you were hers. At the same time though, she felt like she was able to properly breathe again, because you were finally back in her arms.

—

“Hey, Ale?”

“Yeah?”

You sat on the passenger seat, absentmindedly playing with Alexia’s hand that wasn’t holding the steering wheel.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?”

Alexia gave you a side glance. “Are you questioning my driving abilities? When it was me who drove you around most of your life.”

“Maybe,” you kissed the back of Alexia’s hand. “You’ve never driven outside of Spain before. I’m kind of scared right now. For my life and for my brand new car.”

Alexia laughed, “Driving is the same everywhere, amor.”

“Fine,” you leaned over the console and pressed a kiss to Alexia’s cheek. “I trust you.”

Alexia scrunched her nose in response. “Stop kissing me and tell me where I should go next instead.”

“Just keep on going straight,” you responded. “Then turn left.”

“Now?”

“Are you seeing any left turns right now?”

“You just told me to turn left,” Alexia whined. “You’re such a bad navigator.”

“You should’ve let me drive.”

“You must be tired from work,” Alexia let go of her hand that was in your grip to caress your face. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

You looked at Alexia, taking the her hand in yours again. “So thoughtful, always a gentlewoman. Thank you, Ale.”

“I am thoughtful huh.”

You poked your tongue out at her in response. “I should stop before your ego gets too big.”

Alexia grinned at you. “I think my ego has been big ever since I knew I was your first kiss.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you rolled her eyes playfully. “You’re my first kiss, Alexia Putellas Segura. Just like I am yours.”

“The one I don’t have a single memory of,” Alexia noted. “How could you let me forget what would be the most meaningful experience of my life?”

“It’s not my fault you’re a lightweight,” you pinched Alexia’s cheeks to which the blonde laughed in response. “But hey, at least I tried to remind you of that night, didn’t I? About a thousand times these past few days if I remember correctly.”

Alexia hummed in thought, puckering her lips. “I think I need the reminder once again.”

You giggled and kissed the palm of Alexia’s hand instead. “Later at home, okay? I can’t have you crashing my car.”

“I’d like that.” Alexia took a quick glance at you and smiled—one that reached her eyes, one that showed you just how happy she was.

But you were suddenly thinking of home and how you used it to describe your Manchester apartment, even though you never thought of it that way. That was, until Alexia came to visit, leaving her things scattered around like she always did in your old place in Barcelona.

You yearned for days like this, with Alexia driving you back home, eating takeout on the couch as you watched a football match you couldn’t care less about. You let Alexia talk your ear off, giving her commentary on the game, you nodding along like you were totally invested in it too.

Home.

Manchester had never felt like home. It was an apartment with all of your things, where you slept and showered and ate, but you never considered it to be your home.

Alexia visited one day and changed the meaning of the place entirely.

You lived here for years without Alexia, but you couldn’t imagine it without her anymore.

You looked at your best friend as she sang along to a Spanish song, she was so off-key. A grin instantly made its way to your lips.

Home was wherever Alexia was.

—

It was a no-brainer, really.

There was no reason to stay in Manchester when your heart lived in Barcelona.

It had been on your mind since you had to leave Alexia again as you boarded the plane back to Manchester a few months ago. It was the only thing you could think of as you waved goodbye to Alexia as she went back to Barcelona, her black cap and sunglasses covering her face, but you could tell there were tears running down her cheeks.

You knew she was scared that history would repeat itself and you two would argue again. But you also knew that it was different this time. There were no uncertain feelings in your chest, no other girl next to Alexia making you feel replaced. You were certain of your love for Alexia.

But it was time to come home. You knew that the moment Alexia kissed you for the second time.

You hadn’t told Alexia, but you were planning on coming back in a couple of months. You wanted it to be a surprise.

But the night before Alexia left, as you savoured the feeling of her pressed up against you, you came to the conclusion that you need to come back to Barcelona sooner than planned.

Having Alexia next to you felt so good. You missed it a lot. You knew you couldn’t stand even another month being away from her, so you changed your entire timeline and decided to move it up so you were coming back in two weeks.

You had a lot on your to-do list. It was a hassle to move away from the place you’ve lived in for years. It was even harder when you wanted to do it within a few weeks.

Alexia thought it was starting again—the space between you.

You didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

“Ale, you're just being a distraction right now.”

Which was true—you had less time to reply to texts and calls in between trying to get rid of your furniture and trying to cut your lease short—but Alexia didn't know that so it wasn’t the right word to use.

Out of context, it sounded harsh, and you figured you could’ve said it better.

Alexia ended the call abruptly and ignored all your texts for the rest of the day.

—

Turns out, Alexia decided to ignore you for a whole week. It was understandable, you royally screwed up, but the only thing that kept you from flying to Barcelona as soon as you figured out she was ignoring you was the thought that you were coming back soon. For good.

You left Manchester and years worth of memories behind on a Monday. Your parents welcomed you back with open arms and you spent the night eating your mother’s home cooked meal.

The next day, you knew Alexia had training until noon. So you went to a florist, bought the biggest bouquet of Alexia’s favourite flowers, and you met up with a Barcelona staff member with clear instructions that he was to give it to Alexia. And to make sure that she actually read the note attached to it.

Alexia, my love

Meet me at our spot at 4pm

You’re going to be done by that time, so you better show up

Yours,

y/n

—

You sat at your usual spot by the beach, the same spot where you got your heart broken a few months ago when Alexia didn’t show up. This time, instead of waiting for Alexia with dread and a heavy heart, all you felt was excitement at getting to see her again.

This time, you knew that Alexia loved you too and you didn’t have to worry about her not showing up.

Alexia loved you too and you weren't going to let her go. It was that thought that kept on repeating in your head, the one that propelled you to leave Manchester behind and come back to Barcelona. As much as you loved it over there, you knew it would never beat the feeling of having Alexia next to you.

You couldn’t wait to be with Alexia. Really be with her, not through a phone screen where her sleeping face would disappear once her phone ran out of battery.

“Amor?”

You craned your head as soon as you heard that voice. Alexia was still as beautiful as ever, despite only wearing some sweatpants and a hoodie that she stole from you when you were still in high school.

“Hi.” Alexia put her hand up in a little wave. You smiled because Alexia looked so nervous, it was adorable.

You stood up and walked towards her slowly, your face still amused at the way she was biting her lips—a nervous habit of hers. When you were inches apart you spoke, “Hi back. Why do you look so nervous?”

Alexia’s eyes drifted anywhere but you. “I’m not nervous.”

“You totally are,” you said, trying to catch her eyes. “Can I hug you?”

Alexia finally returned your stare and once your eyes met, Alexia’s entire posture softened and she leaned forward to engulf you in a hug.

“I missed you,” Alexia exhaled deeply. “It’s only been a few weeks but I missed you.”

You wrapped your arms around her neck, whispering that you missed her too. You breathed in her familiar scent and sighed. You felt at home.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” Alexia said once you broke apart.

You shrugged. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Well, I am very surprised.” Alexia took your hands in hers. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Can I kiss you now? Or are you still too nervous to do that?” you asked, your tone teasing. “ I can’t have you passing out on me.”

Alexia rolled her eyes, a small smile on her lips. “I’m not nervous.”

“So can I kiss you or not?” you asked once more, a grin on her face.

“Of course you can.”

And that was all you needed before you leaned forward and captured her lips with yours.

You kissed your girlfriend gently, you kissed her slowly while trying to convey just how much you missed her—how lonely your nights were without her to cuddle you to sleep and how cold your mornings were without her warm smile.

And when Alexia traced your bottom lip with her tongue, you couldn’t comprehend how fast your heart was beating. After countless kisses, you still felt the same way you did when Alexia first kissed you at eighteen—all fluttery as a thousand butterflies rummaged around your stomach.

Alexia’s lips on yours felt tingly, and Alexia’s hands that were caressing your waist felt like they had belonged there all along.

When you broke apart, Alexia’s hands stayed where they were, her forehead resting against yours while you both tried to catch your breath.

“I love you,” Alexia whispered. “I know I say that a lot, but I mean it every time.”

You hummed, your lips curling up into a smile. “I love you too.”

“I’m sorry, cariño, for ignoring you. I was just… sad, I guess.”

“No, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have called you a distraction.”

“It’s just–” Alexia sighed, she was really beating herself up over this. “You’re supposed to tell me if you’re unhappy. I’m your girlfriend.”

You immediately shake your head. “I’m not unhappy—I could never be unhappy with you.”

“Then?”

You took a deep breath before continuing, “You were a distraction, but only because—Ale?”

Alexia blinked back, as if she didn’t quite understand what you said. She took a step away from your touch and turned her back towards you.

You were confused for a moment before you remembered how much of an overthinker she was.

“Ale. Baby,” you gently placed your hands on her shoulders and turned her around. Your heart broke at the sight of Alexia’s furrowed brows and the slight tremble in her bottom lips.

“Are you—Did you come back to break up with me?”

“Of course not,” you laughed. “Alexia—”

“Don’t—” Alexia tried to turn back around and leave, but you quickly grabbed her arms to prevent her from leaving.

“Alexia,” your hand travelled down to her hands, intertwining them with yours. “Look at me.”

You could see tears starting to well in her and you sighed at how much she resembled a kicked puppy. “Baby,” you cooed. “It’s nothing bad, c’mon, please don’t cry.”

“It’s not?” Alexia whispered out.

“No,” you flashed her a comforting smile. “I would never break up with you, you should know that by now.”

“Oh,” Alexia looked down, sniffling. “Then why? I’m a distraction to you?”

You lifted Alexia’s chin up with your finger. “Moving across countries isn’t an easy thing to do, you know. I have to talk to the hospital about my contract, I have to talk to my agent about my lease, I have to sell all my furniture, I have to meet with my friends to say goodbye—”

“What—”

“That’s why you were kind of distracting me, because I need to get a lot of things done if I want to come home to my girlfriend as soon as possible.”

When realization dawned on Alexia, her eyes widened and you laughed at how comical she looked. Alexia placed her hand on your mouth, muffling your laughs. “Stop laughing at me. You’re coming back?”

You took Alexia’s hand away from your mouth and grinned at her. Alexia’s eyebrows were raised, her face expectant as she waited for an answer.

You smiled fondly at her expressions before you answered her question with a kiss.

One second into the kiss, a giggle escaped your mouth, causing Alexia to break you apart, narrowing her eyes at your interruption. “Sorry, you were just too adorable.”

“Glad to know you think me crying is adorable.”

You placed a kiss on her cheek. “I don’t like seeing you cry but I wasn’t even breaking up with you, you big baby.”

“You’re so mean,” Alexia pouted. “But you’re really coming back? For good?”

“I am. I can’t be apart from you anymore. I love you and I want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep next to you every night.”

“Cheesy.”

You scrunched up your nose. “Shut up. I’m trying to be cute.”

“So… will you be asking me to move in with you then?”

“Well…” you gave a sheepish grin. “I was hoping you would be the one to ask me that, since I don’t exactly have a place here anymore. Unless you want to move in with my parents, that’s okay too.”

Alexia laughed and pecked your lips. You felt warm all over. “Let’s go look for a new place. My place is too small for all our kids anyway.”

“Kids?” you looked at Alexia with wide eyes. “Alexia. Did you skip the entire wedding?”

Alexia wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you close. “I’m talking about Nala. And Mr. Oreo, your stinky cat. Add Vicky, Jana, Esmee to the list too.”

You slapped Alexia’s arm in response. “You scared me there for a second. We need to get married first, you know. No skipping a chapter.”

Alexia laughed, kissing the top of your head. You looked at her and the sight of your girlfriend with a big smile and eyes that displayed so much happiness gave you the sudden urge to kiss her again. So you did.

With the feeling of Alexia smiling against your lips, you knew that no matter where life takes you, you’d always come home to her.

—

Y/n,

I still remember the moment you left to go to Manchester. I remember watching you leave and I remember feeling so helpless because I knew that things would change. I saw you walk away and I have never wanted to scream your name so badly—just so you would look at me one last time. But I didn’t.

I didn’t, because you were off to do amazing things and I couldn’t keep you here as much as I wanted to. And because a part of me felt relieved that we’d be spending less time together because it would give me the time I needed to move on from you.

It worked for a while. My heart didn’t break into pieces every time I saw you and Leila on social media, and my heart didn’t feel like it’s being squeezed every time you talked about her.

My daydreams about you stopped, I didn’t hear your laugh in the back of my head at random times of the day anymore. I thought that was it. I was moving on, and I started to swallow the bitter truth that we weren’t meant to be together.

But then one night you called me. It was in the middle of the night and you couldn’t stop laughing because of a joke you just thought of. You asked if I was asleep, and I knew you’d tell me to go back to sleep if I said yes, so I lied. Only because I missed your voice and because hearing your laugh again after so long made my heart feel whole again when I didn’t even realize it had a missing piece.

I realized that, no matter how hard I try to convince myself, I would never love anyone as much as I love you.

I started to spend each night cursing at the stars, being angry and asking why the universe gave you to me, but at the same time, never letting me completely have you.

I settled for someone else because I thought that you’d never look at me the way I looked at you. I loved someone else and their name tasted just fine on my lips but I kept on wishing that it was your name that I was whispering into the dark nights instead. And I had to come to terms that I wasn’t going to spend the rest of my life with you in the way that I’d hoped, so I said ‘yes’ to someone else.

But things happened, and I found out that you had been looking at me the same way all along—hidden glances, longing gazes, the desperate yearning to know how it feels like to love each other in ways no one but us can understand.

You’re my best friend, Y/n. You’re the bestest friend I’ve ever had and now, instead of cursing at the stars, I thank them each night because the universe gave you to me and now I have the chance to be able to love and admire every part of you.

Now your name is the only one I’d whisper into the nights—the nights where it’s just us two and your face that’s illuminated by the moonlight is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Now you’re the person I said ‘yes’ to because you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.

It’s been a journey, hasn’t it? I never would have thought that we’d be here, and that in a few hours I’d get to call you my wife.

I love you, mi amor. I have loved you since I was five and didn’t know anything about the world. I have loved you when we were apart, when nothing else was left to say between us, when the mornings without your texts turned my world darker.

And I have loved you when we’re together, when I look to the side and you’re always there next to me, when your hands feel like they’re my long-lost limb—your hands holding mine, your hands around my waist, your hands tangled through my hair, your hands around my neck, your hands holding me at night when it’s quiet except for the sound of your heart beating in sync with mine.

I have loved you for so long that it’s now a part of me and I know that I would never go a day without loving you.

And despite knowing you for most of my life, I still get nervous around you. So I’m writing this letter in case I couldn’t blurt out my vows because of how you’d be looking at me—as if I’m the only star in your sky. I hope that by reading this, you know just how much I love you and how I don’t ever plan to stop.

You make me the happiest. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure that you’re the happiest too.

I’ll see you in a few hours. Can’t wait to see you walk down the aisle :)

Yours forever and ever and ever,

Alexia

----

a/n: thank you for reading. this is my longest fic yet, please let me know your thoughts!<3

#woso #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso community #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas

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cressidagrey · 3 days ago

Text

Holy Ground - Chapter 5

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness, Minor Character Death (It's probably nobody you love), Magical Work Accidents, Explosions, Injuries

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

“You want to talk about it?” Her mate asked her flatly and Mor couldn’t help but grimace.

"No," Mor said simply, her tone clipped. She had been hoping to avoid this conversation, but it seemed as though Emerie was not willing to let her off that easily. "There's nothing to talk about."

Her mate just snorted. “Yeah, absolutely nothing,” she said sarcastically. “How about the fact that the male that spend 500 years being in love with you, met his mate 2 years ago and hasn’t said a single thing about it to any member of his family?”

"What do you want me to say, Em?" she asked with a sigh.

At the start…before Nesta had forced her to actually confront what she was feeling…Before she actually thought about the fact, that no…it wasn’t actually funny for Azriel to keep their mate from them…and it also wasn’t normal for him. Of course, Azriel liked his privacy, it was something that he fiercely guarded, but he was also…he wouldn’t have actually hidden away his mate from his family. He would have introduced her, would have invited her to birthdays and Winter Solstice and Starfall…

But he hadn’t.

He had rather hidden away every trace of that relationship than actually talk to any of them about it.

“Nesta told me that she laid into you,” Emerie said with a shrug. “You did use Azriel, you know that, Mor.”

Mor's expression hardened at Emerie's words.

Emerie was right. She had used him.

Of course, at the time…she had been desperate, afraid of the feelings that she had been having…willing to hide them… but the way she had gone about it hadn’t been…It hadn’t been fair.

She just didn’t like to reflect on that.

"It doesn't matter now, Em," she said flatly. "It's in the past."

“Is it?” Emerie asked, sharply. “You never tried to actually talk to Azriel about it. You just expected him to be alright with it. Alright with us,” she continued. “He has never once been anything but polite to me, but quite frankly he would have had every right to be pissed off.”

Mor just so managed not to grimace.

Not a single word. Not a single gesture. Nothing but politeness and kindness had come from Azriel after her and Emerie’s mating bond had snapped. Nothing.

"You don't think I know that? You don't think I'm racked with guilt every damn day?" she asked her mate, turning away from from Emerie, running a hand through her hair in frustration. "I know that I hurt him, Em. I know that I used him. But what do you want me to do about it now? It's in the past, it's done. I can't change it."

Emerie was silent for a moment, her expression softening slightly. "You can apologize," she said softly. "You can try to mend what you broke. And maybe, just maybe, he'll forgive you."

Mor let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Apologize? For what?" she asked, her voice dripping with self-mockery. "For using him? For making him think he had a chance with me when he never did? For breaking his heart when I knew damn well how he felt about me?"

Emerie's expression hardened again. "Yes," she said firmly. "For all of those things. Because at the end of the day, Mor, you used him. And he deserves better than that."

Mor's shoulders slumped, the fight leaving her all at once. She knew that Emerie was right. She knew that she had been selfish, that she had hurt Azriel in a way that could never be undone. But the thought of facing him, of admitting her mistakes and opening herself up to the pain and rejection that surely awaited her…it was terrifying.

“I imagine he had a few very good reasons to keep Irena a secret from all of us,” Emerie said softly. “Regardless of what feelings he once harboured for you…he was always your friend, Mor. And he kept his mate a secret from you.”

Mor sighed, her shoulders slumped. "I know," she said softly. "I know. I thought it was jsut Az being Az but it’s not, is it?”

Emerie reached out, placing a gentle hand on Mor's arm. "No," she said softly. "It's not. It's him protecting something that he loves. And I don't blame him for that."

***

“Are you hungry?” Azriel asked his mate softly.

Madja had checked on her the evening before…had told her to keep off her leg for a few days and plied her with more potions, bandages the bruises again… given her more sleeping draught. It hasn’t stopped Irena from waking up twice with nightmares.

"No," Irena said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't have much of an appetite." She looked pale, her eyes dull and lacking their usual sparkle. It was clear that she hadn't slept well, and his heart ached at the sight of her discomfort.

Shock had dissipated and left his mate…grieving and sad and Azriel curled himself tighter around her.

He could feel the weight of her sadness and grief, and it broke his heart to see her this way. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, holding her close and hoping to offer some comfort and support.

“You need to eat something, love,” he insisted softly. “Whatever you want.”

He really didn’t care if all she had in her stomach were her favourite cookies, at least that would be something.

Irena shook her head, burying her face in his chest. "I don't want anything," she said, her voice muffled against his shirt. "Just...just stay here with me."

Azriel's heart tugged at her words, and he pulled her even closer, cradling her against him. "Of course," he whispered, his lips brushing the top of her head. "I'm not going anywhere, love,” he promised her fiercely. “But you still need to eat something,” he whispered. “How about the shadows get you one of those blueberry pastries you like?”

Irena sighed, snuggling deeper into his embrace. "Alright," she said softly. "I do love those pastries." She looked up at him, her eyes still dull but a small hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

He didn’t even need to order the shadows to do anything, they had one of her favourite blueberry pastries on a plate on the bed side table in a breath. *Please tell me you left the money,* he told them mentally.

The shadows seemed almost indignant. *Of course we left it. Do you think we're thieves?* Azriel smiled at their tone."

"Of course not," he said aloud, reaching for the pastry and offering it to Irena. "You're just very efficient." The shadows swirled around him almost smugly at the praise, and he shook his head with a chuckle.

“Thank you,” Irena thanked them softly. The shadows preened.

Azriel chuckled again, watching as the shadows swirled around Irena, as if basking in her gratitude. It was cute how they seemed almost puppy-like in their desire for her attention.

He was amazed, as always, by how much the shadows adored her.

He had never expected them to warm up to anyone else, especially not as quickly as they had to his mate.

Suddenly��as soon as he had properly introduced his shadows to her…as soon as it was clear that she wasn’t going to start flinching away from them or from him if they showed up to badger her…as soon as that was clear, they had started to dote on her. Seemingly so pleased that there was another person that wasn’t scared off them.

The shadows and Irena had formed a bond that defied explanation, and it made Azriel so happy to see the two things he cherished most in the world getting along so well.

(Even if he sometimes got jealous that the shadows never had doted on him like they did on Irena. He got porridge for breakfast but Irena got the ridiculous expensive pastries from the newest high end bakery. Irena got bubble bath, while he only got salt dumped into his bath water and got told that it was good for his muscles.)

He watched as the shadows swirled around Irena, nuzzling against her like cats seeking affection. Irena laughed softly as they tickled at her ears and played with her hair.

He knew that his shadows were often feared and misunderstood, but with Irena they were playful and affectionate. It was like she had unlocked a whole new side of them, and he couldn't help but smile at the sight of them interacting so sweetly with her.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "I never thought I'd see the day when my shadows would be so smitten," he teased, his lips curving into a small smile. "I should be jealous, but I can't help but find it adorable."

Irena laughed, her eyes sparkling for the first time that day. "They're so sweet," she said, reaching up to brush her fingers through the shadows that surrounded her. "It's like they're a different side of you."

Azriel chuckled, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "I guess they are a part of me, in a way," he said. "And they seem to have a mind of their own, especially when it comes to you." He watched as the shadows nuzzled against her cheek, almost vying for her attention.

"They're quite taken with you," he said with a grin. "I don't blame them. Still, it's strange to see them so affectionate towards someone else." He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

"But it makes me happy to see them like this," he said softly, his fingers lingering against her cheek. "It's like you're bringing out a side of them that I never knew existed. And it's a beautiful thing to witness." He leaned in, pressing another soft kiss to her forehead. "Just like you."

There was a knock at the door.

*The High Lord and the Ancient One,* the shadows offered. *And the healer.*

*I’ll deal with them,* Azriel said with a snort.

“Finish your breakfast, alright?“ he told Irena softly as he slid out of the bed. Irena nodded, a small smile on her face.

"Thank you," she said softly, watching as he got up to answer the door.

“Madja,” he greeted the healer drily. “Irena just had breakfast. The bruises are already lightening,” he reported.

Madja nodded, her expression softening slightly. "Good," she said. "Keep an eye on her for the next couple of days, make sure she takes it easy. The leg needs to heal properly." He opened the door further, letting Madja slip in, and could just hear, "How are you feeling, my dear?" From Madja and Irena’s soft answer.

Which meant that Azriel turned towards his brother. “What do you want?” He demanded from Rhys, his voice sharp.

Rhys held his hands up in surrender. "Calm down, Az," he said, his voice low. "I just wanted to check on Irena. Amren looked at the spellbook that Merrill was using,” Rhys explained.

“And?” Azriel asked flatly.

Did it actually matter? Merrill had been stupid and arrogant and a thousand other things. The spell didn’t seem to have done anything to Irena…her injuries had been thanks to the debris that had resulted in the spell going absolutely haywire, killing Merrill and seemingly exploding her office.

“It was written in a language I do not know, but the best match is ancient Illyrian,” Amren gave back drily.

Azriel's expression darkened at Amren's words. "Ancient Illyrian?" he repeated, his mind racing. "That can't be good."

Not at all. He didn’t even want to think about what his ancestors had come up with.

"It seems to be a very old dialect," Rhys explained. "One that hasn't been spoken or written in centuries. It'll take some time to decipher it, but we're working on…”

“It seems to be a healing spell. Probably used in childbirth,” Amren cut him off. “When it didn’t find a pregnant female to latch onto, it redoubled back onto Merrill.”

"So Merrill's own spell backfired on her," Azriel mused. "And Irena got caught in the crossfire." He rubbed a hand over his face. “Has the spell done anything to Irena?” He demanded.

“Madja didn’t think so,” Rhys said carefully. “I wanted to check on Irena if that’s alright with you.”

He crossed his arms, not willing to entertain that even for a moment.

“No,” he said flatly.

“Let him in, Azriel,” his mate said softly, and he turned towards her, staring at Irena.

The shadows were already dragging a fur around her shoulders, fluffing the pillows behind her, as Madja bandaged her leg.

Irena met his gaze, raising an eyebrow at him.

He didn’t want Rhys anywhere near her, Azriel was certain of that. And still…an still…

“Fine,” Azriel growled, stepping aside to let Rhys through. "Don't overstay your welcome," he warned Rhys.

Rhys nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips at Azriel's protectiveness. He clapped a hand on Azriel's shoulder reassuringly. "I won't stay long," he reassured his brother. "I just want to make sure she's alright."

Amren rolled her eyes, but for once didn’t say another word as Azriel closed the door.

“High Lord,” Irena greeted Rhys, every inch the perfect lady even while she was laid up in her bed.

Rhys inclined his head, smiling gently at Irena, while Azriel already crossed the room to sit at her bedside, taking her hand in both of his. She reassuringly squeezed it.

"How are you feeling?" Rhys asked her.

Irena gave him a small smile, shrugging her shoulders a little. "I've been better," she admitted. "But I'm healing, I suppose." She gestured to the leg, Madja was bandaging once again. "Madja says I'll be good as new in a few days. And I’ve had worse,” she added flatly.

Rhys chuckled softly, his eyes softening with concern. "I don't doubt it," he said. "But still, it must have been quite a harrowing experience." He paused for a moment, looking at her intently. "I wanted to speak to you about what happened," he said gently. "If you feel up to it, of course."

Irena nodded, steeling herself for whatever questions Rhys might have. "Go ahead," she said quietly.

"I just wanted to ask you about what you saw when the spell hit you," Rhys said carefully. "Do you remember anything after the initial blast? Could you show me?”

“No.” Azriel snapped. “You are not going read her mind, Rhysand.” Not in a million years.

He nearly bared his teeth at his High Lord in annoyance, already regretting letting him into their room.

Irena was healing.

Rhys held up his hands in surrender, his eyes flickering to Azriel for a moment. "I wasn't going to do anything without her permission, brother," he assured him calmly.

“It’s alright,” Irena agreed with him. “It’s fine, Azriel,” she assured him softly. Azriel tensed for a moment, torn between wanting to protect her and respecting her wishes. "I want to do this." She turned her attention back to Rhys. "Go ahead."

Rhys nodded, his expression serious. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice low. "It might be difficult to recall the memories, but I need you to try."

Irena just inclined her head. "I'm sure," she said firmly. "Just...just go ahead."

Azriel watched, holding her hand tightly. Rhys was well trained at using his daemati abilities, but that didn’t mean that…

A moment later a soft shudder run through his mate, and Azriel growled.

“Thank you, Irena,” Rhys said quickly, clearly already withdrawing from her mind.

“What kind of spell was it?” Itena asked her voice hoarse.

Rhys sighed, "The spellbook was written in some kin of ancient language, we think some dialect of Illyrian. The spell itself was healing spell, probably used for childbirth," he explained. "The magic was searching for a pregnant female to latch onto, but when it couldn’t find one, it became more volatile," he said, his expression grave. "And that's when it found you, Irena. It was a complete accident, but the effects were still devastating."

“Did it do…anything to me?” Irena asked Madja quietly.

Madja looked up from the bandages she was applying to Irena's leg, her expression softening as she took in Irena's worried expression.

Madja studied her for a moment, her eyes flickering over the various scrapes and bruises on Irena's body. "Not as far as I can tell,” Madja said finally. "You're healing nicely, and there are no lasting effects to your body that I can see.”

It was something. It was reassuring to know that her physical injuries were being healed, and that there were no lasting effects.

Azriel squeezed Irena's hand, relief flooding through him at Madja's words.

It was good. Some form of healing being found…

And the last thing Azriel had expected, where Irena’s next words, as she addressed Rhysand.

“I’ll hand over my duties to Madja, as soon as I can,” Irena said softly. “I am aware that after what happened I am no longer suitable to make any more research involved decisions. I take full responsibility for what happened.“

Her voice was even, measured. Calm.

Even when he could see the storm in her eyes…even when he could see…

She loved her job. He knew that she loved her job. She adored it in fact. And she excelled in it too. Irena seeme to be made for her job in the House of Wind. And to hear her contemplating giving it all up, just because of an accident that hadn’t been her fault at all…

Azriel opened his mouth to protest but Rhys spoke before he could say anything. "That won't be necessary," Rhys said firmly. "Irena, what happened was a complete accident. You had no control over what happened, and we all know that." He shook his head, his expression serious. "You can't blame yourself for what happened."

Rhys leaned forward slightly, his gaze intent on Irena. "If anyone is to blame, it's Merrill," he said softly. "She was the one who was messing with magic beyond her understanding, she didn’t follow your orders and she was the one who unleashed that spell. You were just an innocent bystander in all of this."

He paused, looking between Azriel and Irena, his expression softening. "We will need to take precautions going forward, so nothing like that can ever happen again." he said carefully. "But we can figure that out together. And you do not need to give up your duties, Irena. We need you."

Irena looked down at the blankets in her lap, her fingers fiddling with a loose thread. "But what if something like this does happen again?" she asked softly.

Rhys shook his head, his expression firm. "It won't," he said, his voice filled with conviction. “None of what happened was your fault,” Rhys repeated firmly.

Azriel nodded in agreement, his grip on Irena's hand tightening. "He's right," he said gruffly. "You didn't do anything wrong. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, love. This is on Merrill, not on you. "

“And you can’t quit because otherwise we’ll all drown under paperwork. Well, more than we already do,” Rhys said with a sigh.

Irena chuckled softly, a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "Well, I suppose I can't let that happen," she said wryly. "I can’t let the high Lord deal with even more paperwork, can I?“ she said drily.

Rhys moved to stand but then he suddenly froze. “You have been doing this on purpose,” he suddenly said, staring at her.

“Doing what?” Irena asked, cocking the head to the side. “Make sure that the library generates plenty of paperwork that needs the High Lord’s personal attention?”Rhys stared at her for a moment, his expression a mixture of surprise and awe.

"You really are quite devious, aren’t you?" he said with a small laugh. "I never would have thought you’d be using your job specifically to ensure that I spend even more time doing paperwork."

“I don’t.” Irena said flatly. “It was petty revenge.”

Rhys chuckled, shaking his head. "Petty revenge?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "What on earth did I do to deserve such punishment?"

Irena just stared at him for a moment. “Maybe you should think a bout how you have been treating my mate.”

What?

Azriel had had no clue that…

Azriel hadn’t known about that. Hadn’t had the faintest inkling.

Irena had been making sure that Rhys had more paperwork to go through?!

Rhys looked at him for a moment before sighing, rubbing a hand over his face. "I suppose I deserved that one," he admitted.

Azriel just grunted, his expression flat. "You deserved a lot more than that," he muttered. But there was no real anger in his voice. He was too tired for anger at Rhys. All he cared about right now was Irena.

“You really are a perfect match,” Rhys said with some amusement. “And I do owe Azriel an apology,” he said simply. "I’ve been harsh on you, Azriel. And I haven’t been fair. I’ve been treating you like a tool, instead of like a brother, and I owe you an apology for that.”

Azriel was taken aback by Rhys's words. He had grown used to the way Rhys treated him - as a weapon first, and a brother second. Hearing Rhys acknowledge his mistakes was…certainly unexpected, and it left him feeling a little off-balance.

He paused for a moment, his mind racing as he tried to figure out how to respond. Finally he looked up at Rhys, his expression serious. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I appreciate the apology."

Rhys nodded, his expression sincere. "I mean it," he said quietly. "I'll do better moving forward."

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #Holy Ground

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tangerinearchive · 1 day ago

Text

warming up

franco colapinto x teammate!reader

summary: franco is determined to make his teammate feel better with the perfect warm sweater.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: franco is slightly obsessed with reader, not much franco x reader action but still cute! two mentions of ‘yn’, shameless and jealous franco.

You had seriously underestimated how cold Vegas would actually be.

It seemed like everyone had warned you, ‘Bring sweaters, it will get cold’ they said, and yet you chose to ignore them. So your situation could’ve easily been avoided.

You gazed at Liam Lawson from the other side of the paddock, wishing nothing more that you were in his position, wrapped up in a blanket sitting right next to a heater.

You sighed, imagining what you would feel like if you were in his position, you were so focused that you didn't see or hear your teammate walk up behind you.

Franco looked at you with a smile, although he frowned when he realized you weren’t giving him his desired attention, he followed your gaze over to Liam, who was in the middle of an interview.

“What are we looking at?” he whispered in your ear, ignoring your slight jump.

“Jesus Franco,” you muttered, trying to calm yourself, “Liam looks real warm right now.”

Franco nodded, rolling his eyes slightly, “Yes. Because he had a blanket. Do you not see that?”

You gave him a look, “Of course, I see that. That is the whole point. I want to be warm.”

Franco gave you a look over, keeping his eyes on your bare arms, where he could see the cold making your hair stand up, he smiled, “Ah. Are you cold?”

“I can’t feel my fingers,” you mumbled, keeping your eyes forward, on Liam.

Franco frowned, holding back on asking why exactly you didn't bring a sweater, his stomach felt nauseous at the sight of you gazing at Liam with so much want.

Now, you weren’t exactly looking at Liam, more so his body temperature, but still, Franco would give anything to have you gaze at him.

He gasped, his face brightening, if he got you a sweater, there was no way you would be staring at Liam like that, you would be staring at him like that.

“I will be right back.” he spoke firmly, starting to back away, “Do not leave.” you watched him over your shoulder, giggling as he fumbled into a sprint.

“No, too ugly…” Franco mumbled to himself as he threw the sweater behind him, he pulled another from his small driver’s room closet, “No, too blue…” He threw this one behind him as well. Not noticing it landed on his trainer.

The man in question jumped in shock, pulling the Williams-style sweater off his head, “What the..” he mumbled, turning to Franco, who held up a knitted sweater, “Perfect..” he heard Franco whisper.

The trainer stared briefly, watching Franco go back scavenging through his closet. The trainer could only roll his eyes before slowly walking out of the room.

“I should get her two.” Franco whispered to himself, “In case she doesn’t like one of them..” he nodded to himself, continuing to throw sweaters he didnt deem fit behind him.

After ten minutes of back and forth, Franco existed his driver’s room content, he was going to be your night and shining armor, and then you’ll look at Franco with all the love in the world because he was the one to get you warm and cozy.

Just as he was going to make his way over to the media pen, where he had left you, he was pulled aside by your manager.

“(Y/N) was looking for you.” she informed him, Franco grumbled to himself, “I told her to stay in place, tonta.” (dummy)

“She got cold.” The woman defended you, “You left her out there…she waited for ten minutes.”

Franco held up the two sweaters in his arm with a frown, “I got her sweaters, so she would not be cold.”

Your manager eyes him with a smirk, “You spent ten minutes finding a sweater to give her?”

Franco shrugged, “I wanted to make sure they were warm.”

The woman tilted her head, “You know we have a merch store full of sweaters, right?”

Franco turned to her in disgust, “Mierda, those sweaters are like this,” he held his thumb and index together, “They are not warm. They need to be warm.” (shit)

“So you are giving her your sweaters?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think that will make her fall in love with you?”

Franco leaned back in offense, “I do not need to make her fall for me…” he paused, “She is already in love with me, she just does not know it yet.”

The woman nodded with pursed lips, “Yeah because that’s a totally sane thing to say.”

Franco simply rolled his eyes, having had this conversation one too many times. So what if his obsession with you was just slightly worrying? It was all going to work out in the end, he just knew it. “Do you know where she went?”

Your manager thought for a moment. “She mentioned being hungry, so she probably went up to eat.”

And with that, Franco went off with a sprint.

Out of breath, and slight sweating, Franco entered the Williams dining room, eyes sweeping over the place with quick eyes. Only to feel a rush of disappointment when he didn't spot you.

He let out a deep disappointed sigh as he took a seat at the bar. The bartender watched him as he wallowed in pity.

Franco continued to let out deep, soul-searching sighs, catching the attention of those around him, the bartender walked but to him with an awkward smile, sliding over a glass of water.

“Hey Franco,” she started, he glanced up at her with a small smile, “You okay?” she whispered, leaning in, there were all different kinds of people around them, investors, fans, journalists, and no doubt searching for a bit of drama to hold onto, the last thing she wanted was for this interaction to be first-page news tomorrow morning.

“No.” Franco was blunt, “Was (Y/N) here?”

The lady nodded, “Yeah she just left actually. She got her usual–”

“Hot chocolate, whipped cream, caramel drizzle.” the two coursed.

The bartender leaned back, impressed, “You really know her.”

Franco shrugged, “She’ll be my wife one day, I need to know what she likes.”

The lady laughed, “Oh yeah? Does she know that?”

Franco tilted his head, “No sé. I don't think it's a secret that I like her.” (I don't know.)

The woman agreed; this was not the first time she’d heard about Franco being in love with you. It seemed like every time he and she talked, he managed to somehow make the conversation about you.

Now, she didn't know if the feelings were one-sided, the way you looked at Franco certainly made her think they weren't.

She hummed, “Well she took her hot chocolate to go, so I don't know where she went.”

Franco nodded, slowly moving off the chair, his sweaters both tightly secure in his clutch, “Okay then. If she comes back, tell her I'm looking for her.”

Franco was late to the fan stage, he had been so busy looking for you that he had lost track of time, and now he was being yelled at by his manager through the phone, demanding to know where he was.

It took him two minutes to run from the garage to the fan stage, he was recorded who knows how many times, and he was no doubt trending right now.

He had thrown the two sweaters in the arms of his manager when he arrived, wasting no time climbing the small steps up to the stage.

What he saw made his stomach drop, there you were in all your glory, wearing no other than a…mclaren puffer jacket. And you were talking to no other than…Lando Norris.

God, the smile on your face made Franco want to claw his eyes out, Lando had never been that funny.

Franco ignored the fans yelling his name, instead he squeezed in between you and Lando, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Hello,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes on you.

Lando looked over at you with an amused smile before walking away, shaking his head slightly.

“Hi?” you questioned, glancing over to the fan’s direction weary, thankfully they seemed to be paying attention to Lando and Oscar, the latter seemingly saying something funny.

“I was looking for you.”

You winced, “Sorry but I got really cold, and then I got really hungry…”

Franco smiled softly, "It's okay…” he glanced down at your attire, “What are you wearing?”

You broke out into a smile, “Do you like it? Lando gave it to me, he said I looked cold.”

“I don't like it,” Franco stated simply, you leaned back, an offended look on your face. “Okay. Rude.”

“It’s really ugly, “ he continued, “You should change.”

You huffed, “I didn't bring any sweaters!”

Franco held up a finger before moving away. You rolled your eyes, moving back to the others on stage.

A couple minutes later you felt someone's presence behind you, you jumped slightly, feeling someone pulling on your jacket, looking back you saw Franco, a look on his face.

“Take this off,” he mumbled, you glanced to his shoulder, where two knitted sweaters lay. “Porfa?” he pleaded, seeing the hesitation on your face. (please)

Later that night, as the fan stage was wrapping up, Franco walked up to Lando, handing him the Mclaren jacket with a smile, “She didn't want it…” he muttered, “And she doesn't want you.” he added as an afterthought, shooting the Mclaren driver a smile before walking over to you.

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader #f1 x you #f1 #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto fanfic #franco colapinto fluff #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto #franco colapinto x y/n #f1 social media au

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sleep-0-deprived · 2 days ago

Note

So I'm not sure if your still taking request now, if your not then sorry for sending you this.

But if you are then imagine Sanemi with a reader who got sent the wrong uniform that happens to be girls and designed by the same perverted glasses wearing Kakushi who made Mitsuri uniform.

Reader decideds to wear it just to see what they look like in it before sending it back but Sanemi comes in, sees them wearing it, and proceeds to rearrange their guts for the rest of the day.

DomTop Sanemi x male slayer reader thoughts~! ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა

WC:. 818

Tags: wall sex, mirror sex, amab anatomy, reader in female clothes, cross dressing, p N’ A sex, rough sex, neck biting, degrading, hair pullin, bottom male reader ໒꒰ྀི´⸝⸝> ˕ <⸝⸝ ꒱ྀིა

A/N: I jus haven’t been feelin like writing a fic recently so I jus did some thoughts

Taglist: @yyuinaa @asher-is-hotxp @unstab1eperson2 @silvern1006 @kimisbunny

Just thinking bout sanemi coming over to your estate finding you all dolled up in a skimpy uniform that looks like borderline lingerie on your body, walking up behind you and gripping hold of your pecs, massaging them through the fabric of your uniform while whispering irritated remarks like “who knew one of the slayers best men liked to dress like a woman?” He’d shove you agaisnt the mirror you were standing in front of and just make you look at yourself and watch as he roughly grabs and grips at all your plush spots. Sanemi would reach his hand down under the short skirt part and make you lift your leg up just enough the skirt rides up and exposes your ass for him.

Just thinking bout sanemi who just goes silent seeing your stuff cock standing up under the skirt, he’d retract his hands from your body completely making you let out a disappointed whine while he reaches back and grabs hold of a handful of your hair, jerking it making your eyes meet his in the mirror while he mumbles lewd things in your ears about “what a fucking whore you are, I bet you dressed like this on purpose just wantin to get fucked huh?” You can’t even respond to that because he reaches his free scarred hand down and starts stroking you under the uniform since the uniform didn’t come with any boxers you were already nude underneath.

Just thinking bout sanemi talking you through it, his hand stroking your cock flicking his wrist having your ass pressed to his bulge making you feel what you were gonna take while he has you all hot and bothered dropping your hair letting your head fall and giving the globes of your ass a hard pinch leaving them all tender “you’re leakin a mess pretty boy” sanemi was cocky and he had the strength to back that up so of course he was gonna make it known when he belittled you with pet names, how could he not when he had your cock leaking like a faucet in his hand- god you were so fuckin perfect, if only he wasn’t to prideful to tell you, he’d have to just show you then.

Just thinking bout Sanemi who finally fucks you, he has you mounted from behind huffing in your ears like a wild animal with his hands tight on your hips bitting at your neck while his cock violated your insides leaving them squished and clenching around his cock, if he pulled out he’d bet his cock would glisten from how slick your cavity felt around his dick. “Feels so fucking good around me— you got the pretties cunt I’ve ever felt baby” those words just make you twitch and clench up around him, you were so humiliated seeing yourself getting ruined by the pillar and the worst (best) part was you were wearing a perverse uniform, your legs felt numb but Sanemi reached his hand down and lifted your thigh up again making you squeal when his cock head reaches that tender spot inside you making it feel like a warm sensation trickled down your thighs.

Just thinking bout Sanemi who only comes inside you, he doesn’t wanna waste his seed anywhere unless he knows it’s planted nice and deep inside you, load after load getting pumped into you and you could barely let out a coherent moan when he’d just re positing you and fuck you in a new angle, if there was one thing hashira’s didn’t lack it was stamina because the wind pillar held lots of it. By the end of the day you were all bloated laying on your back with your legs spread wide up in the air getting fucked in a mating press in your bedroom in your estate, you had practically lost most feeling in your legs and all Sanemi could say “c’mon baby I know you can give me one more can’t you? Just one more f’me”

Just thinking bout Sanemi who’s terrible with aftercare, he’d go to Shinobu to get creams for your bite mark covered flesh and for all the places he had fucked raw, come oozing past your weakened ring of muscle, he almost feels pride seeing you laying face down whimpering all sleepy and sore with your ass raised up showing off the handy work he did you you. The uniform still on with the skirt half ridden up to your waist and your pecs practically spilled out of the heart shaped window like a pair of plump tits making him wanna start all over again with you— the hashira meeting wasn’t for another couple of hours so he maybe will…”do you think you can handle a few more rounds for me [name]?” You’d just let out a loud whine at his words not even fitting when he crawled back on top of you.

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sceletaflores · 1 day ago

Text

come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time.

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles.

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment.

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant.

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm.

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap.

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous.

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him.

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly.

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin’ for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.”

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this.

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs.

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away.

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole.

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight.

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes.

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight.

And neither do you.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

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alchemistc · 3 days ago

Text

The call comes in just after 2 PM, and Tommy's in the air five minutes later. White male, early thirties, took a tumble off the incline at one of the intermediate hiking points near Griffith Park, the engine can't winch him up without exacerbating his injuries.

It's a quick flight. Nothing remarkable at all, until Hurst has been down on the ground for a few minutes too long and then Tommy's captain is on the radio asking him to hand over the controls to his copilot the moment he lands at Presbyterian.

He's pissed about it the entire length of time it takes for the winch to pull up Hurst and their new passenger - time and a half for a 48 hour stretch isn't anything to scoff at.

And then he hears Hurst rattling off information as the door shuts, and he's desperately trying to remind himself that no amount of outside noise has ever distracted him before.

Evan Buckley, 33, moderate concussion, sprained ankle, three broken fingers, possible broken ribs, pulse is steady but BP is trending high.

Happy fucking Thanksgiving.

---

Tommy's phone rings as they're making the handoff at, and he answers more out of habit than anything else. It's Cap again.

"You can either ride shotgun back and be man behind or I can shift your time and a half somewhere else because you've had a family emergency," Hobbes says, and Tommy would love to have a snappy retort but he's still thinking about the way Buck had come out of it enough to tell Hurst his boyfriend - "ex-boyfriend, sorry" - flies for 217 too. Hobbes clears his throat. "Considering your last family emergency was when I forced you to take a holiday off, I know which one I'd choose."

Tommy blinks. They're almost to the doors.

"I'll see you in a few days, Captain," Tommy murmurs and hauls ass towards the retreating medical team wheeling Buck into the hospital.

---

He'd listened while Hurst and her partner - a loan from 136 he still hasn't actually been introduced to - pumped some pain meds to keep Buck from hurting himself more, but it's still a surprise to see how zonked he looks, pupils wide and eyes glassy as he blinks slow blinks up at the ceiling, the doctors, and Tommy.

Buck tries to tip his head sideways when he catches sight of him, and pulls a face when the C collar impedes the movement. A hand snags out, catches on the seam of Tommy's flight suit, and Tommy can't quite help himself. He reaches out and holds the hand in place.

It's easy to keep pace with the orderly as they leave the elevator, and Tommy knows exactly how many doors he's allowed through before he's got to make his way to the waiting room and figure out where the fuck to go from there.

Buck's face is scraped up good on one side, and the hand not in Tommy's is splinted too much for him to catch the full damage. There's more blood than Tommy can consciously account for in the moment, although most of it looks to be drying. The hand in his squeezes. "S-someone should ca-." He winces. Seems to lose his train of thought. Rolls back around to it right before the final set of doors. "You'll call Tommy?" he asks, a desperation on his face that does something ruinous to Tommy's gut, but the orderly has already slowed down and now she's looking a little like she'll shove Tommy off if he doesn't let go of her patient.

Tommy nods. Squeezes. "I'll call Tommy."

Buck's smile is lopsided and loopy as Tommy lets go of his hand.

"Good," he murmurs, and the doors swing wide and then shut behind him, and Tommy spends a solid five minutes staring at the spot where the red striping in the tile at his feet doesn't quite match up to its neighboring tiles.

---

He's a coward, so he calls Eddie first and puts his foot in it immediately.

"Why was Buck alone on a hike on Thanksgiving?" he asks, before Eddie's even finished his greeting, and he's glad he's stepped outside to make this call. He's not moderating his volume at all.

Eddie pauses. Seems to reboot. "Wait, what?"

Tommy recounts what he knows, which isn't a whole hell of a lot, if he's being honest. "So. When can I expect the cavalry?"

Eddie's silent for a beat too long. "I'm in Texas, Tommy. Is he - is it serious? How bad -?"

"He was conscious. Slightly more than superficial injuries. He'll - recover."

He'll be fine doesn't have the right ring to it, when he's just watched the man wheeled away without even recognizing Tommy.

"He went on a hike? What kind of idiot -?" Eddie asks, and then he's silent for a beat too long. "Tommy, don't take this the wrong way, but if there's even a small part of you telling you to make a break for it, do it now before he has a chance to get his hopes up."

Tommy feels it like the knife it's meant to be. It'd be shutting the door, really - in the short term, he'll remember asking someone to let Tommy know, and he'll assume Tommy didn't show. In the long term he'll remember exactly who he'd spoken to and he'll be pissed enough to make it a clean break.

It hasn't even been a month, and Tommy's out of distractions. No work, no house to clean and reorganize, no engines to tinker with, a phone on half battery.

"I need to call Maddie," he says, and he can hear the echo as Eddie shifts to speaker.

"No need. She's on her way. With like, half the station, apparently." He rattles off what must be a text from the group chat.

Tommy shoves down that familiar ache while Eddie sounds off everyone who is currently in the process of abandoning their holiday dinners to come sit in uncomfortable waiting room chairs and twiddle their thumbs. He should leave. Cut the loose threads, take an Uber home, convince his captain he doesn't need Friday off.

He's silent long enough that Eddie feels the need to check and make sure he's still there. There's an ambulance swinging into the bay thirty feet from where Tommy stands.

"You screwed up," Eddie says, and Tommy grimaces, swallows, ignores the thrum of anxiety pooling in his gut. "Showing up for him now would go a long way towards making a reconciliation viable. If that's something you want."

Tommy doesn't know what the fuck he wants, anymore. He's never allowed himself to have it long enough for it to settle. But he knows how it'd felt to know the first person on Evan's mind in the midst of his pain medication haze was Tommy.

Tommy pulls up the first delivery service app he sees and wonders how big a tip he should give for ordering a dozen coffees an hour before closing time on a national holiday. "You know what everyone's usual coffee order is?"

Eddie adds him to a group chat that's going to drain the rest of his battery before Evan's out of surgery.

>>>Part Two

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #happy thanksgiving everyone have some injury made them make up fic #gotta go run all my errands but i should have part two up this evening

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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 3 days ago

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More to it

I just love friends to lovers. ~900 words

Thinking about BSF!Jason Todd and how neither of you are willing to cross that line. You're both balancing on what's more and what isn't, both desperate for something you're not willing to name but so scared to risk losing it all.

What you have now is comfortable, safe, and if being more doesn't work? Could you ever go back to what you had? Is the reward really worth playing with fate?

It's honestly so dumb because it's obvious you're both a thread snap away from breaking the growing tension between you. You see the way his fingers twitch towards you when you walk past him, and he catches the way your breath hitches when he tilts his head down to meet your eyes.

You'd have to blind not to notice the way his gaze locks onto you from across the room. He'd have to be oblivious to not see how your knees go weak when he laughs at your jokes. You're locked in each other's gravity, drawn in by way your hearts slot together without the need for words.

Everyone already thinks you're together, even when you say you're not. There's no hiding the lovestruck look in either of your faces, the way he drapes his arm over your shoulder, the way you lean into his side like it's the only place in the world you want to be.

His family doesn't tease you as much about it anymore. Sometimes, you wish they would, even for the excuse to talk about it. There's no label between you other than he's your best friend. And maybe it doesn't need to be more. (But you'd like it to be)

Even strangers think you're together. The guy flirting with you is quick to turn on his heel with an apology on his lips at the sight of Jason. Worse is, you don't hate it. If anything, you like it.

There's almost a pride in it, how people fawn over how cute you and him are together. Neither of you ever correct them, even if you should, and it only continues to blur the line between friend and more.

But when you both finally break? You break hard. It's feverish, your fingers fisted into clothes and his hands cradling your face. You're not even sure what caused it or who moved first. You don't even bother to try to figure it out when he presses you against the wall to kiss you deeper.

It could have been the way you'd reached out to brush his hair back in the elevator to your apartment. Or it could have been the way he tugged his jacket over your shoulders when you started to shiver. Or maybe it was the way you both just stopped in the doorway of your apartment, lingering in the charged air and basking in the closeness the entryway provided.

It doesn't really matter how. What matters is that the kiss seems to pull the air from your lungs, and his heart is beating to the sound of your name. What matters is that when he pulls away to catch his breath, you chase him for another kiss.

Neither of you can focus on what happens next, because it's the warmth of your skin seeping into his and your fingers tangling into his hair that keeps you in the now.

Now, which is so big and so small all at once because his world is narrowed to the angle you tilt your head to kiss him again and you could care less what's happening outside of your apartment, outside of him.

He's your best friend, and you've always been his, but all it took is one moment to destroy any idea of ever being just friends again.

Thinking about boyfriend!Jason Todd and how he always kisses you in the doorway of your apartment because it's 'tradition'. Don't even think about trying to get out of it, not that you'd ever want to, his hand is already curled in the back of your shirt to tug you closer.

One kiss turns into five and it's probably for the best he kisses you like this when you're coming home because you'd never get anywhere if he kissed you like this every time you have to leave.

No one even bats an eye when he kisses the top of your hair or when you thread your fingers with his in public. There's a new softness in his eyes and voice, less of a weight on his shoulders, and your face never lights up as brightly as it does when he's looking at you.

It's instinctual, the way you seem to blend into each other's lives even more now. Your sheets smell like him, your things end up in his apartment just as often as his does in yours.

Thinking about boyfriend!Jason Todd, and how you laugh about ever being nervous to be more with him. It's not always perfect, but it's real, and him and you against the world just like it's always been.

There's still movie nights, still days you set out on your mission to find the best food in Gotham together. But there's also dates, also love-struck words, and needy touches.

There's still late night conversations, still whispered secrets and confessions. But there's also hopeful, hushed tones that talk about the future, a future together.

He's still your best friend, but you're partners too, so he doesn't stop himself when his fingers twitch with the urge to touch you anymore. You don't hide the way you seem to melt in his presence.

He's yours, you're his, and it was never going to end any other way than like this, souls entwined and smiles fond.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd/reader #friends to lovers #best friend jason todd

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no-144444 · 17 hours ago

Text

playing favourites- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist.

pls remember this is fiction and purely for fun!

part one | part two | part three | part four |

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

It wasn’t exactly your plan to have a DNF on your first race but, thus the joys of a backmarker team. Zak had promised you, sworn even, that McLaren would be up there, fighting with Ferrari and RedBull. He’d told you that leaving RedBull would be worth it. Now, you were getting beaten by a fucking VCarb, the seat you could’ve had. You stalked over to Oscar once you got out of the car.

“Care to fucking explain?” you scoffed. He looked at you, unimpressed.

“It was an error with the steering wheel,” he shrugged. “Nothing you, or I, could’ve done.”

You sighed. “Of course not. Nothing anyone could’ve done, do you think the media will take that? Do you think this won’t mark my fucking career?! Oscar I need you to understand-”

“Stop shouting at him, it wasn’t his fault,” Zak demanded.

“Exactly, it’s yours. Make your car drivable,” you said before walking away.

It was your reputation on the line, your career, your life. You’d worked to be in Formula One your entire life, you were the first woman in years. You didn’t have the option of ‘just having a bad race’. You had to impress every single time, or else you’d be ridiculed. You knew what you’d see online tonight. You knew what people would say. You knew what questions you’d get from reporters. You knew it all. You’d done the song and dance a million times before, and you weren’t interested in doing it again.

“SO, WHAT HAPPENED?” “YOUR FANS ARE DEMANDING ANSWERS?” “WAS THIS AN ACTUAL FAILURE OF THE CAR, OR JUST THE DRIVER?” “WHAT DID YOU SAY TO YOUR RACE ENGINEER AFTER?” “DO YOU TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR RACE?” “WHAT DO YOU SAY ABOUT PEOPLE’S OPINIONS ON YOUR DRIVING AFTER TODAY?” “SHOULD YOU HAVE STAYED AT REDBULL?”

“ARE YOU EVEN A GOOD DRIVER?”

Walking out of the media pen, you had your head hung low and a blank expression. Every single reporter wanted to talk to you. Every question was more and more degrading, and you just felt empty by the end of it. Megan, your press officer, left you in the hallway of the motorhome and you leant against it and sighed.

You couldn’t keep doing this.

In recent months you’d been questioning whether or not any of this was worth it. Every single weekend of your career had been a step towards gender equality, you were the poster-girl for being a good driver, but it was always just not enough. You’d left RedBull because of it. You realised they’d never give you a seat and just continue to use you as a diversity hire. It hurt though, that had been your home for years. You’d always been a RedBull driver, since you were in karting. The whole lead up to your first race was months and months of questions, everyone wondering if you could finally show everyone that women deserved seats in F1.

And you’d just fucked it up.

You hadn’t even noticed that you’d started crying until you felt them on your cheeks. You quickly wiped them away, but it wasn’t quick enough to fool Oscar. He frowned as he looked at you, walking towards you. You rolled your eyes. “Don’t fucking pity me,” you scoffed. “Come on, we have to debrief,” you said, walking into the boardroom.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Oscar, when am I pitting?” you shouted, hoping he would finally fucking answer you.

“I’m not sure yet, give me a moment Y/n-”

“Y’know it’s really fucking impressive how we finally get in the points and now I’m getting fucking undercut because you’re not fucking ready Oscar, this is ridiculous!” you shouted.

“Pitting next lap,” he said, neutral. It pissed you off how level-headed he was.

“Fuck off,” you muttered. You pitted next lap. You finished the race in P11.

Shit.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Fuck!” you shouted at Oscar, getting out of the car. “This is such fucking bullshit.”

“Y/n-” he started.

“Just fuck off,’ you sighed, pushing his hand off your arm. “That would’ve been our best finish! P5?! And then Lando turns into me?!”

He nodded. “Calm down,” he soothed. Your mood turned.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you ripped your arm back.

Lando DNFed. You DNFed. Shit.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

P15, another failure. At least you’d gotten higher than Lando, stuck down in P17. 5 races in and 0 points between the two of you? Fucking hell. You’d never scored so badly in your life. You walked over to the barrier, finding Oscar standing there.

“Sorry,” you sighed. “We’re so fucking slow.”

He nodded. “We’ll keep working.”

You nodded, but you felt that same nausea twisting your gut.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, somehow sensing it all. You shook your head.

He stared at you a second longer, then took your answer, despite the way he sensed your lie.

You two didn’t get along. He understood that. It didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of your insane diet and work out regimen. He was completely aware of the way you blame yourself despite the car being the only issue. He watched you work yourself to the bone. He almost wished you would be a bit more arrogant, like Lando, he wished it fell off your shoulders as easily as it did his.

He couldn’t stand the media. The narrative they were pushing about you was ridiculous. You’d won every junior series, you’d waited your turn in RedBull, only to get kicked to the curb, you were good enough, but something told him you were starting to believe otherwise.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“So what’s the issue?” Zak sighed, pacing the garage, starting one of his famous pep talks.

“Y/n,” a voice from the back muttered and everyone's heads snapped to you. It had been one of the mechanics who had preferred Carlos, but you just shrugged. A few chuckles were heard, one of them coming from Lando himself, and you just continued what you were doing, staring off into space.

“It’s the car we built,” Zak answered his own question, trying to do damage control.

“She’s not exactly Hamilton,” Lando said, a little bit too loud, as he joked with his engineer.

“She’s consistently placed in front of you in the same car,” Oscar pointed out, his voice neutral. “The only reason she DNFed in Saudi Arabia was because you turned into her. Also, you haven’t gotten any points.”

“What are you, her boyfriend?” He chuckled, making the garage laugh. You rolled your eyes, getting up and walking off. “Is she fucking PMSing?”

Oscar’s blood boiled at the way his co-workers laughed at that, at you. You didn’t deserve this shit from Lando, from anyone. Oscar went after you. He stopped right outside your driver’s room.

“I don’t know what to do.

He heard your voice, thick with emotion.

“You’re not working hard enough, look at Lando. You have to pay your dues here, it’s how McLaren works. Go for a run and clear your head.”

“I’m exhausted-”

“I’m not asking.”

He stepped back, letting the door swing open. You stared back at him with wide eyes. “Run?” he offered.

“She should go on her own-”

“Yeah, sure,” you shrugged.

You didn’t like Oscar, but it was better than going alone.

“What’s Richards’s problem?” he asked as you two ran the streets of Miami in the pitch black of the night. Richard was your trainer.

“He’s just a bit of a pushover,” you shrugged. “He’s making me better.”

“He’s making you train more, relax less, and eat less,” Oscar pointed out. “Is that better?”

“So you’re a health expert now?” you scoffed. “The gaul of you, to always assume that you know better than someone just because you can. It is fucking insane how much of an ego everyone here has.”

“Maybe you should get one,” he scoffed.

“An ego? No thanks.”

“No, a backbone,” Oscar said. “You can’t let Lando walk all over you, he’s without.”

“Without what?”

He shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” you continued. “Explain.”

Oscar smirked. “Talent.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so strange.”

And off you went, running again.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

P4, finally a good result, finally a result worth all the struggle, all the shit, everything.

But no one was at the barricade. None of your mechanics, no Zak, no one. Not even Oscar. You looked like a fucking idiot. Lando had DNFed. They were busy with him. McLaren was such a fucking boys club, and you didn’t fit in. You shook your head as you searched the barricade, not one familiar face to be had. Bullshit.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You walked back into the motorhome after all of your media duties, and you scoffed when they let out a half-hearted cheer. No celebration for you, only sympathy for Lanod, who crashed because of his own reckless driving, Lando who was totally fine, Lando. You pretended it didn’t hurt. You’d been congratulated by everyone else, every other driver, especially Danny, Liam, Yuki, Max, and Checo. They all gave you the biggest hug, told you how well you were doing, and celebrated you. You wished you’d just stayed as their reserve driver. Maybe then you’d be something to someone.

You stumbled into your driver’s room and found a note on your table, beside it, your favourite chocolate bar.

Congratulations on your result, you deserve to be celebrated, but Lando sucks so we had to pretend that you aren’t incredible. I thought you’d enjoy something sweet, sorry we had to be the ones to leave the bitter taste in your mouth.

Osc.

You stared down at it for a moment. Oscar knew your favourite chocolate bar. Oscar explained himself and apologised. Oscar was there for you, even if it was just in spirit. Oscar wanted to celebrate you. He wished he didn’t have to leave you alone, standing in Parc Fermé with no one to congratulate you.

“Fuck you,” you said, to no one in particular. You were alone, as always. You crumbled up the note and threw it into the bin.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

When Oscar looked at his desk in MTC the next morning and found the same chocolate bar he’d spent 3 hours searching for, he frowned. McLaren was ruining you slowly. Your mental health was falling further and further away from ‘alright’, and he seemed to be the only one to notice it. He saw you out of the corner of his eye. “Y/n,” he called. “Come here.”

You rolled your eyes, walking over to him. “What?”

“I don’t like these,” he shrugged. “You should take it, I’m sorry-”

“I don’t like them either,” you shrugged. “Go give it to Lando, since you’re his bitch now too.”

“I-”

“I don’t fucking care about where your loyalty lies, Oscar, but don’t play both sides. You picked one in Imola, so stick with it,” you seethed, hitting the bar out of his hand.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

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fungateshortcakes · 2 days ago

Text

Tummy ache

Do I have kids? No. Do I want kids? Fuck no. Did I still write this because dad logan makes me feel a certain type of way? HELL YES

Pairing: Worst!Logan x single mom!Reader

Summary: It's late and your little daughter Laura won't stop crying and screaming, no matter what you do. You take her to your best friend Wade, who lives in the same apartment buildung. Will he and Logan be able to help you?

Wordcount: 3.4k

Warning/tags: english is not my first language, fluff, slight missunderstandings, Wade bc he needs a warning, implied sexual themes, friends to lovers, just cuteness, Laura doesn't exists as an adult like in the movie, rushed ending?, leave me alone I finished this at midnight

__________________________________

Logan was snoring on the couch in Wades apartment when loud, frantic knocks sounded on the door. He grumbled in annoyance as he turned, pulling a pillow over his head.

He heard Wade skip to the door in a pair of white underpants with hearts on them and a loose, grey wolverine fangirl shirt. "Must be the horse dildo I ordered" he spoke happily as if it was the most normal thing to say. Once Wade opened the door, the piercing shrieks of a baby crying echoed through the apartment.

You held your one year and a half old daughter in your arms, her face red as she cried into your shoulder. Wade noted that your hair was a mess and you seemed awfully tired. Well- it was late and on any other day, you and your daughter would already be sleeping. But there was clearly something that bothered her. She had been crying and screeching and in discomfort for an hour without you finding what caused it or how to fix it.

You tried feeding her, but she wouldn't open her mouth for the spoon. You tried reading to her, but she would always push away the books. You changed her diapers in case her sensitive skin was irritated by the dampness, but she hadn't peed. You didn't know why she was so distressed and nothing seemed to distract her from whatever it was that made her cry.

You were desperate. And while your best friend Wade wasn't really...fond of kids, which you couldn't blame him for, you still went to him for help. You never truly wanted kids yourself. But when the condom broke and your ex left you upon finding out you were pregnant, you were stuck with your baby. And now you wouldn't trade her for the world. Except in times where she was screaming with no appearant reason. "Hey Wade, I'm so sorry to bother you guys this late at night, but Laura, she won't stop crying. I've tried everything and I don't know what to do" you croaked, rocking the small child in your arms, shushing her to no avail.

Wade brought you inside so you wouldn't stay outside in the hallway any longer. No need for some neighbors to peek their head out of their doors to see what was going on.

In situations like these, Wade could be oddly serious and actually tried to help. He knew you were insecure because of your baby. You didn't want to be a nuisance or burden to anyone because you knew that your daughter could be a lot. Kids were high maintanance and you didn't want to make people feel like they were obligated to make room and drop everything once you arrived with your child. You couldn't expect from anyone that they were okay with you bringing your kid over. But Wade wanted you to know that even though he didn't like kids, you were his best friend and Laura had been nothing but a sweetheart so far. You were always welcome in his apartment.

Wade kicked Logan from the couch "Get your fat ass off the couch, the Lady needs a place to sit" he loudly said over Lauras crying. Logan groaned. You sat on the sofa and tried to take up as little space as possible. "Im sorry Logan, didn't want to disturb your sleep." you apologized meekly. "I can..I can move to the chair here" you muttered, pointing to an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair that replaced an armchair, which had recently been thrown out of the apartment due to mysterious stains and various rips and cuts in the fabric.

You had met Logan a few times since he lived with Wade and Althea. And you would be a liar if you said he didn't catch your eye. He was tall, broad and very handsome, pretty much right up you alley. But there was no way he was looking for a chaotic single mother that barely had her life together and struggled to raise an unplanned child because her ex left her. Yeah, no. You were miserable. Logan didn't need any of that.

Adding to that, he always seemed to avoid you when Laura was near. You just thought he didn't like kids, which was totally fair. Truthfully, Logan liked kids and had always wanted some of his own, but it just...never happened. With him being the worst wolverine and all.

Then why did he avoid you and your baby?

Simply said, he didn't want to scare her. Most kids looked at him like he was some sort of big, bad monster. Some ran away, some started crying, others hid from him behind their parents when he walked by. He wasn't good with children either because they never let him close enough before getting scared. He was afraid that Laura would react the same way like all children did. He didn't want you to back away once you realised that Laura didn't approve of him.

He couldn't bear only seeing you from afar.

As you were about to stand up from the couch, Logan stopped you. "No, its fine. Stay on the couch. I can move" he replied and you felt another pang as he moved away from you again.

Wade leaned over the couch, looking down at Laura who was still wailing uncontrollably. You sighed deeply, a throbbing ache behind your eyes. "Why won't you stop crying? What's wrong, sweetheart?" you nearly sobbed as well. You were so tired of this, so tired of this sound. You felt so helpless and stupid. "Maybe she wants some food? We have some left-over pizza, I can grind that stuff up into a slurry for her or something" Wade suggested.

You softly shook your head. "She doesn't want to eat, I tried. I also tried to read her a bedtime story, but she just push me away. I also changed her diapers but nothing helped" you rasped, ready to just fall asleep on the spot.

Wade reached down to get your crying daughter out of your arms. "How about you get some sleep while Wolvie and I take care of Laura? Maybe we'll find out what's rubbing her the wrong way." Wade said, cooing to your crying baby. You fell onto the couch, closing your eyes. "I can't just sleep when she is crying" you mumbled, clearly deadly tired.

"We'll take care of her. You go sleep" Logan drawled and his deep voice soothed you even more, made you even more sleepy. It was so easy to let your body betray your mind and you hated it. "Okay..." you whispered, too tired to argue. And before you could snuggle into the couch cushions, you felt two strong arms slip under your body and lifting you up as if you weighted nothing. You were so tired, you couldn't even gasp or protest as Logan brought you into Wades room, your senses enveloped with his scent.

He carefully lowered you down onto the matress, covering you up with a blanket. "Sleep tight, love. We'll take great care of your little one, so you don't have to worry about a thing" he drawled softly and only after closing the door behind him did he hope that you hadn't catched his slip-up, that he had called you love.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

In had been another two hours of constant crying and screaming. The kid must be exhausted from all the crying, but she still didn't stop. If you asked Logan, it became even worse.

"God, can you shut up for a minute? I am trying everything here!" Wade stressed, bouncing Laura in his arms and patting her back. "Don't tell your mom I said that" he whispered right after. Laura wailed and pushed herself away from Wade with her tiny hands, which were surprisingly really strong. She squirmed in his grasp, desperate to be set down.

"This is how you thank me? I've worked my ass off the past hour to get everything to your liking and now you push me away?" he grumbled, but set her down with a loud 'ouch!' after she started to scratch him.

Her tiny feet waddled against the livingroom floor as fat tears rolled down her chubby cheeks. She had a tummy ache, but she couldn't communicate that with anyone. There were a few words she knew and could say- cat, dog, mama. But she didn't have the words to say that something was hurting.

Logan sat on the couch and watched her as she stood a few feet away from him with her red face, screaming together the whole neighborhood. He sighed deeply, the sound making his ears ring. Then, out of nowhere, she waddled over to him.

"No, no, bub. Not a good idea. Get back to uncle Wade" he told her, scooting up the couch a bit more. He could have just stood up and walk away- why didn’t he? Laura stood between his legs now, demanding uppies from him as she cried. Logan shook his head, ready to call Wade from the kitchen, when Laura began screetching, stretching herself to Logan, standing on her small tip toes.

With a huff, he picked her up, his big and warm hands eveloping her small body. He leaned back against the couch with her on his lap. To his surpise, she quieted down. "You okay now, bub?" he asked her, jumping as she snuggled herself against his chest. Due to his mutation, Logan was always very warm. His whole body was like a heater and that warmth soothed Lauras tummy ache, unbeknownst to him.

The apartment was quiet now, only a few hiccups and sighs coming from Laura as she let her stomach ache be washed away by Logans cozy warm body. He didn't know what to do! One minute he was tortured by her screams and now she was napping on him. On him! Out of all people, she chose to rest on him.

"Is she dead!?" It was now Wades turn to yell as he came stumbling into the kitchen because it suddenly went all quiet. Logan didn't answer him nor did he move a muscle, too scared to wake your baby up.

"What the fuck" Wade blurted out upon seeing something he had never thought he would ever witness in his entire life. Logan shushed him, making Wade frown. He came closer, his face next to Lauras sleeping one "You little cheating slut" he sharply whispered, earning himself a shove from Logan. "Seriously, did you knock her out? Why is she sleeping all of a sudden?" Wade asked with crossed arms.

"I don't know. She wanted me to pick her up, so I did. Then she stopped crying and fell asleep" Logan explained, a warm feeling spreading in his chest as he watched the slow rise and fall of Lauras breath, her tiny hand tightly holding onto his shirt.

"Wow" Wade said. "You're the baby whisperer" Logan shot him a glare.

Wade went on a rant about how everything would have been easier if Logan took Laura from the start before finally falling asleep draped over the chair, leaving Logan alone with his thoughts. For a moment, Logan thought about bringing Laura to you so she could sleep with her mom. But as he tried to peel her off of him, she started fuzzing and whimpering until she was laying back on his chest.

He sighed deeply. Well, gotta make the best of the situation, huh? With a grunt, he made himself comfortable on the couch and fell asleep with a broad hand securily holding Laura on top of him.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

You woke up well rested. Weird. You haven't slept this good since Laura had been born.

Laura!

You jumped awake, stumbling over some stuff in Wades room before you reached the door. It was quiet as you opened it and you were met with the sight of Logan, the fucking Wolverine, sound asleep with your daughter cuddled up on him as if he was some kind of big teddy.

Your heart soared in your chest, your stomach did flips and summer saults. And your pussy throbbed. Couldn't help it, seeing him with your baby did something to your ovaries. It was...so cute. You wanted nothing more than to snuggle up with them, trace patterns onto his pecks while Laura would squeak out an adorable smile-

"Mama" Laura squealed suddenly, flashing you a smile with her few teeth. "Hey there, baby" you cooed to her, kneeling down next to the couch to be eye-level with her. She smiled brightly, whatever it was that had bothered her yesterday completely forgotten. "You seem happy using uncle Logan as a pillow" you said to her, kissing her chubby cheek.

Logan started waking up, only registering Laura at first. "You slept well, bub?" he muttered with a deep sleep laced voice, gently rubbing Lauras small head with his large hand that easily fitted around the back of her head.

"Yes, I did. Thank you for asking" you giggled softly, amused by the way Logan nearly jumped out of his skin upon noticing that you were there too, witnessing how he went soft for your daughter. An embarrassed blush krept onto his face and he cleared his throat, sitting up and avoiding your gaze. "Sorry, she...she only stopped crying when she sat on my lap"

You smiled softly at him. "Seems like she really likes you, then." and I like you too, you wanted to add, but didn't. "She is usually not that touchy with people she barely met" you said and hearing your reassurance- the fact that Laura seemed to like him- it warmed his heart. But he would never admit that.

"Well, I guess I'm flattered" Logan replied with the hint of a smile, his gaze soft as you lost yourself in his eyes, Lauras babbling fading into the background. For a moment, you let yourself think about what could have been. This baby, it could have been Logans and yours. She could have been born because two people truly loved each other. Did Logan love you? You doubted it. But when he looked at you like that, you allowed yourself to be fooled.

"I don't know how you manage to fuck each other just with your eyes, but get a room. There are children present" Wade suddenly said outraged, covering Mary Puppins eyes.

You picked up Laura from Logans lap, holding her against your hip to bring distance between you, Logan and Wades teasing. Logan cleared his throat, clearly disappointed.

"I am so, so thankful that you guys helped me. I don't know what you did or what was wrong with her, but she seems all better now. Is there anything I can do to show my gratitude? you asked, gently bouncing Laura in your arms.

Logan shook his head "No need, bub" he grumbled in his deep voice. He would have done this a thousand times if it meant he could hold your baby in his arms as if it was his. "Make that creamy ass mac and cheese and my life is yours. That stuff tastes and sounds better than any pussy" Wade chimes in, making you laugh. You promised to invite both of them over for dinner sometimes this week and they happily agreed. Laura squeaked out a cute "bye!" before you went back to your own apartment again.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Ever since that day, visits to either Wades or your apartment became more frequent and Laura couldn't be happier seeing Logan pretty much every day. She would stick to his leg from the minute she saw him and to the last second before he left. It was adorable and made you fall even deeper in love with someone you could never have.

Wade made it his mission to steal Laura away from you and Logan. Partly because he wanted you to spend more time alone, and to teach her some words since he was her 'uncle' after all.

Laura sat on his lap, staring down at Wades phone. He looked over her head. He had a picture open that showed you, Laura, Logan and Wade. "And who is that?" he pointed to you, earning a delighted squeal from Laura as she pointed to your smiling face on the picture as well "Mama!" she babbled. Wade cheered her on, applauding her. "That's right, and that is Dada. Dada" he pointed to Logan. Laura recognized him, smiling brightly and giggling, but she didn't say anything. "Can you say that? Dada?" Wade asked in the best baby voice he could muster. But still, Laura wouldn't say anything. "Come on, say Dada. Da-da" Wade tried one last time, but Laura unwrapped himself from his arms to go and play with some toys scrattered on the floor. He huffed in frustration. It was easier to teach kids swear words than this.

Two days later, the day for the dinner came and someone rang your doorbell. You left Laura to play on her playmat and went over to the door, opening it a slit before realising that it was Logan. You fixed your hair with flushed cheeks, you hadn't expected him to come this early, you had just started the dinner preperations. "Oh, hey Logan. What are you doing here? Dinner was planned in two hours" you said, gingerly letting him into your apartment which you hadn't had the time to tidy up yet. Logan wasn't the guy to judge, but you still felt insecure.

"I thought I'd help you with the cooking and all. Look after Laura so you can work in peace" he said, knowing that he was just here to spend more time with you and Laura alone to give him the feeling of having his own little domestic family that he will never actually experience.

You smiled at him "That's very nice of you, but Laura is actually being very umcomplicated today" speaking of which, you showed him that your kid was silently playing with her toys. Upon noticing you and Logan, she squealed and stood up slowly, trying to keep her balance, before she waddled up to him excitedly. "There's my little pumpkin" he drawled, bending down to pick her up swiftly.

"Dada!" she giggled, making you an Logan stop in your tracks. "Did you hear that?" he asked you, looking over at you with a shocked expression. You frowned. You had never taught her to say that. "Sweetheart, who is that?" You asked the little girl, tapping Logans arm, just to be sure you hadn't heard her incorrectly. "Dada" she squeaks again, playing with his coarse beard.

You both looked at each other in disbelieve and for a second, you feared Logan woulf shove Laura into your arms and leave. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't know where she got that from" you tried to apologize, but the rejection from Logan never came.

He held her lovingly to his chest, giving her forhead a kiss. It made your heart pound faster. "No, it's okay" he reassured you, his large hand enveloping the back of Lauras head. "I...I could be her dad. If you want me to be" his question struck you like lightning, it was like a damn marriage proposal.

A marriage proposal you would never say no to. He looked at you with hopeful eyes, waiting for your answer and worrying he had overstepped.

"Yes. Be the father she never had. And please be the love I always wanted" you whispered, leaning up to kiss him. The kiss was soft, your lips brushing against the other and it was nothing you had ever felt before. You had kissed your ex- but never did it feel like this. So right. His free hand snaked around your waist, deepening the kiss until Laura decided to pull at your shiny necklace.

You smiled at her, taking her into your arms. "Do you want to play with daddy while I make mac and cheese?" you asked your daughter and minutes later, Logan had brought her playmat and some toys into the kitchen to sit beside her on the ground to watch and entertain her. It was like nothing had changed. Little did you know, Logan had accepted the little girl as his daughter way before today, even if you guys had never confessed.

And as you stole glances down to Logan, who was already looking at you with these half lidded bedroom eyes, you knew that after dinner, Logan and you would be trying for Lauras sibling.

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I really hoped you liked this, I feel like I've rusted a bit. Still got a lot of smut ideas and fics open that I need to finish. Wish me luck☹ if you saw any grammatical mistakes, no you didn't. Leave me alone im tired

Btw, thanks to @buck-star for motivation me to finally finish this <33

#logan howlett x reader #x men #hugh jackman #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #x reader #logan howlett #logan wolverine #marvel #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #worst wolverine #worst wolverine x reader #mcu #logan howlett fluff #fluff #oneshot

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