#but i do need to take a step back from this fic
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entitled-fangirl · 3 days ago
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I'll always be thanking you.
Cregan Stark x wife!reader
Summary: The reader goes through postpartum depression after she gives him yet another girl. Cregan reassures her that he loves his daughters.
Warnings: postpartum depression, recovering from childbirth, sexist culture
Masterlist
A/n: it's a two fic kinda day
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It had happened so suddenly.
Cregan thought all was right in the world. Everything was set in place by the Old Gods as it should be. Everything was perfect.
But he knew that the last two pregnancies had been unkind to her, prompting a horrid depression after them that went on for months. But when it hadn't shown yet for this last one, he thought that perhaps it had stopped completely.
Until now.
He stepped into their chamber with a broad smile, lightly bouncing the two-year-old on his arm. Arya. She giggled with each one, the sound distorted with the force of the bounces. Witnessing the intimidating man turn soft for the little girl was entirely endearing. 
"Your mother is still in bed," he chipped lightly as he observed his wife covered by the furs they shared every night.
"She always in bed," Lyanna, their five year old said as she trailed behind them.
"Not always," Cregan corrected firmly. "She just gave us your new sister. It takes a long time for the body and mind to recover from something that great."
A small shaking of his wife's shoulders from her laying form in the bed caused him to worry slightly. "Lyanna, why don't you take your sister?"
She wanted to complain but knew better than to argue with her father. She took the toddler's hand and they walked out from the room.
Cregan's recovering wife laid in their bed, completely unmoving except for the small shoulder shake he'd seen. It was a quiver and it sent him on edge. She only ever did that when-
"Are you crying?" He whispered as he sat on the bed, her back to him.
Finally she turned. She had been awake the entire time. Her face was red from crying, the paths of her tears evident on her face. Her lips pouted down as she suppressed a sob.
Cregan was quick to comfort her. He practically laid his body over hers, keeping an arm around her to let her weep into his collarbone. And she did so.
He cooed every few moments, his free hand rubbing at her hair. The tears pained him almost as much as watching her endure the harsh labor only a two weeks before.
When the violent part of the crying was over, he pulled her face away to look at her. "Now," he caressed her cheek, "What is all this for?"
She sniffled and hiccuped between words. "It's just… just… Sarra."
His face fell. "Is something wrong with the babe?"
"No. It's just…" she caught her breath. "Another girl."
Cregan's head tilted. "It is," he reckoned. "What is the problem, my love?"
"Can I not give you a boy?" She whispered in fear of the answer.
Realization flooded Cregan. "You're doing nothing wrong," he assured. "I love my girls with all my heart. Did you want a boy this badly?"
"I just want you to be proud of me."
He visibly flinched. The thought of his postpartum wife crying over giving him a healthy baby was too much for him. "I'm proud of you. You've given me three girls now."
"But it's not a boy." Her eyes continually welled up with tears. "I was so sure it was a boy."
"Do you think me that shallow, dear wife?" He asked in a firm tone. "That I'd have you birth children until I got a boy?"
"Two," she corrected. "You need an heir and a spare and I-" her breath caught. "I cannot even give you one. A cursed womb-"
"Don't say that." His voice was a firm growl, his hand grabbing her jaw a bit harder than he meant to. "Do not say that."
A few tears ran down her cheeks.
Cregan forced a sigh and let his anger die down. He sat up a bit, giving her space. "Do you think that all I wanted in this world were two sons? Do you think that is all my heart desires?"
It was clear that she knew deep down how ridiculous she sounded. "Well-"
"-I've said it many times. What does my heart desire? Hmm? What brightens my day more than the sun?"
She let out a breath through her nose.
Cregan continued, tilting his head down to catch her gaze. "My wife and what? What else?"
"Your children," she whispered.
"Hm?" He asked, though he clearly heard it. He just wanted her to say it once again.
"Your children," she said a bit louder. 
He smiled. "Yes, our children." He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Whether we had had one or you give me an army, I shall love them all until my remains in the crypt are long gone. Being a boy or girl doesn't change it."
"But… Winterfell-"
"-We'll deal with the succession when it is meant to happen. Until now, you're going to rest, and I'm going to spend time with our children. But I'm not going anywhere until you've done your part."
"The maester said it would take much longer to heal this time," she muttered. To herself or Cregan, she wasn't sure.
"That's alright. We've got all the time we need for now, don't we? No need to rush things."
"But the sooner we try-"
"-No-"
"-And Sarra was such a surprise-"
"-Stop-"
"-The next one could be sooner-"
"-Love," he said with a slightly raised voice. "When you're healed and ready to try once more, I will be eternally grateful. But I can wait a lifetime if I need to. I have all I need in the world already."
There was a small knock on the door. "Papa?"
No doubt it was Arya.
Cregan grinned and kissed his wife's temple before going to the door. In the doorway stood little Arya, her hair a sandy brown like Cregan's, her bright eyes like her mother. "What do you need?" It was a firm ask from him, but not one without care.
Arya had yet to say complete sentences yet, only a few  words here and there and the lord would be forced to try to make sense of them. She babbled about something and Cregan's brows raised, completely at a loss. "Um… I-"
"Here, darling," Y/n's soft voice came from behind Cregan as she walked to them. In her hand was Arya's doll that she had no doubt dropped earlier. It was a carefully sewn piece from Cregan's bastard sister, Sara, of whom the new babe was named after. "I see Aunt Sara got a new dress for her, hm?"
Arya grabbed the doll quickly from her mother and hugged the doll tightly. 
Cregan wrapped an arm around his wife. He wanted to scold her for getting up but he would refrain from that for now. "Aye. A very pretty dress," he tried to compliment. Cregan didn't know the first thing about sewing or doll making, or even the fashion of ladies, but he tried anyway to please his girls.
Arya's brows came together in clear confusion, prompting his wife to lightly elbow him. He gave a grunt and gawked.
"It's a battle dress," she spoke through her teeth. "It's a doll dressed like a female warrior."
He decided to go along with it, though he clearly didn't understand it. "I mean, what a very fierce dress. Seems very… protective."
Arya accepted that answer and held the doll out for Cregan to truly see. His gruff hand reached out and took the doll, bringing it up to his level to admire. His sister had done well with it, even he could see that. "So very pr-" he caught himself. "So very strong."
Arya jumped up to grab the doll and Cregan handed it back to her. The two parents watched her take off again like nothing had happened. 
"How'd you know what she wanted?" He asked his wife.
She rubbed at her tired eyes, ignoring the slight ache in her thighs. "She said so. Didn't you hear it?"
"We have three lovely girls and I still have so much to learn," he remarked, amusement oozing from his voice.
She gave a tired grin at that. She began leaning more into him than before and he held her hips taught. "Now," he remarked, "to bed with you."
"Sarra might need me-"
"-I'll check on Sarra."
"And Lyanna was hoping to play outside-"
"-I'll see to it."
"And Arya-"
"-What of Arya?" He asked quietly.
She paused. "I- She always needs something."
He let out a deep chuckle, guiding her back to the bed. "I'll see to it all. I promise you. I can be a father, whether you believe that or not."
She hummed. "I do."
"Alright. Then let me." He kissed her cheek, his scruff rubbing at her skin. "We'll get you in bed."
"Can the girls visit later?" 
He couldn't deny those bright eyes of hers. The same ones each of his girls inherited. It was his one weakness. "After you sup, then yes. But that is in a few hours."
Relief and excitement pulled at her shoulders, a comforting feeling washing over her. "Thank you."
As he tucked her back into the bed, he smiled at her. "Don't thank me. You've given me everything. I'll always be thanking you."
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etheraltides · 3 days ago
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Shelter in the Storm
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Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader
Summarize: Rafe is acting weird during the storm and you’re about to find out why
Warning(s): mention of gun, protective Rafe.
A/N: feedback always make me happier, love y’all – also tysm for all the love in my fics
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The storm outside was relentless, sheets of rain hammering against the windows. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low growl that felt too close, too ominous. Rafe stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the faint glow of the firelight. His jaw was tense, his hands flexing open and shut at his sides.
You had packed a bag and driven to Rafe's earlier today when you received a warning in your phone about the upcoming storm, not wanting to risk staying at yours to see the damage - your small house in the Cut had barely survived in the last one and neither you nor Rafe wanted to risk it. Not when his place was as much as yours as his.
You watched him from the couch, bundled up in an oversized sweater, your book abandoned beside you. He hadn’t spoken much since the phone call earlier, but his restlessness told you everything. Something was wrong.
“Rafe.” you said softly, pulling his attention away from the storm.
He turned, his blue eyes darker than usual, stormier. He didn’t respond, just studied you for a moment like he was trying to memorize every detail. It wasn’t unusual for him to brood, but tonight, something felt different. He never got that weird over business that went wrong.
“You’ve been pacing for twenty minutes, quiet ever since I've arrived. What’s going on, baby?” you asked, your voice laced with concern.
Rafe exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
You frowned, sitting up straighter. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.”
“It’s not shutting you out, alright? ” he snapped, then immediately softened his tone as he noticed you flinch, his chest tightening with guilty. “It’s keeping you safe.”
“From what?”
His eyes flicked away, unable to hold your gaze. His silence was answer enough.
“Rafe…” You stood, crossing the room to stand in front of him. Your hand rested lightly on his clothed chest. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He hesitated, torn between wanting to protect you and needing to tell someone. He didn't like to keep things from you. Finally, he sighed. “You remember Morroco?”
Your brow furrowed. “The trip? Of course.”
He had called you to meet him by the beach, kissing you goodbye as he said he had an important last meeting to close a massive deal and that it'd probably take him a few weeks before he was back.
“It wasn't just a trip.” he said bitterly. “It’s a mess. A deal went sideways, I went after Groff to get my money back and then... Then there was this blue crown treasure hunt with those... pogues. We crossed some people." His jaw clenched. “Now they’re coming for me.”
Your blood ran cold as you tried to process everything. Not even paying a big attention to the fact that Rafe had lied to you. “They?”
“Mercenaries” he admitted, the word dripping with disdain. “Hired guns who don’t care about anything but the paycheck and that fucking crown that slipped away from our fingers."
Fear pricked at the edges of your mind, you could hear your heartbeats in your ears. Mercenaries. “And you think they’ll come here, after you?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I’m not taking any chances.”
You stepped closer, your hands gripping his arms. “Rafe, we should call someone - Shoupe, the poli—”
“No,” he interrupted sharply. “The cops won’t do anything. I’ll handle it, okay? I can take care of my own shit."
“You can’t handle this alone, Rafe. We're talking about mercenaries and not a cougar whose money went sideways in a deal!” you argued, your voice rising slightly.
“I’m not letting you get involved,” he said firmly, his hands resting on your shoulders. His touch was warm, grounding.
“I’m already involved,” you countered, your voice softening. “I care about you, Rafe. That means I’m in this with you, whether you like it or not.”
His expression cracked, the tough exterior slipping to reveal the vulnerability underneath. “You don’t get it,” he whispered, his hands sliding down your arms. “You’re the only thing I’ve got that’s good. If something happens to you because of me—” He broke off, shaking his head.
“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” you said, stepping even closer. Your hands rested on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. “You’re here. You’ll keep me safe.”
He stared at you, his breath hitching slightly. “You have too much faith in me,” he murmured, almost to himself.
“I have the right amount,” you whispered back.
For a moment, the tension hung heavy between you, the storm outside roaring as if reflecting the chaos inside him. Then, before you could say anything else, Rafe’s hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.
“You’re so damn stubborn,” he muttered, a small, almost pained smile tugging at his lips.
You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were swallowed as his lips met yours. The kiss was desperate, almost frantic, like he needed to remind himself you were here, with him, safe. His hands slid into your hair, holding you to him as if letting go wasn’t an option.
Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. The warmth of his body, the way he kissed you — it all felt like a promise, and a plea rolled into one.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing heavy. “I’m not letting them get near you,” he vowed, his voice raw.
“They won’t,” you assured him, nodding as your hands smoothed over his chest.
He kissed you again, slower this time, his hands skimming down your sides. When he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around your waist, you felt the full weight of his fear and his determination.
“I should send you away,” he muttered against your hair, his lips brushing your temple. “Somewhere safe. Away from Outer Banks."
You leaned back, meeting his gaze. “No. I’m staying right here. With you.”
Rafe stared at you, his jaw tightening. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” you said with a small smile, not wanting him to know how terrified you actually were. “But so are you. We’re a good match, remember?"
Despite himself, he chuckled, his grip on you tightening. “You’re going to drive me crazy.”
“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” you teased.
He didn’t answer; he just pressed another kiss on your forehead before pulling you into his chest. His hand smoothed over your back, lingering there as if the simple act could protect you from the world.
After the conversation, the weight of the threat hanging over him, Rafe couldn’t let you out of his sight. He needed to feel you close, needed to know you were safe in a way that words couldn’t assure him - and it didn't help that you decided to organize everything that was out of place, moving between the rooms without saying anything. He knew you were stressed. You always clean whenever anxiety hits you.
“C’mon,” he murmured, his voice low as his arms slid around your waist.
You blinked up at him, confused. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you to bed,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Your cheeks flushed. “I can walk, Rafe.”
“Not tonight,” he said, shaking his head. “Let me do this.”
Before you could protest, Rafe bent down and swept you into his arms as if you weighed nothing. You let out a soft yelp of surprise, your arms instinctively looping around his neck.
“Rafe—”
“Shh,” he murmured, glancing down at you with a small, almost teasing smirk. “Just let me take care of you for once, okay?”
You pressed your lips together, your cheeks warming at the way he held you so effortlessly, his grip steady and secure. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, a calming rhythm that contrasted with the chaos of the storm outside.
The walk to the bedroom was silent, save for the sound of the rain pounding against the roof. Rafe nudged the door open with his foot, carrying you inside. The room was dark except for the faint glow of a lamp on the nightstand, casting warm light over the space.
He set you down gently on the bed, his hands lingering on your hips for a moment before he stepped back. You watched as he moved around the room, double-checking the locks on the windows and door. His movements were methodical, his expression tense.
“Rafe,” you said softly, sitting up. “You don’t have to do all this.”
He glanced at you over his shoulder, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yes, I do.”
You wanted to argue, but something in his tone stopped you. He was carrying more than just worry — it was guilt, fear, and the overwhelming need to protect you. It was his way of tricking himself into believing he had some control over the whole situation.
Once he was satisfied, Rafe returned to the bed. You noticed the subtle way he opened the drawer of his bedside table, checking the loaded gun inside.
Your stomach tightened. “Do you really think it’ll come to that?”
His gaze flicked to you, softening slightly. “It’s just a precaution,” he said, his voice steady.
You nodded, though the thought of him having to use it sent a shiver down your spine.
“Come here,” he said, holding out a hand.
You crawled toward him, settling into his arms as he pulled you close. His body was warm, solid, and the way his arms wrapped around you made you feel like nothing in the world could touch you.
“Get some sleep,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“What about you?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.
“I’ll sleep,” he promised. “Just need to make sure you’re out first.���
You frowned but didn’t push further. His hand smoothed over your back in slow, soothing strokes, lulling you into a sense of security.
Eventually, your breathing evened out, and Rafe let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
He stayed awake, his eyes scanning the room, his ears attuned to every sound beyond the rain. Every creak of the house set his muscles on edge, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. But then he’d look down at you—your peaceful face, your fingers loosely curled against his chest — and the storm inside him would quiet, even if just for a moment.
Carefully, so as not to wake you, Rafe reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of your cheek.
“You don’t even know how much you mean to me,” he whispered, his voice so soft it was nearly drowned out by the rain.
His hand moved to your shoulder, then down your arm, his touch light, almost reverent. He wanted to memorize every detail—the way your skin felt against his, the rise and fall of your breathing, the warmth you radiated.
For a long time, he just watched you, his thumb idly brushing against your arm.
No one would hurt you. Not the mercenaries, not anyone. He’d burn the world down before he let anyone take you from him.
When his exhaustion finally began to creep in, Rafe pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment.
“I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear. Even if it's the last thing I do.”
With one hand resting on the gun in the drawer and the other wrapped protectively around you, Rafe finally allowed his eyes to close, the storm outside fading into the background.
As long as you were in his arms, nothing else mattered.
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theonottsbxtch · 15 hours ago
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99 PROBLEMS | MV1
an: this is literally a crack fic, i had the idea when i was listening to 99 problems by jay-z and i was talking to @iamred-iamyellow please enjoy
summary: max never expected to one day have a 17 year old son. he didn't know he was a father. but now he's got to try and figure out how this nerd is his son. and also teach him how to live a little.
wc: 3.3k
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Max never thought he’d be a single dad to a teenage boy, but shit happens.
One minute, he was in Monaco celebrating another podium win, champagne-soaked and grinning for the cameras. The next, there was a seventeen-year-old with his eyes and an attitude to match standing on his doorstep with a duffel bag. His name was Noah—“not ‘Dad,’ just Max”—and he wasn’t here to bond. No, Noah was here because apparently the universe thought karma would be funnier this way.
Max was on the balcony of his Monaco apartment replying to a few emails, the city’s lights flickering like a postcard behind him. He could hear Noah inside, rifling through the fridge, muttering complaints about the lack of “real food.”
“Hey, don’t knock the caviar!” Max called over his shoulder. “It’s got protein!”
“Caviar’s not dinner!” Noah fired back, slamming the fridge door.
Max smirked, chuckling a bit. The kid had a point. The life of a Formula One champion didn’t exactly prepare him for raising a teenager. Most days, it was all jet-setting, high-end sponsorships, and a new girl on his arm by sundown. It was messy, but it was his kind of messy. Now? Now, he had to figure out how to squeeze fatherhood in between the chaos.
“You seriously live like this?” Noah asked, stepping onto the balcony, holding up one of Max’s custom helmets. His tone wasn’t admiration—it was judgement.
“Like what?” Max said, not looking up from his phone.
“You know, like...this. Cars, women, parties. I mean, isn’t it exhausting?”
Max chuckled low, pocketing his phone. “Don’t have time to be tired.”
Noah raised an eyebrow. “Right. So, uh...where do I fit in this circus?”
Max turned, his smirk fading just enough to let a flicker of honesty show. “Haven’t figured that out yet. But we’ll make it work.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Max glanced back at the city below. “Now, go grab a drink or something. Just...not the champagne.”
And that’s how it started: the driver, his kid, and a life moving faster than either of them could control.
Max hadn’t had a conventional childhood and he could tell this kid did, well as conventional as it was to be dropped off at your dad who you’ve never met’s house a few weeks before your 18th birthday.
He thought that maybe while he was here he could teach him a few things, take him to a few races or something. 
Max didn’t really know what to do.
The private gym was tucked into the corner of Max’s penthouse, all sleek machines and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. It was rarely used. Most of Max’s training happened at the Headquarters. or with his team, but Noah had been dragging his feet around the apartment all week, so Max figured a little sweat might do them both some good.
“Alright, kid,” Max said, tossing a pair of dumbbells onto the mat. “Let’s see if you’ve got anything in the tank. Ever lifted before?”
“Sure,” Noah replied, unimpressed. He sat down on the bench press, giving the machine a once-over like he was deciding whether or not to trust it.
Max crossed his arms, watching as Noah pushed through a few hesitant reps. “Not bad. But if that’s your warm-up, we’re in trouble.”
Noah glared, setting the weights down with a clink. “Not all of us need muscles for a living.”
Max laughed. “Touché. So, what do you do for fun then?”
“Fun?”
“Yeah, fun. You know, like hobbies, friends, maybe a girlfriend?”
Noah shrugged, grabbing a water bottle. “Not much. I play some video games, read, I guess. Nothing crazy.”
“Read?” Max frowned. “What, no parties? No sneaking out? You don’t go out?”
“Go out where?” Noah’s voice had that dry teenage edge to it. “I’m seventeen. I lived in America my whole life. You can’t even get into a bar without a fake ID there.”
Max froze mid-stretch, eyebrows shooting up. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me you’ve never had a drink?”
Noah gave him a look like he’d just asked if the sky was blue. “No?”
Max stared at him, dumbfounded. “God. If only you knew what I was doing at your age when my dad had his back turned.”
Noah rolled his eyes. “Oh, let me guess. Clubbing in Paris. Drinking champagne with supermodels. Living the dream?”
“Belgium, but close,” Max said, leaning against the bench press. “Keg parties in the back of some guy’s trailer in Hasselt. Terrible beer, worse decisions, and my trainer yelling at me the next morning. Still, though. I can’t believe you’re seventeen and haven’t even had a sip.”
“I mean, it’s not a big deal,” Noah muttered.
“Not a big deal?” Max barked out a laugh. “Mate, by seventeen, I’d already figured out my go-to drink order. Vodka tonic. Not classy, but it got the job done.” He leaned in, his grin borderline mischievous. “We’ve got some work to do.”
Noah held up his hands, shaking his head. “Oh no. You’re not turning this into some wild ‘how to live’ project.”
Max raised his eyebrows, mock-innocent. “Hey, I’m just saying. Gotta live a little.”
“Maybe I don’t want to end up like you,” Noah shot back.
Max laughed again, but this time it came quieter, almost thoughtful. “Trust me, buddy. Nobody ends up like me. Now, come on. Two more sets, and then I’ll show you how to make a proper protein shake. Don’t worry—I won’t spike it.”
Noah snorted, shaking his head as he got back to work. It was just another morning, another disagreement, but Max couldn’t help feeling like they were inching closer to something real. Something like family.
By the end of the week, Noah was starting to think his dad was running some kind of unofficial competition.
On Monday, it was Marie. She was Monegasque, blonde, and talked like she was auditioning for a perfume ad. “Bonjour, mon cher,” she’d purred at Noah, ruffling his hair like he was ten. Max had barely noticed her leave, too busy scrolling his phone for his next big sponsorship deal.
Tuesday brought Yasmin, a Brazilian model who walked around the apartment in Max’s oversized shirt, pretending not to notice Noah glaring at her from the couch. She’d tried to make conversation, something about school and books, but Noah had just shrugged until she gave up.
By Wednesday, it was Clara, who had an annoying laugh and kept calling Max “babe” like they’d been married for years.
Thursday was a whirlwind—two girls, both of whom Max forgot to introduce. One of them waved awkwardly at Noah as they left, heels clicking on the tile floor.
By Friday, Noah wasn’t even fazed. He sat at the kitchen counter, eating cereal while Max brewed coffee, shirtless and looking entirely too smug for a guy running on five hours of sleep.
“How?” Noah finally said, his spoon clinking against the bowl.
Max glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “How what?”
“You know.” Noah waved vaguely toward the hallway where yet another pair of heels had disappeared moments ago. “Them. How do you...?”
Max chuckled, shaking his head as he poured his coffee. “Not that complicated.” He took a sip, leaning against the counter like he was about to deliver some ancient wisdom. “They like fast cars and big dreams. I’ve got both.”
Noah squinted at him. “Yeah, but don’t they know what they’re getting into? Like...you’re not exactly giving ‘dad of the year’ vibes.”
Max laughed, the sound echoing through the kitchen. “Oh, they know. Trust me, they all think they’re the one who’s gonna ‘change me.’” He set his mug down, smirking. “Spoiler alert: they’re not.”
Noah frowned, stirring his cereal. “Doesn’t it get old?”
“What?”
“The whole thing. Girls coming and going. Don’t you ever want...I don’t know, something normal?”
Max tilted his head, studying him for a second. “Normal’s overrated. Besides, why are you so interested? You got someone back in the States?”
Noah snorted. “No. Not unless you count my English teacher who used to give me extra credit just to stop talking in class.”
Max grinned, pushing off the counter. “Smart kid. Learn from me, though—don’t waste your charm on teachers. Save it for someone who can actually keep up.”
Noah rolled his eyes, standing up to put his bowl in the sink. “You’re insane.”
“And yet,” Max said, raising his coffee in a mock toast, “I’m still your dad. Crazy how that works.”
Noah shook his head, walking out of the kitchen. But as he headed toward his room, he caught himself smirking. Max was a mess—there was no denying that. But, annoyingly, there was something kind of fascinating about watching him pull it off.
He had to give him some respect. Three time world champion but he lived his life like an unbothered bachelor that didn’t have a multi-million contract under his belt.
Two days later, Max was standing in front of his wardrobe, trying to decide between a black shirt and a white graphic tee. He ended up tossing the black top onto the bed, shrugging into the white tee. His phone buzzed on the nightstand—a message from the group chat reminding him that their table was already reserved at Jimmy’s.
Max grabbed his watch and headed toward the living room, adjusting it as he walked. Noah was sprawled on the couch, scrolling his phone with the kind of disinterested focus only teenagers could pull off.
“You wanna come?” Max asked casually, pulling his car keys from the counter.
Noah didn’t even look up. “I’m seventeen.”
Max leaned against the doorway, a smirk tugging at his lips. “And I’m Max Verstappen.”
Noah gave him a deadpan look. “Yeah, that’s not how laws work.”
Max stepped into the room, tossing his keys in the air and catching them with one hand. “Relax, kid. You’re with me. No one’s checking your ID.” He raised an eyebrow, adding, “Unless you want to stay here and eat more cereal while I’m out having the time of my life.”
Noah hesitated, sitting up slightly. “What, and hang out with you and your harem of club girls? Hard pass.”
Max grinned, crossing his arms. “It’s not just girls. My friends will be there. Good music, good drinks, a little chaos. You could use some chaos.”
Noah snorted. “I don’t think I fit your ‘chaos’ aesthetic.”
Max walked over and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “That’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to fit. You just show up, keep your head up, and let the good times come to you. Trust me, kid—it’s not rocket science.”
Noah looked at him, torn between scepticism and curiosity. “And if I hate it?”
“Then you call it a night, and we’ll come back. No harm, no foul.” Max shrugged. “But at least you’ll know what you’re missing.”
Noah sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. But if anyone tries to buy me a drink, I’m out.”
“Deal.” Max grinned, slapping him on the back. “Now, go change. You’re not wearing that.” He gestured vaguely at Noah’s hoodie and sweatpants.
“What’s wrong with this?”
“It’s not wrong; it’s tragic. Go put on something that says, ‘I’m seventeen, but I could still be cooler than you.’”
Noah rolled his eyes but got up and headed toward his room. Max leaned back against the couch, chuckling to himself. This was either going to be a disaster or the most fun he’d had in weeks.
Fifteen minutes later, Noah emerged in dark jeans and a plain black t-shirt. It wasn’t flashy, but it worked.
Max whistled. “There you go. Almost looks like you know what you’re doing.”
“Don’t push it,” Noah muttered, grabbing his jacket.
“Alright, kid,” Max said, swinging an arm around his shoulders as they headed for the elevator. “Welcome to the good life. Try to keep up.”
Jimmy’z was everything Noah expected and nothing he was prepared for. The place was loud, packed, and drenched in neon lights that pulsed to the bass of some remix he didn’t recognise. Max walked in like he owned it, breezing past the bouncers and slapping hands with a few familiar faces on his way to their table.
The VIP section was cordoned off with velvet ropes and framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. A couple of Max’s friends were already there, leaning back with drinks in hand, laughing at some story one of them was telling.
Max clapped a hand on Lando's shoulder, said something about ordering another round, and then turned to Noah with a grin. “Alright, kid. First drink’s on me.”
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to drink?” Noah muttered, looking around nervously.
“You’re not supposed to get caught drinking,” Max corrected, flagging down a waitress. “Two rum and cokes. Easy on the rum for him,” he added with a wink.
Noah sat awkwardly, trying to ignore the curious glances from Max’s friends. When the drinks came, Max slid one across the table. “Here. Cheers.”
Noah picked up the glass and took a cautious sip, immediately grimacing. “This tastes like gasoline.”
Max burst out laughing, nearly spilling his own drink. “Yeah, it’s not exactly a milkshake, but you’ll get used to it.”
Noah frowned but kept sipping, each drink slightly less terrible than the last. By the time the glass was empty, he didn’t hate it—but he definitely wasn’t in a hurry for another.
“Alright,” Max said, leaning back and draping an arm over the back of the booth. “Time for your next lesson.”
“Lesson?”
“Yeah.” Max grinned, nodding toward the dance floor where a group of girls was laughing and swaying to the music. “How to get a girl.”
Noah blinked at him. “I’m seventeen.”
“And you’re eighteen in three weeks,” Max shot back, smirking.
Noah raised an eyebrow. “How do you even know that?”
Max sipped his drink, looking almost offended. “I pay attention. I’m not that bad of a father, you know.”
Noah snorted. “Debatable.”
“Hey, come on,” Max said, leaning forward and pointing at him with his glass. “I’ve got three weeks to turn you into someone who doesn’t spend prom night sitting in the corner playing Angry Birds. Let me work my magic.”
“I didn’t go to prom,” Noah mumbled.
“Exactly my point.” Max gestured to the dance floor. “Now, watch and learn.”
Noah shook his head, but he couldn’t help smirking. Watching Max in his element was like watching a lion stalk the savanna. Ridiculous, over-the-top, and somehow annoyingly effective.
Noah leaned back in the plush booth, his gaze flicking nervously between the drink in his hand and the dance floor. “This feels illegal,” he muttered under his breath.
Max, already halfway through his second rum and coke, let out a loud laugh that turned a few heads. “Illegal? We’re in Monaco.” He gestured broadly at the glittering club around them, as if the name alone erased all laws. “The girls here don’t care how old you are, as long as you’re pretty enough.”
Noah raised an eyebrow. “And what if I’m not?”
Max leaned forward, smirking. “You’re my son, so of course you are. Trust me, kid, you’ve got the genes. Now, you just need the confidence to back it up.”
Noah rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint flush creeping up his neck. “Yeah, sure. Because confidence is something you can just magically summon.”
“Exactly,” Max said, snapping his fingers like it was that simple. “It’s all in the attitude. Look, you don’t need to be the smartest or the funniest guy in the room. You just need to act like you know something they don’t. Makes them curious. Curiosity’s half the battle.”
Noah stared at him, unimpressed. “That’s the dumbest advice I’ve ever heard.”
Max grinned, sitting back and gesturing to the waitress for another round. “And yet, here I am. Multi-millionaire. World champion. Living proof it works.”
“Yeah, but you’re—” Noah hesitated, then gestured vaguely at Max’s whole presence. “You.”
“Exactly. And you’re half me. Which means you’ve already got a head start.” Max leaned in, lowering his voice like he was letting Noah in on a secret. “Here’s the trick: don’t overthink it. If you go out there looking like you’ve got something to prove, you’ll scare ‘em off. Just...be cool.”
“Cool,” Noah repeated, deadpan. “Got it. Thanks for the groundbreaking advice.”
Max smirked, pushing his chair back and standing up. “Fine. Don’t believe me. But if I come back with two numbers before you even finish that drink, you’re buying me breakfast tomorrow.”
Noah shook his head as Max strolled off toward the dance floor, impossibly confident and infuriatingly charismatic. It was hard not to admire it, even if it made him feel like an awkward kid in comparison.
He stared down at his empty glass, debating whether to order another drink or just leave, when a girl about his age walked past and glanced his way. She gave him a small smile, and Noah froze, his heart racing.
Max’s words echoed in his head. “Just act like you know something they don’t.”
Noah took a deep breath, set his empty glass on the table, and stood up. His palms felt clammy, and every nerve in his body screamed at him to sit back down. But then he caught Max watching from the floor with an infuriating smirk before turning to whichever woman he was talking to this time.
Don’t overthink it, Noah reminded himself. Just be cool.
The girl was standing near the edge of the dance floor with a friend, laughing at something on her phone. She looked up as he approached, her eyes flicking over him in curiosity.
“Hey,” Noah said, trying to sound casual. “You looked like you needed saving from a bad joke.”
She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh? And you’re the knight in shining armour?”
“Something like that,” Noah said, stuffing his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. “Or at least I’m not the guy who made you laugh like that.”
Her smile widened, and her friend nudged her playfully before disappearing toward the bar. “Smooth,” she said, tilting her head. “Do you use that line often?”
“First time, actually,” Noah admitted, his lips twitching into a nervous grin.
The honesty seemed to win her over. They started talking—light, easy banter—and before Noah knew it, she was laughing at something he’d said about his dad being a “professional bad influence.”
From the booth, Max had a clear view of the whole thing. He nudged Lando, grinning like a proud idiot. “Lan, look!” He pointed toward the dance floor. “The son of a bitch did it!”
Lando squinted, then let out a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t think he had it in him.”
Max chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat. “He’s my kid. Of course he’s got it in him.”
Noah returned to the table a while later, looking flushed and slightly dishevelled. His lips were swollen, and there was a faint lipstick smudge on his cheek.
Max raised his glass in a mock toast. “Atta boy!”
Noah slid into the booth, trying to suppress a grin. “Don’t make it a thing.”
“Oh, it’s already a thing,” Max said, slapping him on the back. “You’re officially part of the club now.”
Lando smirked. “Better keep an eye on him, Max. He’s almost got more potential than you.”
“Potential? He’s a damn prodigy,” Max joked, laughing. “First drink, first girl, all in one night. Kid’s got a better batting average than I did at his age.”
Noah rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help smiling. As much as his dad’s teasing drove him crazy, there was something undeniably cool about seeing Max so proud.
“Alright,” Max said, clapping his hands together. “Now that you’ve got your feet wet, let’s see if you can do it again.”
Noah shook his head, laughing. “Not a chance. One’s enough for tonight.”
“Fair enough,” Max said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “But just so you know—you’ve officially graduated from boring.”
For once, Noah didn’t argue.
the end.
241 notes · View notes
pedge-page · 2 days ago
Note
Hiii the breastfeeding question that can be used as a question or to a fic I was just curious because I love the sexual ones but I was like would u do one just a sweet one Joel had stressful day at work or Joel can’t sleep and needs the boob to help him and then it comes into a routine every night before and when he wakes up has milk and I’m also loving the mommy fics too. But don’t worry on the response time 💓
Routine
Joel Miller x F!Reader
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warnings: breastfeeding, somewhat sub!Joel, not sexual but still mature content
`18+ ONLY
- - - -
He doesn’t even have the energy to slam his truck door. The frame is bent at the top, making it close unevenly. Two, three, sometimes four or five tries before it actually clicks close. He’s been meaning to get it fixed, hell, even just take a hammer and knock it somewhat back into shape, but he’s just too fucking exhausted today.
He lays his head back against the headrest, wrinkled eyes closed upwards. His nose involuntarily wrinkles: the cushions smell like smoke too. Tommy borrowed the truck yesterday and lit up his packs. The little fucker. 
He doesn’t get weekends off. He doesn’t get 8 hour shifts. He gets whatever shovel, hammer, nail and mud that needs dished out. He bears it, grunts it, heaves and shovels until his bones are cracking. 
He needs home.
When Joel gets through the garage door, he sees the living room lamp light on. The girls must already be asleep. You were probably staying up awake for him. Suffering, because of him.
Fuck. He shouldn’t think about it like that. He’s grateful for you. For many reasons.
He feels shy, hesitating at the door, pretending he’s dropped something because he’s a little too embarrassed to ask this one thing of you. 
“Joel?” You call out softly. It’s like swan-song to his ears, delicate and sweet. 
He steps into the room. “Hey.” You tilt your head to the side with a warm, tired smile. 
“You okay?”
He swallows, looking away and rubbing the back of his head as nonchalantly as possible. 
You tsk him with a bemused smile. “C’mere,” you whisper, patting the open cushion next to you for his invitation.
He shuffles towards you, his hole-ridden socks gliding along the shag carpet like a toddler dragging his feet. Joel kisses your forehead, his scruffy chin brushing against your lashes briefly before you grasp his cheeks and urge him to lie next to you. He tosses his jean-clad legs up on the length of the couch, propping his elbow on the seat so that he can face you.
“Bad day?” You hum, kissing his eyelids one at a time. He breathes you in, momentarily feeling lost in your embrace. You nuzzle his nose with yours, his eyes flickering open to meet your gaze again.
“Mmm,” he grunts. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it.
But his eyes drift a bit lower, fingers fiddling with the spaghetti straps of your silk night-top. His pointer traces over its path, knuckles grazing your collarbone as he pulls the strap slowly, exposing a bit more of your chest. He plays with it, like he’s telling you something without words, but still waiting for your say-so.
He glances back up at you through his brows. 
“Will it help you sleep?” You coo.
He nods with big round eyes, his lips leaning forward to press a kiss to your breastbone. 
You stroke his face lovingly, giving him the answer he needed as you and he both reach to pull the edge of your top down, revealing your ample breasts.
He huffs his hot breath over your nipple before blowing cool air like a whistle, loving the way it tenses from the temperature change.  He brushes his thumb over your other as his lips find your nub, kissing it repeatedly. His plush lips wrap so delicately around them, baby kisses spoiling your skin.
“Five minutes. And then to bed, okay?”
He doesn’t want to waste time then.
Joel re-situates himself over you, his forearm holding himself between your thighs. He latches on to your tit, humming around your areola and starting to gently suck. Closing his eyes, he breathes steadily through his nose. Nothing audible yet, but quickly the room fills with the sound of his swallowing as his mouth is filled with your warm breastmilk.
You close your eyes, still twirling his hair with your fingers. He’s not inching for anything more. No quickened case. The two of you fall into an almost hypnotic trance of sleepiness.
His warm tongue massages your breast muscles as he works more milk out of you. He takes almost exactly 2 and a half minutes from one breast, before pulling off with a slight kiss, a droplet of white balancing off his lower lip. He eyes your other breast before putting his mouth on it, eyes closing and repeating his steady sucking. 
It fills his belly so contently. Warm and sweet, traveling from your heated body directly onto his taste buds, down his throat and safely nourishing his stomach. There’s no rush. He knows you’re here, your hand gently yet tenderly placed behind his head, cupping him close so even if he loses himself in you, he knows you’re here to catch him.
If it weren’t for you to let him know its time to get to bed, he’d fall asleep right in your lap, titty still hanging from his mouth with milk pouring over the sides of his cheeks.
It’s been weeks since he’s had such a fulfilling slumber.
The next few days weren’t any easier on his body or mind. But you were never complaining. 
The two of you started settling up right in bed for your nightly routine. Joel resting his head in your lap, letting the milk just fall right onto his tongue thanks to gravity. He’d drink until he was practically snoring. Then you’d stroke his face soothingly, letting him sleep like that for hours until the morning. 
All the guys talked about going home to their wives or girlfriends to unwind. Have dinner. Cuddle. 
He’d wake, shifting your sleeping body into a more comfortable position, laid back while he hungrily undoes your shirt again and starts drinking his breakfast straight from your boobs.
When he’s halfway through the day, he sits in his trailer at the site, wishing you could visit him for lunch. He’d lock everyone out, pull the shades, set you on his lap, and suckle your breasts for his midday snack. He wouldn’t be able to let you go though, grumbling into your chest and wrapping his arms protectively around you like a child unwilling to let go of his mommy.
He does all three with you at the same time, putting him at ease and helping him sleep like the beautiful, caring, nurturing wife you’ve always been.
He hopes he can put another baby in you soon so that people don’t keep wondering why your breasts are still so plump full of milk despite both your kids already being well off breastfeeding… 
- - - -
Taglist:
@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist
199 notes · View notes
randombush3 · 20 hours ago
Text
imgonnagetyouback
alexia putellas x reader
Here’s a notes app fic that came to me when I saw an arcane edit w this song
You’ll see more of me soon x
[…]
Walking into the tunnel is your march home from war. It’s ancient, it’s instinctive: a Roman triumph, prisoners dragged behind you, crowds shouting your name. You have climbed the mountain, you have reached the top.
“Hey, MVP.” A soft nudge from a loser — someone you told yourself you’d have to stop talking to — and the line of journalists is no longer your destination. “You still owe me that drink, three points or not.”
You want to reply but the words never come.
“Everyone will be there,” says Mapi, carrying on. She doesn’t wince like you do, she isn’t the one who left. “We’ve missed you.”
And you’ve missed them too.
You’d packed a lilac short skirt in your suitcase, not sure why. Maybe part of you had awaited the invitation. Coveted it, even. Regardless, the skirt fits you like skin, displaying smooth legs that are no longer scraped and muddy.
The bar is nowhere special. It holds memories already; too many drinks and stumbling onto the pavement, throwing up in a gutter with hands holding back your hair. Things like that. You shudder, bothered more by the woman you share those memories with than the flip in your stomach at the thought of tequila shots.
“You came!” Mapi sounds surprised, hugging you tightly the moment she sees you. You smile, but it never reaches her.
Alexia is standing at the bar, laughing like something is funny. It doesn’t look genuine nor convincing, but her eyes flick to yours and you’re no idiot. You can tell when someone still wants you.
The woman by her side isn’t anything special. Her fingers circle Alexia’s bicep, holding her possessively in her grasp. You roll your eyes. Alexia stopped listening to whatever drivel she was saying the moment you appeared.
“Oh, come clean,” you mouth with a smirk, gesturing to the woman beside her.
You feel a bit bad for her.
You’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, and Alexia’s half-laugh, half-smirk is nothing if not a dare. Strangers part and you have a clear path to the bar, fingers drumming on the sticky surface when you get there, counting the beats before she gives in. And she will. She always does.
Her companion looks uncomfortable, her grip tightening as if sensing the shift in the air. Alexia still hasn’t said a word to you, but her eyes have barely left your face.
The smirk on your lips sharpens as Alexia whispers something to the other woman. She’s trying to be discreet, but you’ve seen this move before. You almost pity the poor girl.
Almost.
Mapi appears beside you, pressing a shot glass into your hand. “Tequila?” she offers with a raised eyebrow. You take it without hesitation, your eyes still locked on Alexia’s, squinting as poison (or confidence) trickles down your throat. Mapi follows your gaze, amused.
“You two really need to sort yourselves out,” she mutters, but she’s grinning.
She wants a resolution. That word is heavy in your mind, stones in your chest and fists constricting your heart. It’s ignorant of nights spent wondering if you’d made the right decision, nights of bitterness blending with longing until they were no longer different. And resolution isn’t why you came.
Tonight, you want a reaction.
Alexia’s companion finally leaves, her expression clipped with forced politeness, and then she is turning towards you fully. Shoulders sharp, broad, tense. She sets her empty glass down and approaches like she is entitled to be next to you.
The hum of the bar disappears. Nothing’s changed.
You break the silence first, stepping closer. “You didn’t seem too invested in that conversation.”
“And you didn’t seem too busy to come here,” she counters. Her voice is low, even, but her eyes betray her. This is not a woman unaffected. You are going for the kill — not that the word’s meaning is decided yet.
“Got the day off tomorrow,” you say, finger tracing the rim of the empty shot glass. “Thought I’d see what I’ve been missing.”
Alexia laughs, strangled and put-on. “Missed us, did you?”
“Missed some of you.” Your gaze drifts over her, deliberately slow, landing on the group of ex-teammates shoved in a booth. She doesn’t like that. Her jaw clenches.
“You haven’t changed,” Alexia says, and there’s something raw in her voice. Something angry. Or regretful. You don’t care to name it.
“Neither have you,” you shoot back. “Above all of it until I’m right here in front of you.”
Her lips part as if to argue, but no words come. Instead, she steps closer, the space between you shrinking to nothing.
“Is this what you wanted?” she asks, voice soft on your skin, emotion loaded in each letter.
You smirk, tilting your head. “Haven’t decided yet.”
But you both know the truth. Alexia belongs to you, whether she admits it or not. Just as you still belong to her. You lean in, close enough that your breath brushes her ear, and whisper, “You were never not mine.”
And just like that, the night tilts in your favor.
202 notes · View notes
maldaptivedreamer · 13 hours ago
Text
Lonely Souls - Arcane
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One lonely soul comforts another for a night.
content: Vi x reader, errors/mistakes, pit fighter Vi, alcoholism to cope, drunk Vi, vulnerable Vi, injured Vi, name calling, no sex but intimacy, reader bathes Vi, brief aggression from man at beginning, angst/comfort i think
wc: ~3.5k
a/n: Sooo, this is my first Arcane fic, but insanely excited. Don't know if this good but I have more I'm workin on. Can't believe arcane's over and idk wth I'm sposed to do now.
MINORS DNI NSFW 18+
Main Masterlist
A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you massage your temple with two fingers, trying to ease the building headache.
“You frigid whore! Think you’re too good for me!?! For my money!?!” The man struggles helplessly in the unmoving arms of Wik. Wik grunts, his expression unreadable as he gazes at you.
Pinching the bridge of your nose, you dismiss Wik with a wave of your hand. He silently turns and disappears, the beaded curtains rattling together behind him. The man’s hysterical screaming rings in your ears.
Sinking back into the plush cushions of the couch, you sigh and shut your eyes.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of heels clicking on the floor interrupts your attempt to ease the strain in your eyes.
You frown and slowly raise your head to face her. With a raised eyebrow, you wait.
Babbette's large, crimson eyes are narrowed in concern. She takes a step toward you, lifting a slim hand. Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly lift your arm into her grip. Her long nails dig into your skin as she inspects the deep scratches marring its surface.
Her eyes darken briefly before she releases your arm, allowing you to pull it back. With a dry tone, you speak. “I’m fine… Guess, I should stick to my regulars, huh?”
Babbette doesn't entertain your joke. She takes a long drag from her cigarette, studying you carefully for a long moment before finally speaking up. “Any chance you wanna tell me why you’re here? You don’t have any clients today…” You ignore the knowing tone of her voice.
Maintaining steady eye contact, you shrug stoically. “No.”
Babbette gives you a meaingful look but nods in understanding, silently waving her cigarette at you as she turns to leave. "Go home. Don't come back unless you have a client," she warns you before disappearing between the beaded curtains.
You watch her leave, the clicking of her heels fading. The silence that follows is deafening, the sounds of the brothel beyond your room feeling far and distant.
Sighing deeply, you rub a harsh hand over your face. The adrenaline from the earlier altercation is wearing off, leaving you feeling drained and hollow.
You know why you're here. But admitting it, even to yourself, feels like a step you're not ready to take. It's easier to lose yourself in the brothel, in the false intimacy and fleeting connections. Anything to avoid facing the emptiness that awaits you at home.
Slowly, you rise from the cushions, your body protesting with every movement. The scratches on your arm burn as you reach for your coat.
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Gritting your teeth, you step out into the grimy street. The smell of vomit and stale beer invades your nostrils and you wrinkle your nose in disgust. The pounding behind your eyes intensifies, throbbing in sync with the pulsing of neon lights.
With a huff, you wrap your coat tighter around your body. 
As you continue walking, the crowd thins and the darkness grows deeper. You feel a sense of relief at the quiet, your headache slowly easing.
Your home. Small. Dingy. But it's yours. 
You can feel the tension in your body simultaneously ease and worsen with each step you take. Swallowing hard, you try to push down the growing sense of loneliness in your stomach and the conflicting need to be alone.
The feeling of another person is overwhelming. It burns your skin. Makes you want to peel it back and run… But it can be freeing. Touching someone else, caring for someone else and tending to their needs brings you a deep sense of contentment. You crave, yearn for it, that connection with someone. A connection that you’ll never have.
That sense of loss is overwhelming and you feel a gasp bubbling in your throat. Stumbling into a wall as you choke on your breath, you allow the cool brick to ground you. Closing your eyes, you run a hand over the rough texture of brick. 
A sudden crash and slurred cursing from a nearby alley startles you. The tightness in your chest eases, replaced by a rush of adrenaline as your instincts kick in. As you cautiously approach the noise, your hand slips into the pocket of your skirt.
But as you round the corner, your posture relaxes and your hand falls limp at your side. You recognize the figure- drunk, off balance and stumbling, but familiar. 
Vi. Your heart clenches at the sight of her, drunk and alone.
She’s become one of your regulars. A client, the only client, that makes your job not feel like one. You’ve developed a certain… fondness for her. One you shouldn’t have. One that could get you into trouble… like today.
It's impossible to deny the growing affection you have for her. After all, the loneliness in her eyes is one you know intimately- in every lingering touch, every desperate grip on your skin, every breath consumed.
"Vi?" you call softly, stepping into the alley.
She twists, nearly losing her balance as she faces you. Her clouded blue eyes struggle to find you in the dim light and she squints as she tries to place you. Recognition dawns slowly.
“Princess, watchu doin’ here?” Her slurred words muddle together and you sigh, taking in her disheveled appearance. You can make out a fresh bruise on her cheekbone.
"I could ask you the same thing." Your reply is soft and you take careful steps closer, your heels echoing in the narrow alley. "You okay?"
Vi snorts. "’M doin’ jus’ peachy, princess." Her shoe catches on a pile of garbage and she stumbles.
You quickly step forward, your hands instinctively reaching out to steady her before she falls. As soon as your hands meet her skin, she collapses into you, her head burying itself in the crook of your neck. You grunt as she leans into you, your knees almost buckling beneath you. You can smell the cheap liquor on her breath, mixed with the scent of sweat and blood on her skin.
The smell of alcohol intensifies as she mumbles against your skin, her words barely decipherable. "'M tired, princess… So fuckin' tired."
Furrowing your brow with concern, you hold her close to you, supporting her weight as she leans on you. "Let's get you home." Your voice is tender. "Where are you staying, gorgeous?" You hate seeing her like this. You’ve only ever seen her hurting. You desperately wish you could take away all of her pain, all of her hurt.
She doesn't answer and you gently nudge her, coaxing her eyes to meet yours. Seeing that you have her attention, you repeat your question. “Vi, where’s your home?”
She shrugs and tightens her arm around you. With a vague wave of her hand, she responds, nearly losing her balance. "Dunno. Don't matter."
Your heart clenches at the lost look in her eyes. You know you shouldn't, but… "My place isn't far."
Vi's unfocused gaze finds yours, a flicker of surprise crossing her powder blue eyes before they darken in defense. Her voice is gruff and the clearest it’s been. “You don’t have to.”
You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the heaviness in your chest. "I know I don't have to. I want to."
Vi stares at you for a long moment, her brows downturned in a frown.
With a nonchalant shrug of your shoulder, you attempt to give her an unconcerned glance. “You’ve got two options, gorgeous. A mediocre, semi-warm, semi-soft bed. Or a shitty alley.”
After a moment of contemplation, she nods and leans more of her weight against you. "Lead the way, princess."
The walk to your apartment is slow and unsteady. Vi stumbles more than once, and you have to pause frequently to readjust your grip on her. By the time you reach your door, you're both breathing heavily.
You fumble with your keys, struggling to keep Vi upright with one arm while unlocking the door with the other. Finally, you manage to get inside, kicking the door shut behind you.
Darkness greets you as you stagger into your apartment, wincing when your toe painfully collides with a sharp corner.
Vi chuckles at your soft curse, her breath hot against your neck. "Smooth, princess."
With groping hands, you search for the light switch amidst the darkness and roll your eyes. "Yeah and you’re just the epitome of smooth right now, gorgeous."
With gentle yet confident steps, you guide her further into your apartment. You can't help but feel a little self-conscious about the mess of your home, but you try to push those thoughts aside as you focus on helping Vi.
Entering your bedroom, she suddenly tenses up, her muscles tightening beneath your hands. "Wait," she slurs, trying to pull away. "I can't... I don't have any money on me."
A lump forms in your throat at her words. "Hey, no," you say softly yet firmly, facing her with empathy in your eyes. "This isn't about money, Vi. I'm just trying to help you."
She blinks at you, confusion clear in her bleary eyes. "But… why?"
Swallowing back your own emotions, you choose to ignore her question.
Vi grunts as you guide her to your small bed, her weight nearly pulling you both down. You manage to lower her onto the mattress, where she immediately flops onto her back with a groan.
"Shit, princess," she slurs, throwing an arm over her eyes. "Your place is nicer than mine."
You snort softly, moving to remove her boots. "Doubt that. It's a shithole, but it's home."
Vi props herself up on her elbows, watching you with glossy eyes and she repeats her question. "Why're you doin' this?" she asks, her voice small and uncertain.
You pause, looking up at her. Your throat tightens as you find yourself unable to look away at the raw vulnerability in her stare. "I… maybe I see a little bit of myself in you… and I- I care about you, Vi." You admit hoarsely, the words heavy with truth and emotion. You swallow hard, knowing that you are treading dangerous waters with your confession. Your voice comes out in a low whisper, almost apologetically. "Maybe more than I should."
She stares at you, her brow creasing in confusion and uncertainty. But before she can respond, you quickly rise to your feet, needing to create distance between you both. “The water is lukewarm at best, but there’s a shower through the door.” You offer awkwardly, gesturing towards the bathroom with a trembling hand. You try to compose yourself by smoothing down the wrinkles in your dress.
Turning to leave, you wince at the sound of your own footsteps echoing in the quiet room. Hesitating at the door, you spin back to face her with a soft look, hoping she can see the sincerity in your eyes. “Do- do you think that you’ll need help?” Your words hang heavy in the air.
The brothel was a world of its own, where the air was thick with desire and the walls were lined with secrets. While there was a slight sense of yearning with each lingering caress, every gentle brush of the other’s lips, this is different. This is far more vulnerable and intimate than lust. This would mean more.
You both know that this will change everything.
Vi's eyes soften, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. She swallows hard, her throat bobbing. "I... yeah. I think so." She admits, her voice rough.
You silently nod as you try to process the weight of the trust she's placing in you.
With careful tenderness, you help Vi to her feet and guide her towards the small bathroom. Her eyes remain downcast, refusing to meet yours.
Placing her on the toilet seat, you turn to the bathtub. The sound of rushing water fills the cramped space, bouncing off the tiled walls. Guiding Vi out of her jacket, her muscles tense under your touch but she doesn't pull away. You can see the pain etched on her face as she struggles to hide it.
Taking a deep breath, you fight to keep your expression neutral. Her delicate skin is marred with bruises - some still angry and inflamed, others fading into sickly greens and yellows. Small cuts line her arms, their edges crusted over with dried blood.
Setting aside her jacket, you carefully begin to unroll the bandages on her arms. Each strip reveals more damaged skin underneath. Your heart aches as you run your hands over the tender areas, trying to soothe away some of the hurt. Vi's eyes flutter closed, her tense body slowly relaxing under your gentle touch.
Moving on to the next arm, you continue to remove the bandages with careful precision.
As you step away from her, Vi's hand darts out to grab yours in a desperate hold. Meeting her gaze with a reassuring look, you press your lips to her bruised knuckles before gently laying her hand on her lap. Patting it softly, you slowly move towards the tub and turn off the water.
Licking your dry lips, you lower to your knees. Inhaling, your fingers hover over the bandages on her chest. Despite Vi's nod of approval, your fingers still hesitate as they reach for the bandages. She nods again and raises her arms with a wince.You peel away the gauze slowly.. Each layer falls away, exposing more of her skin. You keep your movements clinical, professional.
Not glancing at her chest, you watch her blue eyes. Searching for any sign of uncomfortability or hesitation.
Giving her a soft smile, you shove the bandages in a small pile and raise your hands to her pants. Your soft voice pierces the peaceful atmosphere. “Think you can help me out?”
Nodding, she grunts with effort as she rises from the toilet. Rising, you help her undo her pants and she steadies herself on your shoulders.
Stepping out her pants, she watches you glance at her from beneath your lashes. Vi feels a discomforting warmth at your care, your softness. Licking her dry lips, her voice comes out raspy in vulnerability that she tries to hide. “If I was sober, princess, I'd be taking you apart right now."
You send her a kind but perceptive look."I know, gorgeous." You murmur, helping her step into the tub. "Let's focus on taking care of you first."
Vi hisses as she sinks into the warm water, her muscles tensing before slowly relaxing. You grab a washcloth and begin to gently clean her wounds, careful not to aggravate the wounds that litter her skin. The washcloth quickly dirties and you grab another.
You bring the fresh cloth to her face and begin to wipe her face free of black grease. Vi watches you with heavy-lidded eyes. "I’m sorry." she slurs, her voice thick with exhaustion and lingering alcohol.
You pause, the washcloth hovering over the VI on her cheek, and meet her guilty eyes. "You have nothing to be sorry for Vi. Not to me."
She shakes her head, as she pulls away from your touch. Drawing her knees to her chest, she wraps her arms around them and turns to face the wall. "I-” Vi chokes out, but stops as sobs wrack through her body.
You can feel tears cloud your eyes and you envelop her in your arms. She quickly shoves her face into your neck and pulls you to her desperately. 
You ignore the material of your shirt sticking to your skin, the smell of sweat and alcohol that still lingers on her skin. Ignore the rim of the tub as it digs into your hips. Ignore the way her nails claw into your skin in anguish.
You hold Vi as she cries, her body shaking with each sob. Your fingers thread through her damp black hair, gently massaging her scalp in an attempt to soothe her. The water sloshes around her as she trembles, but you pay it no mind, focused solely on comforting the broken woman in your arms.
"Shh, I've got you, Vi. You're safe." You murmur softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "I’m here."
Her sobs gradually subside, replaced by shaky breaths and occasional hiccups. She doesn't move from your embrace, her face still buried in the crook of your neck. You can feel her eyelashes flutter against your skin as she blinks away the last of her tears.
"I'm a mess." Vi’s voice is hoarse and muffled against your skin.
You release an understanding breath and speak dryly. “I don’t know anyone who isn’t, gorgeous.”
You part from her and cup her face gently, your thumb tracing the tattoo on her cheek. “Think you can stand, gorgeous.” You nudge your head at the darkened water. “Your skin’s gettin’ wrinkly and I think you need to rinse off again.”
Vi nods weakly, her eyes still red-rimmed and puffy. You help her to her feet, steadying her as she sways slightly. 
The water drains away, grime and blood swirling down. You turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature before guiding Vi under the spray.
You step into the shower and let her lean on you as you run your lathered hands across her skin. Vi stands still, allowing you to care for her.
You can feel how exhausted she is as she presses into you. Her hands loosely wrapped around your hips.
Humming, you tap her back and tenderly remove her face from your neck. Her long lashes brush her cheeks as she closes her eyes. Your soft fingers rub any remnants of grime and makeup from her face.
Vi leans into your touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips as you scrub the soap through her hair. She releases a hushed breath as your fingers comb over her head, savoring the feeling of your hands massaging gentle circles on her scalp. The warm water cascades over both of you, steam rising around your bodies. 
"Feels nice." She murmurs, her voice barely audible over the sound of running water.
Your lips twitch into a small smile as you continue your ministrations. "Good. You deserve to feel nice, Vi."
Her eyes flutter open at that, meeting yours with a mixture of vulnerability and uncertainty. You hold her gaze, your fingers still working through her hair.
"Do I?" she asks, her voice small and hesitant.
Your heart clenches at the doubt in her voice. "You do.” Smoothing your hands across her face, you push her head back and rinse her hair. “Wash yourself and then we’ll be all done, gorgeous.”
Vi nods slowly, her movements still unsteady as she begins to wash her intimate areas. You keep a supportive hand on her waist, ready to catch her if she stumbles. As she finishes, you turn off the water and reach for a towel.
Wrapping the towel around her, you help Vi step out of the shower. Exhaustion is evident in every line of her body and you dry her to the best of your ability. Your clothes and hair leave a trail of water as you guide her back to the bedroom, sitting her on the edge of the bed.
"Wait here," you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'll get you something to wear."
You rummage through your drawers, pulling out an oversized t-shirt and a pair of soft shorts. When you turn back, Vi is slumped forward, her eyes closed and her breathing shallow.
Touching her shoulder, you gather the shirt in your arms and stretch the collar over her head. Vi lazily helps you put her arms through the shirt and you bend to drag the shorts up her legs.
Vi's eyelids flutter, her gaze unfocused as you finish dressing her. She mumbles something incoherent, her head lolling forward. You catch her gently, easing her back onto the bed.
"Easy there, gorgeous," you murmur, brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead.
You maneuver her under the covers, tucking them around her body. Vi burrows into the pillow, her eyes already closed. You stand there for a moment, watching the rise and fall of her chest, feeling a wave of protectiveness wash over you.
Sighing softly, you turn to leave, but a hand shoots out from under the covers, grasping weakly at your wrist.
"Stay," Vi mumbles, her eyes cracking open just enough to meet yours. "Please."
Your heart stutters in your chest. You know you shouldn't. But the vulnerability in her gaze, the need in her voice, makes your resolve crumble.
"Okay." You whisper back. "Just let me change and I’ll be right-”
Her blue eyes shoot open and her grip grows tighter. “Please don’t leave.”
You waver and lick your lips in resignation, nodding. Gently untangling her grip on your hand, she watches you go to your dresser and pull out another pair of clothes.
She calms as you quickly change and climb into bed behind her.
Vi immediately turns and burrows into your chest, her arms wrapping tightly around your waist. You can feel her breath hot against your collarbone, her body trembling slightly.
"I've got you. I’m here," you murmur, running your fingers through her damp hair.
She nods against your chest. You can feel the tension slowly leaving her body as you continue to stroke her hair, humming softly under your breath.
The room falls silent save for the sound of your quiet humming and Vi's steadying breaths.
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jjenthusee · 1 day ago
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Where We Are
Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader
A/N: honestly this has been marinating in my mind for a while because a while ago I saw @sunnie-angel post this small writing (linked here) and I wanted to write something for it, but I haven’t gotten to sit down and complete something :( BUT i finally sat down and wrote because i needed something as a break from my end of semester stress from school :D i would also recommend reading the linked post first so it gives some context and insight to why i was so drawn to it and how it heavily inspired this fic. ENJOY and like, comment if your comfortable 💐
Summary: How do you live with the memories of Jason after his death as Robin?
Tags: AAAANGST, have a nice day :)
Word Count: 1.6k
A boy.
Full of so much life and raw emotion, who stood against the worst of Gotham.
He saw so much of its poison. It struck him, filled his veins, but he fought every day against the pain. Only when he finally left did Gotham return its thanks.
Everyday was torture. The memorials, the photographs, the graffiti. Streets littered with “We remember you.” Every waking second was a reminder that he was gone.
No more late night chats, meeting at the library, leaning against his shoulder.
You can still taste the bile that consumed your throat when you opened your door to Alfred standing there with the most chilling expression. Once he said your name in such a matter-of-fact tone, you knew. Your heart ached the same way it did when your thoughts brought you back to your worst fears, maybe it ached worse but that memory is buried in the back of your mind.
You slammed the door on Alfred. Grabbing your phone, calling one of the most recent phone numbers in your call history. It rang and rang. Nothing.
You left voicemail after voicemail. Begging, yelling, crying into the ending message to pick up.
You couldn’t walk down the road that led to the same library you spent all summer with him. The humid air beating down on you before the air conditioning sent a chill down your back. Scanning your library cards, returning books, letting Jason give you recommendations.
The memory made your eyes water.
You did everything to avoid it all.
Taking the longer path to school, playing music in your ears loud enough to drown out the passerby’s conversations about how tragic such a thing could happen to a young boy, avoiding any sort of color that matched the suit he was so proud of.
The same one that took him.
The more you avoided, the more the image of him chased you. Billboards, coffee cups, baseball caps. Robin was everywhere.
Until you saw a memorial video that some Gothamite made on social media.
It broke you one more time.
You screamed and screamed until your voice couldn’t. He was gone. Your Jason was truly gone.
You couldn’t get mad at him cheating at board games, you wouldn’t hear his laugh, no more asking him to drop off food while he was on patrol.
The world took the other half that completed you.
When the pain numbed out and you felt the guilt of your actions, you apologized to Alfred. You got back on track for school, the world wasn’t better, but it didn’t weigh on you as much.
You finally took a walk down the road you didn’t dare look down. You held your breath when you crossed over the invisible line, taking you down a familiar path, but with only one pair of shoes on the sidewalk this time.
You walked with your hands clenched, before you found yourself in front of one of the small memorial stands. A tiny Robin keychain stared back at you. You paid the seller with cash and continued on your walk.
The air hung heavy in your lungs as you stopped. Coming face to face with Jason’s favorite gargoyle that sat in front of the library steps. You fought the tears with lowered eyebrows and a stiff expression to place the key chain on the base of the statue. You grabbed a permanent marker out of your bag to write in big bold letters, “We Remember You.”
It was sloppy writing, but it captured your unrelenting, unapologetic emotions that Jason had always told you was why he loved being your friend.
As the weeks went by, more tiny Robins appeared on the gargoyle. Flowers were placed and you finally listened to the city mourn your friend.
Eventually you graduated, took a job at the library because you didn’t know anything about your future into being a young adult. Life was simple, it was enough.
You finally felt some stability on the anniversary of Jason’s death before you heard talk of a new Robin. That a replacement had been made.
You were at a rage again.
When times were too tough or when you just didn’t know how to handle yourself, you called Jason’s phone. Leaving voicemails admitting how much you missed him, how mad you were that he couldn’t even wait until you were able to beat how many books he checked out at the library, now it wasn’t fair to continue the competition by yourself. How mad you were that they didn’t retire the Robin suit after he sacrificed everything for it.
You didn’t even question how his phone line was still running as long as you could leave more voicemails.
When your rage started to cool, you joined Alfred one morning while the cold air chilled your face. Alfred handed you a hot tea that you refused to take, but Alfred always managed to get his way. It brought a smile to your face when you realized Jason used to do the same thing.
You walked with him down your familiar path to work. Before Alfred could say anything, your body unconsciously walked up to a new park bench. It wasn’t worn, but freshly placed with a shiny plaque that you couldn’t move your eyes from.
“In memory of Jason Todd-Wayne, a son who is loved as much as he loved books.” You quietly read.
You couldn’t move. You didn’t say anything to Alfred as he handed you a handkerchief when you felt the tears drop down your chin. The two of you just stood there, admiring the wood, the brass, and the memories.
When Alfred said his goodbyes, you stayed there. Afraid to sit down, but afraid to leave.
You spent the following anniversary standing next to the bench, next to the one place that was so precious to your childhood. The fear prevented you from taking a seat.
By the next anniversary, you managed to sit on the bench. Alfred visited again, shining the plaque and wiping down the park bench. You didn’t say much, but it was comfortable and breathing wasn’t that difficult that year.
By the most recent anniversary, you were starting to spend every important milestone at Jason’s bench. When you got your degree in library science, you sat with your cap and gown. When you got a job promotion at the library, you came to sit and watch the sunset.
Life was content as you passed Jason’s bench and gargoyle on your way to and from work. It was a part of you.
One late night as you locked up the library, making sure all the part-timers and volunteers made their way out safely and secured the doors, you said goodbye to your coworkers as you made your way down the worn steps.
Your feet ached from the new shoes that didn’t support you enough, but your walk back to your apartment would be short to endure the pain. The fatigue could wait until you walked through the front door.
You trudged through the familiar path, passing the same trees, shops, gargoyle. Fifteen paces, another thirty, but you couldn’t continue to count your steps when you saw someone facing Jason’s bench.
A tall man, large build, covered in a large hoodie with the hood raised. Only a couple strands of hair stuck out the opening, but you couldn’t see a clear face.
It was eerie how still the figure was, the small fog of breaths were the only indicator that the person was living.
You quickly moved to the edge of the sidewalk as you distanced yourself from the large man. You held your breath as you briskly walked passed, but a small ache hit your chest. A tiny feeling, so minuscule that you tried to talk yourself into not looking back.
Why would you do that late at night in Gotham?
Two paces, five paces. You paused and turned your head over your shoulder.
They were gone. Only a clear yellow street light shining down on Jason’s bench.
Weird.
But you weren’t going to find out what that was. You paced back to your apartment, throwing your jacket off, letting your aching muscles relax on the couch. You sighed as you couldn’t get the figure out of your head.
By the morning, you woke up early to get some breakfast on your way to work. A quick drink and some food to help give you some energy. You said ‘Good morning’ to the owners, passed by other early commuters.
You held your warm drink, breathing in morning air and taking your breakfast to-go, until you sat at Jason’s bench. It had been a while since you got to enjoy a meal there.
You sat, listening to the birds, seeing morning joggers pass, kids making their way to school, and you finished your meal. You got up to throw your trash away and took one last glance at the plaque.
You memorized the phrase engraved on there, but still took the time to read through every word. You took your hand out of your warm jacket pocket and felt your hand graze over the cold brass, your fingers feeling the grooves and the strict maintenance courtesy of Alfred.
In one last sigh, you turned to get to work, tapping the base of the gargoyle before the steps, happily humming to the calm start to your morning. Then another ache hit you just before your last step.
You turned around, but all the people hanging around the block were further away, enjoying the company of others or taking a stroll. You glanced around, unsure of what you were looking for.
But your search was interrupted by the cheerful voice of your coworker making his way up the steps.
You pushed down the feeling of the unknown, but some days you always felt like maybe Jason was with you, maybe from his bench built in his memory or the fact that this place was important to the two of you, but you always knew you were going to carry a portion of Jason with you.
In some comforting way, you told yourself that maybe your Jason never left.
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niteskysx · 3 days ago
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Stepbro! Nicholas Chavez x reader (one shot fic kinda?, established relationship)
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As per your usual evening routine, you’re sitting on the couch with a textbook open on your lap, trying to lose yourself in your studies. Eventually, you hear footsteps—heavy, purposeful—and before you even look up, you know it’s Nick.
He stands in front of you, arms crossed, his jaw set in a tense line. There’s a hardness in his eyes, something you haven’t seen before. You hesitate to ask, but you do it anyway. Can’t hurt, can it?
“Rough day?” you ask softly, trying to ease the tension with a small, nervous smile.
Nick doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he drops down beside you on the couch, much closer than he usually does. “You could say that,” he mutters, his tone sharper than usual. He runs a hand through his hair and leans back, his gaze drifting over you slowly, intently. “Think you could help make it better?”
And there it was.
Your throat tightens, but you manage a small nod. “How… how can I help?”
He raises an eyebrow, almost amused by your innocence. “Just… be here with me.”
His hand moves to rest on your knee, his thumb slowly tracing circles against the fabric of your jeans, sending a shivers down your back.
You feel that familiar touch on you, whenever he “needs” you. “I-I’m here,” you whisper, glancing down, unable to meet his eyes.
“Good,” Nick murmurs, his hand moving up just a bit, his fingers grazing your thigh. “Because I need a distraction. He leans in, his voice softening as he leans in closer to you. “Think you can keep me company tonight?”
You take a shaky breath, mustering up the courage to speak. “Nick… maybe tonight isn’t the best time. I really need to focus on my studies,” you say, forcing a gentle smile, hoping he’ll take the hint and let you go.
Nick leans closer, his voice soft but insistent. “C’mon. Just a few minutes. You don’t have to study all night, do you?” He slides his hand just a little higher as he gives you a faint, almost pleading smile.
You swallow, feeling trapped under his stare. “I… I really can’t, Nick.” you stammer, trying to pull your thoughts together, to say something that might sway him.
Nick’s narrow at your hesitation, and his expression shifts into one of frustration. He lets out a sharp breath, his hand leaving your thigh abruptly. “Fine. Whatever,” he mutters, his voice edged with annoyance. He pushes himself up from the couch, giving you one last hard look before turning on his heel.
Ten minutes flew by.
You had been sitting there in silence for ten whole minutes and you know you should be getting back to your studying but you couldn’t…. He just seemed so mad and you didn’t want him to mad at you. Why did it bother you so much?
You couldn’t figure out why you felt this way, especially considering the amount of stress this man gives you— Sneaking around the house, him finding new ways to “torture” you or pleasure you— depending on what his mood is, making sure no one sees you two together, especially your mom and stepdad.
Before you know it, you found yourself standing outside his door, hesitant. Part of you wants to turn back, but another part of you is telling you to knock on that door.
God, has he completely corrupted you?
Your trembling hands manage to knock lightly on the door, and after a moment, you hear his voice from the other side. “Yeah?”
Slowly, you push the door open, peeking in to see him lying on his bed, playing with a baseball ball by himself, with his gaze fixed on the ceiling. He doesn’t look at you, but you can tell by the way his jaw tightens that he knows it’s you.
“Hey… I just wanted to check on you,” you say softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind you.
He finally turns his head to look at you, his expression unreadable. “Why? Thought you were too busy,” he says, his tone a mix of bitterness and something else—something that makes your heart race.
You take a hesitant step forward. “I… I’m sorry if I upset you. I just really needed to study, that’s all.”
Nick sits up slowly, his gaze locking onto yours. “Yeah? And what about now? Suddenly have time for me?”
He sounds mad, but still manages a slight smirk on his face.
You take a seat next to him on the bed.
“I just… didn’t want you to be upset,” you mumble, looking down at your hands.
He scoots in closer to you, closing the space between you and him. “So, you’re here to make it up to me, then?” he asks, his voice dropping to a low murmur.
You swallow hard, trying to steady yourself. “What? I-I didn’t mean—”
But he doesn’t let you finish. He leans in even closer than before, with his hand resting on your knee and his face mere inches from yours. You can feel the warmth of his breath hitting your face. “I think you did,” he murmurs, his hand moving to rest on your hips, pulling you just a little closer. “So… make it up to me, then.”
(I WANNA CONTINUE THIS BUT I HAVE NO IDEAS!! 😭 SO IF YOU LIKE THIS SHITTY PIECE AND HAVE IDEAS FOR TO CONTINUE IT LOL PLS LMK OKAYY ILYY 🤍)
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metallicames · 3 days ago
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New fic with 2000's James! Hope you like it 🥰
@nausicaamusiclover20 you for the perfect translation❣️
I missed you
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Description: You and James had a baby two months ago, you're slowly getting back into your routine and you feel the need to start making love with James again and it seems almost like the first time.
WARNINGS: smut, explicit content, sex, oral sex, dirty talking.
Two months have passed since Elijah was born—two difficult, but at the same time, beautiful and intense months. James has proven to be an amazing father. Since he got sober, he feels like a different person—caring, attentive, present, and reliable. I find myself falling even more in love with him. Slowly, I'm getting back into my routine. It feels good to focus on myself again, but part of me still aches every time I leave Elijah. I never thought I'd be the kind of mom who struggles with being apart from her baby, but every time I head to the gym or prepare for my upcoming runway show, there's a knot in my stomach. I’m so proud of what I do, but I can't help but feel torn.
In three months, I have a big runway show, and I've started going to the gym again. Today is one of those days, and I’m heading home after my workout, eager to see Elijah and James again.
I push the door open, the familiar scent of home welcoming me. I can already hear the soft hum of James's guitar drifting down the hallway. My heart skips a beat, and I find myself walking toward Elijah’s room almost instinctively.
When I step inside, I pause, watching them. James is sitting in the armchair by the crib, guitar in hand, his strong fingers gently strumming a slow, peaceful melody. Elijah is peacefully asleep in his crib, his tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm with the song. I can’t help but smile, my chest swelling with love.
James’s presence is such a contrast to the serene room around Elijah. His broad shoulders and tattooed arms look so out of place here, surrounded by the soft colors and delicate decor, but somehow, it makes everything feel even more right. He looks so relaxed, so at peace. It’s as if the world outside doesn’t exist in these moments, and all that matters is the tiny soul asleep in the crib and the man playing music to him.
I stay still, watching them, my heart full. It’s been months since we’ve had time alone, and I can feel the distance between us melting away, the desire for him creeping back in. But there's also something else—a sense of longing for the connection we've both been craving. It’s been so long since we've had time to ourselves, just the two of us.
I bite my lip, torn between my love for Elijah and the pull of James. I’m not sure I’m ready for everything to change, but seeing him like this, so attentive, so gentle—it stirs something deep inside me.
Finally, I take a step closer, my footsteps soft on the carpet, and I lean in to kiss the top of Elijah's head before turning my attention to James.
“You’re always full of surprises,” I whisper, my voice soft, teasing.
“I thought I’d try something different today,” he says with a grin, putting the guitar down gently. “Elijah seemed to like it.”
I smile, my heart melting. I lean in, letting my fingers brush against his, a small touch that sends warmth through me. “He did. I think he’s just as in love with you as I am.”
James’s hand tightens around mine, pulling me in closer. For a moment, it’s just us, standing there in the quiet of the nursery, the world outside forgotten.
A shiver runs down my spine. It’s been months since we’ve touched, and I can feel the longing desire  inside me. The distance between us has become unbearable, and I know it’s finally time to reconnect, to feel his touch again, to make love.
I watch Elijah sleeping peacefully in his crib, careful not to disturb him. I don’t dare touch him, not wanting to wake him up. My heart is racing as I turn toward James, and I can’t help but move toward him. I reach up and run my fingers through his short, tousled hair, the touch soft and gentle, before pressing my lips to his in a slow kiss. I pull away slowly, my gaze locking with his, and then kiss him again, this time deepening it, my tongue slipping past his lips with a careful, lingering motion.
His hand moves to my face, cupping my jaw and the side of my neck. His grip is firm, but there’s tenderness in the way he holds me, his fingers pressing slightly against my skin. He tightens his hold just a little, sending a shiver through my body.
"I want you..." I whisper, my voice breathless as my lips hover close to his ear.
I feel him stiffen slightly, his gaze lighting up with a fire that matches my own. He had promised to wait for me, to wait until I was ready. I know he’s been patient, but I can see in his eyes the same longing that’s been growing inside me. The months of silence, of distance—it’s been agony for both of us.
"Are you ready?" he asks, his voice low and full of concern, but there's a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes search mine, making sure I’m comfortable, that this is what I really want. "Do you feel okay?"
I meet his gaze, nodding softly. "I’m ready," I whisper. "I feel… right with you."
His smirk deepens, and he nods, his eyes darkening with approval. Then, as if to answer my unspoken invitation, he leans in and kisses me again, this time with more urgency. The kiss starts slow, sweet, but quickly becomes more passionate, his lips moving against mine with a deep hunger. His hands roam to my back, pulling me closer, the heat between us building as we kiss.
After a few moments, I pull back just enough to breathe, my chest rising and falling rapidly. My fingers trail down his chest, and I look up at him with a small smile. "Let’s go to the bedroom, "I suggest, my voice thick with desire.
He gives me a slight nod, but I hesitate, glancing back toward Elijah. "Wait" I say, stepping back for a moment. I grab the walkie-talkie from the shelf by the door and hand it to him. "Just in case he wakes up…"
James takes the walkie-talkie with a smirk still playing on his lips, his eyes locked on mine. "We’ll be quick" he says, the teasing tone in his voice making it clear he's eager, but patient.
I feel strangely nervous, almost as if it’s the first time. Maybe it’s the fear that something has changed, that it won’t be the same as before. If that’s the case, it would hit me hard because making love with James has always been one of the things I love most in the world. I try to hide the anxiety by kissing him hungrily, my hands finding their way to his chest, slipping under his shirt. The warmth of his toned chest makes me crave him even more.
As we move toward the bedroom, my heart is pounding in my chest. I try to push away the doubts creeping in—wondering if everything will be as it once was. What if things have changed? What if the passion we shared is gone, lost in the months of silence and distance? The thought makes me uneasy, but I try to shove it aside, focusing instead on the feel of his lips on mine, the warmth of his body against mine. I don’t want to think about anything else right now—just him.
James pushes me gently toward the bed, and I sit down, looking up at him. I can see the hunger in his eyes, the same fire that’s burning in me. Without breaking eye contact, I reach down to undo his belt, biting my lower lip as I pull at the buckle, feeling the tension build with every second.
"How badly do you want it?" he asks, his voice teasing, but laced with desire.
"Too much..." I answer, my hands pulling down the zipper of his jeans, my breath quickening with anticipation.
I pull down his pants and boxers, my gaze lingering on him for a moment. I can feel the weight of his eyes on me, and the air between us feels thick with desire. I can’t resist reaching out, my hands trembling slightly as I take his dick, slowly stroking it while I licked it, waching him intensely. His hand comes to the back of my head, gently guiding me closer. His breath quickens, and I can hear the low sounds of his pleasure. I take my time, moving deliberately, savoring the moment, savoring him.
"Stop…" he whispers, his voice rough. "I’m already close..."
I slow down, feeling the change in the air between us. I pull back just a little, giving him space to breathe, to collect himself. My fingers brush my lips, and I look at him, my chest rising and falling with each breath.  His eyes are dark, deep, full of desire. He pulls off my shirt, and for a moment, I feel exposed and vulnerable. My body has changed—my breasts are fuller from breastfeeding—and although I’ve almost regained my shape, I still don’t feel completely at ease. But when I see the way he looks at me, I feel a shiver run through me. His gaze moves slowly over every inch of my body, as if he’s memorizing me, in awe of the way I’ve changed.
He unhooked my bra while kissing me with slow, passionate intensity. The bra falls to the floor, and with one hand, he gently touches my breast. He knows I’m sensitive, so he’s careful, making sure his touch is soft, almost reverent. His fingers leave a trail of warmth that makes my head spin. I want him so much, more than I can put into words. I could throw myself at him in an instant, but he holds back, wanting to take his time, wanting to be gentle with me. His care only makes me want him more.
I lie back, pulling him down toward me, kissing him with a hunger I can’t suppress. I bite his lips softly, savoring every moment, intoxicated by his scent, his warmth. It’s like everything around us fades away, and I’m lost in him.
James pulls back just slightly, his eyes searching mine before he carefully pulls off my jeans and panties, his touch never rushing, always slow and deliberate. 
"You're beautiful... like a goddess," he says, his voice almost breathless. His compliment makes me blush, and I look at him, pleased, as I whisper, "Come here."
He quickly pulls off his shirt, his eyes never leaving mine. The intensity between us grows, and I feel a spark of anticipation.
His hand moves slowly toward my body,  touching my clit, sending a wave of pleasure through me. I arch my back instinctively, the pleasure building with every soft, deliberate touch. He kisses my chest, taking his time, pressing his face into me as if savoring every moment. His movements are slow, thoughtful, as though he’s memorizing each of my reactions.
I can feel myself becoming restless, my body craving more. It’s like a fire burning in me, one I can’t control.
"James, please... I need you," I say, my voice tinged with desperation, my body responding to his touch, moving beneath him.
He looks at me with a smile, positioning himself between us, his gaze full of longing. As he kisses me, he slowly pushes himself into me and I feel a rush of warmth and closeness. My breath catches in my throat, and I can’t make a sound, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. I open my mouth slightly, a deep sigh escaping as I hold him closer, feeling his arms enveloping me.
“God... I’ve missed you so much,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice thick with emotion. I feel the weight of his body above me, the pressure grounding me, but there’s something comforting in it—like we’re both exactly where we’re meant to be. But it becomes more passionate as I feel his lower abdomen rubbing in my clit at every thrust.  and I can’t help but respond to him, my hands gripping his back, my body aching to feel every part of him.
I know he’s holding back, trying not to rush, making sure I’m okay, and it makes me crave him more. I whisper his name, urging him on, knowing that right now, we both need this—need each other.
“Harder… James… give it to me harder,” I urge, my voice trembling with desire.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you,” he asks, concerned in his voice.
Without saying a word, I place my hand on his butt, guiding him closer to me, urging him deeper. He understands the message  and his arms move around me, pulling me in, his hands gently supporting the back of my head. He begins to thrust harder, with a new intensity, each motion slow but deep, bringing a wave of pleasure with every thrust. I let myself fully surrender to the sensation, each movement leaving me breathless. 
James is completely immersed in the moment now. His lips leave mine, his forehead resting softly against my shoulder as he continues thrusting, as though nothing else matters but the connection between us. I can feel him shaking, his breath quickening, and the way his body reacts tells me everything I need to know.
“Keep going,” I whisper, lost in the feeling of him, feeling the intensity building between us.
He reaches the peak, pulling away and leaning over me, his breath shallow as he cums all over my body, his expression of pleasure sending a rush of excitement through me. The warmth of him leaves me breathless, and his uneven breaths only heighten the intensity of the moment, sending me into a daze of sensation.
"I love you..." I whisper softly.
"I love you too, Y/N..." he responds, his breath heavy.
I look down at my abdomen and burst into laughter.
"Oops..." he says, laughing as he runs a hand through his hair.
He gets up and heads to the bathroom. When he returns, he has a damp towel, and he gently wipes it over my body, the sensation soothing. As he reaches my lower abdomen, I realize I still crave him. I want to feel more. As he moves the towel down, he pauses at my lower abdomen, almost as if he can read my thoughts. He starts kissing me, moving lower, and suddenly a wave of anxiety hits me. I’m afraid my body isn’t the same, that he won’t find me attractive anymore. Instinctively, I close my legs.
He looks at me, confusion in his eyes. "Hey... it’s me."
"I know, but..." I trail off, unsure of how to explain.
"You're perfect... relax," he says, his tone soft and reassuring as he continues to kiss me gently.
I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, feeling him gently part my legs, kissing my clit. Slowly, I start to relax, and I realize my fears were unfounded. He loves my body just as much, if not more, than before. From this moment, his mouth and tongue move with perfect rhythm, knowing exactly how to stimulate every right spot. I know he loves giving me pleasure, and I can tell he would never stop. As he picks up the pace, a wave of shivers runs through my body, almost like an electric shock with every touch.
"Oh my God, James... you’re going to make me c..." I gasp, my hand tangled in his hair as I start trembling beneath him.
From time to time, he lets out a low, almost primal groan, sending another jolt of pleasure through me, making the sensation even more intense. At one point, he takes my ankle and places my foot on his shoulder, and I raise the other one to mirror the position, giving him more room to move. He kisses deeper, the sensation of his touch making me dizzy. His intensity drives me wild, and I can feel how deeply he desires me, how every action, every movement reminds me that I belong to him.
I can no longer control my moans, my body trembling with each wave of sensation. I arch my back, turning my head back as the pleasure builds. Just before reaching the edge, I glance down, seeing James, his skin glistening with sweat, completely naked between my legs. The sight of him, the way he moves against the mattress, only intensifies the feeling.
"J-Jamie... oh my God... I’m... I’m coming," I gasp, my body contorting as I grip the pillow with one hand. He wraps his arm around my leg, and with the final movements, he brings me to a powerful, overwhelming release. It’s intense, freeing, and everything I’ve been craving.
The sensation is so overwhelming and prolonged that I can barely catch my breath. I loosen my grip on his hair, and I notice that he’s still grinding against the mattress, his face so close to me. His soft groans soon give way to his own exhaustion, and he finally stills, breathing heavily. 
"Jesus Christ!" he exclaims, almost breathless.
"What happened?" you ask, amused, as you run your fingers through his hair and pull your feet off his shoulders.
"It’s that I... I came while I was eating you out . This is the effect you have on me," he says, his head resting on your lower abdomen, his breathing heavy and irregular. You smile, gently stroking his temple. He slowly sits up and lies next to you. You turn onto your side to watch him, admiring him quietly.
"Never doubt your body again, understood?" His voice is firm, his gaze intense, almost as if he's trying to make me believe in myself just as much as he believes in me.
I nod, my heart racing, and lean in to kiss him. The moment our lips touch, I feel a tear escape, rolling down my cheek.
He pulls away just enough to look at me, his expression filled with concern. "Why are you crying now?"
I try to steady my breath, the emotions swirling within me. "I don’t know... it's just... I’ve missed you so much, and with everything... my hormones are all over the place. There’s just so much I feel... I can’t even explain it all," I confess, my voice trembling with vulnerability.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he gently pulls me closer, wrapping his arms tightly around me, as if trying to protect me from all the worries I’ve been carrying. His warmth grounds me, and I can’t help but close my eyes and bury my face in the crook of his neck.
He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, and I feel his chest rise and fall as he inhales deeply. “I love you,” he whispers, the words coming so naturally, like they’re the most important thing he’s ever said.
I melt into his embrace, feeling his arms around me, holding me in a way that tells me I’m safe. The steady beat of his heart beneath my ear calms the storm inside me, and for a moment, everything feels right.
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freshxsturniolo · 3 days ago
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PART TWO FIC FOR 'texts with chris'
part one here - thank you for all the love and all the requests for a part two. i hope this is okay!
if this was anyone else, you'd have even straight out of bed, rummaging to find a cute but chilled outfit and slap on a bit of make up. but the fact you stayed lay in bed, a smile on your face and your heart racing told you everything you need to know.
you could not ignore the feelings that chris gave you anymore. you had dreamed of moments like this. moments where chris felt the same. moments where you weren't just his friend but something more. because deep down you knew it. you knew there was a special connection between the both of you. it had been there for so long. so many months.
when you finally decide to get out of bed and look at yourself in the mirror, the door rings. and it takes you no time to rush out of your bedroom, out into the kitchen and living area, before passing through the hallway and opening your apartment door.
"its fucking freezing" where the first words he uttered. and you felt relief. this wasn't awkward. of course it wasn't. this was chris. feelings or no feelings, this was still chris.
you roll your eyes as you open the door wider and then step back to let him inside.
"did you not think to maybe get changed?" you say, as he enters in nothing but some fresh love pants and a t-shirt. you brush past him as you go to re-shut and lock the door. when you turn back around, he's already making his way into the living area.
"i got too excited." he says, and as you enter the living area behind him, he finally turns to look at you. his eyes scan you. not in a strange or sexual way, more in an observant way. a familiar way. a small smile playing on his lips as he takes in your pjamama pants and hoodie. you pull the sleeves over your hands, suddenly feeling the cold thats been let in from opening the door, and he watches as you do so. all the while your eyes have stayed on his, following his own. and when he finally looks back at you, you laugh. you can't help it. and he laughs with you.
"come here, please" he says. and he hardly finishes the sentence before you're in front of him, arms flung around his neck, as he arms grab your back and pull you into him. you smell his aftershave. you smell the fresh washing powder on his clothes. you smell his shampoo. and you let out a breath of relief. you had hugged him a million times before, but this. this felt like everything you had wanted it to be.
"you're so warm." he whispers into your neck, and you can't stop the laugh that escapes you as you finally pull away, his arms staying wrapped around you but naturally following your body as your pull away as your hands travel down his arms, and its not even a second thought before you both grab hold of each others hands.
"still wanna go and get slurpees?" you raise an eyebrow, already knowing the answer.
"i mean, if you want to. but-" and then he pauses. his eyes going straight to your bedroom. you raise your eyebrow higher, a smirk coming over your face now.
"but?" you press.
"that bed of yours looks really warm."
you shrug. "it is."
now he raises his eyebrows, a smirk playing on his lips. and you can't even pretend. you can't even act shy. or flirt. whichever one it is you should probably do with a boy who's come round to your house in the dead of the night. you simple grip his left hand tighter, pulling him with you as you make your way to your bedroom.
but it takes him all of 2 seconds before he lets go of your hand, wrapping his arms around your waist form behind as he rests his chin on your shoulder, pushing your both forward. you let out a laugh as you lean your head to the side so that you're cheek to cheek, your hands coming up to his arms that are now snaked around your waist. his arms so cold from the travel.
but when you reach your room final, its like an automatic reaction to turn around in his grip, bringing your arms around his neck once more. his eyes divert to your lips, and yours to his, and you place yourself. but he speaks first.
"where you serious? when you said you were thinking of me?" he asks, his thumb rubbing against your back. you smile.
"yes."
"seriously? because i don't want to push you to anything you're not comfortable with-"
"chris" you stop him. and he hums a small yes. "just kiss me, please."
and he doesn't need to be told twice. his hands come up to the bass of your neck, and his cold lips are on yours. you gasps slightly, before falling into his touch. a deep kiss at first that become soft. gentle. a smile.
"i've been wanting to do that for months" he says into your lips, before kissing them again. you chuckle, pulling away only slightly. "me too."
you kiss again, a slight peck, before he squeezes the base of your neck and pulls away, wasting no time before he walks over to your bed, immediately getting under the duvet, moving himself up the side that you clearly hadn't been sleeping on before.
"i don't want a slurpee but i do wanna fall asleep with you." he says, and your eyes quickly divert to the alarm clock at the side of your bed. its almost 4am.
"movie?" you ask, and his head turns to the tv on the wall. he mulls it over for a second before holding out his arms.
"no. talk to me. let me hold you and listen to you."
you can't help the groan that escapes your lips. the cuteness aggression was real, and chris chuckles as you finally get into bed at the side of him, arms wrapping around you tightly as you automatically lay your head on his chest.
and you do exactly as he says. you talk. you chat. you shovel closer to him. you wrap your arms around him. your legs. he does the same back. you've been in a 100 different positions by the time your eyes finally start to droop and the sun starts shining through the curtains.
when you hear chris' breath start to alter, you turn around slowly in his grip. you've been facing each other for the last 15 minutes, your hands stroking his face and his arm draped over you. but at the same time you shift, his phone pings at the side of him. the noise and your movement startle him, and he looks around quickly before his eyes divert to yours. a soft smile escapes him as he shuffles his head back into the pillow. you smile, twisting around to face the other way but shuffling yourself closer to him, his arm wrapping around you instantly and dragging you backwards into him.
"dreamt of this." his sleepy hoarse voice mumbles into the skin of your back before he presses his lips to your shoulder blade. your skin shivers, in nothing but a positive way. but his phone pings again. and then again.
"oh fuck" chris grumbles, and your eyes instantly widen. heart in your throat. your mind telling you a hundred different scenarios at once.
"you okay?" you ask, and you feel him shuffle himself around so he can grab his phone.
you can’t help yourself. you turn back around, propping yourself up onto your elbow as you watch him scan his phone. he opens it up, reads the messages that have pinged through, and then he looks straight at you.
“you ready to tell my brothers, or you want me to lie? cause nicks blowing up my phone asking where i am.”
a relief floods over you as you realise it’s nick, your best friend. chris brother. but then you screw up your face.
“ready to tell him what?”
“that you’re my girl.” chris says. so calm. so cool. be fingers hoovering over his phone read to send a reply. you look from his phone to him, your stomach doing somersaults, your mind running in a hundred different directions. but you can’t help the smirk that over comes your face. the blush that appears on your face.
“your girl?” you ask. trying to play it cool. but he saw your smirk. saw your blush. and you watch as he types out the message to nick. watch as he tells him where he is.
after he presses send, he turns his phone on silent and throws it back onto the bedside table, before he joins you in your propped up position.
“yes.” he says, edging close to you. “my girl.”
“your girl.” your confirm.
your lips are entwined. your hands are roaming. your bodies are pressed together. your phones, vibrating either side of you go ignored and suddenly, sleep is the last thing on your mind.
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saltnsugarbear · 3 days ago
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Lip with “Fuck, wait — shit. Mm— fuck. Wh-where did you learn to do that?” “Well, the noises you make are a pretty good indication of how you like it.” “…God you sound so fucking cocky right now and it’s turning me on even more.” 
so like on the low i ate this up
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word count: 1.0k
content warnings: KAREN SLANDER IM SO SORRY (I don't like her but I hate slut shaming more) they don't enthusiastically consent but they're both into it I'm sorry 😔, so ig dubcon, oral (m!receiving) (don't ask for this ever again), Lip is kind of mean (the voices olive got to me on that one)
side note: don't expect any bj fics again cause I hate the idea of giving men head SORRY also I like triggered my own life apocalypse (got sick at work, power went out, etc)
come celebrate!
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One of Lip's favorite things about you is your competitive nature. Not that he'd ever say that out loud, but it's one of the things that endeared him to you.
It made him like pushing your buttons even more.
So complaining while you actually work on your group project is the perfect way to annoy you today. However you've stopped paying him any mind, about three minutes into his griping. So he tries a new approach.
Bringing up his most recent conquests. So obviously that means he feels the need to mention Karen.
And the fact that instead of being tutored, she gave Lip head instead. The story makes you roll your eyes, shaking your head when he comments that it's probably the best blowjob he's ever gotten.
"It could not have been that good.." You scoff, trying to focus on finishing the sentence you're writing. "Actually, I take that back. Given how big of a slut she is, she's probably had plenty of practice."
"Oh fuck you-" Lip starts.
"Am I wrong?" You challenge him quickly, glaring up from your page.
"You're just pissed off you're not getting any." He sneers. You roll your eyes, you're not having this conversation with him.
Lip takes your silence as agreement, snickering lightly. "No wonder you're so uptight, you're not getting laid."
You have to bite your tongue to keep from retorting. He's fucking insufferable.
"Everything makes so much more sense now. Because I kept asking myself, y'know, why you're such a bitch. But it makes sense now, you're not getting away so you need to take your frustrations out another way."
"You're such a fucking asshole, Gallagher. You don't know shit about who I'm fucking." You snap at him, putting your pen down none too gently.
"Right, like anyone would be able to fuck you. Probably too fucking tight up there, can't even get a finger in you." Lip's look is gloating, like he's won some verbal sparring match.
You don't know why you're moving. Pushing out of your chair and tugging Lip's back. Lip sputters at the abruptness of your yanking, arms flying out for balance. Once there's enough space for you, you quickly step in between his legs before dropping down to your knees.
You're a little surprised at the small tent in Lip's slacks already, scoffing after you piece it together. "You get off on the sound of your own voice?"
"What? No. What are you-" You cut Lip's questioning off quickly, pushing yourself up to rest on your toes so you can easily rest your arm on his thigh as you press your palm against his half hard dick. Lip's words are muddled as you bully him through the fabric, fighting himself for some composure.
With one last squeeze, you bring both of your hands to his hips, pulling him forward until he's sitting at the very edge. You don't miss how he inhales sharply at your rough handling.
Once he's positioned better, you sit flat on your feet before looking up at him through your lashes and leaning forward, licking at his erection through his slacks. Lip groans as you continue to mouth at his cock, head falling back as you suck softly around the fabric.
Once you're satisfied with the wet patch you've made in his pants, you bring your hands to unbutton and unzip them before tugging them down slightly. Lip helps you out by lifting his hips up, letting drag them down past his knees. Your saliva bled through his pants, dampening his boxers where you had been teasing him.
Taking your time, you go back to mouthing at his erection. You can hear him shifting above you, glancing up to see him bring his hands around. Lip's hands are pushy as they hold the back of your head.
"Uh-uh.." You pull away from his bulge, catching his wrists before leaning forward and tucking them behind his back. "Those stay there."
"Fuck..." Lip mutters.
"Lift." You tap his hips as you curl your fingers under the waistband of his boxers. Lip is a quick listener, lifting his hips up so you can tug his boxers down to his pants. He breathes out heavily when his cock springs free, hitting his stomach.
You're quick to take him in your mouth, sliding your tongue along the underneath of his length. There's a sense of pride as Lip struggles to form any words, the only things leaving his mouth a mix of whines and groans.
"Fuck, wait- shit-" Lip grunts as you sink back down to the base, glancing up at him with your nose brushing against his happy trail. "Mm- fuck. Wh-where did you learn to do that?"
You hum around his length, feeling how he twitches in your mouth before pulling all the way off.
"Well, the noises you're making are a pretty good indication of how you like it." You grin up at him, bringing your hand to wrap around the base of his cock.
"...God you sound so fucking cocky right now and it's turning me on even more." Lip's eyes are lidded as he looks down at you, watching as you slowly jerk him off. You roll your eyes at him, leaning back towards his cock.
"I liked you better when you could barely speak," you tell him before leaning forward and wrapping your lips around the head of him.
"Fuu- ughh.." Lip grunts as you suckle at his head. His hips buck up into your mouth, pushing himself farther in. You hum sharply, taking your hands away from his base and pushing back against his hips. Lip breathes heavily as you keep his hips in place, flicking your tongue over the slit before pressing gently at the underside of his head.
"Wait-" Lip chokes out, hips bucking up again. "Shit, shit- fuck-"
Lip's release is thick on your tongue and you're quick to open your mouth, letting him watch as his cum coats your tongue. Doing such makes Lip swear, another rope covering your tongue. You pull away from him, sticking your tongue out for him to see all of his release before making a show of swallowing it.
"Still think she gave you the best blowjob of your life?"
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sanbantaishi · 2 days ago
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Zutara Week 2024 – Day 3 ~ Echoes
“ The Waterbender and the Banished Prince”
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Katara leaned against the cold bars of her cell and looked around.
The cell was cold and empty. No blanket, no mattress, no lamp...
The only light in the cell was the light of the torch burning over the guard's head in the corridor outside.
Katara's hands were still tied behind her back.
She was feeling the burning pain in her left elbow...on the back of her left shoulder...and her right wrist...spots burned in the fight with Zuko and his firebenders.
Her clothes, soaked in the river, weighed more and more on her body in the cold of the cell. The cold bit her bones and the burn marks stung her skin... But the pain of these wounds was nothing compared to the pain that Aang was feeling now.
a sob caught in her throat.
where was Aang now? How was he feeling? Had Sokka managed to get him to the physician? How was Sokka doing now?
Her mind was racing ...what was to become of them all?! ...
Katara took a deep breath...calm down...first she had to calm down...then, she had to find a way to escape this ship...and then...
Footsteps echoed in the stairwell.
The guard stood up.
Someone turned in the corridor outside and walked towards the brig.
Someone Katara knew well...
The root cause of all of her miseries ...!
Katara frowned. Not moving an inch away from the bars of her cell, she fixed her eyes on the gate of the brig that separated the four prison cells from the corridor outside.
The guard opened the gate for Zuko.
Zuko entered the corridor between the four cells, taking slow measured steps to the last cell on the right, and stood in front of Katara.
"Where's the avatar?"
inadvertently, Katara burst into laughter!
she didn't expect to hear those words from Zuko...
Or rather, she totally expected to hear Zuko say those words...!
That question was so obvious, so familiar, so platitude, that Katara could not hold back her laughter!
"You have nerves to laugh in a situation like this, waterbender... when you don't even know if the Avatar is dead or alive!..."
The laughter vanished from Katara's face, replaced by worry and anger.
"I can help the Avatar, if you tell me where he is...!.."
"And why should Aang need your help?!"
"You know very well why, waterbender."
"No I don't!"
"Don't play dumb!"
 Zuko clasped his hands behind his back and started walking around the corridor between the cells.
"Avatar didn't fight today..."
...
Snippets from Chapter three of Longfic “ The Waterbender and the Banished Prince”
Season 1 capture fic.
Angst Hurt/Comfort
WIP/yet to be published, hopefully soon ><
Rating General ~ K+
Read more on Pixiv ( link to be added soon >< )
Read more on Fanfiction.net  ( link to be added soon >< )
Happy Zutara Week everyone ^^
 and thank you so much for sharing all your great works this year too ^^
Zutara is forever ☀🌙
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blackenedsnow · 3 days ago
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um you do requests for shadow the hedgehog right? Can we have a shadow fic with a s/o who has a extreme fear of doctors and needles so they have been negecting themselfs ecen though they are extermely sick?.. and shadow has to help them through a doctors appointment?.
trust in me
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WARNING: Fear of doctors/needles (medical anxiety), mentions of illness and neglecting health
PAIRING: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader
NOTE: Hi anon! Thank you so much for this heartfelt request <3 Sending so much love and care your way! Take care of yourself <333
SUMMARY: When your fear of doctors and needles causes you to neglect your health, Shadow steps in, determined to help you face your fears and get the care you need, no matter how much support it takes.
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The room felt like it was shrinking. You sat on the couch, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, but even the layers didn’t help the cold sweat trickling down your back. You’d been sick for a while now, and while you could try to hide it with casual excuses, Shadow wasn’t stupid. He’d noticed.
“Enough.” His voice cut through the silence like a blade. Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, Shadow fixed you with a pointed glare that only barely masked his concern. “You’re not getting any better. You need to see a doctor.”
Your chest tightened immediately. “No. I’m fine—really. I just need—”
“You need treatment,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. “Don’t lie to me.”
You shrank under his gaze, your fingers gripping the blanket. “I can’t,” you whispered. “Nooo.. it’s too much. I can’t do it, Shadow.”
He softened at your admission, the sharpness in his eyes fading. Shadow wasn’t good with words, but he wasn’t heartless. He walked over and crouched in front of you, his crimson gaze locking with yours.
“I understand,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady. “Fear can be... overwhelming. But letting it control you? That’s not like you.”
You swallowed hard, feeling your throat tighten with emotion. “What if I panic? What if it hurts? What if—”
“Stop.” Shadow placed a gloved hand over yours, his grip reassuring but not forceful. “You won’t be alone. I’ll be there every step of the way. You trust me, don’t you?”
You nodded, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak.
“Then let me help you,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading.
The waiting room was quiet, save for the ticking clock on the wall and the occasional rustle of a magazine being flipped. You sat stiffly in the chair, arms folded tightly across your chest, as though you could physically keep the anxiety from breaking through your skin.
Shadow sat beside you, calm as ever. His arms were crossed, one foot tapping impatiently, but his sharp red gaze kept flicking to you. “Stop bouncing your knee,” he muttered, but his voice wasn’t as gruff as usual. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”
“I can’t help it,” you whispered, your voice tight. “I hate this. I shouldn’t even be here.”
“You’re here because you’re sick,” Shadow replied firmly. “If you’d gone earlier like you should have, you wouldn’t be this bad off.”
You shot him a glare, but the truth stung too much to argue. The constant fever, the coughing fits, the bone-deep exhaustion—your body had been screaming for help for weeks, but the thought of doctors and needles kept you rooted in denial. It wasn’t until Shadow had carried you out of the couch this morning, wrapped in a blanket, that you realized there was no more avoiding it.
The nurse called your name, and your stomach dropped. Shadow stood, glancing down at you. “Come on.”
Your legs felt like lead, but somehow, you followed him. The nurse led the two of you into a small, sterile room, and the faint scent of antiseptic hit your nose. You froze in the doorway. Shadow glanced over his shoulder, catching your hesitation immediately.
“Hey,” he said, stepping closer. His voice softened, only slightly, but it was enough to steady you. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
You swallowed hard and nodded, letting him guide you inside. The nurse took your vitals—though she had to coax you into holding still for the blood pressure cuff—and scribbled notes onto her clipboard before leaving you to wait for the doctor.
Sitting on the exam table, you curled your fingers into the edge of the paper covering it, trying not to fidget. Shadow leaned against the wall, watching you closely.
“You don’t have to look so terrified,” he said dryly. “The doctor isn’t going to attack you.”
“It feels like they will,” you muttered.
He let out a quiet “hmph,” but his gaze softened. “I’ll handle the talking. You just sit there and focus on not passing out.”
When the doctor finally entered, you tensed again, your heart pounding. She was calm and professional, asking routine questions that Shadow answered without hesitation. He rattled off your symptoms and timeline with a sharp precision that made it clear he’d been paying more attention to your health than you had.
“We’re going to need to run some tests,” the doctor said, glancing at you. “A blood draw is necessary, along with—”
“No.” The word left your mouth before you could stop it, panic flashing across your face. “I can’t—”
“They’ll do it quickly,” Shadow cut in, his tone firm. He stepped closer to you, placing a gloved hand on your shoulder. “It’s not going to kill you. You can do this.”
The doctor hesitated, looking between the two of you, then nodded. “I’ll have the nurse bring the supplies.”
You stared at Shadow, your breathing uneven. “I don’t think I can—”
“Yes, you can,” he said, his voice steady. “Look at me.”
You did, locking onto the crimson of his eyes. “Breathe,” he instructed. “In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Just like that.”
When the nurse returned, Shadow didn’t move from your side. He guided you to focus on his voice while the nurse swabbed your arm and prepared the needle. When the prick came, you flinched, but his hand was steady on your shoulder.
“It’s over,” he said quietly, the moment the needle was withdrawn. “See? You didn’t die.”
Your lips twitched at his deadpan delivery. “That was awful.”
“Maybe. But you got through it.” His gaze was unrelenting, but there was something warm in his tone that made your chest ache. “Next time, don’t wait until you’re half-dead to get help. Got it?”
You sighed but nodded. “Got it.”
Shadow smirked, his confidence unshaken. “Good."
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autumnsvixen · 6 hours ago
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Damaged - part 1
Azriel x f! reader
When the high lord sent Cassian to Ironcrest to recruit females to train, he was never expecting Cassian to bring something, or someone, back.
Word Count: 2093 Warnings: misogyny, violence, blood, use of knives, physical abuse, this is taking place in an Illyrian war camp so read with caution. I'm serious, it gets pretty dark and violent.
A/N: this is part one of a slow-burn Az fic I have in the works. I know you don’t see much of Az here, but I promise it is coming. And it will be well worth the angst wait.
masterlist || request guidelines
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You stood by the training mat, eyes fixed as you were entranced by the male in the ring. His moves were graceful as he handled his sword with a precision you’d only seen in the birds that dive to the nearby lake as they hunt their aquatic prey. He swung towards invisible enemies, cutting them down with ease. As you watched him, you could only wish you could one day carry yourself with the same easy danger as he did. The males in the camp barely spared him a glance, and those who did had looks of disgust and anger on their faces.
Your trance was broken by the harsh sound of your brother’s voice, “Y/N, stop watching that bastard play pretend and get back inside. Shouldn’t you be washing my training leathers?”
Your shoulders stiffened as you moved your eyes from the training ring to the snow-covered ground below you. You mustered out a small, “apologies, I was meant to be fetching water for the wash. I just got distracted.”
He inched closer to you, the smell of sweat and grime pulling a gag from your throat that you swallowed down. His tone was quiet but harsh, “if I ever catch you looking at that brute again, I will show you what a real male can do with a sword.”
Your breath hitched, but you nodded obediently, running off to fetch water from the well on the outskirts of camp.
As you were pulling the bucket back up towards you, you were once again frightened by the sound of a male voice behind you, “I know you were watching me earlier.”
Your heart quickened as you turned, the bucket shaking in your hands, “I didn’t mean to offend you, sir, I apologize.”
The male with the long dark hair smiled softly at you, “no need to apologize. I was actually going to ask if you wanted to train with me tomorrow. You’re the only one here who seems like a worthy mentee.”
With wide eyes, you looked up at him fully, taking in the red glow of his siphons and the rich hazel of his eyes. “I would love that, but I am far too busy with my chores and my brother wouldn’t like it if I were to forego them to train with you.”
He stepped closer to you, a kind softness in his eyes, “If it’s your brother you are worried about, I can ensure you I will protect you from any backlash you might face.”
If only he knew what kind of backlash your brother had been known to give out. You shook your head, “I know that you and your high lord have imposed your laws about female training, but it is still strictly… discouraged in this camp.”
He looked angry at your words, an expression which faded into pity as he took in your trembling form. “If your brother has a problem with you training under his general, I will gladly speak with him. I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”
“All due respect, general, you won’t be the one facing the brunt of his anger.”
He rolled his shoulders back, “then let me teach you how to defend yourself against him. He won’t hurt you while I am here.”
You hesitate, knowing you truly wanted nothing more than to learn how to fight, how to protect yourself against the males who had threatened you throughout your existence. He sees this and continues, “if you decide you want to take me up on my offer, meet me in the training ring 2 hours before dawn. That way, your brother won’t even know you’re gone, and you will still be able to complete your chores.”
With a respectful dip of your head, you breeze past the war general with the bucket still in your hands.
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You don’t meet him in the ring the next day, or the following day. Despite the longing you felt to train, you couldn’t overcome the fear of your brother’s anger. It was in the early morning of the third day, as you stood by the dish basin in your family home and watched the war general train through the window, that you decided you would join him. You had only meant to be distracted for a moment, allowing yourself a glimpse of his routine, but you had been entranced once again. Your brother had caught you staring, anger coating his eyes.
With a hot hand, he grabbed your arm and spun you around, the dish falling from your hand and into the tub. His other hand met your throat, squeezing tightly. “What did I say about watching him train, little sister?”
Your eyes were wide with fear as you struggled to breathe, body frozen in terror. Your brother brought the hand not on your throat to your hip, sliding under your shirt so you could feel the cold metal of a blade against your skin.
You tried to speak, to apologize, but the grasp on your neck was too tight to allow any noise to leave your mouth. The sharp sting on your hip brought tears to your eyes as he carved a long line across your stomach. It wasn’t deep enough to seriously wound you, but you knew there would most likely be a scar.
He smiled wickedly down at you, bringing the bloodied knife to your cheek. He swiped it across your skin before leaning close to your ear, hot disgusting breath hitting your skin. “Now be a good little sister and clean yourself up. Then get back to work.”
The grip on your neck disappeared and you gasped for breath, holding onto the edge of the basin behind you for stability. As you regained your composure enough to grab a nearby rag, you made your decision. No matter what, your villainous brother would find a way to hurt you. The only thing you could do for yourself was learn to fight back.
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You had hoped that Cassian would be pleased to see you in the early hours of the morning the next day, but you were instead met with a look of concern.
“What happened to your face?”
You shrugged off his question, “you told me you could teach me how to defend myself, right?”
His mouth morphed into a grimace as he took in your week appearance, the inflamed pink mark across your cheek. After a few moments, he nodded, “I hope you’re ready to work.”
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You found that, despite the bruises and soreness that had made their home on your body, you enjoyed Cassian’s training. He pushed you enough to help you grow, but not so far that you would regress into the fear that had consumed your entire body throughout your life. He respected your boundaries, and never asked you to explain when you would show up to train with new cuts along your face or arms.
But any fool could tell he was furious about them. You had made it clear you wouldn’t talk about them and that you didn’t want him interfering, and he was too scared that you would stop coming if he did. Out of anger, or because you would be left in a state so poor you’d be unable to train, you both weren’t sure.
One day, the two of you had gotten distracted, and training had lasted just a bit longer than it normally would. As you were heading off the training mat, you caught a glimpse of your brother’s watchful eyes through the window of your cabin. They held an icy fury, and you knew what was to come as soon as you got home. You thought to ask Cassian to accompany you, but knew that if you didn’t face your brother now, it would only be worse later.
To your surprise, your brother said nothing as you carefully entered the house. You watched him warily, as he didn’t even spare a glance in your direction. You quickly changed into your household clothes before starting quietly on your chores, jumping at the sound of the front door slamming shut as your brother left for the day.
The entire day, you were on edge. Chores had taken you less time than normal due to your anxiety quickening your hands. You were on your way to the market to trade the coins your brother earned as a blacksmith for meats and new gloves for him, as he had requested, when you were stopped by three looming figures.
You recognized them as your brothers friends, males who had come around to your home to get drunk with your brother and make gross, degrading comments towards you as you served them. Then, their eyes had been filled with lust and entitlement. Now, they were filled only with rage.
“Your brother said you’ve been training with that bastard general.” One of the males said.
Another spoke, “weak females like you don’t get to train.” He reached out to grab your shoulder, pushing you to the cold, hard ground.
“If you think you’re strong enough to fight like us males, why don’t we test out your skills?” The third one spoke as fear washed over your body. You pushed yourself up to your hands so you were sitting, looking up at them.
The second male’s foot made contact with your side as he kicked you harshly, sending you back to the ground. Though you had been training with Cassian, he had only been helping you build muscle and endurance, not to fight. Not yet.
Another of the males swung his legs on either side of your waist, pinning you underneath him. His hands wrapped around your throat, cutting your oxygen supply off. You struggled underneath him, trying to bring your knees up to harm him, but another of the males stomped on your ankle before you could.
A splintering pain traveled up your leg at the impact, bones cracking underneath his foot. You tried to cry out in pain, but no noise would come out.
The lack of oxygen was causing your vision to go blurry, hands scratching at the male’s to loosen the grip around your throat. He obliged, but you quickly realized it wasn’t from your pleading. His friend passed him a dagger, which he swiftly brought to your neck.
“C’mon little girl, didn’t your bastard teach you anything?” His voice was filled with disgust and anger, his breath reeking of ale. Your heartbeat was a swift and constant thud in your chest, echoing the fear you felt.
A scream left your lips as he plunged the dagger into your chest, just under your collarbone. You could nearly feel the blade scrape the bone as it entered you. You tried to push him off, but the other males placed their feet on your arms, keeping you locked into place. The male on top of you took his free hand to cover your mouth. “Hush, good girls don’t scream.”
Tears poured from your eyes as he removed the bloodied dagger from your chest before swiftly bringing it back down again, this time into your side. You screamed against his hand, the pain overwhelming you.
He continued his ministrations, plunging the blade into your middle, avoiding your heart and lungs narrowly, but not caring about anything else. You lost track of the pain, mind and body going numb as you let the frozen fear take over you.
At some point, it stopped. You would later vaguely recall a flash of red and the sound of men in pain, but in the moment you could barely remember your own name.
A male kneeled over you, concern in his hazel eyes and long hair brushing against your face. You groaned out of instinct, not pain, when he picked you up, your head lolling to rest on his shoulder as he took off.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep on me,” he said harshly to you over the roaring of the wind in your ears. You vaguely recognized that you were flying, a feeling so instinctual yet so unfamiliar to you, despite the large wings on your back.
The next things you remember happened in flashes. A dark male with bright, violet eyes taking hold of your hand, a castle surrounded by balconies and arches, a soft bed and warm hands spreading magic throughout your body, your bones clicking back into place, and a dark figure who seemed to be more shadow than fae.
It was him you thought of as the same darkness that surrounded him filled your vision and you were overtaken by a dreamless sleep.
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ickaimp · 1 day ago
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[Magic Kaito] Scheduling
It's my birthday, so obviously, there should be fic. 700 words, silliness. +++
Saguru wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing here, other than the fact that it wasn’t a school night. And, well, Kid. Specifically a Kid Heist Notice. Which wasn’t for another three days. A bit larger of a lead time than normal, but Kid hadn’t made an appearance in several weeks, most likely due to it being the end of the school season and this being the first time Kid had a break to do so. But still, Saguru usually arrived later in the process, not for the initial heist note meeting. His presence  was mostly superfluous at them, especially given the straight forward nature of the current note and that Kid wouldn’t be there. “Alright, men!” Nakamori-keibu bellowed and Saguru tried to flinch at the volume. Truely, did everything have time be at high decibel? “Kid has sent us a notice for three days from now at 1800-“
“I really wish he didn’t.” The owner of the large inherited topaz flinched.
Normally gem owners tended to fall into two categories, either having something to hide --usually a fake heist notice-- or attempting to challenge the Kid’s skills. The current target went in a different direction… nervous fussing.  “It’s my daughter’s graduation and I wanted to be there.”
“Oh snap.” A familiar voice said from Saguru’s left and he jumped slightly. “Forgot about graduation. Would you like to reschedule?”
The Kid’s voice came from the officer standing next to Saguru. One who was twice Saguru’s age and whom he’d sworn had gotten checked for being the Kid.
“Oh would you?” The mousy gem owner looked relieved.
Kid stepped forward, the Task Force uniform vanishing with a small poof of smoke, to be replaced by the Kaitou Kid’s familiar white suit, top hat, and cape. “Certainly. When would be a good date for you?”
Kid hopped up on the desk, lightly crouching on it as the gem owner pulled out a paper planner, running his fingers across the pages. “How’s the 19th?”
Kid pulled out a phone, checking his calendar as Nakamori made an irate sound. “I’m booked.” Kid reported. “Can do the 17th or 20th though.”
“I’m out of town the 20th-“
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Nakamori bellowed, his face a violent angry red. Kid clicked his finger and held up a finger in the inspector’s direction, the thief’s gaze on his phone as if Nakamori was the one being unconscionably rude. 
“-I have work most of the 17th.” The gem owner continued. “But the evening is free.”
Kid made a thoughtful sound. “I supposed that would give me enough time-“
“You could check it now.” Saguru suggested. “Since you’re currently both free.”
Both Kid and the gem owner looked up at Saguru with identical looks of polite confusion. Saguru resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Not everything needs to be a magic show.”
Kid gasped in outrage, one gloved hand pressed against his chest, clearly offended.
“He’s got a point.” The gem owner gestured to the large stone on his desk. “Help yourself.”
Kid nodded, hopping off the desk, picking up the gem and walking over to the window and holding it up to the moonlight. When nothing happened, he turned back and set the gem back on the desk, offering the owner his gloved hand. “Thank you very much, it was a pleasure doing business with you.”
The gem owner shook his hand. “Likewise.”
Kid turned to the officers and gave them a polite tilt of his hat. “Gentlemen.” He said, then walked out the door.
Saguru pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily as no one moved. 
“-GET HIM!!” Nakamori belatedly bellowed, pointing to the door the thief had just walked out of. That seemed to startle the Task Force and they scrambled to take off running, several getting stuck in the doorway and preventing the others from escaping.
“Well.” Said the gem owner, looking quite chuffed. “That was exciting.” Saguru rubbed his face with a hand, torn between exasperation and amusement, remembering once again why he attended as many Kid heists as possible. He’d been to crime scenes for years and seriously. Stuff like this only happened with the Kaitou Kid. -fin-
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yayll · 2 days ago
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heyyy! I just read ur rockstar!Dazai fic and it honestly reminded me of this idea I had!!! (loved the fic btw!) Are you able to write an actor!dazai x fem!actor reader and they r fake dating while secretly being rivals ?? (I’d like 2 be known as 🦎-anon!)
hiiii 🦎 anon hehe
i'm sorry this was quite the wait, i LOVED your idea and i wanted to write it properly and i kind of took some liberties so i hope you enjoy it regardless? thank you for trusting me w your fic idea actor!dazai now haunts me actually dazai in any like, imagine just fucks my shit up that man is a menace in any story i put him in and i'm so glad others agree. i love u baby mwah u get so many ivy kisses
~ a little something about you and actor!Dazai keeping up appearances ~
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"You're choking meee!"
"I'm just fixing your tie, Osamu-"
"It's babe, actually."
"It's whatever I want if you want me to keep holding your hand in public, jerk."
He pouts at this. What a cute little meanie you were! Always scolding him and spewing empty threats as if you were hot shit. You were hot shit, and that was only the beginning of his problems... The biggest one right now being backstage with you while attending the hottest awards show of the year.
Just before he can respond, the curtains are drawn and it's a stagehand whisking you two away to present the next award infront of thousands of fans. You're walking side by side, your heels clicking with each step when Dazai leans in to whisper something.
"You should stand on my left, my right side is more attractive."
"We're both facing forward, does it matter?"
He raises a brow and huffs dramatically in typical Dazai fashion. You two had been 'dating' for a year now, everyone was invested in this blooming romance ever since you both started in that drama together, now it's nothing but red hearts for you two.
It wasn't planned, it just kind of happened... It also wasn't completely awful, but it was the goddamn ego on Dazai that really made you want to strangle him sometimes. He knew he was pretty and desired, and what a threat you were with such an iconic streak in all of your latest projects. No wonder you two had to be paired together, on your own you were both dynamite. An unstable formula that needed to be stabilized by combining it together. Thought could that make it worse?
You present the award holding hands the entire time, an act highly encouraged by the need to convince, and yet when it's you two doing it it never feels as forced as you'd like it to be. There is a comfortability in the role of this relationship, you've come to realize yet supress. You'll hold hands for so long you begin to get clammy, and it's certainly not because he dotes on you almost every time he speaks! Which he hates doing... It's just a script, after all. Duh.
You're both making your way out of the venue towards the car that awaits to drive you to the after party when you're ambushed by interviewers and hundreds of flashes that yell out speed questions.
"Does the beautiful couple have time to stop and answer a few things for us tonight!"
Dazai loves that shit. Of course he has the time, he doesn't care if you don't. He has to sell it, obviously, since you don't put in the effort according to him. He flashes the interviewer that sardonic little smirk you hate and speaks innocently.
"Why, us? Sure! Right, honey?"
He turns to you and the crowd loves it. You hold back how badly you want to roll your eyes and simply smile, holding yourself high with grace and a ton of media training.
"We'd love to."
The interviewer is overjoyed as she looks between you and Dazai, taking in that affection that radiates from your false words. She grins as she goes along to ask her question.
"So, I think a lot of the fans are wondering..."
You and Dazai perk up, not even realizing that you're clutching the bottom of your dress so tighty that your knuckles are white. The interviewer looks directly at you.
"The two of you have been the most stunning couple the industry has seen in a while. Any plans for the future?"
You freeze. Ugh, not this again. You shake your head, smirking to yourself at the absurdity of the concept alone.
"Thank you, but honestly we're just taking things day by day. There's no rush between us, we have all we need right here and now."
The journalist smiles again and nods, seemingly impressed by your laid back attitude. Dazai snorts and suddenly interjects, clearly having a cheeky response to give to the crowd of journalists.
"We'll have tons of kids in the future, actually~"
Your panic is so instant that you literally laugh out loud, yet recover quickly by turning your shock into a playful glance at your lover. You manage a more sweet giggle and smack him on the chest a little harder than people would guess.
"Ooh, he's joking, of course."
The journalist rejoices, finding your banter and your overall interaction as a couple cute. The ideal power couple! Dazai grins and turns to you again, leaning in to tease you, his narrowed Hazelnut eyes piercing into you like a promise.
"Not joking. One day we're going to have a massive pack of little kids running around. And it's going to be your fault for being sooo cute~"
And with that, he leans in all the way into a million dollar kiss on your confused and parted lips. You're taken so offguard you almost fall back and of course grab onto him a little tighter... and run your fingers through his disheveled hair you forgot to nag him to cut... As the cameras go off like crazy, you wonder if it's worth ruining your public image for a while just so you can slap him harder than you ever have before.
Everyone's cooing and you're fuming, so you settle for a quick thank you and goodbye as you drag Dazai off the red carpet and into the car. He's giggling the entire time, of course. As soon as the door shuts out the screaming fans watching you drive off, you turn to Dazai and whisper ardently.
"What was that all about?! We didn't discuss this prior to-"
"... You liked it."
"Huh?"
"You liked it when I kissed you."
You scoff, though it sounds like you're choking.
"I did not. I just did what I had-"
"... And you want to have my babies. That's adorable, how devoted of you!"
You smack him on the arm but he's smiling like a cat who's had too much catnip, too far gone into his delusions to care about the repercussions. Love is love, after all...
"I think we should break up, like officially. You're nuts. The press won't let that go, Osamu."
He perks up, snapping out of his stasis and crinkles his nose in disapproval. He shakes his head, his hand on his chin as if in deep thought. Dazai mutters, barely above a whisper.
"... We won't actually break up, though."
"And why not?"
"Because in about 60 seconds we're going to kiss again and you'll be clinging onto me the entire night."
You snort into a laugh, tilting your head in disbelief. The car slowly comes to a halt as you arrive at the after party where a familiar roar of the crowd awaits to greet you once more. You begin your futile argument yet again.
"I don't see why I would do that."
At such a silly reply, Dazai softens his voice, looking at you like he first did when you both met on set a year ago. A lifetime ago. You're so cute when you're playing dumb. He shrugs, carefree.
"Neither do I, which is why I want to know too. I want to know what you're thinking about, if it's me."
You hate the way he sounds so sincere, like a real boyfriend would if he were trying to convince you you're just as into him as he is into you. Mind games is what it is, or at least you hope so. You really hope so.
You sigh, suddenly over the conversation as you open the car door to begin climbing out. Dazai follows suit and the roar of the crowd makes your chest feel tight as overstimulation takes over. You want to be anywhere but here and you wonder if you're having some sort of panic attack, but it just doesn't feel describable.
You turn wildly, disoriented by the camera flashes and instant fuss of the press, only to be faced by your one and only savior: the omnipotent Osamu Dazai. You don't know what it is about him in that moment, you just glide into his arms and complete the prophecy as you hook your arm with his, taking deep breaths as you finally ground yourself. It feels like the right kind of wrong, and you don't care to question it.
You feel a squeeze and a soft velvety voice whisper to you once again, you don't even have to look at him to know he's as smug as ever. But amongst the teasing, there's affection there too...
"So, am I?"
"Are you what, Osamu?"
"On your mind."
"At this point you're practically a permanent resident."
You hear him hum, a smile still present on his lips, the world simply frozen for him to continue his private conversation with you in public.
"Hmm, remind me to have you repeat that to me later."
This causes you to squeeze his arm back and murmur in genuine curiosity, finally daring to face him. He's already looking right at you, so devilish and angelic at the same time that you can't even look away.
"Why?"
"Because your time's up. 60 seconds, remember? Now come and kiss me already, the camera's are waiting~"
The photos of you two that night were the envy of couples everywhere. If only they knew how the ride back to the hotel went, it would be a scandal! Or simply the next step in your future?
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