#been meaning to do that too... but I don't really have a lot of pins ;w; I'm a plush + acrylic stand kind of guy...

[inkskinned]

she had taken all of the pronouns in my poems and turned them masculine. every she was he. every her was him. i wrote about women dipping their hands into the honey of my chest and she had changed it in this stark, violent way. men now, in my work. in my ribs, i guess. how odd, to stare at it.

i write a lot about worshipping at the knees of my girl. what sapphic can resist the allure of chapel-talk, the divine nature of what is ours and ours alone. her hair in your shower. her chapstick melting in your car. when we say holy here, it is a different meaning. it is the smithing of our own haloes from mix-tape cds. no hammer to the anvil - only our own palms, skin scorching. forging every astral ray with the prayer please don't leave. our bible a history that is never taught in high school. we shape a church from the tent of her arched back. what other word for hymn but her voice. her moaning.

a poem can be stripped of its component parts, maybe, but can it still breathe? is it still the same ship? the words this woman changed, biting and spiraling up at me: my man is holy. i worship at his feet. he is the divinity of saturdays and the wheat of my communion and he is the hushed summer's glorious release.

it's common knowledge that you can say a word too-many times, and then it loses meaning. but here was something new: it wasn't that the words had lost meaning, but rather that they had shifted in the air somehow and turned radioactive to me. all of my words were otherwise unchanged, except for the unkind and glowing eye of him.

ivory-tower glowing in my aorta, i thought about talking to her on the sanctimonious and erudite level. telling her: a poem can be changed, can be erased or added to or demolished or reconfigured; but we do try to respect the original author. i would tell her i would have preferred her not change only the pronouns; that her actions felt like censorship rather than collaboration.

in front of me: you cannot cut him out of me, i was made to love him. no scrubbing, no penance. i will always come back to this house, come back to loving men.

i thought about telling her why her actions were cannibalism, not care. i would tell her about being 18 and pressured by my catholic family to accept a man as a partner; how i'd dated him for 5 years before being able to escape. how abusive he had been. how he had made me kneel in front of him - that i wasn't using the word worship idly, but rather as a reclamation. how i had to be re-taught even the concept of faith. how when i learned peace again, it was by the hand of a woman.

i thought about telling her about the wound behind it, the unceasing loneliness. i thought about telling her shape of the small and quiet hours; the fear; the endless and unpretty nature of just being queer. i thought about saying: all of my work comes from a place of pain.

i thought about telling her everything. when i finally found the words, it was only one: why? in that was the summary of all i felt: why not write her own poem? why change it so violently? and why choose my work, if she disliked it so much? why me?

i imagine she shrugged when she responded. all i got was a single sentence: "i really like your work but i want to be able to enjoy it without being made uncomfortable."

on her insta, her pinned post is of her boyfriend - now husband - proposing. they were married in 2023. congratulations. i really do hope she's happy.

i hope one day it stops hurting.

[honeyjynxxed]

DeadTired Draft

"You're very good at pretending to be a shadow."

Tim's voice shook Danny from his quiet note taking and he looked up at his study partner with furrowed brows and confusion on his face. "I'm sorry?" It was as much a question as it was an apology which meant it was neither really.

Electric blue eyes pinned him in place, and Tim looked at Danny as if he had just said the sky was green. "If I had not been partnered with you in our ecology class I wouldn't know you exist. No one at this school knows you exist besides the staff and even then you're a name to a face to a grade. Nothing else. You're very good at pretending to be a shadow, a bodiless thing gliding along the edges of society."

Danny bit his lip slightly, mulling these words over. Tim was right of course, he never allowed himself to make waves, he stuck to the background of any place he was in, and really he was surprised that he wasn't more noticeable with how often Tim Drake-Wayne was his study partner. "I guess...I've never really like attention anyway. Why, you stalking me, Drake?" He raised a brow at the other boy, attempting to hide his confusion behind snark. He hardly ever used Tim's last name, either of them, but this seemed like an appropriate time to do so.

"Hiding something, Nightingale?" Tim snarked back but there was a bit of genuine questioning under his tone that had Danny tensing up in his sit, gripping his pencil a little too tightly in his left hand. "I can only contact you through your student email, you don't have a phone number or a phone period as far as I can tell, you have a laptop that barely works and seemingly requires a blood sacrifice to do the most basic of tasks. You live on campus but you never let me see your dorm, you never agree to meet me anywhere but the library on campus and I just-" He lets out a heavy sigh and runs his hands through his hair and suddenly Danny is a lot less tense in his seat. When Tim's eyes settle on him again there's genuine concern there and it breaks his heart. "I am worried. Daniel Nightingale doesn't exist outside of this college and it makes me think you're running from something or someone. If that isn't the cause then by all means please tell me I'm overstepping but Danny..." Tim reaches across the table that separates them and grabs at his free hand. "If you need help I'm here, ok?"

And oh...oh Danny's core positively sings in his chest at the admission. Protection was a major obsession for Danny and the way Tim talked, the way he explained his thought process, it made Danny feel warm and fuzzy inside despite the permanent chill in his body. Tim wanted to protect him and wasn't that so sweet? "I-" Danny stuttered before a sad smile was spreading across his lips and he gave the boy's hand a gentle squeeze. "I appreciate that but unless you have a way to somehow get an entire government organization disbanded and legislature revoked then I'm afraid this is out of your ballpark."

And really, Danny should've known better than to open his fat mouth. He should've known that the Fenton luck would bite him in the ass with his first real friend since Sam and Tucker. Tim may have dropped the conversation after that but by no means had he dropped the topic entirely. No instead apparently he had somehow gotten into contact with the Justice League because less than two weeks later Batman, Red Robin, Superman, and John Constantine of all people were waiting for him inside his dorm when he got back from a late night of studying.

What.

The.

Fuck.

[cherry-hulu]

— Ride It Like A Rodeo

Synopsis: Save a horse, ride a cowboy.

Warnings: cowboy sheriff!kmg x diner worker!fem reader, cowgirl position, raw sex, boot riding, oral (m and f recieving), mg is kinda mean here, very horny, lots of petnamds

The blazing sun wasn't to be mistaken. It was here and you could feel it, but no amount of heat can dry up the wet feeling between your thighs.

There was something about watching Mingyu ride a horse, wearing a full cowboy attire topped with his favorite cattleman hat, under the firing heat with sweat dripping down his forehead, forearms flexed as he takes control of his horse. A sheriff badge sitting nicely on his left upper chest pinned nicely to his cowboy vest.

Imagine how hot it would look like having his forearms would look like on your waist guiding you to grind on him. Biceps flexing as he picks you up. His whole body oiled up in sweat.

Luckily for you, you don't have to hold it in imagination for too long.

Mingyu wasn't a stranger to your diner. He often visits the place to eat his favourite meal, and also to have a taste of your special milkshake. It was a nice break from doing rounds around town.

Walking in the place, the swinging doors emit a sound letting you know of his arrival. Only you, because there was no one else at the place right now. "Afternoon sugar, weathers been extra hot lately huh?" He winks, sitting down at the bar stool, conveniently located right in front of where you rest over at the counter.

It takes a while for you to answer, taking in his beauty. His tan skin glowing with sweat, sharp features, beautiful nose, his lips, and canine smile. How could you not admire him really?

"No need to tell me, your sweat speaks for itself. Want your usual?" You ask, trying your best to maintain eye contact so as not to wander anywhere else, especially the wet patch on his long sleeve botton up slightly clinging to his abs. Not to mention his rolled up sleeves and bulging biceps.

"Been starin' at me have 'ya? I think I'll take my special."

"Coming right up!" You smile, attempting a genuine one but your eyes says otherwise. You turn around to enter the kitchen and make his milkshake, one you only make for him courtesy of the amount of times he requested for adjustments in the flavouring to fit his taste.

It takes a while before you finally get to finish it off with whipped and a cherry on top. Serving it to him with an ever so sweet smile as if it isn't taking every will of your power to not just jump at him.

"Thanks sweetheart." He winks. He was no longer wearing his hat, cowboy vest off his chest, slightly dry now due to waiting but still glistening nonetheless. "So.. got any stories to tell? Any bandits been causing trouble lately? Something I should be on the look out for?" You try to initiate a conversation, Mingyu was a nice company, all hots aside.

"As of late? Nah, towns under control. Didn't saw anything while on the road, just a few bunch of squirrels and tumbleweeds if that's what you're interested in."

"Boring.." You rest your cheek on the palm of your hands, elbows rested atop the counter as you drag out the last syllable. He chuckles at you, locking eye contact as he grabs the cherry, dangling it on his open mouth, barely touching his lips before he takes it one bite with his teeth, jaws flexing while he chews on the fruit.

A smirk etches it's way on his face when he sees you gulp, eyes looking to the left away from him. "Boring huh? Wanna ride on me then?" He asks.

"What?" You turn to him, eyes wide open only to see him take the stem of the small fruit, before taking out and showing a small knot.

"You wanna ride with me then?" He raises his brow, tossing the knot to the side, tilting his head to the right as his smile turns upward as well. "Um..." You position both your hands to lay flat on the counter but as you do, you knock the cup of milkshake causing it to spill all over him. "Shit, I'm sorry, I-"

"Nah, it's fine, needed a change anyway, got any extra shirt for me sweetie?" He cuts you off, standing up lazily as if he wasn't just spoiled by his drink. "I think we do- yes, let me just clean the mess- hold on." You were panicking, you didn't knew what to do first. Torn between him or the spilt liquid all over the counter.

Luckily for him he knew exactly what he wanted to do.

· · ·

"This is all we got, it's for the male employees, shirts go 'till xl so... yeah."

Kim Mingyu, the mist respectable sheriff of your town, the embodiment of a wet dream, your not so secret crush, is stripping his upper clothing off right in front of you. Showing off his pecs and giving you a full view of his hard earned muscles. "Yeah?" He smirks at your flustered look. "Got any problem sugar?" He says, walking towards you.

The space you two were in was cramped, a mere utility room of just cleaning supplies and spare clothes for the employees. The door was closed, you don't remember it being that way when you entered, nor do you remember telling him to close it.

You indeed do have a problem. Your panties was damp, unfortunately for you, unlike a shirt, it can't be replaced so easily unles syou fix the source of the problem. Nonetheless, you shake your head 'no', eyes staring intensely right at him.

"Really? So if I touch your cunt you won't be just as wet as my chest?" He asks.

"How..."

"Skirts not long enough to hide your panties when you bent down to grab that shirt. Think it's only rightful that I help a needy citizen of mine ey?"

"You ask too many questions."

"You've answered few. Last question baby, yes or no?"

You let a few beats pass before eventually, "Yes."

His hands find your thighs immediately, lifting you to sit on the small shelf to which barely holds your butt, however it was no problem because Mingyu was groping it in an instant.

The tall man captivates you in a kiss while his hands spread your cheeks apart, sliding underneath your skirt to fully remove your panties before spreading your cunt making you feel the air.

"Fuck, you're so wet." Mingyu slides a finger in, curling it up, his mouth never leaving your mouth as he swallows your kiss, his tongue slides with your as you share your salivas. He was just as good as you'd imagine.

Another finger goes in, then another, and another, before he finally gets on his knees and fully eating out your pussy. He was acting like a starved mad man, and he was.

"Don't know how long I've waited for this. To have you like this, fuck you're just as good you're milkshake." Mingyu moans. The sheriff was finger fucking you with four fingers going in and out, curling up as it does. His mouth was sucking and licking all over, one of his thumbs play with your clit as be basically pins you to the wall of the shelf with your thighs.

You looked like a mess, probably sounded like one too, eyes crossef and mouth open letting out pathetic and barely tangible sounds.

"'M c- close! Fuck!" Your first full words after giving consent.

A pulls everything out and away before slapping your cunt once with his heavy hand making your tremble as you cum. "You weren't supposed to cum and you know that, but you're a slut, you don't know how to do anything but cum on me." He gives another slap this time to your boobs, tugging the top of your dress down until your tits is all in it's glory.

Mingyu stands on his two feet, unbuckling his pants to free his dick. Standing tall and hard with precum leaking off the tip. All for you to lick. You slide lff the shelf to your knees, eyes faded when you gran his dick to lick and slobber all over.

"Fucking whore, don't even need to tell you to do shit. Doing it on your own already huh?" He chuckles, grabbing a handful of your hair before shoving his full dick in. He steps his boots forward, "Grind on it bitch."

You moan, grinding your wet cunt on his cowboy boots as you move your head on his cock. "Yeah, serve me like the good toy that you are." He smiles, rubbing your cheek as you start to cry when he holds your head in place when he fucks your mouth at his own pace.

Your hands find it's way around his thighs as you grind, practically clinging on him as he fucks you harder. His hands grab onto your neck, choking you full on, threatening to cut your air supply double time with his fingers and his dick. His boots tapping on the floor to further stimulate your cunt.

He can feel the leather getting soaked up by your juice as if he's stepping in a puddle of rain. "Love your milkshake but I bet you'll love mine better." He pulls his hands around your throat away and places it ontop of your head, practically patting you as he cums inside your mouth forcing you to take him all.

You don't know how much you've cummed on his boots but you're sure it's more than one. Mingyu lifts you up from the floor as he lays his ass flat on it, upper body leaning back on the door before guiding you back down.

"C'mon cowgirl, haven't cummed in you yet. Can't give up on me that easily." He teases, rubbing your cunt as he lowers you onto him. "M.. mercy, please." You plead, holding on the muscles of his biceps. You were barely there to be honest. But Mingyu knows you can take it, this wasn't your first rodeo with him after all.

"Shhh.. none of that now. 'Know you can take it." He wipes your tears away, leaving a soft kiss on your cheek, contrary to his move that follows as he grabs your hips steadily and thrusts his own u, burying his dick inside of you in one go.

Thankfully the diner was usually empty at this hour.

He plants you ontop of him, letting your head fall on the crook of his neck for as long as you let him rock your hips back and forth. "Baby, it's either you fuck yourself on me at your pace or I go at you 'till I'm satisfied." He whispers in your ear making you whimper and look at him with glassy eyes, a cute pout on your lips.

You pull away from his neck. If there was one thing about Mingyu, it's that he stays true to his claims. His pounding would be too much too soon.

You slowly move up and down on him, clenching on him as you let out a mix of whimpers and moans making him groan and hold tightly onto your waist. It was taking everything in him not to flip you over right now and hard fuck you 'till you pass out.

"Fuck yeah baby, just like that." He whispers, pulling you into a kiss to hopefully keep him under control. You slowly regain your energy as you move faster, moving your ass up and down as you lean on him, holding onto his chest.

He uses his hands to spread your ass open and close repeatedly, sneaking slaps in between.

It was getting louder and louder in the small room, your sounds a mix of slaps, squelch, moans, whines, and gasps. As if it was a set on a porno.

"Yeah, good girl, riding me so good. You like that huh? Like riding your favorite cowboy, acting like a slutty cowgirl."

Your thighs begin to burm when you whimper to him a sweet "Gyu.. please.." A plea and permission at the same time.

"Got it princess." He gives your ass a slap before taking control and lifting his hips to fuck you straight. Mingyu will forever be a cowgirl defender, the view of seeing his cock dive in and out of you repeatedly is like no other, his dick coming out wetter and creamier each time.

You plant your hands on his chest keeping yourself steady as he fucks you out of your mind. His hands around your waist, forearms flexing as you locks you in your position.

You were reduced to nothing but a hole for him to fuck and indulge in. Mingyu was practically being hypnotized by your tits as they jiggle up and down, he puts one in his mouth sucking it like his life depends on it.

"Fuck, 'M cumming." You mewl on him

Mingyu pulls away and keeps your hole plugged by his dick, his thrusts become sloppy and inconsistent as he nears his climax. "Yeah, me too, c'mon baby milk my cock, take it all sweetheart. Fuck!"

You collapse on top of him and he catches you, securing you to him as wrapping his arms around your sweaty body.

"Now we're both sweaty."

[sabertoothwalrus]

do you think Falin's chimerism would affect her lifespan and behaviors? or just her body? maybe she can make more animalistic noises or has vague dragon-like instincts?

that’s a really good question! I think we could probably figure this out by taking a look at what we know about Falin, what we know about red dragons, whether these things would apply to Falin, and go from there.

The obvious external changes Falin has are: her eyes, her teeth, and her feathers.

It’s hard to pin down what Falin is like! Throughout the duration of the manga, she wasn’t really a character so much as a plot device. We have almost nothing told from her point of view, and the majority of her unbiased (as in, we’re seeing her through a neutral lens and not another character’s perception of her) characterization is from the post-canon omake.

Even Falin believes that her wanderlust might come from her dragon side, but she's not sure. Personally, I think it’d make a lot of sense if it kind of does, in the sense that she has 20/20 vision now, haha! For most of her life, she could probably only see clearly within a relatively small sphere surrounding her, and now she can see everything. She can look up and around freely in a way she couldn’t before. Fuck man, if I had magic lasik I’d probably go out more too.

Some other quirks that are really unclear whether it’s typical for Falin or chimera-influenced:

she enters rooms through windows, sometimes. And given the leaves in her hair, I think it’s reasonable to assume this is not the first floor 💀 But who knows! Maybe that’s not new for Falin.

She points out that Laios’s scent could deter monsters. Maybe she has enhanced smell. But again, it isn’t unreasonable to think this is something she would have said before. (I think even Chilchuck and Izutsumi, whose senses of smell are enhanced, can’t identify scents well. Kuro, however, can.)

VIOLENCE! But again, we’ve seen her beat shit with her staff before, and she also used to wield a flail. It IS a trait for red dragons to fight any large threat, so if anything, she’s got even better monster fighting instincts than before. I don't think this would carry over to people. Falin has always been better with people, and I'm personally not a fan of seeing her depicted as territorial or possessive. Marcille is already the possessive one, and didn't need dragon blood to be like that.

Ultimately, I don't think her dragon traits extend much farther beyond this. Especially when you consider How Little the dragon is represented as in her conscience.

it's not like it's a 50/50 split. She's like a person with a dragon ratatouille. I don't think she'd be able to make dragon noises. I don't think her body is built for that. I know there's like, a set list of tropey characteristics that are given to almost every non-human character in fiction. and sure that's FINE but they tend not to be especially personalized to the character, and tend to just be an excuse to write them OOC. Like, sure, dragons may have instincts regarding sleep habits, hunting, courting, raising young, etc etc, but so do humans! And we don't compulsively act on every instinctual whim we have. I don't see why it'd be any harder for her new dragon instincts.

If anything, I think she'd feel more affected by the fact that she has part of the demon in her.

I don't think Falin's in any sort of trouble. All the demon was was a way to communicate with people. Here, it's representing Falin's tether to the infinite realm, to mana itself. The winged lion no longer has the desire to consume anymore because, yknow, Laios has that now. This is very likely why she no longer needs to chant to cast magic.

But what else does this mean for her? She already had unusually high reserves of mana + an innate connection with spirits, but is her mana essentially limitless now? How would that affect her lifespan? I'm leaning towards, it wouldn't really?? But is she immune to mana sickness now? Is it more like her magic is just sort of amplified like it would be in a dungeon?

We can infer that having more mana doesn't increase your lifespan, because-- while elves and gnomes have both naturally high levels of mana and longer lifespans-- dwarves live longer but have lowest levels of mana of all.

So to answer your question! Maybe a little bit?? But I don't think she'd change a whole lot.

[leilawanderingaround]

Just played 3.0 today and I have a lot of thoughts about Phainon...

Imagine Phainon finding out you were hurt because of his carelessness and him making up to you...

"You should keep your man on a leash. Let him hurt himself begging for your forgiveness" You already know that Mydei- one of the Chrysos Heirs- the crown prince of Kremnos and your brother have a bit of a temper but never this much.

"I'm sorry but I don't understand what you mean, Lord Mydei" you shake your head, wanting to deny his view of yourself and Phainon. You look down at your bandaged arm and frown, the attack on the city left you wounded alongside many others. Still, you doubt he has his mind on anything beside yourself at the moment. That is why you are hiding from him, nestled in a corner of the public bath house, away from people's gaze. Yet, Mydei found you easily like he always does" We are merely... acquaintances"

The crown prince chuckle before raising his cup, pouring the pomegranate juice down the water, dying it red like blood. "Still in denial? You are gonna regret saying that"

His gaze now on you, his smile remains yet it waver. "Dear sister, he's gonna ask for forgiveness, be it killing himself or covering your house in the ashes of our enemies"

"Phainon... enough. This i..is enough." You try to push the man in front of you away yet he remains the same. You can't see anything anymore, and you feel like you are gonna get sick.

"Calm now, my dear. I'm still not satisfied. You must have been so scared. Let me comfort you." Using his own body, he pinned yours against the wall with his arm raised above you. The wound on his arm- the same as yours is still freshly bleeding, torn apart by his own hand. The blood falls from it, drenching your head, face and shirt in red. The smell, the wetness drives you mad with fear.

"Mydei told me that in Kremnos, when someone faults their partner and wants to ask for forgiveness, they need to inflict a certain amount of pain on themselves before being forgiven by their love."

Phainon then gazes down at you, eyes full of devotion and madness in his eyes. "But my dear, you are too forgiven. I let you get hurt despite the strength I carry, despite being by your side."

"So until I drench you red from head to toes, I am not forgiven."

Mydei doesn't look really surprised, seeing Phainon after that day, wearing a collar.

"Not much of a leash, but this will do for now" Phainon smirks, passing Mydei. The wound on his arm is half heartedly wrapped, still drenched in blood.

[menagerofmischief]

Nugget Update (MV1)

sumary: y/n's always giddy after getting a nugget update, sure she loves her best boy, but it also has something to do with the cat sitter sending the updates

driver!reader x cat sitter!max verstappen -> habs incoming... series masterlist

cw: not fia approved words, a bit of lance hate (I don't actually hate him), mutual pinning, the grid teasing the reader, lot of appearances from the reader's cat, kissing, kinda mean!reader (to the grid)

wc: 4.1k

a/n: this is my first time writing in 2nd person so bear with me. also, I low key hate this and it may be shit. not proof read!

“Well aren’t you a ball of sunshine?” A voice called out, disturbing the peace - or the closest thing to peace you could have near a Formula 1 track.

Your gaze snapped up, eyes narrowing as you took in the man standing on the entry of the RedBull garage. “Hello, Charles,” you replied, a teasing bite obviously heard in your voice as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I know you wanted to experience what a successful garage looks like but I thought Ferrari had a better hold on you.”

Charles laughs, his eyes crinkling as his lips stretch into a smile. Teasing Charles was always a fun time but that’s all it was, just a bit of fun. It never stretched into something meaner, just two people showing affection by teasing each other.

Charles had been your very first real friend on the grid. The first to offer his hand with a smile and genuinely mean it. The first to congratulate you on a win after getting out of the car or the first to say that the next race would be better. Really, he was your best friend, but you would never tell him that or it would go to his head.

“Funny, very funny.” He said, his accent thick. His eyes slid around the motor home until finally meeting your own. “Lot of drivers are going out for drinks, came by to invite you.”

“I don’t Charles,” you started to say, going through your mental list of excuses, searching for the best one to use to avoid this social interaction.

“Oh come on!” He whined, rolling his eyes. He gave you a look that let you know you could stop thinking about an excuse because he wasn’t going to be buying it. “We won’t stay that long and it’s night race tomorrow so you don’t need to wake up at the crack of dawn.”

You pressed your lips together, the lip gloss previously applied making them slide against each other easily. 

Charles kissed his teeth, nodding his head along. Fine, he’ll play the game. “Some of the WAG’s are coming as well.”

“Are you really trying to lure me out by promising female company?”

“Is it working?”

“Eh,” you shrugged your shoulders. “Will you pay my tab?”

Charles scoffed. “Pay your tab?” He asked, sounding as if you had asked him for his firstborn. “You’re filthy rich! You have a bigger salary than me!”

“Yeah, they do pay world champions a bit extra, comes with the title.” You replied, grinning at him, a wide teasing grin, your eyes twinkling. 

“Fine whatever, I’ll pay your tab.” He said, raising his hands in surrender. “Now go take that suit off and shower, you look disgusting.”

“You look like a trash can threw you up!”

“It threw me up because it saw you!” Charles shouted back in response, his back already turned to you as he walked away, back to the Ferrari garage. 

And that’s how you ended up in the bar, an hour later. Squished in the not too comfortable and definitely not meant to sit so many people, booth. With George’s girlfriend Carmen on your left, and Pierre’s girlfriend Kika on your right, and deep in conversation with both of them. 

You feel your phone vibrate under your hand on the table, and the screen lights up, showing off your wallpaper, a picture of your beloved cat Nugget.

You tune off from the conversation the moment the message arrives, grabbing your phone and pulling it in towards you. Your face lights up, lips stretching into a smile as your eyes focus on the sender ID. Maxie.

Or rather Max. The very cute guy who was your cat sitter whenever you were out and about in the world, chasing the racing track. 

With a quick move of your fingers, you swipe up, opening your phone and going into the message app. Fingers quickly tapping along the screen of your phone as you type out your reply.

With a smile you closed the messages app, pressing your fingers against the button on the side of your phone, watching the screen go black before setting it face down onto the table. As you looked back up, Lando’s amused yet teasing expression caught your eye.

You leaned forward against the table, pressing your hands to the wooden surface as you attempted to get a bit closer to the driver on the other side of the table. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh nothing,” he said with a laugh. “Just wondering who you’re texting, that’s all.” He intertwined his fingers, elbows pressed against the table and leaned forward as well. “You were all grumpy cat but then you get a message and suddenly you’re all smiles.”

“Grumpy cat?” You scoff, rolling your eyes at the McLaren driver. “I’m not a grumpy cat. And for the record, that was Nugget’s babysitter and he was sending me a picture of Nugget.”

Lando laughs, there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he wants to say more but he holds himself back. “Can I see? I haven’t seen the orange gremlin in so long.”

“That’s very mean,” you say, opening your phone to show him the picture, that Max had sent you. “Nugget would never say that about you.”

“That’s because Nugget can’t speak.” He looks at the screen and his lips twist upward in a smirk. “Who’s Maxie?”

You breathe out through your nose, teeth digging into your bottom lip. When you speak your voice is sharp, it leaves no room for questioning things or an invite to ask more questions. “The cat sitter.”

“I’m sure that’s all he is.” Lando laughs when you show him your middle finger before settling back into your seat and returning to the previously abandoned conversation with the two WAG’s.

The race went pretty smoothly, as always. Starting from pole, keeping the lead the whole race and with a 20s gap to car in P2. Everything after that was pretty much a blur, the interviews, partying through the night with the grid and boarding the jet early in the morning.

The sun already started setting by the time you made it to Monaco. With a sigh you rummaged through your bag, blindly feeling around the stuff inside before your fingers finally wrapped around the keys.

Opening the apartment door you walked inside, gently laying down your suitcase as your eyes settled on the scene in your living room. Right there, laying on your couch, in deep sleep, and cuddling your cat is Max Verstappen. 

His hair had fallen over his eyes and the position he’s in looks rather uncomfortable, you’re sure his body will be aching when he wakes up. His chest was raising and falling with each breath he took, little sighs slipping past his lips. Nugget was cuddled up to him, curled in a ball.

You looked at him for a few moments before starting to move around as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake him up. 

Max had been cat sitting for you for a while now. Half of last season and now half of this one so almost a year. He was a sweet, kinda shy, mostly nerdy guy you ran into in a coffee shop and spilled his coffee. You offered to buy him a new one and he joined you for the coffee and you got to talking when he said he was looking for a job so you offered him to become your pet sitter.

At that point you really did need someone to look after your cat while you were gone, since you had broken up with your ex who usually took care of Nugget while you were away. And you couldn’t leave Nugget with your parents since your father was allergic to cats.

Now, your best friend who had been working in a different country had returned to Monaco and said she’d be more than happy to look after Nugget - but you wanted to keep Max around. 

Already having grown used to coming home after a race weekend to find him there, just existing in your space.

Nugget’s whiskers twitch, his eyes opening and he pulls himself away from Max, stretches out and then trots over to you, rubbing his head against your leg affectionately while purring. He let out a happy, albeit a bit too loud, meow when you picked him up and on the other side of the room Max began stirring from his sleep.

He opened his eyes, a bit confused, and rubbed his knuckles against his eyes to wake up, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light filling up the room. 

“You’re back,” he says, his voice is gentle, still sleepy and a bit quiet. His eyes meet yours and he offers you a sweet smile that has you immediately smiling back at him. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep, sorry about that.”

“Oh no, it’s no problem,” you reply, running your hand over Nugget’s fur as the cat lay happily in your arms. “You can use the guest bedroom if you’re tired, you know. The couch may be expensive but that doesn’t mean it’s comfortable for sleep.”

“I didn’t want to overstep,” Max said, pulling himself up into a sitting position. You approached the couch and sat down, the cat nestling in your lap and purring in content. Max smiled, reaching out his hand and petting Nugget.

“Nonsense Max, you’re not overstepping.” You cut him off, leaving no room for argument. You always told him to feel at ease in your apartment, that he was welcome to any food in the fridge and free to use the guest room as he pleased but even after all this time there was still a slight air of awkwardness backed up by the fear of going a bit too far.

Max’s eyes settled on you, your own focused on your cat so you didn’t notice him looking. He watched the way you cooed at Nugget, asking if he was a good boy while you were away and petting him gently, and his lips stretched into a small, careful smile.

He spoke before thinking. The words left his mouth before he even finished the thought inside of his head. “I watched the race,” he said, and your eyes instantly snapped up to meet his. He swallowed, already too deep to back down. “It - “ he licked his lips, trying to decide his next words, feeling like his tongue had tied itself up in a knot. “You were spectacular. It was lovely … simply lovely.”

You let out a breath, the corners of your mouth twisting upwards and you gave him a thankful look. Max swore he could feel his heart beating in his throat, and felt his cheeks heat up. “Thank you,” you said, your voice gentle, holding a comforting tone. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. And it’s nice - knowing you watched.”

“It is?”

You bit your lip, teeth scraping against you bottom lip as you looked at him, your brain running faster than the Sauber (like it’s hard) as you tried to come up with a response. “It’s kind of comforting,” you finally said, after what felt like a small forever.

You hummed, looking down at your nails. “I was thinking about bringing Nugget with me to the next race. It’s been a while since he was in the paddock.”

“Oh,” Max said, an edge of confusion noticeable in the tone of his voice. “Does that mean that you don’t need me coming over next week?”

“Actually, I was hoping you would come with.” You say, before you can talk yourself out of making the proposition.

Max tilts his head to the side, kind of like a confused cat and you try your best not to giggle at the mental image. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

“If you wanted to attend the Grand Prix,” you tell him, running the edge of one of your nails along your skin. “Cuz’ I’m still gonna need someone to look after Nugget, and you do that in general so this would just be an added bonus of traveling.”

Max is silent for a few moments and you think he’ll decline. You wouldn't fully blame him if he did, you know what the pressure of the paddock can be like. You’re about to open your mouth, tell him that ‘never mind, it was a stupid idea anyway’ and put him out of the trouble of finding a polite way to decline when he finally speaks. 

“I suppose, if you want me to then yeah, I’ll come along to watch Nugget.” He says, trying to ignore the nervous feeling building up in his chest when you smile at him, a wide happy smile that makes him instantly smile back.

“Great!” You said, the excitement evident in your voice. “Someone from the team will contact you in a while to arrange the tickets and leave the rest to me.” Max nods, he doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with the way his throat is closing up and it makes him feel like he can’t breathe.

“Look at you all giggly,” Charles teased, gently pushing your shoulder with his hand. He wiggled his eyebrows, a laugh slipping past his lips as you glared at him.

“Charles, why don’t you turn around and flash your pretty face to the crowd.” You said, rolling your eyes. You looked at the stadium full of people who were shouting out for their favorite drivers, waving banners and cheering happily. You smiled towards the stadium and lifted your hand up, waving your fingers to the public. “Give them a wave.”

“See, I always knew you thought I was pretty,” Charles replied, waving at the public. The two of you and the rest of the grid were in a wagon, going around the track for the drivers parade, so essentially you were stuck with him for at least five more minutes. “Now, do tell who’s got you smiling like that.”

“Is it Maxie?” Lando asked, the teasing tone evident in his voice. He pushed himself closer to you and Charles, inserting himself into the conversation. 

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to eavesdrop?” 

“No, no!” Charles said, shaking his head as he waved his hand dismissively as you, his full attention now focused on Lando. “Who’s Maxie?”

Lando smiled at him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “The cat sitter,” he said in a sing-song kind of voice. 

“The one you brought to your garage?” The Ferrari driver asked, his attention back on you. “The pretty one.”

“Hold up!” Lando almost shouted, raising his hands. “You brought him with you to the Grand Prix?!”

“I didn’t … well I did bring him.” You said with a sigh, there was no escaping this now. “But it’s not like that. He’s here to watch Nugget.”

“And for you to watch him - because boy that is one good arm candy.”

“Charles, your homosexual is showing,” you warned.

“But you’re not denying it,” Charles noted, giving you a smirk.

You rolled your eyes at him but finally gave in. “Yes, I’m not denying it.”

You stepped back into the motor home, your eyes immediately searching for Max and finally you found him talking to your lead engineer. As you approached the two you could start to hear their conversation and quickly realized they were talking about how the car worked and what went on behind the scenes at a Grand Prix. You found it cute that Max was interested in that.

His eyes met yours and his face lit up, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards into a smile. “You’re back!” He said, “After terrorizing everyone around and getting pets, Nugget decided to settle down for a nap. He’s in your driver's room.”

Max gave you a wink after saying that and you had to hold in a giggle. You excused yourself to go to your driver’s room, with Max following behind you. The first thing you noticed when you went inside was Nugget, curled up on the massage bed and sleeping without a care.

The next thing that grabbed your attention was a dozen pastries lined up on a small table next to the couch. They were all individually wrapped in tissues.

“Max,” you said, picking up one of the pastries and unwrapping it. “I really did mean only one pastry, you know?” You bit into the chocolate filled pastry, moaning at the taste of a treat you weren’t usually allowed to have when it was race week. “My trainer will strangle me if he sees.”

“I swear, no one saw anything.” Max said, shuffling over to the couch and sitting down. “I was sneakier than Nugget when he’s stealing my food.”

“Oh, now that’s a very serious claim.” You told him with a laugh, his own laugh echoing back. You picked up one of the wrapped pastries and offered it to him. “Take one, or five. There’s no way I’m eating it all.”

He takes the pastry you’re offering him, his fingers brushing against your own as he takes it from your hand, sending sparks of electricity down your spine. After a second of hesitation you sit down next to him, the two of you eating the treats in comfortable silence.

His thigh nudges against yours and you turn to face him, finding that he’s already looking at you. He smiles and you don’t hesitate to smile back.

The practices go great, P2 in FP1, P1 in FP2 and P1 in FP3. 

The qualifying is where a slight setback shows up, with quali being ended early due to a crash and a red flag, putting you in P10 for the start of the race tomorrow.  

Once the car had rolled back into the pits you wasted no time getting out, putting the steering wheel back into place before storming into your driver’s room. 

You pulled your helmet off, fingers curling into the bottom of your balaclava as you pulled it off, throwing it next to your helmet before bringing your hands up to smooth down your hair. 

“I’m not in the fucking mood, Pepe.” You said without turning around, assuming it was your race engineer coming to talk about the outcome of qualifying. “Fucking Lance and his fucking money made seat - if that little frog screws up another quali, I’ll be the one crashing him out.”

“I’m not Pepe,” the other person in the room says and you instantly turn around, your eyes wide as they meet Max’s blue ones. “And I’m certainly glad I’m not Lance.”

You looked him up and down, eyes trailing over his figure. You took notice of Nugged, cuddled up in his arms and looked at you curiously, and reached your hand out to pet the cat, a long breath slipping past your lips. 

“Sorry,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “I didn’t really mean for you to hear that.”

Max barely heard what you were saying. Too distracted by the sight of you for his brain to properly register your words. Your skin was slightly glistening with sweat, an imprint from where your helmet and balaclava had dug into your skin still visible on your flushed cheeks. Your messy hair, and your chest raising and falling with each breath you took as you were still working on catching up your breath.

Max blinked, finally snapping out of his thoughts and focusing his attention back to what you were saying. “They should have let you finish the lap.” 

“I agree but sadly that’s not how it works.”

Max nodded along, not really knowing what to say to that so he switched to the next topic. “I ran into your friend. He invited you, and me, out for drinks. I think it would be nice to go, you seem like you need a drink.”

“Yeah, I definitely do.” You replied, taking Nugget from his arms and into your own, stroking down the cat’s body. “Which friend?”

“Uh,” Max started, thinking of a way to describe the guy since he couldn’t remember his name. “Wears red, pretty, sounds French.”

You laughed, smiling at him. “That’s Charles. I hope you didn’t tell him he sounds French, he gets offended by that.”

“Then it’s great I kept it to myself.”

You laughed in reply, putting Nugget down to the floor, the cat immediately moving to a cozy corner and curling up into a ball on the floor, shutting his eyes. “The hotel is right next to the track, you can take Nugget back while I shower and then we can go - if you want to.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Max replied with a smile.

You showered and put on a clean set of clothes just in time to meet Max after he finished dropping Nugget back to the hotel, leaving him with toys, food and water. The two of you made your way to the bar to join the rest of the grid for a night out. 

Some of the drivers were playing pool while their girlfriends were engrossed in a conversation so that left you and Max sitting together, sharing drinks and talking.

“I just …” you started, cracking your fingers. “I don’t know, this quali really messed up my mood and I was riding on such a high after the practices going well. It all feels shit now.”

“Maybe you just need more motivation for the race.” Max offered, drinking the rest of the liquor from his glass in one go. 

“You have something in mind, Maxie?” You asked, the nickname slipping past your lips without a thought now that you’ve had a few drinks. 

“How about a kiss if you get on the podium?” He said, his voice suggestive. Normally he never would have dared to say something like that but the alcohol courage really worked wonders. 

Your eyes widened, clearly not expecting him to be so bold or to suggest that. He took your reaction as a bad sign, immediately straightening up as a wave of dread quickly sobered him up.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out, the expression on his face shifting into a panicked one. “That was stupid. It was thoughtless. It was -”

“A great motivation,” you cut him off, putting a finger up against his lips to silence him. “It was a great motivation.”

His cheeks burned as his eyes met yours. He looked so vulnerable, his bright eyes impossibly wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“One more corner to go but you’re in the clear,” Pepe’s voice echoed over the radio. You blinked, your eyes focused on the track before you, the checkered flag already visible along with your team gathering in the front. “That’s P1, Y/n. Phenomenal drive today, you deserved it!”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice breathless as you moved your hands, going through the last corner and speeding towards the finish line. “Thank you, Pepe.” You repeated, swallowing your spit. “It was lovely, simply lovely.”

You put the car into P1, getting out and posing for a picture on top of your car. You could hear the shouts, the cheers, the celebration. You took off your helmet, ripping off your balaclava and putting them both into the car before turning around to face the team, eyes searching for a particular face. 

Finally, you spotted Max. Standing besides your engineer, a proud expression on his face as he looked at you with a wide smile. You didn’t hesitate, feet moving before you could think and then you were in front of him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down, smashing your lips into his.

The kiss was desperate, both of having waited long enough for it. He wrapped his arms around you, the best he could with the fence between you, kissing you back with need. 

You finally pulled away when you felt your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, learning your forehead against his. Nothing else mattered, not the public, not the team, not the celebration. Only him, finally yours.

“Simply lovely, right?” You asked, your voice breathless.

“Simply lovely!” Max repeated back to you, before kissing you once again. And he really did mean it - everything was simply lovely.

tag list: @formula1-motogpfan @misty-inferno @thelemonque3n @marvel-hotchner @strangemaximoff @folkloresreputation @pippyth3hippy @adharacambridge @theseerbetweenus @sebastianstansblog @tellybearryyyy @six-call @grussellsprout @oikarma @justcharlotte @annimausi

i hope i tagged everyone who said they wanted to be on the tag list. hope you enjoyed this one and keep an eye out for the poll about the next part of the series <3

[dilf-docs]

I Recall Late November, Holdin' My Breath

husband!pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

summary: becoming an actress has always been your dream, and this job you've taken to be elvira lind's assistant is a step closer to doors of an industry so far has only given you meaningless extra roles, but you get more than you bargained for.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, dry humping, fingering, humilliation kink (ooc but a girl can dream for a man to be mean on bed and cute outside of it), mutual pinning, hurt/comfort, holy trio of angst + jealousy + possessiveness, ptwt cameos went on vacation for this chapter, lots of pov change, why is this so long and tortuous omg my bad if it's shitty but my current delusion/pain is pouring into my works.. if y'all don't comment ill unalive myself didn't pull an all nighter with my statistics hw and this for nothing

word count: 12,515 words

side note: inspired by a comment left in the og call it what you want and this req. finally, this became a series! y'all love this couple too much and so do i! for the record, this has been imprisoned in my drafts since jan 20; i have no shame. i reallyyyyy tried to let it out of draft asylum for his bday―THAT BEING SAID HAPPY (four days late) BIRTHDAY TO MY 50 YEAR OLD BABYGIRL―but it got too long and i'm too tired with uni and midterms coming up. my procrastinating inconsistent slow updater ass is to blame as well, my bad ++ i made an edit because i love p a normal amount

part: prev | masterlist | next

You hated parties.

Scratch that. You hated parties where you didn't know anybody.

It isn't like you were anxious or an extreme introvert, and though you valued a lot the time you spent alone, it's more in the sense you can't help but overthink in this type of events, especially given the industry you're in. And so far, that industry had only given you meaningless roles. But it was better than nothing, of course, and you were glad to at least be in Netflix's call sheet for extra roles.

Your dream, however, was very much still alive. Hence, this job you've taken: working as Elvira Lind's PA, wife of famous actor Oscar Isaac. Did that guarantee you something? No, but it was closer than you were months ago. It is also the same reason why you're stuck in this party: Oscar Isaac's birthday, which you planned. You were forced to stay, both insisting it was unfair you did all that effort and didn't get to enjoy it. You didn't mind it, really: you loved planning parties. Thought, you felt in no position to deny the couple of anything, so you agreed.

Which brings you back to now, where you lay against one of the walls of the garden, sipping your drink: away from the music, chatter and people.

Today, the last thing you need is this.

You stare at your nails, bitten to the very finger in an anxious self-hating manner. It's a cruel reminder of today's failure: the audition, rejection burning in your back like a second skin.

You're growing tired of it: the closed doors in your face, the look of pity to let you finish even if you won't get the role, the condescending tone of I'm sorry, you're not what we're looking for.

You glance back at the party, your boss obviously having a good time with her husband. Well, at least she did. Sighing and trying to stay far away to be a Debbie Downer by yourself and not ruin the mood, you empty the glass in your hand in one gulp. Hey, maybe the alcohol will make the rest of the night more tolerable. Your aunt said you were a fun drunk once; you haven't seen her since you move to LA.

Isn't all this too depressing for a birthday party?

"Fuck" you exhale out loud, closing your eyes and letting your head rest against the wall.

"Rough night?"

You pay no mind to the new voice, deciding to sulk in private. So you keep your eyes close, humming as to answer: not out of wanting to engage on conversations or politeness, but because you hate silence.

"Looks like it"

More silence settles in. You refuse to open your eyes, hoping they're gone.

Despite it all, you find yourself replying. "You have no idea"

"At least there's a free bar" their voice is laced with mischief. "Very mindful of the person who organized this. And I know it wasn't Oscar, maldito tacaño" (fucking cheapskate)

Maybe it's because you shouldn't laugh, since it's your boss' husband. Or it's the way they haven't been deterred by your dry demeanor, or the fact that the voice sounds... familiar, for a reason you can't quite place.

"I did"

You open your eyes, turning to the person who decided the lonely sad looking woman on the pathetic silent corner of the garden was more interesting than the party going on behind.

"Ay, carajo!" you jump, soul practically leaving your body. You swear, after such shitty day, your head is playing games with you, and for some reason has decided to imagine your favorite actor as a coping mechanism. "Pedro Pascal?" (oh, damn)

He laughs, "Unless there's another way of calling me I'm not familiar with"

Of course he would be here. You organized the whole thing: went through the food and drinks as much as you went over the list of guests. But Elvira said that he probably wouldn't be able to make it, so of course, there was no reason to expect him nor try to put an extra effort in your look and plaster a fake smile.

Yet now he stands before you, and it's like your brain has crashed.

"Uh- You okay?"

"Definitely no" you're quick to answer, your voice sounding distant. "Now less"

"Oh!" he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, as his face flushes a pretty pink. "Is it my fault?"

He looks genuinely sorry about it, making you borderline distressed.

"Yes" Pedro raises his eyebrows, "but not how you're thinking. Yes, in the sense you're right here, right now, when you weren't supposed to. Ms. Elvira said you wouldn't make it but oh- Don't feel bad. This is my fault, for acting weird" you start rambling. "It's just, you're my favorite actor, and I we met while I'm wearing the worst dress in my closet on my worst day ever"

Pedro gives you a shy smile. "I would've never guessed"

You quirk an eyebrow, heart slamming against your chest, agitated.

"Guess what?"

He shrugs, as to mantain the mystery. "It's up to you to decide"

You look down, to your dress. You play with a loose thread as you speak.

"It's definitely not about the dress"

He laughs, but the sound is small, as if it was for you only. Like he wanted you to be the only one to hear it, like a secret of yours to keep.

"Can I tell you something?" he leans in, and the smell of clean and his cologne get in your nostrils. "I think you're the prettiest sight I've seen in a while"

The air is knocked out of your lungs at his breathless confession. The party goes quiet, and for a second, the cold of the condensation that spills from the drink and mingles with that of the night's wind is gone. All you know is there's a warmth you've never felt before, one that is settling in your chest like it's making itself a home, like he is entering your life for it to be felt now ever since.

Everything has changed.

"Please, stop talking" he looks shocked at your harsh words for a moment, but then your face turns redder by the second. "I think I'm going to throw up and I haven't even had a full drink yet" your glass sweating as much as you now a testament to this.

"Oh-" he sheepishly looks down. "I'm sorry"

It's been a long week. You still can't believe this is happening. How could anyone in their right minds believe so?

"I don't know you"

He offers you a small smile.

"I thought you said you were a fan"

You can't choose what burns more: your face, lungs or chest. It's like he's breaking you, little by little. You're folding. And it's the unknown that terrifies you: you're not exactly a control freak, nor a cold person, but this is all too new and too soon. All he had to do was look at you, make you feel seen, and you don't know if it's years of fighting to be noticed or the way you easily believe in every word he says. He might as well just caught you the moment he first spoke, world stopping to hear his every breath and your shaky heart.

You look at him, sternly, trying from a different angle.

"You can't just say things like that"

"Why not?" he tilts his head, "last time I checked, lying isn't bad"

You gulp, hardly.

"You don't mean it" you insist.

"Why not?" he repeats. "Is it that hard for yourself to believe you're pretty?"

"It's rather hard to believe Pedro Pascal of all people rather spend his time complimenting me in a room full of pretty and famous guests"

"I suppose I like telling things the way they are. And how I see it, no matter how much you try to downplay yourself, you're still the most interesting person in this room"

Your stomach can't decide if to tie in a knot or let the butterflies fly.

"You're trying to tell me I'm pretty?"

"It's even better when you say it" he purses his lips together, satisfied. "Don't you think?"

He leans against the wall, next to your small wallflower spot.

"Pretty" he whispers into the air, his exhale condescending into the night.

"I still can't believe you'd choose to be here" he looks at you, eyebrow raised. "I mean, how interesting can your friend's wife's PA be?"

He laughs, loudly. You don't think what you just said is that funny.

"What?"

"They did said you had a bit of a character"

You scoff, pouting lightly. Pedro sees your posture relax a bit, shoulders less tense, and smiles.

"My boss talks behind my back?"

He shots you a look. "Don't you do the same?"

You place a hand on your chest. "I'm actually a honest person. If I don't like you, I'll say it to your face. Same if I do"

"And how are you liking me so far?" he asks, smirking.

Pedro knows he's playing with dangerous waters, seeing the conflict in your eyes torn between letting go or holding back, but he can't help it. Ever since the moment he went through the door and caught your lonely figure in the back, away from the noise and the livelihood of the party, he was drawn to you, intrigued by your guarded posture. Like you were bracing yourself.

"Who's that?" Pedro asked Oscar.

"Elvira's new personal assistant" he answers. "I told you about her"

"You did?"

He's surprised about that. He thinks he'd remember.

"Yeah, y/n. Rings a bell?"

Oh, that y/n. "The one who got you the costumes for your kids last Halloween?"

He thinks of the picture Oscar sent him, the words accompanying the photo carrying love and pride for his children, all dressed up. The costumes were nice, detailed, like the person behind them just knew what they were doing.

"Yeah, she did them herself. Pretty smart and useful girl; been working with us for a while. Seems part of the family by now"

He nods, distracted. Oscar gives him a knowing stare accompanied by a smirk.

"Hey, why don't you go talk to her? Está toda solita, ¿no ves?" Oscar nudges him. "Use that nice smile of yours. She's had a pretty rough day" (she's all by herself, don't you see?)

Despite his interest in you, complimenting you (more like flirting) hadn't been exactly his plan, yet as soon as he went by your side, your perfume clouded his judgment and the sight of the silhouette of your curves under your flimsy dress made him dizzy. All common sense went out the window, and by Oscar's earlier reaction, something tells him his friend expected this to happen.

"So, the rumors are true" your voice breaks his train of thoughts, "you're a heartthrob"

The tip of his ears go red. God, he loves the way your eyes lit up with fierce passion, as if accepting some kind of game he isn't aware of. That fiery crack, spark of yours was all too consuming. Pedro finds himself drawn to the fire of your spirit, not minding the burn.

He can handle the heat, anyway.

"Look how the tables have turned" you say, smirking. "Am I making you nervous?"

Maybe not that much.

But your smile, victorious grin on display, carrying the same illusion of a child on a Christmas morning, brings him down to his knees. He finds himself wanting more of it, being the one to provoke it.

"Very" he decides to reply. "But it's a good thing"

"We're good then"

"Pedro Pascal" he offers his hand. "But you know that"

"Y/n" grabbing his hand makes something settle deep in your bones. "But judging by how Elvira and Oscar look at us, I think you do too"

"Jesus" Pedro murmurs, "what are they up to?"

"Nothing good, I suppose" you look in their direction, and they both play clueless, looking away. "Don't worry, they'll pay for that"

"Oh, look at you" he teasingly touches your shoulder. Even if for brief seconds, your skin feels on fire. "Little evil thing, who would've thought?"

You barely contain a smile. "There's a lot to me you don't know"

He leans in closer to you. The lingering smell of alcohol on his breath gets under your skin. Talking about it, you need another drink, fast.

"Well, I'm interested in learning"

"Are you?" you taunt.

"Trust me. You aren't getting rid of me"

Pedro was many things: funny, charming, loyal, educated and hot. Like, offensively handsome. But he was also honest and a man of his word.

Just as told, he kept his promise to stay, committed to the whole knowing me, knowing you bit.

Months had passed and he had stayed.

You went from talking about coffee orders with way too many shots and the weather to political stances and failed auditions. Dreams and secrets. Things you'd probably never say outloud to anyone else. It had begun with loud laughs and conversations turned to hushed whispers under the palm leaves of his house. He invited you to his home: gave you a chance to enter the most kept part of his life, away from the noise and cameras, and let you settle inside, like you always belonged. Let you carve a space on his heart and mind, where you where for most of the time if you weren't sitting on his couch, two big for one person but that now felt complete, dipping under the new weight of someone else. Someone to keep.

(He told you about missing Chile and his family. You told him you had always wanted to be a mother. Spoke in Spanish sometimes like the language belonged only to your world. He shared his brief swimming career. You told him about your first kiss; bad. Said your fears, like heartbreak and the sharp solitude of being forgotten. Fame. Failure. Pedro told you to be patient, no one better to tell you so, but allowed you to break down in tears as you mumbled a What if it never happens? as he whispered back a It will, sounding so sure, your heart quieted and you allowed yourself to believe him. You always would, ever since his first promise: You aren't getting rid of me)

Oscar and Elvira, of course, had noticed. How could they not? Their most trusted and professional employee and one of their closests friends had fallen together in the slow delicious burn of the amber flame of love.

It was obvious to everyone but you. Or maybe you knew, teetering around the edges of a delicate friendship that pressed with a hurting softness on your ribs, trying to remind you it shouldn't be like this if it only meant that. Perhaps you were scared of the sharp corners that threatened your frail dancing around the real, big question:

What are we?

Maybe summer was the answer: with it's sun, salt air and sweat on shirts of flimsy material. He had already your spring and your winter. New Year's was at his house. Happy New Year, he had whispered, so close to your lips, it felt like a kiss. A silent I want you here, for all year promise behind his hushed tone, just for you to hear, no matter the fireworks and the glittery noise of music and mellow conversations of excited purposes with new chapters to be written. It was just you and him, as when you sat on the Santa Mónica Hills, white Hollywood sign below your feet, or when the poppies on that park he took you to brushed your feet with the sweet blossom of spring.

He'd taken all your cold and daises with him. The leaves growing and falling. Growing again. The smell of grass that reminded you of when you were young, running around with your brother without a care in the world. Safe. You weren't religious, but believed in a God out there who heard your prayers for Pedro to be by your side all the time.

You'd give him all your seasons. All your life.

"Nice view, isn't it?" Pedro asks, leaning to your side.

His smell, one you wore as your own, the hugs (wasn't he touchy as hell?) and fleeting lasting touches to blame, fills your nostrils. Your body stiffens at the closeness, never allowing yourself to relax at how close you were: to hearing his breath, to mapping all his face... But he always managed to amuse you, like today: his moustache was a tad bit unkempt, new greys here and there. So was his hair, yet managed to look breathtaking as the scenery below you.

"Listen, if you were going to peak this much all the trip, you could've taken the window seat" you chastise with no malice behind your soft voice. "I offered you so"

"I wanted you to have it"

There it goes. The reason you had thought about him all the flight. But again, when weren't you?

"There's no winning with you, huh?"

"Oh, please" he makes a funny face, lips in a pout. "You love to be close to me"

"As if, old man" you joke. "Whatever suits your delusional ass"

This banter makes Oscar and Elvira, sitting in the row next to you, roll their eyes.

"If we knew you'd be this annoying, we wouldn't brought you along"

Life had been crazy right now. Lots of roles and filming, especifically Pedro finishing to film The Mandalorian, a series soon to hit Disney's streaming service and one that could make him a household name. You just knew it, despite how many times he looked insecure about it. Still, he was excited, probably more than he was with the Wonder Woman sequel. Yeah, the role Oscar convinced him to take was what got him excited for the rest of the year to come.

So, before Pedro went to film a Netflix movie he didn't want to tell you about (you wondered why he seemed embarrassed to talk about it, despite committing to the role, as always) and Oscar went to fully inmerse in Dune (God, you were excited for that one), Elvira had suggested to take a break, and as a Thank you for the almost three years working for her, they took you with them. Now, Pedro was a last minute addition, him being surprised about being invited at all, but judging by the continuous stares from the couple, you think this was their plan all along.

"We're about to descend, isn't it great?" Oscar shares, holding his wife's hand. "I needed this"

"We all do" she agrees, leaning on his shoulders. He hums happily, closing his eyes as the pilot's voice announces for seatbelts to be worn.

"Should we do that too?" you whisper to Pedro, wiggling your brows.

"Oh, we should" he agrees in an exaggerated sweet tone, grabbing your hand. You're used to it, but today, more than ever, your heart beats fast. You lean to him, closing your eyes to avoid his brown eyes that seemed harder not to fall into each passing day, so inviting.

"You're not funny" you hear Oscar's voice say. "What a weird sense of humor you have, my sweet girlfriend"

Pedro clicks his tongue. "You guys are gross"

"Right, you won't be saying that when you fall in love" Elvira adds.

"You'll have to die waiting" he says, still holding your hand. "You know I don't do that"

You tense, and he must've felt so.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I just hate the landing"

But your heart sinks like the plane over the tracks, crestfallen.

Despite the initial sadness, the blue of the sea took away the one in your heart.

Water had never seemed this alluring, so transparent you could see your feet pruning and the sand below your toes. You laughed under the sun, skin sprinkled with the salt of the sea and sweat.

"I wished the sea would swallow me away"

Outloud. Voice distant. The water isn't even at your waist, but Pedro looks at you. The couple are behind, sunbathing in their towels while music plays from their speaker.

"I would never allow that" sounding so serious. "I can't let you leave me"

You're taken back to your first night. You can't just say things like that.

"Right" you continue, "I'd do you a favor"

"The favor would be to stay. But I'd rather have it be a promise"

Promises. Funny. Why did Pedro say this things so freely, as true as a breath, when then he'd go and voice his fear for commitment and refusal for love in the next beat? Of course, you can't force nothing, nor have the right to change him. But it stings, that you no longer know what his initial promise meant. Friends. Yeah, could be that, but boy, didn't it hurt?

It isn't enough.

Your heart doesn't get the memo though, fluttering with his words.

"The promise to bother you forever?" you try to keep your tone steady.

"I can live with that if it means to keep you"

You suck in a breath.

"Look"

You kneel down, trying to avoid his face. Pedro should notice, he always does, but he's too busy staring somewhere else. Someone else. By God, this bikini you're wearing... It's making him insane. And hard. Under his swimtrucks, but you can't find out. He already feels like a creep, staring at your ass while you bend, giving him your back. Obscene images fill his mind, brain racing with filthy ideas of the position, reimagined.

He's a fucking joke.

"What?" he asks, mind elsewhere, somewhere between the tanning marks that have started to appear in your skin.

"A seashell" you hold your discovery to his face, giggling like a high schooler.

"It's cute" he murmurs, big fingers brushing past yours. He sees you gulp. "Like you"

You gulp again, this time with difficulty.

"Stop it, bobo" (dummy)

"You make it hard"

No, he made it hard by saying this things without a care in your poor heart.

You splash some water onto him, making Pedro laugh. Feisty girl, his deep voice rasps, making your cheeks flare up as your bottoms start to feel wet, and not by the shallow water. You remember then your menstrual cycle app. Fertile week, the notification said.

"If you ever say something like that again, I'll drown you"

"The compliment or the berating?" Pedro's quick to reply.

Jesus Christ.

"I'll tell Oscar and Elvira to send you home. Now"

"You wouldn't" he responds, laughing.

Your own laughter quiets down.

"That's right" with a soft, quiet acceptance. His laughter dies too at your tone, looking so deeply into your eyes, you feel dizzy. There's something you can't quite place in them. "I wouldn't"

A wind breezes by. The air has shifted. And the worst part is you both feel it.

Later that night, you joined the couple for dinner. Pedro was already there, changing his red swimming trunks for a Cuvabera shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and showed a weak peak of his soft silhoutte.

"Good you joined us"

"I wouldn't miss it" you reply to Elvira's sincere words, taking a seat next to Pedro.

What he wouldn't miss, is you. Holy fuck. Had you done this on purpose for him being a teasing ass to you earlier? No, how could you? You didn't know the effect you had on him.

The same effect that's making it so hard to ignore how your breasts are pushed up, and how it graciously adapts to your figure. He feels blood rush to his face and cock, and by Oscar's teasing snicker, he knows he's been obvious with the staring.

Nevertheless, conversation flows easily as the drinks and food. After rounds of wine and pasta from the hotel's restaurant, you feel a bit drunk. Nothing too alarming, just enough to do something stupid.

Like saying I love you.

"Are you okay?"

Despite being his usual loud self, Pedro's been spacing out here and there, and it always seems to happen when you talk.

"Yeah. 'M fine" you try reaching for him, but he stands up, abruptly so. "I just need some fresh air"

"I can come-"

"No!" his voice cracks. Fuck. Did he just yell at you? Judging by Elvira's glance, he did. God, and to your sweet offering and smile? He's going to hell. "Sorry, just better off by myself"

You flinch. Something like hurt makes its way to your face. He's hating himself more by the minute.

"Okay. Have fun"

But it's emotionless. You let him walk away, and it doesn't even take a minute of Pedro's back leaving the restaurant for the couple to gossip.

"Must be work stress"

"Sure it is, babe"

You don't like their tone, as if they knew an inside joke you aren't part of. Like you're the joke.

"I'll go after him"

You don't know what bothers you more: their silent stare or how they didn't stop you.

You find Pedro on an alleyway, propped against the wall. His features are lit by a dim glow.

"I thought you quit"

He blows some smoke. "And I thought I told you not to follow me"

You sigh, standing next to him.

"You smoke when you're nervous"

He doesn't look at you when he replies. "I don't"

You click your tongue. A beat.

"You do"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Expert On Me" he mocks, taking a drag.

"Fuck you" you retort, tired of his off-putting behavior during dinner and now. He gives you a bewildered look, making you angrier. "And don't give me that face, you're the one who's been acting weird all night. I'm just trying to be a good friend"

"If you were a good friend" he delivers the words in a way it feels like a slap to your face, "you would've leave me alone"

Pedro hardly lost his temper, yet now, his eyes burn with a barely contained rage.

"P..." you try one last time, never one to beg but finding yourself doing the impossible for him. Using that silly nickname as your last weapon.

"Go" is his last plead.

"Not until you tell me what is going on"

He loves how stubborn you can be.

He hates it.

"Go" he insists.

"No. You can't just- act like this! Shutting me out and..." you feel frustrating bubbling up your chest. "I don't know what's happening, just talk to me. Help me understand. Pedro, you can't treat me like I'm a nuissance when you have flirted with me hours-"

The words spill out before you can contain them. He lets out a cold laugh that chills your bones.

"Flirted with you?" Pedro takes another drag. "Jesus, y/n"

It's the way he said it that makes you want to vomit. Like the sole idea of it is offensive.

"Why do you say it like that?" you shove him.

His jaw tightens. Eyes red from the wine and anger. Cigarrette dangling from his lips.

"Like what?"

"Like the thought of it makes you sick, pendejo!" (Bastard)

"Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone!" he finally snaps, shouting. You stumble back slightly, almost falling due to your drunken senses. "See? This is why I told you to go. I say things I don't-"

"Don't you fucking dare blame this on me" you seethe. "It was your choice. To hurt me"

He hates how your voice cracks. Guilt creeps in.

"I don't want to" he runs a hand through his already messy curls. "I'm sorry"

"But you did. Why?"

Why do you hurt me when all I do is love you?

"Because I'm stupid" he leans against the wall, his regrets falling like the ash losing among the patters of the sand.

"You are" you stiffle a laugh. Without asking permission, you steal the half burnt cigarrette from his hands.

He let's you, without a word. He always has given you everything.

"We need to stop dragging this" you let out, flat. Decisive, as you stomp the cigarrette in the ground.

His heart beats so loud, it's the only sound on his ears.

"What's this?" voice barely above a whisper.

This means all those times he'd lean in too close, suffocating, because he'd always knock the air out of your lungs. When he'd hold your hand for too long, mind wandering to places it shouldn't. How your toothbrush stayed at his place, and he didn't tell you to take it back. How you changed the way the pillows on his bed where lined up, because it was comfier, and he never changed it to the way it was. You had changed his life in so many little and meaningful ways. He just couldn't imagine a life before you.

Without you.

"You know what this is" your voice is calm, accepting. "But you can call it what you want"

The moon shines above. The water crashes softly on the shore. The air feels humid and hot, but not smothering. Not anymore.

"I'm scared" is all he says. "Ever since one morning, I woke up feeling different. I just... I wanted you to be there. That your face was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes"

You always know what to say. Words seem to bloom out of you. Now they're stuck in your throat, choking you up like thorns.

"I think I've known for a long time, but you know... It's hard to accept something familiar yet foreign. Old but new"

You gulp. Your heart races.

"Pedro" your own voice feels foreign to you. "You don't have to-"

This was an apology. A search for answers. This is it. It's too much to take. You'd never guess you'd hear him utter any words that spoke about the nature of your relationship, made it clear, gave it a name, less to be under the pale moonlight.

"I'm not ready, but I want to. For you. Us"

His lips aren't as close as they have been other times, yet now, it feels it can end with a kiss.

"I can wait" you reply softly, cupping his face. Your fingers grace his two day stubble, focused on the small heart resembling patch where no hair grows. "For you, anything"

You'll kiss. Finally.

But then―

A ping. Small sound. You recognize it as the one you've designated for emails.

"What's that?"

You take out your phone, seeing the mail app icon badge on your notifications. With shaky fingers you unlock it, heart trembling. Pedro places his hand on your shoulder, as to ground you. Doesn't he know you well?

It's from your agent, the one Elvira had recommended you.

You suck in a breath. Casting call, reads the subject line.

"Oh. My. God" you cover your mouth with your hand. "P-Pedro! Fuck, look!"

He has always loved your victory face. It's the best view, even with the sea in front of him.

"I got the role" you whisper. Some tears of happiness show in your eyes.

"I knew you would"

"I-I got it" you jump in excitement, a scream lost in the night. "I got it, I got it, I got it!"

This time louder. Happier. More excited. He just watches mesmerized every little jump you do and how joy seems to ooze out of your body, the energy contagious. He finds himself smiling at you, something warm as pride settling on his chest.

"I would've personally hunt them if you got rejected"

You stop your celebration, looking at him between playful and breathless.

"Good thing they didn't"

You get close again. He doesn't know when, just that now he can see the acne scars on your face.

"Because they know what's good" he replies, tucking a loose strand behind your ear with a gentleness never known before.

You can't help but smile, your nose brushing with his.

"Don't we all?"

There's a kiss. Strong. Full of yearn, like the one on movies. On songs. This is what they want to write and sing about; try to put the feeling into words. He bits your lower lip and your tongue slides into his mouth, eager. His hands find their way to your hips, tight as a promise, pulling you even closer.

"God. You taste so good. So sweet" Pedro mumbles. Drunk. Wine or you, he doesn't care. It all makes him feel warm and fuzzy. "Need more"

With a sudden burst of movement, Pedro spins you around, pushing you up against the wall, pinning your wrists above your head with one large hand. His eyes are dark and breathing ragged, as if he's lost control.

Your heart jumps in your throat.

"W-what are you doing?"

His other hand slides down the curve of your side, over the flare of your hip, to grip your ass, pulling your hips flush against his own as he grounds the thick ridge of his erection against your core.

His voice drops.

"Don't be surprised, baby. As if you haven't thought about it"

He was right but also wrong. When you came looking for him, this was the last outcome in your mind.

Other nights, alone in your bedroom, however...

Your voice comes out in a breathless whisper. Pleading. "You know they could come looking for us any minute by now"

"Let them" he whispers, heavy breaths out of his mouth, mingling with your own. "Don't you want to properly celebrate, baby? Don't act like you don't want it. What if they walked in right now and saw their assistant grinding on their friend? Dripping all over my pants like the dirty slut you are?"

He whines as you grind your hips down on him.

"Then we better put on a show, don't you think?"

The khaki does a very poor job of hiding the wet patch already forming in the fabric over his tip, and if you had more time, you'd probably ask to suck him off; that's how equally horny and grateful you are now.

"Dirty girl"

So damn hot, your arousal pools into your now wet and sticky panties. Shout out to the dress: you don't think you could've handled the pulse of your aching cunt inside jeans.

"M'sorry for not being able to, you know-" he wiggles his eyebrows, smile soon strained by gritted teeth. "Wish I could just fuck you, here and now"

"Well, you can always come to my room tonight" and pull out the spare keycard the hotel gave you, taunting him with it like a hungry dog with a bone.

He gives you a hopeful look.

"You bet I'll be there" and bites it away from your grasp.

It's so sexy, but he's soon dropping it somewhere, falling with a soft click to the sand, because he's kissing you again, whole mouth devouring yours. Pedro makes little noises, all too strained and eager, groaning as his head falls back, your damp panties pressed intimately against the cloth of his shorts.

Pedro is fucking flying. Borderline ascending. All he knows is his cock throbbs hard as your clothed pussy grinds down on his lap while you rock your hips against his.

"Fuck-" he curses, "shouldn't wore such a small little frail dress while parading around me, baby. Es una puta tortura" (it's a fucking torture)

He grips your hips tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fights the urge to grind up against you. His large hands slid up your sides, skimming over the side of your ribs, the swell of your breasts. Pedro hums in satisfaction. Along blooms something akin to pride in your chest.

"You like it?"

"More than I should" he admits, cheeks flaring up.

"So that's why you were distracted" you laugh at him, playfully swatting his chest. "Couldn't handle the y/n charm?"

"Shut up" he mumbles, embarrased.

"Make me"

He rests his head down in your collarbones, stubble making light tickles as it grazes against your flushed skin, down in the crook of your neck, hiding his face there. Pedro breathes you in, musk mixed with sweat and the fading notes of your floral perfume, then growls.

"I don't know how I'll stop myself from not having you, baby. You've fucked me up, I swear" you moan at the intensity of each word that spills from his mouth, "might not care if Oscar and Elvira walk in now-"

"Pedro!" you yelp as his hips rolling to meet yours. A pink embarrassement washes over your face, not only at the thought but also at how you're not entirely displeased. "D-don't say that"

"Oh, please. Will you tell me you don't like the idea? Should've thought about it first, then, naughty girl" he rasps, voice a low, desperate rumble. "Don't you feel what you do to me? How hard I am for you?"

With each word, a new thrust of his hips, khaki shorts against your panties rubbing deliciously. He could feel all of your heat even through the layers separating you.

Pedro groans softly, hips rolling urgently against yours as he pinned you harder to the wall with his body, his soft planes molding with your own.

What a vacation.

(Dry humping with Pedro Pascal on a hotel room during a getaway with your boss, who happened to be Elvira Lind, wife of Oscar Isaac? After being handed a role you fought hard for? Never ever even dreamed of it)

"You want to come on my cock like this?" Pedro purrs in your ear. "Want me to dry hump this little cunt until you're coming?"

The thick bulge of his erection rubs right over your clothed slit. He feels your body tensing, breath coming in short gasps. One of those dies in your throat as you feel his fingers dipping underneath to touch your slick folds.

"Jesus, baby. You're soaked" he speaks as his fingers part your lips, delving deeper to stroke over your swollen clit. "Is this all for me, sweetheart?"

He circles your clit with the rough pad of his finger, feeling your hips buck and writhe against his touch. He can feel your walls starting to flutter, your body tensing as your climax approaches.

"Let me reward you, then, for bein' such a good girl" voice a low rasp in your ear. "My future movie star"

Pedro rubs your clit harder, fingers pumping in and out as he ground his cock against you, chasing his own desperate pleasure. He too was so close, balls tight, cock throbbing and leak on his pants.

"Fuck, Y/n... come on, baby. Come for me"

He feels your body stiffen and then fall against him as your orgasm crashes over you. He groans long and low as he feels your slick walls pulsing and fluttering around his rough digits.

It's not long before he comes, hard, his cock jerking and pulsing as he spills himself in his pants, seeping through the cotton and staining the fabric.

Now it's his turn to slump against you, pinning you to the wall with his larger frame as he struggles to catch his breath. His fingers still their movements, pulling them out of your soaked heat as he tries to even his breathing.

He nuzzles into your hair, wearing a lazy smile you can't see.

"That's my good girl. Came so pretty, all for me" Pedro praises. "Made a complete mess of yourself, didn't you? Even when you knew they could come looking for us, but that didn't stop you at all, dirty baby"

You chuckle, readjusting yourself.

"Time to head back, dirty boy"

"Boo, you're boring" he jokes. "But whatever my girl wants"

Pedro leans to kiss your hand, softly. You giggle.

"I like my men obedient"

"And I'm into submission" he winks, "so we're even"

Oscar and Elvira don't ask about your thirty minute absence, yet by their unspoken married couple secret language, it's like they know or at least guess what happened. And your shared glances and smiles give it away, anyway.

"I'm heading to my room" you announce after dessert, brushing your fingers with Pedro's. A small reminder.

"It's barely ten" Oscar replies with a strange tone.

"Tonight was fun but I'm tired" you offer a rather lazy excuse. "Goodnight"

The copy of your key burns in his pocket. He abruptly stands up, not even five minutes after. He is as obvious as impatient.

"Wow, slow down buddy" Oscar grabs his arm, forcing him to sit down again. His cock twitches, as pissed as he is. "Easy. There's no rush, is it? Or do you have somewhere else to be?"

He gulps down.

"Oh, look at them. Didn't I tell you so?" Elvira laughs.

"I thought so too!" Oscar argues.

The woman just gives him a glare. "Yet who came up with it first?"

"Fine, wife wins this round" he slumps on his chair. Then looks at Pedro, pointing her. "You can't win with this one"

She ignores him, leaning forward, elbows propped in the table.

"So, did you two-"

Pedro's cheeks burn. "I'm not gonna share that-"

"-Talk" she finishes, "but now I'm curious to know what you aren't meant to share"

"Secundo eso" Oscar chimes in. (I second that)

"I need to go, really" he insists, thinking of you. On your bathroom, propping yourself in the mirror, starring and smiling too much at your reflection.

"I get it, time's precious" his friend coincides. "You aren't getting any younger dude"

This is his banter with Oscar, all playful no damage meant. But his stomach sinks.

In a way, he's right, and some of the doubts that held him back come crawling and settling on his head. They whisper until their words cut deep and find home in the darkest corners of his mind, feeding from the shadows.

A young couple passes by him. He hadn't even registered he'd stood up until the perfume of the woman, fruity, wafts into his circle. Until the man's voice and laughter is clear, full of life and less burden of the years passed by. They look so good together, and then she leans in to whisper to him, looking at Pedro. The man turns around, smiling but then looking at her, lastly at the exit doors. And they're gone. Maybe they recognized him, but right now, it feels like the universe has sent him a message.

A cruel unwarranted blow of reality.

(Aching joints meeting your brand new. The coloring of his hair that hadn't started in yours. The rough of his skin against the soft of your own. The wrinkles you had of laughter and expression opposed to those he simply had because of time. His soft planes compared to your rigid body. The size difference. The age gap. That was his reality and it fucking sucked)

His phone chimes in on cue.

Thank you for tonight. That was amazing

Pedro smiles, sadly so, as he types an answer.

It was

In past. Fitting for an ending. A goodbye.

The key burns still. But he doesn't take it out, not even when the shorts drop somewhere on the pile of clothes on his room's couch. He just falls in bed, burying his face into the pillow until the pushing force of guilt and feelings lull him to sleep.

On the other side of the hotel, moon shines it's light into an empty room, waiting bed cold with deception, many questions asked to the silence, not sure if you want the answers.

You should always trust your intuition.

It didn't fail you when you decided to leave your country behind, despite the failure, homesickness and loneliness gnawing at your heartstrings season to season.

Now? You were about to star in one of Netflix's original romcoms, and while to others it may seem small, to you, this leap in your career from background roles to lead meant everything.

It also didn't fail you when it came to Pedro. Whom you caught his first stare across the room, holding it dearly to your heart like the night you met. The age gap, different stages in life, work... all of it blurred to the sound of his low laugh and voice.

I think you're the prettiest sight I've seen in a while.

You loved being right. You hated not being proved wrong now.

For the rest of the vacation, is like Pedro did a whole switch: he made it his mission to act like nothing happened, like you hadn't happened.

Maybe, the thrill or vacation release was what he wanted, and the hoping was only on your side. The deep connection you'd nurtured for months was gone in seconds, taken away from you before you even learned what loving was.

He was commited, you have to give him that. Even on the plane, in such reduced space, he managed to remain quiet, not even batting an eye at Oscar and Elvira's questioning stares. They were probably as confused as you.

It all stayed back in the island: the sound of waves, sand in your feet and the hot sun of stolen stares and whispers lost in the humid night. The hard of the wall pressed against your back. The moonlight over the sea as he said Us. And how he tasted, like the wine and cheese he glazed his pasta with. In every cup and serving, he will be now, not like you wanted but like a ghost. Haunting.

It was over.

So were your days working for Elvira, who had become sort of a mother figure to you, especially after being away from yours. In this new stage of life, being an assistant just didn't fit into your schedule anymore, and as grateful as you were to have met them―what the family did for you―, it was time to go.

This meant you'd still keep in touch, though. Still, the chances of seeing Pedro again were low, and you have yet to decide if that was good or bad, because what made you feel giddy had turned to dread.

Despite it all, you forced yourself to remain positive. Shooting for your role was about to begin and you weren't going to let a man ruin it. You hadn't let this things hurt before, why should they now?

Pedro was different.

If for fleeting time had your paths converged, you're aware you'll remember those weeks for the rest of your life. You know it by the way your digits twitch with need, his number ingrained into your mind due to the hours spent thinking about it. You called your parents all the time, as usual yet felt guilty because now, Pedro was the first person on your mind.

He was the one you wanted to speak. Talk about your day on set. For him to go through your lines with you, like he had done before your audition. Take this, and he gave you one of his hoodies that day, the Carrie one. I'll be there, Pedro said. Now you won't feel alone. You wish you kept it, just to remember his smell, gone weeks ago of your house, last reminder he once lived in here like it was his real home.

You hated driving across his house, not daring to step a foot inside. How leaves turned from green to yellow, the orange spicy cinnamon air of November's autumn welcoming your still broken heart. How the premiere for his series was around the corner, days away, and you kept staring at the phone for too long. To congratulate him. Ask how he's been. If he's nervous. If you'll watch the first episode together.

"Hey, y/n" you raise your head from your phone, fingers hovering over his contact, yet again. You turn it off, embarrased. "Got any plans for later?"

It's your co-star, Jordan Fisher. You both share a passion for dancing, something you do a lot in this movie, Work It. It had been fun so far, and you've met the two leads, him and Sabrina Carpenter, spending much more time with the latter as you play her bestfriend. While not being the main role, you would treasure this experience forever.

"Um, I don't think so" you answer, smiling. "Why?"

"I was going to grab some drinks in this café nearby. Want to come?"

You look at your phone, then at him. You tell yourself this is okay, even if a part of you is screaming in betrayal.

No, you deserve to be happy. To go out and not think about Pedro at all. Enough moping around when no one is looking. Enough of forbidding yourself from moving on, holding onto heartache like it's a crown or a badge to wear with honor.

"Sure" you stand up, throwing your phone inside your bag. For the first time, you truly smile and don't think about Pedro and the summer sorrow. "A coffee right now sounds perfect"

Pedro has been miserable.

Ever since you came back from your trip, the distance got even bigger. Not louder, quieter: long gone the loud laughter and endless conversations. You didn't question him, just gave him those eyes full of grief, pain and confusion he hated. He avoided your stare, knowing he would cave in the moment he gazed back. So you respected his silence and distance, helped the breach grow bigger. Pedro doesn't know what hurts the most: that you stopped trying because you respected his boundaries that much, without a question, or that you had given up on him that easily.

He's currently sat on his living room, some movie playing in the background as he scrolls through his phone. He never thought he'd be one of those people, but once the bad habit started, he couldn't quit it. You'd chastise him: Look at you, trying to fit in with the youngsters and our bad etiquette. Your voice was light, teasing, but now he's reimagining it with a cruel light to it, laced with mockery. Not joking with him. At him.

His phone chimes in. It's a text from Oscar.

Pedro. Have you seen this?

Three dots. Erased. Then again. Finally, he gives up and just sends a link.

Jordan Fisher And his Co-Star, Y/n L/n, More Than Friends?

He turns off the phone, unable to see more. His breathing turns frantic, lungs burning with each breath he takes.

Pedro turns it on again, like he wants to punish himself in a way. His fingers presses over the blue text, the article showing up in no time on his screen. If the title hurt him enough, the picture below kills him.

That smile he misses, again seen through a screen, as the one's he's captured and keeps on his phone, seeing them when it's late at night and the pain of your absence becomes unbearable. But he's not the reason why you smile. It's him: young and handsome, coffee in hand with the same logo as yours.

Did he know you preferred brown sugar just because you liked the color? It's my favorite color, while looking at his eyes. Does Jordan know you always buy extra whipped cream when you order it cold? How does he know what to say to make you laugh the way only he knew: eyes crinkled, corners wrinkled and that loud sound that lit up a room? It was his, in a way, a trophy as important as any award the industry could give him. But now he's staring at it through an article, a young man by your side.

You look good. Beautiful. A dark part of him wishes you weren't doing well, that it's just a facade, like him. That deep down, you can't sleep at night thinking of him, and when you close your eyes, he's the last thing you think of and the one you dream of.

He wants you to mourn this fight that went down with cold acceptance. For you to feel the same tug at your heartstrings when you look around you, because for him, you're everywhere: in every corner of his house and life, haunted by the brushstrokes your colors painted on his life. But now the paint has dried, cracked, and he's selfishly wishing you haven't moved on. That you think of him as much as he thinks of the sand, your moans and your sweet taste. Of being so close to paradise and letting you go.

That you're hurting just means it mattered to you, yet now, with the smile mocking him on his face, he thinks you never cared.

Worst part is he deserves it. He was the one who pushed you away.

His fingers hover over his phone. No, it's not the right time. It never feels like it is, regret washing away with cowardice his chances. He's dialing other number. It takes a while for the line to pick up.

"I was waiting for your call"

Pedro rolls his eyes. "Very funny"

Oscar scoffs. "I wasn't trying to be"

"Why'd send me that?" he's asking, knot on his stomach.

"Why do you think?" voice stern, acompanied by a matter-of-fact tone. "Usa la cabeza" (use your head)

"To torture me?"

He only laughs. "So you can do something about it"

And the only thing he did was grab the closest bottle and drink until the tears of his amber eyes melted within the mirroring liquid, world reduced to a quiet blur of ringing ears and broken heart on his lonely bed, missing your smell and how it dipped under your shared weight.

Grief turned to anger fast. A fury that went in burning circles of regret and helplessness.

How could you?

Why hadn't you fight more for...

How could he even call you both?

(Call it what you want, you said)

No. He had no right being mad.

But, was he that easy to forget?

Anger makes his face hot with embarrassement and rage. His fists turn white, curling and uncurling. His hair is a mess and he knows every breath he takes now reeks of whiskey. What he doesn't know is how he ends up in front of your house after months of not being able to even call you on the phone, same white knucles now relaxed into a bright pink that matches with the drunken blush of his face, falling into the peaceful familiarity of coming home, all pain gone for a fleeting moment as soon as he senses the faint smell of your plants in the porch. Daises are my favorite, the entrance to your house filled with them. He gave you one for your birthday last year.

"Pedro?"

Had he already knocked your door? He stares at his trecherous hand. Pedro doesn't even know what to say, his name called by you sinking into his chest.

Despite his slurred senses, he can see you: your soft hair, still damp from the shower. The roses and milk aroma on your skin he so dearly missed. The way the loose t-shirt hangs from your body, paired with your Cherry Blossom socks with Van Gogh's painting on their pattern. Your bare legs make him dizzy, as if the alcohol had not done enough damage to his balance already.

"Pedro" you repeat, "what are you doing here?"

Good question. He doesn't even know the answer.

(Or maybe he does, but damn, isn't he a fucking coward?)

"Are you with him?"

"What?"

"That guy" he tries explaining, his own voice sounding distant to himself. "Are you dating?"

You laugh, coldly. He takes a step back, like you've landed a blow across his face.

"What makes you think you have the right to show up at my door after months of ignoring me to ask that?" you lean on the doorframe, dismissive, but he feels you're blocking the entrance. Blocking him out of your life. "It's none of your bussiness"

"Y-you can't be with him"

Weak. Like a fucking beggar.

"I beg your pardon? Jesus, the nerve that you have-" you throw your hands in the air, a thing you do when you lose your temper, which is frequent to happen. As calculating and driven you were, you weren't a patient woman. "Did you think it was a good idea to come by and tell me what to do? On top of all that, drunk? Fuck, you're a mess"

His shoulders slump down with the weight of shame, running a hand through his messy hair, distressed. He looks up again and examines your features.

They're the same, and he doesn't know why he's relieved, as if you were to change in months. But to be loved is to be changed, and God knows he was scared of finding another version of you behind the door, one without free hair and floral scent: one that didn't belong to him anymore.

"You didn't even call for my birthday" he looks up to you, but you look at the floor, voice breaking. "I knew that's when it was over. For real"

"Y/n-"

God, you missed the way his voice would call you. But the hurt is too much to bear, months of piled up sadness forming a storm: the one you've always been, never a calm sea like the one in front of you when you kissed, but always roaring, each word aiming to hit like thunder.

You had spent so many hours, shrinking in fear under the force of pain, body trying to cry―to release, anything―and live through just another empty night.

He, the reason of your ache, now standing before you, looking as miserable as you feel.

"You need to go"

Final. No room for more to be said. He just hates how determined you are sometimes.

You're closing your door. Shutting him out. He can see the pain on your face, let's himself believe there's a chance as he tries to erase feeling so dumb for succumbing to harmless teasing words of his friend―mixing with previous fears, and the image of you, holding hands with another. Kissing another who gets to taste the flavor of those strawberries you ate so frequently and that of your gloss. To be whole with someone who isn't him.

But it's his fault.

His, his, only his.

He doesn't want to lose you. He can't. Even if love isn't natural for the likes of you and him, he knows it's yours and his.

It can't be over. Can't. He doesn't know nanything like you. Has got nowhere else to go.

"I love you" he tries, desperate.

Your eyes go wide, with surprise, then sadness and finally rage, one that's quiet, simmering and scratching the surface to let wrath go loose.

"You can't love me"

He might as well have already lost you.

"What you did to me" The silence. The betrayal. Closing off. Throwing away in the blink of an eye. Asking why's to a rusted dead line. "Not even a friend would do" your hand grabs the doorknob with ending resolution, but it shakes. With vitriol, tears or uncertainity, he doesn't know. "So don't talk about love like you mean it. You can't just say things like that"

The soft waft of alcohol in your breath. Petricor mixing with the smell of freshly cut grass. Your shy smile and light blush despite the flame of ambition in your eyes. Your words take him back. To the night you met. He would go back and tell himself not to be stupid, not to fuck the best thing on his life.

"Please" like it pains you to say it, "stand up. Don't make this harder"

He's on his knees, begging. For what? It's over. He not even prayed but is willing to sacrilege vows he hadn't taken to keep your love.

"I'm sorry" he buries his face in your thighs. Feels the humid of his tears running and the warmth of your skin combing through his hair. "I'm an idiot"

You chuckle weakly. "I know"

"One" Pedro holds tighter, wretched. "Just one chance"

"P..."

You feel his grip loosen.

"Don't" choked up, "don't say it like a goodbye"

You kneel down to his level, tilting his head with gentle fingers by his chin as he refuses to meet you in the eye.

"At least now you know how it feels" and brush a stray tear away.

"I love you" he repeats. "I'm sorry I didn't know how to deal with it"

You let him continue, hand still on his face, stubble rough, prickling your skin.

"When I found out... This is gonna sound very corny, but that one phrase about not knowing what you've got until you lose it? It's fucking real, baby" he laughs, humorlessly. "The moment I saw those images, all I could think about was our kiss and how I'd never get to kiss you again. How you were there for me, had me like no one before. How we talked for hours, and you listened, bringing things we said sometimes, like trinkets on a box or charms of a necklace. Tiny things and moments that belonged to us. And to think you'd share that connection, that- silence, that only comes when two people understand eachother... It fucking ruined me. I forgot about my fears, our age gap-" he cuts himself off, self-conscious. "All I could think about was saying those three words I've felt since we first spoke on Oscar's garden, but was to afraid to say. Even know. You have no idea how crazy my heart is beating right now" he breaths in, deeply. "I'm sorry for loving you and having no idea how to properly do so"

It takes a while for you to realize he's now cleaning your tears. That you've stayed silent for too long.

"Why?"

"Because you deserve someone better. Someone who isn't too old. One you waste your youth with. Like him" he can't even bring himself to say his name. "You looked so good together. Fitting. No one would say anything, no one would disgrace your name. But I'm selfish, I know. Didn't wanna see you with him. At all. Almost broke my phone screen"

Each word punctuated with a green colored hurt. And that, even in all this blues, makes you feel flustered.

"Pedro" you softly call him. "Look at me"

"I can't-" he whispers, browns elusive. "I'll never forgive myself for hurting you. I wanted you to be as miserable as me, but now that I see it to be true, I hate myself"

"Were you jealous?"

He can't deny it. "Fucking seething"

You laugh. God, he longed for it. Prays for it all to be back to how it used to.

"Happy birthday"

You laugh. "What?"

"Did he tell you that?"

"Jordan?" Pedro nods. "We just met. Shooting isn't over yet"

"Well, happy birthday"

"It was two months ago" you counter.

"Only I get to wish you so" face closer to yours now, whispered words ghosting over your nose.

"Silly" you smile, sheepishly. "Are you the birthday police? You can't decide who gets to congratulate someone on their special day, you little jealous freak"

"But I get to decide this"

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, pouring every ounce of his passion and desperation into it. The unsaid yearning and ache on his tongue. It delves deep, claiming your mouth as it tangles with yours in a dance of hunger and need.

Like a couple of young highschoolers on their mother's porch, breeze flowing by their little town. It smells as home. It's simple. It's real. It's extraordinary. It's just what you wanted.

Love.

"I missed you"

You feel a surge of love and lust at his breathless confession.

"I missed you too"

With rushed steps he takes you to your bed. Your room is still the same. Your picture stands on your nighstand.

"I'm surprised you didn't tear it"

His hands slide down to grip your thighs, pushing them apart.

"I'm surprised you think I would"

Clothes go off with the desperation of two people who have circled around eachother for too long. Your bed feels full, unlike the one of the hotel, where you waited until your tears dried in the pillow.

"Well, you're full of surprises" he adds, voice strained.

Pedro settles himself between your thight, the hard, thick length of him nestling against your slick, heated flesh, groaning into your lips at the feel of you. Warm, soft... Ready for him.

His lips mark a trail down your throat, teeth grazing your collarbone. He licks and nips his way down to your breasts, taking one rosy peak into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the hardened bud.

"Pero sí fui un pendejo" growled against the skin in the middle of your breasts. "Forbid myself of tasting you when you taste so fucking good. Could devour you for hours, baby, and never get enough" (i was such an asshole)

"Please, P. Just quit the fucking talking and make me yours"

A surge of emotion and desire wash over him. He holds your stare, seeing the longing and desperation on your face. This unbridled want, he felt it too.

"Shit, baby" he breathes, voice rough and thick with emotion. "You have no idea how badly I've wanted to do this. To feel you with me, next to me and under me"

You allow yourself to believe in him. In his words and touches, cracking a fire in their wake.

"Then do"

To show just how much he means it, he forces your mouths into a fierce kiss. Pedro pours every ounce of his love, his need, his desperation into it. His tongue delves deep, claiming you. Consuming you. Making you his.

All you've wanted.

"For the record, Jordan and I are just friends"

He reaches down to grip himself, lining the thick, hard length of his cock up with your entrance.

Pedro grunts, feeling the promise of warm tight walls taking his dick.

"I don't care"

He rubs the swollen head through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.

"You're not even looking at me" you tease. "He's getting married next year, by the way"

He groans into your mouth at the feel of you, so hot and ready for him.

"I don't care" he repeats.

"Said I could come to the wedding if I wanted to"

Right after the last word you speak, with one powerful thrust of his hips, he buries himself inside you. A broken cry comes out of your mouth, desire coursing through your veins like the most powerful and addictive drug there is ever to exist, only rivaled by him: he, who after years of being his fan, months of friendship, a summer of love and some other months of radio silence filled with unspoken terrifying truths, is finally yours.

"With how much you bring it up, I'd think you're in love with him"

"And by how much you refuse to listen to my words, even as you're buried inside me, I'd think you're jealous"

He hilted himself fully, cock throbbing as it stretches to fill you completely.

"Quit sayin' that, when you know it's the other way around" a broken wail leaves your lips at his girth inside of you, your folds trying to adjust to his size. "Got all giddy with him, at his dumb stories and jokes. But does he know how you like you coffee? No, but I bet you fluttered your eyelashes and laughed like a fucking attention starved brat when he handed you your order. Bet he's a whole gentleman who payed for your order. Probably offered you a ride home, but can't play any of your favorite songs. The ones I know" he throws his head back, a guttural moan tearing from his throat at the exquisite feel of your tight, wet heat enveloping him. "Yet the funniest part is he doesn't know you did all of this for me"

"P-Pedro" you plead, reduced to a moaning mess.

"Tell me you didn't, but we both know how the answer goes" he grabs you by your chin. "Tell me that you were desperate to get a reaction out of me. That you wanted all of my attention. That it's me who you really wanted and not that fucker. Say you did all that little flirty whoring show to make me angry, because guess what? It worked, you desperate slut"

You should be humiliated, but instead, your treacherous brain makes your mouth whine.

"Dirty baby" he whistles, amused. "You're into that? Like me to call out your bullshit, huh? You're a real bad girl"

"I'd call myself resourceful" your voice is strained, "a girl can only do so much for to get her supposed bestfriend who dry humped her last summer to talk to her again"

He laughs, a sound that makes you nostalgic.

"And I take full responsability for that"

"Why don't you fix it the best way you know?"

"Can I get a clue?"

"Shut your mouth and start moving"

He's so compliant is hard to watch and not moan just by his sheer obedience. Surrendering himself to you and your alluring voice clouded with lust. Pedro starts to move, his hips rolling and rocking against yours in a slow, sensual rhythm. He takes his time, savoring every inch of your silky walls as he slid in and out of your depths.

"Fuck, y/n" he pants, voice ragged. "You feel so fucking good, baby. So perfect, so right. Like you were made just for me"

He leans down to nuzzle into your neck, his lips brushing against your ear.

"I love you, y/n" he murmurs the three words again, tone low and intimate.

You tangle your fingers on his hair, pulling him closer for a kiss.

"I love you"

Feels good to put it out there, but maybe he's more excited than you are, given by the goofy grin that takes over his features, eyes shining like the stars on the starry night outside.

His heart soars at your words, and Pedro can't help but kiss you with all the passion and commitment burning inside him, pouring every ounce of his devotion into the press of his lips against yours.

"Three words and you've made me the happiest man on earth, baby"

He thrusts into you harder, driven by the overwhelming feelings on his chest. He wants to mark you, claim you.

"That's it, you naughty little girl. Getting yourself all worked up after your little devilish plan" he grunts. "Gonna make you mine now and fuck you until you can't walk. Until you become a mess. So dumb you can't speak anything but my name"

His hips snap against yours with each powerful surge of his cock, the wet, obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the bedroom.

"Mierda, you'd should be so fucking embarrassed, shouldn't you? Ashamed of opening your legs for a man who could be your father"

He can feel his release building, the hot, tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in his stomach. You pull him closer, arms around his neck, pulling him off his thoughts.

"I'm not ashamed" you purr in his ear. "In fact, I think it's fucking hot"

"Oh, yeah? Dirty girl likes old men?" he grits his teeth, fighting it off, determined to hold back until you cum first. "Loves to be stuffed up nicely by men old enough to be your daddy? Quit that moaning or I might just give you what you ask"

You whine, receptive to his words.

"That's it, baby. Cum for me. Cum all over my fingers like a dirty little girl. I want to see your pretty face and hear your pretty noises. Need to prove if they're better than I imagine as you clench yourself on my cock"

Pedro lets out a roar of triumph as he feels your pussy spasm around his cock, your scream of ecstasy pushing him over the edge. With a final thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside your warm cunt, cock pulsing and throbbing as he erupted.

"Take it, baby. Take every last drop of my cum like the hungry whore you are. Let me fill this hungry little pussy like you deserve"

He grunts and shudders as spurt after spurt of his hot, thick seed paint your walls.

"Now I get to show him and any other fucker who you really belong to"

He collapses against you after emptying himself, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he continues to twitch and pulse inside you. Pedro peppers your face with kisses, restless hands roaming over your curves, touching and caressing every inch of you with desire.

"Baby, listen"

His voice is soft with scary twinges laced within as he rolls to the side, pulling you with him so that you were draped across his chest. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, the silent vow to never letting you go on his strong grip.

"I know I keep making the same mistakes every time" he sighs, his hand stroking your hair. "Yet, it's worth it. The fame, my name, the press... It all reduces to nothing. Because when I look at you, I know at least I did one thing right"

He tilts your chin up, his eyes burning into yours with fierce intensity.

"Then run away with me" you say softly. "Where no one knows who we are"

"We can't" he laughs. "But I'd love to. For you to be mine, forever and always"

"To be with you, I would do anything" you lay on his chest, humming with approval. "I mean it"

"Well" he grabs your hand, "we can't exactly run away, but I have a close idea to it"

"I'm all ears"

He looks deep into your eyes, afraid of his own words.

"We can talk about it more later on but, how about keeping this matter... private?" your body gets goosebumps. "Just you and me. Some friends and our family. Teams too. But it'll be our little secret"

It's the start of something. That something that started on Oscar's birthday when he first called out your name. It was all about falling since then, never quite landing, not knowing what to say. Hiding behind silence the loud thoughts you wanted to shout, words you both couldn't get out, ones to be proud of.

Maybe one day you'd get to do so.

"Something to keep" you add as your way to agree. A promise, to follow him everywhere. To bring him home when he needed. To build something out of what you both feared: with late dinners, kitchen dancing, shared clothes, line reading, fleeting touches, long showers and deep kisses.

You lay again your head on his chest, content and at ease, feeling it go up and down, his heartbeat tranquil and your body soft against his rising and falling tummy. It feels right, like where you should be. Forever and always.

"Like you"

"No, Pedro" you whisper, lazily kissing him as sleep starts to lull you in to the best night you've had in months. "Like us"

It's only getting started.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @trashcora

[bingbongsupremacy]

Post-It Notes

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader

Warning: None that I can think of

Summary: Steve starts leaving Post-It notes around the compound to encourage the Avengers. You’re the only one who writes back.

Neither of you ever mentions it out loud -but deep down, you know the notes mean more than they should. Are you finding love in the middle of your chaotic life... or are you just misreading Steve’s kindness? +Bonus Stuff at The End (Notes, Steve's Reaction, After you're together)

No details of the reader's appearance, race, weight, etc. Reader is however able-bodied.

*Not Proof Read*

It starts because Steve is trying.

Trying to be better. Trying to be enough.

The compound has been heavy lately. Too many missions, too many close calls, too many days where people come back with haunted eyes and blood on their boots. The usual buzz of laughter and noise has calmed into a tense silence.

Steve sees it, the weight pressing down on all of you. So he starts leaving Post-It notes.

Little things. Encouragements. Reminders that somebody sees you.

"You're stronger than yesterday."

"Thanks for having my six today."

"You matter more than you know."

You find one stuck to your laptop after a long mission, and your chest aches so badly you have to pretend you’re just tired.

Because it’s been a long time since anyone said something like that to you-without expecting something in return.

At first, everyone thinks it’s cute.

There’s teasing. Eye-rolls. Laughter.

Clint wears one on his forehead for half a day. Nat rips one in half and deadpans, “Look, now it's a 'half-assed compliment.'” Sam pins one to a dartboard and throws knives at it for practice.

And slowly, quietly, the notes stop appearing for everyone else.

Not because Steve stops writing them. Because no one answers back.

Except you.

You’re the only one who writes him back. You don't even really mean to, at first. It's instinct- this ache in your chest spilling over in ink.

One morning, when he's busy training with Bucky, you tuck a note under the handle of his shield.

"You’re doing a good job too, you know."

The next day, there's a note waiting on your coffee mug:

"I’m trying. Thank you."

After that, it's just you and him.

A secret conversation nobody else knows about, carried out in scribbled handwriting and curling edges of sticky paper. A secret conversation that's built up to mean a lot for the both of you.

Some mornings you wake up to find one on your door.

"Hope today is kinder to you."

You leave one tucked into the crack of the training room door:

"It never is. But you make it bearable."

The notes shift- slow and tender, almost too tender. You two begin to dive into a different area of your relationship, one deeper and softer. Unexplored territory neither of you have dared to enter before. One that shines light on vulnerability from the both of you.

They start to say the things you’re too afraid to say out loud.

The things that weigh on your mind when the halls are too empty and the world feels too big to survive in. Personal things you've never shared before.

The notes feel like a conversation between different versions of yourselves -the braver, softer ones who aren't so afraid to be seen.

In person, you and Steve never talk about them. You don't acknowledge them. You don't elaborate. You just keep moving through life like the conversation never happened.

But you know.

You both know.

Maybe it’s because the notes make it easier. Easier to open up. Easier to say the things you’re too scared to say out loud.

There’s none of the pressure that comes with looking someone in the eye and trying to be brave. None of the fear that they’ll see right through you -see how fragile you really are underneath it all.

Maybe it's because, deep down, you're still terrified of being vulnerable with another person.

And maybe he is too.

Neither of you really knows how to start the conversation. So you don't try.

You just keep writing.

And somehow, that becomes enough.

Weeks pass.

You almost don't notice when you start carrying the notes in your jacket pocket. It's become something so natural and comforting -a way to cope with the harsh world.

You read them over and over when missions go bad, when your hands are shaking too hard to hold a gun steady, when you feel like you don't deserve to be here. You find comfort in them in the middle of the night when the world is silent, but your mind is not.

The words are always simple.

Never elaborate. Never heavy-handed.

Just real.

And they always find you when you need them the most.

You don't realize how much it means until one day, one awful day, there isn't a note.

Not on your laptop. Not on your door. Not anywhere.

Just silence.

The kind of silence that eats at the hollow spaces inside you.

You try not to let it get to you. You fail.

Maybe it was stupid to think this meant anything.

Maybe you were just a charity case to him.

Maybe you’ve been reading too much into scraps of paper and wishful thinking.

But then, just as you're about to crumble under the weight of it all, you find one.

Not neatly placed, not obvious.

Crumpled. Half-shoved under your door. Like it was left in a hurry. Like he almost couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Your hands tremble as you unfold it. Your heart pounds, nervous to see what's inside.

It's just four words.

Scrawled in handwriting you know better than your own name by now:

"Please don't give up."

You sit down hard on the floor, clutching the note like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

Because he saw you. Even when you thought no one did.

Because somehow, Steve Rogers, the man who carries the whole damn world on his shoulders, still had room to carry you, too.

That night, you leave him a note.

You don't sign it.

You don't have to. You know he'll know it's you.

You stick it to the outside of his door and pray he finds it before anyone else does.

"I wasn't going to... but only because of you. You make me happy. Steve, you mean the world to me."

You don’t sleep that night, too busy tossing and turning as you anxiously wait to see what happens.

You tell yourself you’re not waiting for a reply.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t answer. You're lying.

Morning comes, gray and sluggish, and there's no note waiting for you.

Just a yawning, hollow ache in your chest you can’t quite fill.

You feel disappointed. Maybe you had read the situation wrong. Maybe you shouldn't have exposed your heart so much to the man. It felt right in the moment-natural. But maybe it was too much for the soldier to handle.

You go through the motions anyway. You have to.

Training. Weapon checks. A mission briefing you barely hear.

Oh, the mission debriefing.

You’re sitting across from Steve in the debriefing room, trying to act like nothing’s changed, trying to ignore the way your heart still stutters when you think about the note you left for him. It’s harder than you thought it would be.

He’s sitting there, too -still Steve Rogers, still wearing that perfectly calm, unreadable expression like he’s the last person in the world who could possibly be nervous. You’re probably projecting. He’s probably fine.

You’re not fine.

Your fingers drum softly against the table, your gaze shifting between the notes scattered in front of you, the faces of the other Avengers, the screen showing the mission brief. Anything but him.

It’s been hours since you left the note.

Hours since you put yourself out there, so far out, you almost can’t see the shore.

But here you are, sitting across from him, trying to act like nothing’s changed.

Like, there was no unspoken admission of everything between you in that tiny yellow square of paper.

And he hasn’t said anything.

Neither of you has mentioned it.

You almost wish he would. You almost wish he’d do something, a single glance, a soft laugh, some acknowledgment that the elephant in the room isn’t just suffocating you.

But he doesn’t.

And you’re not sure if that’s worse.

Instead, he’s talking about the mission -mission details, coordinates, all the tactical stuff that’s so second nature to him.

You’re nodding along, your mind only half in the room.

How could it be?

How could you pretend you’re not tangled up in the mess of whatever happened between you two?

You look at Steve -really look at him this time.

He’s focused and determined. Serious.

And yet...

It’s like there’s something in the air between you.

Something that’s heavy, like it’s waiting to fall.

He has to feel it. Right?

But neither of you is going to say anything. Not here. Not now. You don’t know if you’re scared of what it would mean if you did.

Or if he is.

You take a small breath and force your focus back to the mission details. You have to focus. This mission is important, and this is what you do, right? You’re an Avenger. You can compartmentalize, you can handle this. You’ve handled worse. Lives depend on you. You can't fuck up.

That's so much pressure. It's suffocating, stacking on top of the stress with Steve. But there's nothing you can do about it. This is your job.

But it’s harder when the person across from you is Steve Rogers -someone who somehow changed everything with a few quiet notes. Someone who isn’t supposed to make your heart race just by walking into the room. Someone who isn’t supposed to make it feel like the world has stopped just because he didn’t say anything at all.

This is all too much.

A small part of you wonders if you’ve made a mistake. Maybe you shouldn’t have left that note. Maybe you shouldn’t have let yourself be so vulnerable. It was too soon. He's probably weirded out. He probably doesn't feel the same. The friendship is ruined over one little note -a note with big words.

But then the tiniest thing happens.

His hand moves slightly toward the pile of notes in front of him -the ones you left out for the mission brief -and just before he grabs one to make a point, his finger brushes against the corner of your note. You know it’s yours. You can tell by the way the edge is slightly crinkled from being tucked into the pocket of his jacket. The one with your handwriting.

He doesn’t look at it.

He doesn’t acknowledge it.

He just… moves on. Like it's nothing. Like your words were forgettable.

But that small moment? It shatters you.

Because you know, deep down, that he saw it. That he felt it. That the note meant something to him, too. But you’ll never know if it’s the same thing it meant to you.

You bite your lip, trying to keep the flush from creeping up your neck. You can’t look at him. You can’t do this.

But somehow, you do.

Just for a second, your eyes flick to his face. And there it is -just barely visible, a shadow. A flicker. Something in the way his jaw tenses. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you’re imagining it.

Maybe it's everything.

The words you almost say -the words that almost leave your mouth, they die in your throat, buried by the tightness in your chest. So you keep your gaze low, nodding along with the others, trying to act like the weight of the world isn’t in your heart. Trying to act like everything’s normal, even though it’s not. You know it. He knows it.

And neither of you is brave enough to speak.

Later that afternoon, you're still thinking about it.

And you tell yourself it’s fine. You tell yourself that maybe it meant more to you than it ever did to him. Maybe you made the whole thing up in your head. Maybe—

When you get back to your room, there's a Post-It stuck crookedly to your door.

You stop breathing.

You peel it off with shaking fingers, heart rattling so loud in your ears you almost miss the words.

"Roof. Midnight. — S"

Just that. No smiley face. No little joke.

Just a place and a time, like an order you could disobey but never would.

You almost don't go. You almost convince yourself it’s safer to stay inside, stay in your room, stay tucked away behind all the walls you built around yourself. In here, you can predict what happens next. You'll binge-watch a show and try to drown the pain in your chest with distractions. Out there -on that roof...there's no telling what's next. In here, things are safe.

But the thing is -you don’t want to be safe anymore.

You want him.

You climb the stairs to the roof just before midnight, the compound quiet around you. The sky is clear and sharp above, stars scattered like someone spilled salt across black paint.

He’s already there. Leaning against the railing, looking up at the sky like it’s speaking a language only he understands.

You stop a few feet away. You don’t say anything. Neither does he.

The silence is deafening. And for a second, you think maybe you’ve made a mistake. Maybe he’s here to tell you it was nothing. That you misread everything. Maybe he's here to let you down softly before building up another wall.

You turn the Post-It over and over in your pocket with clammy fingers, wishing you were braver and knew where to start.

But then...he looks at you.

And in that moment, you realize: He’s just as scared as you are. There’s something raw in his eyes. Something almost broken. His face isn't the way it was earlier in the debriefing. His usually calm expression is more tense and nervous.

Slowly, carefully, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a crumpled stack of yellow notes.

Yours.

Every single one. He kept them. He kept all of them.

Your throat burns.

“I didn’t know how to say it,” Steve says finally, voice rough. He looks down at the notes in his hands. His thumb gently caresses the Post-it note on top of the stack, so careful like they're made of glass. “Any of it.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

He huffs a laugh -bitter and soft. “I can fight armies. I can stand in front of bullets. But when it comes to you... I just-I didn’t know how to start.” His eyes meet your gaze.

You take a shaky step closer.

The air between you feels electric, thrumming with everything unsaid.

“I didn’t either,” you whisper. “I still don’t.”

His hand tightens around the notes.

"You made it easy," he says. "You made it feel like... maybe it was okay to be scared. As long as I wasn’t alone in it."

You feel something inside you crack, something old and brittle and terrified -and you step forward again until you're close enough to touch.

You’re shaking.

So is he.

Very carefully, like he’s afraid you might shatter, Steve lifts one hand and brushes a knuckle along your cheek.

“You’re not alone,” he says.

And this time -this time, you believe him.

You surge forward and wrap your arms around him, burying your face against his broad chest. His body radiates warmth and comfort. Immediately, you feel safe.

Steve lets out a soft, broken sound and pulls you in tighter, like he's been waiting forever for this.

Neither of you says anything else.

You don't need to.

Because you both know. You always have.

----

Extra's

The Notes

In The Beginning (Before You Respond)

"You’re doing great. Don’t forget to take care of yourself today. — S"

"Coffee's on me. Kitchen, top shelf. — S"

"That report you turned in? Impressive. Don’t sell yourself short. — S"

"Training room at 4? I’ll save you a punching bag. — S"

When You Begin Replying

"Bad day? You’re stronger than you think. — S"

"Sometimes even heroes need a break. Hope you’re giving yourself one. — S"

"Maybe. Sometimes it feels like I'm barely holding it together.

But it helps, knowing someone thinks I can. — You"

"Working on it. (Still figuring out how to not feel guilty when I take one and how to remember.) Thanks for the reminder. — You"

"The way you handled yourself yesterday… you remind me why I believe in people. — S"

"I don't always believe in myself. It means more than I can say that you do. Thank you. Really. — You"

When Feelings Develop and Vulnerabilities are Shared

"Some nights I wake up gasping. Still stuck in old battles that aren't mine anymore. Hard to remember I’m safe. — S"

"You’re not alone. I still get nightmares too -about mistakes, about people I couldn’t save. It doesn’t mean we’re weak. It means we remember. — You"

"I think the fact you worry about it means you won’t. You care too much. You feel too much. That’s what saves you. — You"

"I worry sometimes that remembering makes me dangerous.

Like I’m just waiting to crack apart. — S"

"I never learned how to ask for help. Old habits die hard, I guess. But lately... I think I'd like to try. — S"

"You don't have to do it alone anymore. You never did. (I'm still learning too. Maybe we can figure it out together.) — You"

"I saw the way you looked out for everyone today. You don’t even realize it -how steady you are. You’re the strongest person I know. — S"

"I'm scared most days that I’ll never be enough. That one day, someone will see through me and realize I’m not who they thought. (Thank you for seeing me anyway.) — You"

"You are more than enough. You’re extraordinary. — S"

The Notes That Made Both of You Wonder if There Could Be More

"You light up a room without even trying. Not sure if you know that. — S"

"You’re more than just your shield, you know. I hope you see that the way the rest of us do. (The way I do.) — You"

"I feel a little less lost when I’m around you. Strange, huh? — S"

"Don’t tell anyone, but... You’re kind of my favorite Avenger. — You"

"I’m starting to think books are better when you’re the one who recommends them. (Or maybe it’s just because they remind me of you.) — S"

"Strength isn’t just muscles and grit. Sometimes it’s quiet and steady and shows up when no one’s watching. That’s the kind of strong you are. — You"

"You make the hard days softer. Just thought you should know. — S"

Steve's Reaction To Your Note:

The hall is quiet when Steve gets back to his floor.

It’s late enough that most of the lights are off, the compound humming softly around him like a sleeping giant. He rubs the back of his neck, exhausted -physically, emotionally. He’s not even sure why he checks his door.

Maybe it’s habit. Maybe it’s hope.

And there it is -a small square of yellow, stuck crookedly against the wood.

He peels it off carefully, thumb brushing over the crumpled corners and familiar handwriting.

"I wasn't going to... but only because of you. You make me happy. Steve, you mean the world to me."

Steve stares at it for a long time. Long enough that the words blur together.

He sinks down against the door, the note clutched tight between his fingers like it might disappear if he lets go. His heart pounds quickly.

He can't believe what he's reading.

His chest feels too small, too tight, like there’s not enough room for everything suddenly crowding inside it.

Because he knows what she’s saying. God -he knows.

It’s not just about the notes. Not just about the inside jokes or the good mornings or the careful, clumsy affection that’s been blooming between them like a secret garden no one else can see.

It’s about her. Her heart. Her hurt. Her hope.

It’s about the way she trusted him enough to say it -even if she couldn't say it out loud.

And Steve...

He feels like he’s been standing at the edge of a cliff for months now, too afraid to jump. Too afraid to fall.

But she jumped first. She jumped for him.

He swallows hard, blinking up at the ceiling like maybe that'll stop the burn behind his eyes. It doesn’t.

Carefully, reverently, he folds the note and tucks it into the inside pocket of his jacket, right over his heart.

Then he pulls out a fresh Post-It, his hands only shaking a little, and scribbles three words:

"Roof. Midnight. — S"

Simple. Plain.

But it’s the start of something he’s been too afraid to reach for. Until now.

Steve's heart pounds louder as he walks closer to her door. When he's finally in front of it, he's so close to pressing the note on it, when fears fill his mind.

What if he's misreading the situation? What if she doesn't like him the way he's thinking she might? What if he ruins everything they've built between them?

Steve's thoughts get the best of him. With the note in his hand, he turns back around to his room. As the distance grows between her room, his heart sinks lower. He's unsure. He's...scared.

Steve makes it to his room, setting the Post-it note on his desk. He sits on his bed, staring down at the small piece of paper with his writing. He'll decide tomorrow if he should leave it for her or not.

Tonight, he'll go through her notes again and make sure he's not reading this wrong.

After They're Together

The Post-Its don't stop after you and Steve finally find your way to each other. If anything, they multiply.

Now they're not hidden anymore. They're not careful or scared. Now they’re everywhere -like tiny, living proof of your love for each other.

You leave some for him. Next to his shield, waiting for him before training.

"The world is lucky to have Captain America. I'm luckier to have you. — You"

On his favorite hair gel, you bought when you noticed he was running low.

"Thinking of you. I hope your day is wonderful, just like you. -You"

Next to the breakfast you make for him.

"I love you more than the moon and the stars. Never forget that. -You"

Inside his pocket before a mission:

"Come back to me. (I believe in you.) — You"

He leaves them for you. On the cup of coffee he sets out for you every morning.

"Love you more than caffeine. (And that's saying something.) — S"

On your dresser, near your mirror.

"You're beautiful, even when you think you're not. Especially then. — S"

Tucked under your pillow on a rough day:

"You don't have to be strong tonight. Let me hold you. — S"

In your sketchbook, slipped between the pages:

"You make the world better just by existing. I hope you know that. — S"

Sometimes you find them in your shoes, or taped to the door, or tucked between the pages of a book he knows you’re reading. Sometimes he finds yours in his wallet, his glove, or the inside of his gym bag. You two leave them everywhere.

They're sloppier now, the handwriting messier, rushed -because there’s no more fear weighing down your hands. You don't have to be perfect for each other. You just have to be.

And when he kisses you goodnight, you swear you can still feel every unsaid word from all those early notes written against your skin.

Still there. Still unfolding. Still yours

[oppopotamus]

The other hashiras have been noticing that sanemi has been less agressive the past few days and they start to wonder not knowing that sanemi gets his stress fucked out of him whenever he's home by his hubby that was married assigned to him by kagaya 🙀😽

Can be a Req if you feel up to it!!

first time seeing bottom sanemi truthers out here

De-stress

omg this was so yummy thank youuu

Warning: NSFW, spanking ig?, rough-ish sex,

"Haven't you noticed?" Mitsuri whispers in Obanai's ear, they were eating lunch together, watching from afar as Sanemi was training.

"What do you mean?" Obanai asks, raising one of his eyebrows, Kaburamaru sitting lazily on his shoulder.

"Sanemi, of course! He's been so... normal," she says, sounding completely confused even at her own words.

Truthfully, Sanemi has been a lot more normal lately, or at least a lot nicer. He didn't yell or scream so much, unless somebody actually deserved it, which was pretty rare.

All the Hashira have noticed, it was extremely obvious since Sanemi was just so... polite.

Nobody knew why, except for Sanemi and his husband, of course.

Any time Sanemi was home, he enjoyed his time with his husband, he adored him so much... at first he didn't, considering Kagaya had practically forced them to get married, 'it would be good for you' is what Kagaya said to Sanemi, Sanemi disagreed at first but eventually gave in and accepted.

He quickly fell deeply in love with you, much to his, and your, surprise.

Now, he had just returned from a long mission, he had been gone for about two weeks until he was finally able to return home.

The second he walked inside, he let out a sigh of relief as he saw that his husband was already home from his own job.

"(Name)..." Sanemi muttered as he dropped his blade and kicked his shoes off before practically collapsing into your chest.

"Hello to you too," you said with a small chuckle, almost immediately wrapping your arms around Sanemi, placing a kiss on the top of his head. "Miss me?" you joked.

"Missed your dick, yeah..."

You let out a surprised laugh at Sanemi's vulgar words, not at all expecting them. "Wow, you really did miss me, huh?"

"Mhm," was all Sanemi mumbled, snuggling impossibly close to your chest, as if he were trying to melt into you.

"Okay, okay, come on," you said, holding Sanemi tightly as you walked him backwards to the couch. Sanemi fell back onto the couch and looked up at you.

For the rest of the night you two simply snuggled on the couch together, doing nothing more than relaxing and spending time together. It was completely peaceful until the next day when you woke up to Sanemi angrily yelling in the kitchen.

"What the hell going on right now?" you asked as you stepped into the kitchen, looking Sanemi up and down as he angrily shouted about something as he searched through the kitchen cabinets.

"What?" he snapped, spinning around to face you. "Oh, only the fact that I have another fucking Hashira meeting and I can't find my fucking sword!" he shouted, his own hands gripping his hair and tugging it in frustration.

You sighed and walked up to your husband before grabbing his waist and spinning him around, then bending him over the kitchen countertop.

"Wha- get the fuck off of me!" Sanemi shouted angrily, squirming in your grip in a weak attempt to break free. "Not a chance," you began, holding onto the back of his head with one hand, keeping him squashed against the kitchen countertop.

"You need to calm down, and don't you worry, I know exactly how to help you relax."

It wasn't much later when Sanemi was still bent over the kitchen counter, now naked with you pinning his hands behind his back as you fucked in and out of him, his moans and cries filling the room.

"Mm- ufgh... t-too- too m-much...!" he called out, his voice broken and needy as tears of ecstasy spilled down his cheeks, his eyes rolled back into his skull.

You huffed and tightened your grip on his wrists which were held down by your right hand, your other hand on Sanemi's shoulder, keeping him in place.

'U-Umph..! P-Please!!" he cried, his body being pushed back and forth against the countertop with each of your thrusts, the edge of the countertop pushed against his stomach uncomfortably, but he barely noticed it, his complete attention was on the rough, unforgiving thrusts as you pounded into his tight hole.

You let out a breathless laugh, your thrusts getting slightly sloppy as you got closer and closer to your climax. "Haah- you love it rough, dirty boy," you groaned and removed your hand from Sanemi's shoulder to spank his ass, watching the flesh jiggle.

"Ngh-!" he whined and his thighs trembled at the spank, it hurt, but he loved it, it was so hot to him whenever your hand came down on his ass.

"Mph- m' g-gonna come-" he whined, his fists clenching and unclenching with each thrust. "Yeah? Gonna come for me, baby doll?" you asked, earning a quick nod from Sanemi.

"P-Please... lemme... tell- tell me-" he began, getting cut off with a loud moan as you gave a particularly hard thrust, he couldn't even finish his sentences anymore.

You knew exactly what he wanted, or needed rather. "Come for me, baby," you ordered, giving him permission to come, to which he eagerly did, cum spurting from his cock and onto the kitchen counters. You followed not long after, finishing in his tight little hole, filling him up just how he liked.

Sanemi had finally calmed down once again.

[highway-143]

hold my hand - nishimura riki

genre: smut, fluff

pairing: bf!nishimura riki x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k

now playing: connected (bang chan) - stray kids

(proofread)

all scenarios are fake and are not meant to harm any idol in the story

------<3------

"riki stop!" you giggle as your boyfriend tickles your stomach. a movie played loudly in the background, drowning out both of your laughter. your arms and legs flailed around riki as he continued to tackle you into the couch, his hands running around your abdomen.

"i can't!" his bright smile shows itself in the dim light of his living room, making your heart flutter. "you're just too adorable!" he chuckles and finally takes his fingers off of you. you admittedly miss his touch, but thankfully he lies next to you, pulling you in his arms to close the gap between his chest and your back.

"you smell good," he says, his lips against your neck muffling his voice. "i could smell you forever"

you blush and lace your fingers through his, your intertwined hands pressed against your stomach, holding your bodies close together.

riki loved being close to you. cuddling, holding hands, and soft kisses were frequent when the two of you spent time together. you were practically inseperable at this point.

you loved riki so much, it felt like a physical pain in your chest to be away from him for too long. he was the most precious piece of your heart now. nothing in the world could change that.

so now you began to think. about sex. a lot.

you haven't had that... discussion... with him yet, it's always been a little too embarrassing and nerve wracking to bring up.

but you couldn't deny the steady feeling of emptiness between your legs, especially at times when he held you this close. you were getting more and more ready to jump that next hurdle, with his hand holding yours along the way.

"ki?" you ask, rubbing circles over his knuckles with your thumbs.

"hmm?" he hums against your neck.

"can we talk?"

"whats up babe?" he sits up and pulls you so you are facing each other, cross legged and still on the couch.

you squint your eyes and clench your fists, very nervous. "i want to have sex with you."

he stares at you in shock. his eyebrows furrow adorably, and his lips slowly form a smirk.

"you want to.... let me finally fuck you? for real?"

"yes i-"

before you can finish he pounces on you, pinning you under him. "i've been waiting for you, babe" he whispers sultrily in your ear. "you don't know how long i've wanted this"

your face flushes under his intense gaze. "if i'd known i would have said so sooner, i'm so-"

"ah! don't be sorry. not even for a second. i want you to be ready when you are ready, not when you want to appease me because my dick is hard."

if it's even possible, your face reddens further. he lets out a sexy laugh at your embarrassment. "what, do you think that's weird?"

"no, it's just different... i don't know what to do or how to do it well, and i'm nervous, ki"

"don't be nervous, babe. you know it's both of our first times. you don't need to be embarrassed with me. especially not with me"

"thanks, baby"

you wring your hands and look around the room. nothing seems right. its too bright, too cramped, too quiet, even with the movie in the background. the silence between you and riki is deafening.

"so did you just say that in general or do you want to do it now?" he teases, a wide grin forming on his insanely kissable lips.

you slap his arm. "yeah i mean now, i just don't really know what to do." you cast your gaze downward, looking at the hem of your shorts that was being rumpled in your fingers.

"then lets find out together." riki grabs your hands in his and pulls you off the couch, guiding you down the hallway of his small apartment.

when you reach his room, he puts you on the bed, shutting the door and turning off the lights. the faint glow of dusk seeps through his windows and spills into the bedroom, lighting the room in a romantic haze that has your senses on high alert. every slight motion has you on edge, anticipation rising as riki steps closer and closer to you.

"what do you want to do?" he asks, eyes softly gazing into yours, looking for any response

"i... god this is so embarrassing!" you bury your face in your hands, and riki chuckles in amusement.

"babe, look at me. please." he pulls your hands down by your wrists, bringing your gaze to him. "this isn't about being perfect. or looking perfect. its going to be sloppy, its going to be hard. but i know that we can both take it, and that we will love each other no matter what. right?"

you nod your head slowly, tears threatening to fall onto your cheeks.

"words, please" riki begs from his kneeling position below you

"right"

he smiles "okay. so where do you want to start?"

"i... i guess we should maybe take off our clothes?"

"probably a good idea"

you both start removing your clothing. your fingers tremble as you pull your shirt over your head.

and although you cant see it, riki's are too. he nervously pulls his pants down, hands shaking like he had too much coffee.

you and riki take each other in. your whole body heats up as his gaze trails over your bare skin. it felt so irregular. nobody has ever viewed your body this way. you stare at riki's gorgeous abs, slowly making your way to his cock.

it was half hard, not fully aroused, yet still bigger than what you thought it would be. you worry how you're supposed to fit him in you. but damn, it was just so beautiful. the tip was a pinkish color, and you could just make out a vein traveling down his shaft, dissapearing into his pelvis.

"holy shit, you're beautiful." he groans. you blush, and wrap your arms over your chest. because you couldn't ignore the soft curve of your stomach or the thickness of your thighs. how was that beautiful?

"dont you dare try and cover yourself. you are absolutely gorgeous. do you hear me?" his voice is practically a growl as he tugs your wrists.

"okay, ki." you say, looking up at him.

he takes your lips in a soft kiss, pulling your face to his by cupping his hands on your cheeks.

"i love you so much" you say, pulling back to look at him

"i love you more" he whispers into the darkness. "what do you want next?"

"no, its your turn to choose what we do," you try to be teasing, but only feel nervousness

"well lets get on the bed. go put your head on the pillows." he points to the empty bed behind you.

when you are settled, riki climbs over you and places soft kisses on your face, caressing your hot skin with his lips as his sturdy arms hold himself up above you. you let him kiss his way down to your neck, slowly sucking on the skin near your collarbone as you wrapped your arms around his back.

he pulls away and kneels at your waist, looking at you for any sign of regret.

"are you ready?" he searches your eyes for uncertainty, but you nod in approval.

"words"

"yes," you breathe .

he pulls himself in between your legs and spreads them wide, getting a perfectly unobscured view of your glistening pussy

"already wet for me babe?" his eyes dialate from pure enjoyment. "and i haven't even touched you yet"

"please," you scoff, "you know what youve done"

"mmm" he moans as he slowly aligns his tip with your entrance "are you ready?"

you grab his wrist and grip his hand tightly. "lets do it ki." you grit your teeth an he slowly pushes his tip onto your opening, only for it to slide up, refusing to enter.

you moan from the friction of his dick rubbing your cunt. he chuckles and pushes back to your entrance, even slower in entry this time.

but again, he slides right out.

every time he tries to breach your walls, they tighten and refuse to let him in. by the sixth time, riki groans in pain. his cock now fully hard and throbbing in need, his tip is red and coated in a smeared mixture of your combined slickness.

you lay back, squeezing his hand as if its your life force as tears begin to fall down your cheeks. "i... i can't do it, ki" you sob. "it's too big, i can't do it.... i can't do it..."

your tears paint trails on your face while riki squeezes your hand even harder. "you can, baby. i know you can. do you want me to try and stretch you out?"

you nod and choke back another sob, pulling yourself together.

this time, riki doesnt ask for words. he sees how distressed you are, and places a kiss on your hand, still held in his.

his free hand works its way between your thighs, finding your entrance. he smoothly slides one finger in, rubbing it along your gummy walls as he stretches your hole further. he slides a second finger in. then a third. and a fourth

your cunt burns from the pressure as his fingers glide inside you, not with the intent to pleasure, no. that was for his dick tonight.

riki removes his fingers, bringing them to his mouth as he moves his cock back to where he was before.

you stare at him, completely in shock, as he slurps your juices off of his own digits, a slutty smile curving the corners of his lips as he sucked on the sweet liquid

when he pulls his hand out of his mouth and back to its guiding position at his dick, you ready yourself, holding his hand tightly.

he spreads your legs as wide as they can go and finally shoves his tip into your pussy.

you gasp at the stretch. it was definetly more than his fingers, but fuck, it felt like heaven once the stinging subsided

riki moaned in joy as your core squeezed him nicely. "oh fuck, babe, you're fucking tight"

he slowly pushes deeper and deeper into you until he cant go any further. only 2/3 of his length fit inside of you, but it fit in you perfectly.

"baby, you are fucking wonderful. i'm so proud of you" he says, giving your hand a faint squeeze "do you want to see if we can fit the rest of me in?"

your eyes look wild at his words, darting from his face to what you can see of his abdomen.

"you... you meant thats not it?" you ask, ready to cry again. "i don't think i can"

"that's okay baby, you're doing wonderful" riki takes your other hand and squeezes both "this feels fucking perfect"

"im sorry, ki" you say, the tears that were being held back slowly falling down your cheeks now "im sorry i cant take all of you. i want to take all of you, i do, but its so much"

he looks down at you with soft eyes. "how about we try something else?"

you nod again, and riki slowly pulls out of you and picks you up. he flips over so you are straddling his waist, and he is where you were

"now try," he says, helping you position yourself on him.

you slide his dick into you, sinking down on it inch by inch until you finally have all of it inside.

you and riki grin in satisfaction as you settle down onto his pelvis, but that doesnt last long. he smoothly flips you back to where you were before, only now he is buried fully inside your aching core

"do you want me to move?" he asks, gripping your hand again

"fuck yes. please go"

riki starts pulling out, then thrusting back in. his motions start out lazy and slow, wanting you to feel pleasure instead of pain.

"faster, ki. i can take it"

he immediately quickens his pace, his hips slapping hard against your ass. his hand grips your thigh, leaving marks on the skin as he held you open

his other hand still held yours. you squeezed it as you felt his dick pounding deeper and deeper inside of you, making you see white.

"shit, baby... i'm-i'm gonna cum" riki groans, his head hands limply off his shoulders, the tips of his hair slightly ticking your stomach

"then -ah- do it ki, cum in m-me"

your body shudders as you feel your orgasm building up, the band threatening to break while riki thrusted hastily into you.

he holds your thigh tighter as orgasm takes over, thick jets of cum spilling into your cunt, filling up what little space you had left.

your body snaps from the feeling of being so full, twitching and clenching with riki as you both rode the high, hand in hand.

riki slumps next to you, pulling his dick out. it left you with an emty feeling, but he pulled you closer to his chest to make up for it.

that didn't last long though. he immediately shot up and walked into the bathroom, only giving you a "stay there" to wait with.

he walked back out, his boxers back on, with a towel in his hand. he pressed the cool cloth to your forehead, slowly working it over your body until it cleaned everything, even the dripping mess between your legs

he tosses the fabric away and lays back down, pulling your back to his chest and wrapping his arms around you again. you take his hands, whispering into the darkness of his bedroom

"ill hold you forever" you say.

"and i will hold you longer"

------<3------

a.n- dear god im crying. this was so sweet to write. riki is def the type of bf who isnt afraid to tease but fs knows what he needs to do to make you feel good. but now my heart is hurting bc man, i need this boy in my life like right now. okay time to put me back in my cage before i say smth more out of pocket

please reblog if you liked it, and comment with ideas bc i need more XD

masterlist

[vincentbriggs]

so i am newly in a wheelchair which has been a Massive gain in my ability to go out and about. but i realized that i have aprox 0 clothes that look Good while seated. its a completely different silhouette and i am at a loss as to what to do for it. do you have any suggestions for what could look good seated? preferably no skirts or dresses.

Edit: Check the notes for more people's input, including actual wheelchair users who know much more about what works than I could!

Congrats on chair acquisition!!

Since you're sending this to me specifically I am working under the assumption that you mean to do some amount of sewing.

A high waisted silhouette definitely works best for sitting. I make all my pants with the waistband at my natural waist, and a bit of pleating or gathering at the back just like they did on 18th century breeches, and I've never noticed any particular discomfort from sitting in them. (I think high waisted pants are more comfortable in general, and that low rise jeans are evil.)

It's something I've never really thought about before, but sitting is a very legs-forward position, so perhaps a colourful or fancy stripe down the side would work well.

(I made this pair 10 years ago and they didn't fit well and are long gone, but I should do a better version someday...)

Or some other form of side seam decoration, like these fabulous button tabs.

(I don't know what the source for this mid 19th century fashion plate is.)

Cropped jackets would also be good. The first thing that comes to mind for me is the Carmagnole, which was a style worn by French revolutionaries. It's got a pretty similar cut to a regular 1790's coat, just shorter.

(Source)

(Source)

And there are other styles of short jacket, like this one from a few decades later.

I think it might be possible to get a similar effect from cutting down a thrifted corduroy jacket, depending on the pocket placement? It's not something I've done myself though.

A fancy little bolero could be a lot of fun too! I quite like these ones made by Marlowe Lune. Super easy to sew, and could be patterned by cutting down a bigger pattern that fits the torso.

They'd be a good thing to try if you have a smallish piece of fancy fabric, or a small bit trim to use, or want to try a small amount of embroidery.

There are lots of historical styles with sleeves too, and all sorts of decorations.

(Dunno the source for this one either, unfortunately, but the pin says 1880s reception dress. I think a little jacket like that would look good with a puffy shirt and pants.)

Short capes might be practical too, and the late 19th and early 20th century have tons of fancy capelets for inspiration, like this one.

Or this one.

I hope this is somehow helpful! I don't know if you're looking to sew things from scratch or to buy and alter stuff or what, and I have no personal experience using a wheelchair, but these are the best things I can think of for a suitable silhouette. Dramatic sleeve/shoulder puffs would also be shown off to great effect, if that's something you'd like to wear.

[evenyvn]

Star Student

male! 9th member! reader x idol! san

summary : you were livestreaming until the topic of san's english improvement pops out.

cw : male!reader, fluff, sfw, can be read as platonicaly tbh, reader is the "english speaker of the group", reader is older than san, pouty san.

masterlist

"Y/N, San is getting better at English! Have you been teaching him this whole time?"

You read the comment from an ATINY on your livestream aloud before tilting your head in thought. "Oh, right! Sannie’s English has been improving a lot lately, hasn’t it? especially after the Europe tour" You shift in your chair, trying to get more comfortable. "Well, usually, he comes to my room with this super thick English book right, a notebook, and a pen—" you pause, chuckling as you made a square shape with your hands, mimicking the size of the book.

"Was he a good student?" Another comment catches your eye, making you smirk. "Hmm… I don’t know," you say, dragging out your words teasingly as an image of San gasping dramatically from the other room pops out in your head. And before you can even finish your words, your bedroom door suddenly bursts open.

You bite back a grin the moment you see San standing there, lips jutted out in a pout. It seems he has been watching your livestream for a while.

"Speaking of the devil—here he is, my star student," you tease, gesturing for him to come closer.

San obeys, except instead of walking over calmly, he lunges at you, tackling you right on your chair. You yelp in surprise as he pins you down, your arms instinctively wrapping around his torso.

"Yahhh! Why won’t you admit I was a good student?!" he whines, his sulky tone only making you laugh harder beneath him.

"Yahh! Get off of me! I can’t breathe!" you protest between giggles, trying to push him off. After a few moments of wrestling, he finally relents after a moment, rolling onto the small couch beside your desk, his pout still firmly in place as he avoids eye contact, finding the little trinkets on your desk entertaining.

You coo at him teasingly, reaching out to rub his thigh from your chair, but he shifts away with a slight huff. "Come on, you’re still mad at me?"

San remains silent, making you smirk. Glancing at your monitor, you address the Atinys that have been watching the both of you, you can tell that they're very much entertained by the amount of comments that are rolling on the livestream.

"Guys, Sannie is sulking right now. What should i do." you chuckled at how comical it is to see such a big and buff man like san is pouting and sulking at your couch just because you refused to say that he's a good student.

With an exaggerated sigh, you finally decide to stop teasing. "Alright, fine. You worked very hard don't you? and you were a good student. No—actually, you were my best student. Just… don’t tell Joongie-hyung, okay?"

You watch as a slow smile creeps onto San’s face before he huffs, trying to keep up his sulky act even though he can feel his chest beating with pride from your praise, "Do you really mean that?"

"Of course I do, kitty," you reply smoothly.

San immediately sits up, eyes wide with embarrassment. "Yahh! Don’t call me that!" he protests, slapping your arm lightly before standing up. But before you can react, he suddenly lunges at you again, tackling you back onto your chair.

You yelp as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his warmth making you laugh breathlessly. The two of you stay like that for a while until San shifts slightly, his voice softer this time.

"Hyung… I love you." he murmurs quietly.

You raise an eyebrow at his sudden confession, confused but also kinda flustered "Were you drinking, San?"

San gasps dramatically before whining, his pout returning in full force. "That’s not the right answer! Where’s my 'I love you too, Sannie'??"

You chuckle, shaking your head. "You’ve been spending too much time with Wooyoungie."

"YAH!!!"

divider by @.adornedwithlight | likes, reblogs, and comments are very appreciated! ♡

[seventeenpins]

nightly

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader word count: 1k summary: Joel is a mistake you just keep making. content/warnings: no specified Joel era so take your pick, dirty talk, literally all just smut, big dick, daddy kink, breeding kink, dubcon undertones, Joel is an asshole a/n: I have been struggling to focus on writing for a minute now, but the horny gods smiled upon me and let me get this together. Praise be to @ozarkthedog for always letting me run my godforsaken ideas past you. Love you lots 💕

You can feel the wet spot on the bed against your back. Joel has you folded like a pretzel, backs of your knees resting on his sun-freckled shoulders, wrists pinned above your head and ass suspended in the air as he drills into you. A single curl bounces at his temple, separate from the rest of his hair that's plastered with sweat to his forehead.

If you make the same mistake five days in a row, can you really still call it a mistake?

He's far too old for you, and a little too mean for you, but damned if he isn't the best lay you've ever had.

Eight inches, uncut, a dick so fucking fat you can barely wrap your hand around it. You can hardly believe he's buried balls deep in you right now. That your body can even take it.

"C'mon, honey, that's it-" Joel's voice is a growl, punctuated by heavy panting, "This pretty lil gash is fuckin' droolin' baby, my own personal slip 'n slide-"

"You're a crass old man," you whine.

"I sure am, honey," he agrees with a grin, "But don't think I can't feel the way you soak me whenever I talk crass, sweetheart."

"I hate you."

He laughs, and a bead of sweat rolls down his temple and along the curve of his nose, splashing onto your cheek. Unthinkingly, you dart your tongue out to catch some of the sweat. Joel's grin turns to a smirk.

"Hate me all you like. You're the one who's come over every night this fuckin' week. Monday through Friday, baby. Hate me so much you can't get enough of daddy's big dick, huh?"

"Fuck you, you're such an asshole-"

This jab is even less effective, punctuated with a moan and a whimper.

"Sure, sweetheart, I am. But don't pretend like we don't both know--you don't have to come here at all."

He grinds against you, coarse hair rubbing against your mound as if to further his point. Pressure hits your clit just right and it's bliss. You have to fully restrain yourself to stop from howling, and even then, you let out a ragged moan.

Joel clamps a hand over your mouth and looks you dead in the eyes.

"I love those pretty sounds, baby, but remember I got neighbors? Thought you said you'd die before anyone finds out about us."

You try to roll your eyes, but he thrusts again and you're caught in another moan. The glide of his body against your clit, especially when he's stretching you out so exquisitely? It's overwhelming. You try to stay quiet, you really do.

It's not your fault though, not when Joel's fucking you silly.

Now, though, he's frustrated.

"Quiet now, settle-"

"I'm not a fucking dog, Joel, I- ahhh-" you mumble and moan between his fingers, barely muffled at all.

"Oh really? Not a fucking dog? Wanna tell me then why you're tryna get bred like a bitch in heat?"

He smacks your cheek, drawing out another pathetic whine that only seems to cement his point.

He sneers. "Those pretty lil noises you're makin' for me? That don't sound like a good girl. That sounds to me like a nasty fuckin' slut who can't help but keep her legs spread so her daddy can fill her up good. Huh? C'mon baby. Tell me to cum inside."

"Fuck you Joel."

Suddenly, cruelly, he stops. Ceases any movement. Relaxes the grip on your wrists.

Panic overtakes you.

"What the fuck-?"

"Sorry sweetheart," he shakes his head, "You don't want this? You can see yourself out."

"No, I-"

You notice he's still sheathed inside you. You feel him do something, flexing his dick inside of you. Frankly, it's cheating.

"Please don't stop."

"What was that, honey?"

"Joooeeel-"

"Quit your whinin', use your words."

"Please fuck me."

"That ain't it, you know whatcha gotta say."

He starts rocking his hips gently, a slippery glide. It's not enough to stimulate. Just enough to make you want more. Need more.

The way you clench around him tells on yourself more starkly than your words ever could.

He's grinning again. "That's it, baby. You ready to admit what you need?"

"Come on, Joel."

"Cum where?"

You sigh. But you know you aren't gonna hold out any longer. He's pressing his thumb just above your clit and the glide of the motion is so fucking delicious it's hard not to buck against it.

Rut against it.

A bitch in heat.

"Fuck me, daddy-" you whine.

"You sound real pretty beggin'. Nearly got it honey. One more try?"

"Cum inside me."

"Mmmmm-" Joel groans, and the grip on your wrists tightens again. "Music to my ears, honey. Tell me where you want it?"

"Inside me, cum inside-"

"You want me to cum inside this lovely lil' pussy?"

"Please Joel-"

"That right?"

"Please cum in me, fill me up, fuck it deep-"

With that, his composure breaks and any restraint he had crumbles. Folds you deeper, fucks you deeper, pins you down and jackhammers into you.

You couldn't move, even if you wanted to, and that knowledge somehow heightens everything. It's blindingly bright, dizzyingly addictive. You barely notice the way Joel's lavishing you with praise, each deep thrust punctuated with good girl, good girl, good fucking girl-

When you cum, you feel the way his balls tighten as if in response, tipping over the edge mere moments after you. It could be romantic, finding yourselves cumming together, if there was any romance between you.

As you start to fade back down, you're able to pay attention again.

"That's it," he's praising you, and you realise his cock is still pulsing. You make to start moving, but he growls and holds you still. "That's right, sweetheart. Gotta let me fill you all the way up. Gonna make sure it takes."

Clarity starts to overtake you and you know that you've made a big fucking mistake. By the time you've come back to yourself, though, your pussy's flooded and pulsing oh so nicely, and Joel's pulling out of you. He moves into the other room and you hear him turn on the shower.

"You can let yourself out," he calls to you. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Your panties are sticky the whole way home.

[badnewswhatsleft]

rock sound #312 (nov 2024)

transcript below cut:

ROCK SOUND 25 ICON

FALL OUT BOY

A BAND THAT CAPTURED THE HEARTS, MINDS AND HEADPHONES OF A GENERATION OF KIDS WORLDWIDE, FALL OUT BOY UNDOUBTEDLY CHANGED THE LANDSCAPE OF THE ALTERNATIVE SCENE FOREVER, NEVER AFRAID TO EXPERIMENT, TAKE CHANCES AND MAKE BOLD CHOICES AS THEY PUSHED FORWARD. FOLLOWING A SUMMER SPENT EXPLORING THE 'DAYS OF FALL OUT PAST', PATRICK STUMP AND PETE  WENTZ REFLECT ON THEIR PATH FROM POP PUNK, HARDCORE MISFITS TO ALL-CONQUERING, STADIUM-FILLING SONGWRITERS AS THEY ACCEPT THEIR ROCK SOUND 25 ICON AWARD.

WORDS JAMES WILSON-TAYLOR

PHOTOS ELLIOTT INGHAM

Let's begin with your most recent performance which was at When We Were Young festival in Las Vegas. It was such a special weekend, how are you reflecting on that moment?

PATRICK: It's wild, because the band, I think, is going on 23 years now, which really came as a surprise to me. I know it's this thing that old people always say, 'Man, it really goes by so fast', but then it happens to you and you're just taken aback. There were so many times throughout the weekend, every 10 minutes, where I'd turn around and see somebody and be like, 'Holy shit, I haven't seen you in 18 years', or something crazy like that. It was hard not to have a good time. When I was going up to perform with Motion City Soundtrack, which was an exciting thing in itself, I turn around and Bayside is there. And I haven't seen Bayside since we toured with them. God, I don't remember when that was, you know? So there was so much of that. You couldn't help but have a good time.

PETE: I mean, that's an insane festival, right? When they announce it, it looks fake every time. The lineup looks like some kid drew it on their folder at school. For our band, the thing that's a little weird, I think, is that by deciding to change between every album, and then we had the three year break which caused another big time jump, I think that it would be hard for us to focus on one album for that show. We're a band where our fans will debate the best record. So it was amazing that we were able to look backwards and try to build this show that would go through all the eras - nod to Taylor obviously on that one. But it's also an insane idea to take a show that should really be put on for one weekend in a theatre and then try to take it around the world at festivals. The whole time on stage for this particular show production, I'm just like 'Is this thing going to go on time?' Because if the whole thing is working totally flawlessly, it just barely works, you know what I mean? So I give a lot of credit to our crew for doing that, because it's not really a rock show. I know we play rock music and it's a rock festival, but the show itself is not really a rock production, and our crew does a very good job of bending that to fit within the medium.

That show allows you to nod to the past but without falling fully into nostalgia. You are still pushing the band into newer places within it.

PATRICK: That's always been a central thing. We're a weird band, because a lot of bands I know went through a period of rejecting their past, and frankly, I encounter this thing a lot, where people have expected that we stopped interacting with older material. But we always maintained a connection with a lot of the older music. We still close with 'Saturday'. So for us, it was never about letting go of the past. It was about bringing that along with you wherever you go. I'm still the same weird little guy that likes too much music to really pin down. It's just that I've carried that with me through all the different things that I've done and that the band has done. So for us, in terms of going forward and playing new stuff, that's always the thing that's important to me; that there should be new stuff to propel it. I never wanted to be an artist that just gave up on new music and went out and played the hits and collected the check and moved on. It's all got to be creative. That's why I do it. I want to make new music. That's always why I do it. So something like When We Were Young is kind of odd really. It's an odd fit for that, because it's nostalgic, which is not really my vibe all that much. But I found a lot of nostalgia in it. I found a lot of value in looking back and going 'Wow, this was really cool. It was amazing that we did this, that we all did this'. That scene of bands, we're all old now, but it has taken off into such a moment culturally that people can point to.

Let's jump all the way back to the first ever Fall Out Boy show. There is very little evidence of it available online but what are your memories of that performance?

PATRICK: So the very first Fall Out Boy show was at DePaul University in a fancy looking dining hall. I actually applied to DePaul, but I never went there because the band went on tour. I think there were only two or three other bands. One was a band called Stillwell, who were kind of a math rock emo band, and then this heavier, more metallic band. And then we were there, and we had a guitar player, John Flamandan, who I have not seen since that show. He was only in the band for a week or two, and we were still figuring ourselves out. We had three songs and I had never sung before in front of people. I did a talent show at school one time when I was a kid and theatre kind of stuff where you would sing, but it was more in that context. And I was also a kid too. This was the first time ever that I'm the singer for a band and I was fucking terrified. We had a drummer named Ben Rose, really great guy. I haven't seen Ben in a million years, either, but we were still figuring ourselves out. The other thing is that all of us, with me being the exception, were in other bands, and all of our other bands were better than Fall Out Boy was. We were very sloppy and didn't know what we were doing, and so I don't think any of us really took it seriously. But there was a thing that was really funny about it, where even though we kind of thought we sucked, and even though we weren't really focusing on it, we had a lot of fun with each other. We enjoyed trying this other thing, because we were hardcore kids, and we were not the pop punk kids and the pop punk bands in town, that was like 'the thing', and we were not really welcome in that. There was a fun in trying to figure out how to make melodic and pop music when we really didn't have any history with that. It was very obvious that we didn't know what we were doing at the beginning.

So when did it begin to feel like things were finally clicking? When did you find your roles and what you wanted the band to be? 

PETE: In regards to the music, I liked Fall Out boy, way before I probably should have. I remember playing the early demos and it giving me a feeling that I hadn't felt with any of the other bands that I had been in. Now, looking back on it, I might have been a tad early on that. Then as far as the roles, I think that they've been carving themselves out over time. We've always allowed ourselves to gravitate to our strengths. Between me and Patrick, we'd probably make one great, atypical rock artist if we were one person. Because our strengths are things that the other doesn't love as much. But I think that what has happened more is it's less of a fight now and there's more trust. We have a trust with each other. There's things that Patrick will play for me or explain to me, and I don't even really need him to explain it, because I trust him. I may not totally understand it, but I trust him as an artist. On the other side of that, it's also very nice to have someone who can veto your idea, you know what I mean? It's nice to have those kind of checks and balances.

PATRICK: I had been in this band called Patterson, and all three of the other guys sang in kind of a gravelly, Hot Water Music vibe. I was not intending to be a singer, but I would try and sing backups and, it wasn't a criticism, but there was this vibe that, while I could do the gravelly thing, my voice was coming through and it didn't fit. It was too pretty and that became a thing I was kind of embarrassed of. So when Fall Out Boy started, I was actively trying to disguise that and mute it and hide behind affectation. Pete would really push me to stretch my vowels because that was in vogue in pop punk at the time. There were all these different ways that we were trying to suppress me, musically, because we were just trying to figure out how to do the things that the bands we liked did. But that wasn't really us, you know? It's really funny, because 'Take This To Your Grave' was recorded in three sections, about six months apart. Over the course of that time, I can hear us figuring it out. I think a really defining moment for me was 'Saturday', because I am not brave, I am not a bold person, and I do not put myself out there. When I was showing the band 'Saturday', we were jamming on the bit after the second chorus, and I was mumbling around, just mucking my way through it, and I did the falsetto thing. I didn't think anyone could hear me over us bashing around in Joe's parents house in this tiny little room. But Pete stopped, and he goes, 'Do that again'. I was so terrified of doing that in front of these guys, because you gotta remember, I was incredibly shy, but also a drummer. I'd never sung in front of anyone before, and now I'm singing in a band and I'm certainly not going to take chances. So I thought the falsetto thing was really not going to happen, but when I did it, there was this really funny thing. Somehow that song clicked, and it opened up this door for us where we do something different than everybody else. We were aiming to be a pop punk or hardcore band, but we found this thing that felt more natural to me.

As you embarked on Warped Tour, simultaneously you were finding this huge level of pop and mainstream success. How was it navigating and finding your way through those two very different spaces?

PATRICK: I used to work at a used record store and what shows up is all the records after their success. So I got really acquainted and really comfortable with and prepared for the idea of musical failure. I just wanted to do it because I enjoyed doing it. But in terms of planning one's life, I was certain that I would, at most, get to put out a record and then have to go to school when it didn't work out. My parents were very cautious. I said to them after 'Take This To Your Grave' came out that I'm gonna see where this goes, because I didn't expect to be on a label and get to tour. I'm gonna give it a semester, and then it will almost certainly fail, and then after it fails, I'll go to school. And then it didn't fail. Warped Tour was very crazy too, I was talking about this at When We Were Young with My Chem. Both of us were these little shit bands that no one cared about when we booked the tour. Then we got to the tour, and all these people were showing up for us, way more than we expected, way more than Warped Tour expected. So Warped Tour was putting both of us on these little side stages, and the stages would collapse because people were so excited. It was this moment that came out of nowhere all of a sudden. Then we go to Island Records, and I had another conversation with my parents, because every band that I had known up to that point, even the biggest bands in town, they would have their big indie record and then they would go to the major label and drop off the face of the planet forever. So I was certain that was going to happen. I told them again, I'm going to put out this record, and then I'll go to school when this fails. 

PETE: I think that if you really wanted someone to feel like an alien, you would put them on TRL while they were on Warped Tour. You know what I mean? Because it is just bananas. On our bus, the air conditioning didn't work, so we were basically blowing out heat in the summer, but we were just so happy to be on a bus and so happy to be playing shows. You go from that to, two days later, stepping off the bus to brush your teeth and there's a line of people wanting to watch you brush your teeth. In some ways, it was super cool that it was happening with My Chemical Romance too because it didn't feel as random, right? It feels more meant to be. It feels like something is happening. To be on Warped Tour at that time - and if you weren't there, it would be probably hard to imagine, because it's like if Cirque Du Soleil had none of the acrobatics and ran on Monster energy drink. It was a traveling circus, but for it to reach critical mass while we were there, in some ways, was great, because you're not just sitting at home. In between touring, I would come home and I'd be sitting in my bedroom at my parents house. I would think about mortality and the edge of the whole thing and all these existential thoughts you feel when you're by yourself. But on Warped Tour, you go to the signing, you play laser tag, you go to the radio station. So in some ways, it's like you're in this little boot camp, and you don't really even think about anything too much. I guess it was a little bit of a blur.

Pete, when you introduced 'Bang The Doldrums' at When We Were Young, you encouraged the crowd to 'keep making weird shit'. That could almost be a mantra for the band as a whole. Your weirder moments are the ones that made you. Even a song like 'Dance Dance' has a rhythm section you never would have expected to hear on a rock track at that time.

PETE: You know, I just watched 'Joker 2' and I loved it. I do understand why people wouldn't because it subverts the whole thing. It subverts everything about the first one. That's something I've always really loved, when I watch artists who could keep making the same thing, and instead they make something that's challenging to them or challenging to their audience. Sometimes you miss, sometimes you do a big thing and you miss, and we've definitely done that. But I gotta say, all the things that I've really loved about art and music, and that has enriched my life, is when people take chances. You don't get the invention of anything new without that. To not make weird stuff would feel odd, and I personally would much rather lose and miss doing our own thing. To play it safe and cut yourself off around the edges and sand it down and then miss also, those are the worst misses, because you didn't even go big as yourself. This is where we connect with each other, we connect by our flaws and the little weird neuroses that we have. I rarely look at something and go 'Wow, that safe little idea really moved me'. I guess it happens, but I think about this with something like 'Joker 2' where this director was given the keys and you can just do anything. I think a lot of times somebody would just make an expected follow up but some people turn right when they're supposed to turn left. That's always been interesting on an artistic level, but at the same time, I think you're more likely to miss big when you do that.

PATRICK: Going into 'From Under The Cork Tree', I had this sense that this is my only shot. It has already outperformed what I expected. I don't want to be locked into doing the same thing forever, because I know me. I know I'm not Mr. Pop Punk, that's just one of many things I like. So I would be so bummed if for the rest of my life, I had to impersonate myself from when I was 17 and have to live in that forever. So I consciously wanted to put a lot of weird stuff on that record because I thought it was probably my only moment. 'Sugar, We're Goin Down' was a fairly straight ahead pop punk song but even that was weird for us, because it was slow. I remember being really scared about how slow it was, because it's almost mosh tempo for the whole song, which was not anything we had done up to that point. But in every direction, in every song, I was actively trying to push the boundaries as much as I could. 'Dance, Dance' was one of those ones where I was seeing what I can get away with, because I might never get this chance again. We were on tour with a friend's band, and I remember playing the record for them. I remember specifically playing 'Our Lawyer…' that opens the record, which has that 6/8 time feel, and they kind of look at me, like 'What?'. Then I played 'Dance, Dance', and they're like, 'Hey man, you know, whatever works for you. It's been nice knowing you'. But I just knew that, on the off chance that I ended up still being a musician in my 40s, I wanted to still love the music that we made. I didn't want to ever resent it. It's ironic because people say that bands sell out when they don't make the same thing over and over again. But wait a second. Say that again. Think about that.

That attitude seemed to carry directly into 'Infinity On High'. If you may never end up doing this again then let's make sure we bring in the orchestra while we still can... 

PATRICK: That was literally something that I did say to myself this might be the last time, the likelihood is we're going to fail because that's what happens, so this might be the last time that I ever get a chance to have somebody pay for an orchestra and a choir. I always think of The Who when they did 'A Quick One, While He's Away' and there's a part where they go 'cello, cello', because they couldn't afford real cellos, they couldn't afford players. That's what I thought would happen for me in life. So I went in and thought, let's do it all. Let's throw everything at the wall, because there's no chance that it's going to happen again. So many things came together on that record, but I didn't expect it. 'Arms Race' was a very weird song, and I was shocked when management went along with it and had kind of decided that would be the single. I was in disbelief. It did not feel like a single but it worked for us. It was a pretty big song and then 'Thnks Fr Th Mmrs' was easily the big hit off that record. So then we have two hit songs off of an album that I didn't even know would come out at that point. But again, it was very much just about taking the risks and seeing what the hell happened.

As you went on hiatus for a few years, you worked on a number of other creative projects. How did those end up influencing your approach to the band when you returned?

PETE: On the areas of the band where I led, I wanted to be a better leader. When you're younger and you're fighting for your ideas, I don't think that I was the greatest listener. I just wanted to be a better cog in the machine. When you're in a band originally, no one gives you the little band handbook and says 'these are the things you should do', you know? I just wanted to be a better version of who I was in the band. 

PATRICK: There's a combination of things. 'Soul Punk' is a weird record. I love that record but I kind of resent that record for so many things. It's my solo record, but it's also not very me in a lot of ways. I had started with a very odd little art rock record, and then I had some personal tragedies happen. My EP that I put out far out sold expectations so then all of a sudden, Island Records goes, 'Oh, we think this could actually be something we want singles for'. I think we had all expected that I would be putting out a smaller indie record but then all of a sudden they were like 'oh, you could be a pop star'. So then I have to retrofit this art rock record into pop star hit music, and also channel personal tragedy through it. I hadn't ever really been a front man - I'd been a singer, but I hadn't really been a front man, and I hadn't really written lyrics, certainly not introspective, personal lyrics. So that whole record is so strange and muted to me. So I went from that album, which also failed so fucking hard - I should have gone to school after that one. But Pete had reached out to me just as a friend, and said 'I know you're in your own thing right now, and I know that you're not the kind of person that is going to be in my fantasy football league, so I'm not going to see you unless we make music. But you're my buddy, and that kind of bums me out that I don't see you at all, so I guess we have to make music'. I thought that was a fairly convincing pitch. It's true, that was what we do when we hang out - we make music. So we reconvene, and going into it, I had all these lessons that really made me understand Pete better, because Pete is the natural front end person. So many of our arguments and frustrations and the things that we didn't see eye to eye on, I grew to understand having now been in the position of the point man that had to make all the decisions for my solo thing. It really flipped my understanding of why he said the things he would say, or why he did things he would do. I remember early on thinking he was so pushy, but then, in retrospect, you realise he was doing it for a reason. There's so many little things that really changed for me doing 'Soul Punk' that were not musical but were more about how you run a band and how you run a business, that made me understand and respect him a lot more.

What are memories of that initial return and, specifically, that tiny first show back at the Metro venue in Chicago?

PETE: Those first shows were definitely magical because I really wasn't sure that we would be on a stage again together. I don't have as many memories of some of our other first things. We were just talking about Warped Tour, I don't have many memories of those because it is almost wasted on you when it's a blur and there's so many things happening. But with this, I really wanted to not take it for granted and wanted to take in all the moments and have snapshots in our own heads of that show. I did a lot of other art during the time when we were off, everybody did, but there's a magic between the four of us and it was nice to know that it was real. When we got on that stage again at the Metro for the first time, there was something that's just a little different. I can't really put my finger on it, but it makes that art that we were making separately different than all the other stuff.

Musically, as you moved forward, everything sounded much bigger, almost ready for arenas and stadiums. Was that a conscious decision on your part?

PETE: Patrick felt like he was bursting with these ideas. It felt like these had been lying in wait, and they were big, and they were out there, and whether he'd saved them for those records, I don't really know. That's what it felt like to me. With 'Save Rock And Roll', we knew we had basically one shot. There were really three options; you'll have this other period in your career, no one will care or this will be the torch that burns the whole thing down. So we wanted to have it be at least on our terms. Then I think with 'American Beauty...' it was slightly different, because we made that record as fast as we could. We were in a pop sphere. Is there a way for a band to be competitive with DJs and rappers in terms of response time? Are we able to be on the scene and have it happen as quickly? I think it kind of made us insane a little bit. With 'American Beauty…', we really realised that we were not going to walk that same path in pop culture and that we would need to 'Trojan horse' our way into the conversation in some way. So we thought these songs could be played in stadiums, that these songs could be end titles. What are other avenues? Because radio didn't want this right now, so what are other avenues to make it to that conversation? Maybe this is just in my head but I thought 'Uma Thurman' could be a sister song to 'Dance, Dance' or maybe even 'Arms Race' where it is weird but it has pop elements to it.

PATRICK: I had a feeling on 'Save Rock And Roll' that it was kind of disjointed. It was a lot of good songs, but they were all over the place. So when we went into 'American Beauty…', I really wanted to make something cohesive. I do think that record is very coherent and very succinct - you either like it or you don't, and that's pretty much it all the way through. By the time we got to 'MANIA', I had done all this production and I'd started to get into scoring. The band had done so many things and taken so many weird chances that I just felt free to do whatever. At that point, no one's going to disown me if I try something really strange so let's see what happens. 'Young And Menace' was a big part of that experiment. People hate that song, and that's okay. It was meant to be challenging, it's obviously not supposed to be a pop song. It's an abrasive song, it should not have been a single. However, I do think that record should have been more like that. Towards the end of the production, there was this scramble of like, 'Oh, fuck, we have no pop music on this and we need to have singles' and things like that. That took over that record and became the last minute push. I think the last half of that record was recorded in the span of two weeks towards the end of the recording to try and pad it with more pop related songs. I look at that record and think it should have all been 'Young And Menace'. That should have been our 'Kid A' or something. It should have really challenged people.

But we have spoken before about how 'Folie à Deux' found its audience much later. It does feel like something similar is already beginning to happen with 'MANIA'...

PETE: I agree with you, and I think that's a great question, because I always thought like that. There's things that you're not there for, but you wish you were there. I always thought about it when we put out 'MANIA', because I don't know if it's for everyone, but this is your moment where you could change the course of history, you know, this could be your next 'Folie à Deux', which is bizarre because they're completely different records. But it also seems, and I think I have this with films and bands and stuff as well, that while one thing ascends, you see people grab onto the thing that other people wouldn't know, right? It's like me talking about 'Joker 2' - why not talk about the first one? That's the one that everybody likes. Maybe it's contrarian, I don't really know. I just purely like it. I'm sure that's what people say about 'Folie à Deux' and 'MANIA' as well. But there's something in the ascent where people begin to diverge, you are able to separate them and go 'Well, maybe this one's just for me and people like me. I like these other ones that other people talk about, but this one speaks to me'. I think over time, as they separate, the more people are able to say that. And then I can say this, because Patrick does music, I think that sometimes he's early on ideas, and time catches up with it a little bit as well. The ideas, and the guest on the record, they all make a little bit more sense as time goes on.

'MANIA' is almost the first of your albums designed for the streaming era. Everything is so different so people could almost pick and choose their own playlist.

PETE: Of course, you can curate it yourself. That's a great point. I think that the other point that you just made me think of is this was the first time where we realised, well, there's not really gatekeepers. The song will raise its hand, just like exactly what you're saying. So we should have probably just had 'The Last Of The Real Ones' be an early single, because that song was the one that people reacted to. But I think that there was still the old way of thinking in terms of picking the song that we think has the best chance, or whatever. But since then, we've just allowed the songs to dictate what path they take. I think that that's brilliant. If I'd had a chance to do that, curate my own record and pick the Metallica songs or whatever,that would be fantastic. So it was truly a learning experience in the way you release art to me.

PATRICK: After 'MANIA', I realised Fall Out Boy can't be the place for me to try everything. It's just not. We've been around for too long. We've been doing things for too long. It can't be my place to throw everything at the wall. There's too much that I've learned from scoring and from production now to put it all into it. So the scoring thing really became even more necessary. I needed it, emotionally. I needed a place to do everything, to have tubas and learn how to write jazz and how to write for the first trumpet. So then going into 'So Much (For) Stardust', it had the effect of making me more excited about rock music again, because I didn't feel the weight of all of this musical experimentation so I could just enjoy writing a rock song. It's funny, because I think it really grew into that towards the end of writing the record. I'd bet you, if we waited another month, it would probably be all more rock, because I had a rediscovered interest in it.

It's interesting you talk about the enjoyment of rock music again because that joy comes through on 'So Much (For) Stardust' in a major way, particularly on something like the title track. When the four of you all hit those closing harmonies together, especially live, that's a moment where everything feels fully cohesive and together and you can really enjoy yourselves. There's still experimental moments on the album but you guys are in a very confident and comfortable space right now and it definitely shows in the music. 

PATRICK: Yeah, I think that's a great point. When you talk about experimentation too and comfort, that's really the thing isn't it? This is always a thing that bugged me, because I never liked to jam when I was a kid. I really wanted to learn the part, memorise it and play it. Miles Davis was a side man for 20 years before he started doing his thing. You need to learn the shit out of your music theory and your instrument - you need to learn all the rules before you break them. I always had that mindset. But at this point, we as a band have worked with each other so much that now we can fuck around musically in ways that we didn't used to be able to and it's really exciting. There's just so much I notice now. There are ways that we all play that are really hard to describe. I think if you were to pull any one of the four of us out of it, I would really miss it. I would really miss that. It is this kind of alchemy of the way everyone works together. It's confidence, it's also comfort. It's like there's a home to it that I feel works so well. It's how I'm able to sing the way I sing, or it's how Andy's able to play the way he plays. There's something to it. We unlock stuff for each other.

Before we close, we must mention the other big live moment you had this year. You had played at Download Festival before but taking the headline slot, especially given the history of Donington, must have felt extra special. 

PETE: It felt insane. We always have a little bit of nerves about Download, wondering are we heavy enough? To the credit of the fans and the other bands playing, we have always felt so welcomed when we're there. There's very few times where you can look back on a time when... so, if I was a professional baseball player, and I'm throwing a ball against the wall in my parents garage as a kid, I could draw a direct link from the feeling of wanting to do that. I remember watching Metallica videos at Donington and thinking 'I want to be in Metallica at Donington'. That's not exactly how it turned out, but in some ways there is that direct link. On just a personal level, my family came over and got to see the festival. They were wearing the boots and we were in the mud. All this stuff that I would describe to them sounds insane when you tell your family in America - 'It's raining, but people love it'. For them to get to experience that was super special for me as well. We played the biggest production we've ever had and to get to do that there, the whole thing really made my summer.

PATRICK: There's not really words for it. It feels so improbable and so unlikely. Something hit me this last year, this last tour, where I would get out on stage and I'd be like, 'Wait, fucking seriously? People still want to see us and want to hear us?' It feels so strange and surreal. I go home and I'm just some schlubby Dad and I have to take out the compost and I have to remember to run the dishwasher. I live this not very exciting life, and then I get out there at Download and it's all these people. Because I'm naturally kind of shy, for years, I would look down when I played because I was so stressed about what was happening. Confidence and all these have given me a different posture so when I go out there, I can really see it, and it really hits you. Download, like you said, we've done before, but there's something very different about where I am now as a person. So I can really be there. And when you walk out on that stage, it is astounding. It forces you to play better and work harder, because these people waited for us. The show is the audience and your interaction with it. In the same way that the band has this alchemy to it, we can't play a show like that without that audience.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

butterflygirl738 (4)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn’t that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You give the stranger your name but he just tells you to call him S. He seems a lot more important than you, so that makes sense. He must be if he's throwing around money so easily. A lot of money.

That seems to be on his mind too.

"Did you get the transfer?" He asks as he takes off his sunglasses.

You rub between your thumb and index nervously. You can't stop fidgeting. You glance around for what must be the dozenth time. You feel like everyone is watching you, that they all know you're doing something so stupid. Yet, nobody is looking at you.

"I... didn't check," you murmur. "I've just been waiting."

"Sorry again for making you wait," he puts his large hands on the table, framing the tall mug with his fingers. "You know what they say about meeting people online."

You snort, "ha, yeah."

You look out the window and exhale. That only stirs your nerves. You face him and sit back in the chair, folding your hands in your lap.

"I'm sorry. I think this was a bad idea." You say.

"Is it? We haven't even talked."

"Yeah, but... I should be looking for a job or... my mom. She's all alone..." you wring your hands.

"I want to help with that," he turns his hands and taps his fingers on the table. He sniffs. "I'm trying to figure out how to say what I want to say. And that's what it is. I want to help."

"But why? I don't know you. You don't me." Your teeth want to chatter, you're so nervous.

His chests rises and falls. His throat bobs. He resets his posture.

"That would be part of it." His blue eyes bore into yours. They're so bright and bold. "Getting to know each other."

You shake your head, confused.

"I could help with the medical bills and groceries. Whatever you need. It would just be..." he extends his fingers as he gestures with his hands. "An exchange. An arrangement. All you have to do is spend time with me."

You stare at him. Your eyes search his face. Your mouth slants. You want to laugh. It sounds absurd. Yet, he looks serious. You straighten your lips.

"By spend time you mean..." you shiver and mash your hands together in your lap. "They don't have people you can pay in New York."

He sighs. "It's not just... if physical things happen..." he pauses and his cheek twitches. "I'd prefer we just feel it out and see where it goes."

You look down. He can dress it up and say it as carefully as he likes. You've heard about these things. There's women on TikTok who post videos about new handbags or designer shoes and their 'daddies'. But they are so beautiful. They are interesting. You're just... afraid.

He coughs and shifts his chair closer. "I know it's not easy to be in your position. Sick parents are difficult. My mom... when I was about your age, she was really sick too. Still is but we manage."

You peek up at him. You don't know what to say. There's that voice in your head telling you that the answer is clear as day; no. You're not a prostitute. No, you have dignity. Then there's the other one, the louder one. You have nothing and you're about to lose even that.

"How about this? Before you make up your mind, let me take you around town. We'll just get to know each other. Baseline." He suggests. "We'll have our coffee, order some lunch, and you can show me around."

You bite your cheek. That's not too bad. He's not pushing you. If anything, he seems just as unsure. That makes you feel a bit better.

But can you really do this? Can you sell yourself like that? He's still just a stranger. Still just S.

Your head is reeling. What would your mom think? Well, you couldn't tell her, just like you never told her what you're really doing right then.

You bring your hand up to rub your shoulder. You hook your fingers around, shielding yourself, and nod.

"Alright, I'll try." You agree, keeping the rest of the sentence inside; I don't have any other options.

His cheeks dimple. The lines on his face only add to his good looks. He really isn't that bad. A bit older. Maybe a lot older.

"So, you hungry? What do you want?" He looks over at the chalkboard menu.

You follow his gaze. You focus on the menu. It's a bit easier to do that.

"My treat," he assures.

"Um, thanks," you scratch your neck nervously. If it were up to you, you wouldn't waste the money. "The veggie croissant sounds okay."

"Sure, anything else," he stands.

You push your shoulders back and and shake your head. "Thank you. That's more than enough."

"No problem," he turns and struts up to join the line.

You watch him. His shirt is taut across his shoulder blades and around his biceps. He's built better than any man you've seen before. Confident. He's cool as he waits patiently and steps up calmly to order. He slides out his wallet and swipes his card. Not a second thought. No tallying up rent or bills or even just the cost of a bag of rice.

He folds up his wallet and spins. You avert your attention to the table. He approaches and sits again.

"They'll bring it to us," he says.

"Okay," you accept. You can't look at him.

He shifts. "Look, I don't see you as just... I see you as a person. I hope you realise that. I really do want to help you."

"Yeah, I know." You swallow. "I'm sorry. I'm just... thinking."

"That's okay," he assures. "Not rushing you. So uh... I'll tell you about me a bit. If you want?"

You nod and make yourself look. His eyes are almost sparkling as they stick to you. You're a stranger to him too. How can he be so interested? Just you and your butterflies.

"I have a business. I have been running it for the last fifteen years. Before that, I did some corporate work but I really didn't like the politics, so started my own thing," he explains. "I live in New York, I watch baseball, I like to draw. Or liked to. I don't have a lot of time for that anymore." He pauses and holds up his finger. "One sec."

He reaches to his chest pocket and flips up the flap. He slides out a napkin. He unfolds it on the table.

"Got bored on the plane," he slides it over to you. It's a sketch of a butterfly. It's really good too.

"Wow, you did that?" You ask.

"Mm hm," he hums. "I'm a bit rusty."

"No, it's really good," you lean in to admire it. "Wow."

He's quiet. You put your fingers on the edge of the napkin as you look it over.

"My mom used to draw. Paint, too. She's really good. Like you."

You peek up at him. There's a subtle curve in his lips.

"It's... nothing but you can keep it if you want."

"I think it's more than nothing," you pick it up. "That's so cool."

"Ha, thanks. Think the real thing is cooler."

He sits back and looks over as one of the cafe employees approaches. She puts down your plates and tells you to enjoy. You tuck away the napkin.

"Looks delicious," S says.

It does and it smells even better. You hesitate as he picks up half his sandwich. You stare at yours.

"Everything okay?" He asks.

You think about your mom. She doesn't eat much these days but you wish you could bring her good food like this. You resist a frown.

"It's all good," you assure. "Thanks so much. It looks great."

You pick up half the croissant, careful not to let the contents spill out.

"So, where do you work?" He asks.

You nibble and swallow tightly. "Oh, just... customer service at a few stores. Nothing special."

"Hm, that must be stressful."

"It can be," you shrug. "Not the most stress I have right now... but er, whatever."

"Not whatever but I can understand not wanting to talk about it." He says. "Any other hobbies? Besides the butterflies?"

"No..." you drone. "Just watch some TV here and there. Go for walks when I can. There isn't too much going on around here." Not much you can afford.

"Any recommendations? I don't watch much but I'm always open to binge," he says.

"Not unless you're a fan of 90s sitcoms," you shake your head.

"Don't mind them," he says.

He leans forward to take a bite. You focus on your own sandwich. Your stomach is mulching painfully with each morsel. You only realise then how hungry you are.

🦋

S is even bigger walking next to him. You take him down the block to the park. You don't often come to this part of town but it's nicer than your neighbourhood. There's a fountain there.

You collide with S as he tries to follow the path but you find yourself distracted by the birds bathing in the water. You apologise and back up. He chuckles and turns to look at the fountain.

"Pretty. Peaceful," he says as he stops to watch them. "Different. New York is just... everything."

"Oh, it must be super busy there."

"Yeah, very," he agrees. "This is nice though."

"Probably boring to someone like you."

"Boring is nice. Boring is... easier," he says.

He starts toward the fountain and you follow. He stops at the edge and turns to sit. You do the same. The water trickles, the scent of it stirring the air.

You peer around. Another mother with her stroller, a couple and their dog, a brood of kids and their parents. It's all so nice and perfect and sweet. All these people are so happy. They don't have to worry about a thing.

You can barely remember the days when you weren't bound in anxiety. When you were the little girl skipping down the pathway. It feels like it's always been this.

You turn away to hide the gleam in your eyes. You don't know why you're thinking about that right now. You dab your eyes with your knuckle and sigh. You make yourself sit up.

"It's pretty here," you say.

He's watching you. You can feel it. Did he notice?

"It's gorgeous," he agrees but he isn't looking at the trees or the flowers.

You sniff and turn to watch the birds again. You make yourself smile. He shifts to see them too.

"Is your mom waiting for you?" He asks.

"She'll wonder where I am. She always does," you cross one arm across your middle. "I told her I was going to the bank to pay bills and do some running around."

He looks at you and nods.

"I didn't mention you. She doesn't know at all." You say. "It's just... I wasn't sure..."

"You weren't?" He wonders. "What about now?"

You clamp your lips and tilt your head. You open your mouth but can't find the words. You drop your shoulders.

"I don't know. I... I'm very lost right now." You look away.

He exhales. "I know it might not be very obvious, but I am too. I came all the way here and I was sure I was going to sit there alone all day. I kept checking your page thinking maybe you might delete and disappear with the money. Which is fine, that's fine. Your mom needs it but I just... the money is nothing to me." He sucks in air and laughs grimly. "New York is lonely. Being the boss, it's isolating. I didn't know what else to do and I... I just want something simple."

You listen, rolling around your thoughts on your tongue, poking your cheeks. You might be gullible but he sounds honest. Vulnerable even.

You hang your head and turn so that you're facing the open park path. You lean forward and wiggle your feet. "I just want my mom to be okay," you utter. "And if she isn't, then I don't want her to spend the time she has left like this."

He's quiet for a moment. You could wilt right then. All the stress crashes down on you and threatens to smother you.

"I can make sure that's not the case. I can help you keep her comfortable," he slides his hand across the stone and touches yours. "And you don't have to tell her about me."

"Yeah, she doesn't need to worry about me," you push yourself straight. You look him in the face. "I think we could try."

[fandoms--fluff]

Hiii I hope you’re well. I love love LOVE your stories and was wondering if you could do one of Elijah mikaelson? In this context the reader is a werewolf and was his wife since the 1800s but has been on the run from him for ages (for any reason I’ll leave that up to u) Elijah finally hunts her down in mystic falls taking her back to their mansion. You can do whatever you like with this suggestion really. Also no smut but maybe lots of tension? Like pinning her against the wall during an argument or smth.

His

Immortal female werewolf reader x Elijah Mikaelson

Warnings: Swearing, fighting, mentions of death?

A/n: I had fun writing this <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I knew it was too good to be true, you think to yourself as you quickly pack a duffle bag of clothing, money, and other essentials around your apartment. Which happens to be located right in the middle of 'downtown' Mystic Falls.

You rush around the space that has brought you comfort over the past couple years. But of course everything has to end, the friendships you made here, the comfort, and having a life. Now you have to start all over again. Hopefully this time where he can't find you.

You've heard whispers about the originals and Klaus around the small town, mostly within the group of the Salvatore brothers and the others. You have made acquaintance with them after the killings started happening around a year after you had moved here. It was okay, for now, you thought, Klaus hasn't actually shown his face yet.

Until Elijah kidnapped Elena, and gave her a less than friendly warning, not to mess with the wrong people. No one knows what that means, and you're glad they haven't traced it back to you. They don't know your history beside being an immortal werewolf and basics like that. And you plan to keep it that way.

Which is why you need to leave. Now. Before he gets to you.

And that 'he', is no other than Elijah Mikaelson. The husband you once loved and have been running from for the past two centuries.

You both had once loved each other very dearly. Until it came to the night that ruined everything and made you go on the run, not standing to be near him. And you've been running ever since. You're quite surprised you've made it this long without being caught by him. Or even one of his siblings, Klaus especially.

Your thoughts are all jumbling together as you rush around your apartment. A place that brought you security and comfort, now being torn away from your grasp. Because if you stayed, then you can't even think about the pain it would leave you in by taking that action. As you try to leave as fast as you can, you can't help but think about the past. The reason why you're so frantic and have the urgency to get out of the small town in Virginia.

It had all began when you were younger, still innocent, enough that is, to the cruel dark side of the world. Of course, you already knew about your werewolf side and it had been activated when you were very young on your seventh birthday. You could never figure out why you hadn't needed to kill anyone to activate it. But it was clear you were special from a young age.

You were eighteen, mastered full control of the wolf inside you and hadn't brought pain to any one beside a few woodland creatures. You tried your best in the world, keeping your secret while also keeping up with societies rules as a young woman, as the people of your village would murmur around about you. About how you had not found yourself a suitor. A husband. But how could you? with a secret like yours? So, you kept to yourself.

That was until a new family arrived in your village. A very wealthy and mysterious family of apparent four siblings. Word spread around the small village of their names, Klaus, Rebekah, Kol, and finally, Elijah Mikaelson. Though no one knew where they came from or why they had came to this specific place. Except it was clear they had major influence.

You didn't trust them, it felt weird how they just appeared out of no where over night, something seemed off about them. You stayed clear from the new residents of the village, minding to the apothecary shop your parents owned in the corner of town.

It didn't last long though until one of the Mikaelson's came into the shop. At first you hadn't acknowledged them, hoping they would pick something up, buy it, and leave. Or just leave entirely, not even wanting them to buy anything. But luck wasn't on your side.

The strange man comes up to the counter where you're standing. "I don't believe we've met, I'm Elijah" The man, Elijah, says to you. Smiling weakly at him, just wanting him to leave, you have a bad feeling, "I'm Y/n."

He continued the conversation and left after a while. And you we're surprised to have a wish of hope that he would've stayed longer. Maybe you we're wrong about the new family. You hadn't known what you'd just gotten yourself into for the next centuries.

And so, the handsome man has come to the shop everyday since and you couldn't be anymore exhilarated. It's been so long since you've felt happiness like this.

It had been good, or so you thought. The relationship you guys had was romantic and lovely, and anything you could ever wish for. It soon turned to marriage, and you loved him and he loved you. That was until the night everything went wrong. The night you ran and have been ever since. From your one true love.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, really. But you had been on the way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water when you heard voices in your husband's study. It was him and Klaus, talking of the plan going just right with the werewolf.

Elijah had 'discovered' you were a werewolf about the same time you suspected of him being non human as well. Just you weren't expecting him to be a vampire. And it was quite strange how he wasn't surprised of you being a wolf. Which should have been your first clue. But you overlooked it, filled with love for the man. Which was a painstaking mistake. Especially when discovered after many tests that you were no longer aging after your twentieth birthday.

Your eyes widen as they mention a werewolf. Are they talking about me? You wonder, as you continue listening.

"Y/n suspects nothing of it, right?" Klaus asks his brother. "Nothing, I love her, but she can't know what we have planned, not yet" Elijah answers him from across the room.

Tears well up in your eyes as they continue talking. "There's a chance my curse will be broken by using her?" Klaus asks. "Yes, by the next full moon in two days, there is a best chance with her willing or unwillingness of the ritual, that it will be undone. You will be a full hybrid, Niklaus" Elijah grins to his younger brother, taking a sip of his drink.

You quickly cover your mouth and walk away as quickly but quietly as you can while tears run down your face. You thought Elijah loved you, just as you do him. But of course it's not. He just pretended to get close to me, you think as you get to your guys' room. You grab your cloak and nothing else before sneaking out of the massive house.

There's no point confronting your husband, it was clear there was no love to be shared between the two of you. Instead, a need to get far away from here as you can before you get caught. You should have never fallen for the original, should have never spoken to him like your gut told you to.

You stealthily make your way to the stables. No one has caught you yet, making it easy to get on the horse and start the galloping travel through the woods.

It's not until you're deep into the forest when you hear voices and men shouting. When you hear Elijah shouting for you, anger enriched in his voice. But you never look back, only making the horse go faster until you're so far that they can't keep track of you.

Until now. Elijah is here, or at least close to here. You know Elena had met with him, unwillingly. And you can't risk anything else.

You finish zipping up the bag and leave the apartment behind, going outside where your car awaits. Unlocking it, you throw the duffle in the trunk before speeding into the driver's seat.

Driving above all speed limits, you get to the border of the town before a man, a man that you could recognize anywhere appears in the middle of the road.

Fear sparks in your eyes, and instead of stopping like any sane person would do, you swerve the car and press on the gas, passing him.

It doesn't turn out so well, when you hear a thunk on the top of your car and then the man crashing his fist through the windshield, making you slam on the breaks. The breaks emit a loud and jarring squeaking sound as your breathing picks up at the sight of your husband.

Before you know it, you're manhandled out of the car and whisked away to a mansion. You fight your way out of his grip, "Let me go!" You exclaim.

He lets you out of his hold, raising his arms up. "It's been a while, my Y/n" He says, and you swear you could hear a smidge of longing in his voice. "What? Since you used me and pretending to live me just to break your brother's curse?!" Your voice booms with emotion.

After everything, a small part of you still loves the vampire in front of you. A part before you found out his plans, when he was still mysterious to you. But you can't let that cloud your vision, speech and thoughts right now.

"It wasn't like that" Elijah takes a step forward, making you take a step back, not wanting to be close to him. You scoff, "I'm not so naive now, Elijah. Of course it was like that. You knew I was a werewolf before you pretended to find out and tell me you were a vampire, a god damn a original at that" You lash out, anger and resentment coming out.

"Just hear me out my darling-" You interrupt him, "No, you can't just hunt me down for 200 years and then once finally catching me, make me listen to your lies and justification. You we're going to what? kill me? Why not just do it instead of pretending to love me and then fucking marry me."

Elijah's face falters before grabbing your arm again. He slams you up against the wall, pinning you against it. His grip on you is hard and painful.

Your eyes flash into the amber colour out of anger. You try to struggle out of his grasp, but have no luck.

"No need for those eyes, darling. For your knowledge, I did love you and marry you because of that love. To this day I still love you. Even after the running away stunt you pulled." Elijah explains to you with a hard voice.

"Good for you, but I promise you, those feelings are definitely not reciprocated" You ground out, still struggling against his hold. Elijah just leans in closer to you, you can feel his breath on your skin. "I could never love someone like you after what you planned for me" you spit in his face.

Elijah falters for a moment, giving you just enough time to switch it around and have him pinned against the wall in his place. You use your werewolf strength to hold him down. "Now, I think it's best for both of us to just move on with our lives. I mean it" You say in a loud and clear voice, no pain whatsoever leaking out. All you want to do is leave and never see this man who has caused you so much pain.

"You don't mean that" Elijah's mouth twitches up into a loose grin. "I assure you, I do" You claw your nails into his skin, making his gasp out.

With an ounce of strength, Elijah gets free from your hold and wraps his hands around your neck. They're not tight enough to block your air supply, just to get you to not move.

"We both know your feelings aren't gone for me. You love me. You just can't admit it. I have been after you for so long, you're my wife whom I love."

You scoff, "A wife who you still want to do the ritual. let me think about it" you pause to 'think'. "NO!" You exclaim in his face. Elijah's vampire face comes on display for a moment before he calms himself. "You don't need to be in the ritual. there's another way now. A new one, my darling. We can finally be together. No more running or hiding, or secrets. I give you my word" He come's closer to you again.

You pause, not knowing what his plan is. There's no way he really means those things. His 'word' may have worked two centuries ago on you, but not now. "And how am I supposed to take you seriously? Or believe a single word you just said? Just because I'm technically your wife still, doesn't mean I have to act like it." You finally tell him.

"Then I truly am sorry, darling" Elijah takes another step closer, you being a couple inches apart now. "For what?-" You get cut off.

Elijah grabs hold of you and twists you around. He quickly wraps his arms around your neck, placing a hand on your jaw and twists your neck. Breaking it.

He's lost you for this long, he's not going to take any more chances. He'll make you remember your feelings for him, whatever it takes, You're his. Even if it means keeping you as a prisoner.