#but this thought is nagging at the forefront

[birrdies]

do you guys think grian and scar would be fixed if they just beat each other to death in a desert again? like, "turn it off and back on again" kinda reset?

[mead-iocre]

Our New Normal Pt. 3 | Leah Williamson x Reader

Our New Normal 3/4 (pt.1) (pt.2)

Ding. 

The ding of the elevator interrupts your train of thought. The closer you are to her flat, the more nervous you are about the inevitable. You had to tell her tonight. You had to tell Leah that you are transferring to Arsenal. This was the first time you had ever kept something so important from your best friend. The guilt was nearly eating you up inside and while you were nervous about how she might react to your news, you were ready to get rid of the weight baring down on your shoulders during the past couple of weeks. 

You are gently pulled out of the elevator by the blonde, one of your hands tightly clasped in hers. You and Leah walk the short journey to her front door, the warm sensor lights illuminating the way as you walk further down the familiar hallway. It’s hard to ignore the way your steps are synchronised, a reminder of how easy and effortless it feels like to be with the Arsenal defender. 

But that could all change after tonight. 

You begin to tug your hand out of hers so she can grab her house key, but she tightens her grip. Instead, Leah uses the hand that was pulling your luggage to fish out her key from the pocket of her trousers to unlock the front door. Your hand was safely intertwined in hers the entire time. This was normal. While Leah has always been an affectionate person, especially with you, you had a feeling that this was more than that. You had no doubt that the blonde can probably sense the change in your mood– she could read your cues and signals better than anyone. Leah could probably tell that you are pulling away from her, even if she doesn’t know the reason why, and she was stopping you from doing so. Literally.         

——————————————

You never realised how much you detested coats and jackets, but now you have come to the realisation that they weren’t your favourite thing. First of all, some coats on the market aren’t insulated enough to keep you warm, and it can be very hard to find the perfect coat without spending so much money. Secondly, having a coat on meant that you have no choice but to let go of Leah’s hand in order to slip off your coat. Once your hand left hers, you immediately miss the comfort it provided. Not only were you enjoying the feeling of her hand in hers, but it gave you something to focus on instead of the onslaught of worrying thoughts that have begun to fill your mind. Every insecurity, doubt and uncertainty about how this night was going to go were now on the forefront of your mind. 

“Right. I’m gonna order a takeaway” Leah walks over to switch the lights on, and her entire flat comes to life. She drops her keys onto the porcelain trinket tray that you had bought for her and wanders further into her flat. Leah has a tendency to misplace her keys, so you suggested setting up a designated place where she can leave her keys and so far there haven’t been any incidents. Yet.

You follow in behind her, slipping your feet into a pair of shearling slippers that the blonde had bought for you a few months ago. They were terribly overpriced, thanks to the iconic “H” cut-out that proudly boasts the luxury designer, but you couldn’t refuse her very expensive gift when she had excitedly pulled out a matching pair for herself.

Walking straight into the lounge, you spot the merinos wool throw blanket that you had bought and left at her house. It was also a very expensive purchase, and not one you would usually make, but you justified it by saying it’s for both of you. You and Leah would nestle underneath the blanket together whenever you were watching trashy tv shows on her sofa. By the corner of the window, you see the Kentia Palm plant, nestled in a ceramic plant pot, that you routinely nag the blonde to mist regularly. The bookshelf across the sofa proudly displays frame photographs of the most special people in Leah’s life. Some with family, some with friends, and some with you. There were pictures from your early years at England camp, playing for the youth teams. There were also photos outside of football, photos that never made the instagram feed and were only just for your eyes.

There are remnants of you all over her home. 

After delivering your luggage to the guest room, she walks over to you and cups your rosy cheeks in her hands. “Put something comfy on and warm up, baby.”

It wasn’t long before you and Leah were seated at the table, a selection of all of your favourite Chinese takeaway dishes spread out in front of you. The aroma of sweet and sour chicken wafted through the air, mingling with the savoury scent of beef and broccoli; crispy spring rolls beckoned from their perch on a porcelain plate, making it almost difficult to choose which dish to taste first. Without further hesitation, the both of you began to tuck in. Together, you both sampled each dish with gusto, comfortable conversation and shared laughter filled the usual silence of the defender’s flat. Leah animatedly told a story about the time Kyra pranked a few of the girls on the team by hiding their boots and shin pads around the training grounds and sending them on a wild goose chase to find them.

As the meal drew to a close, you both leaned back in your chairs, sated and content. Now  was probably the right time to tell the Arsenal defender about your transfer. You put your chopsticks down and turn your gaze at your best friend. 

“Leah, can we talk…”

“Sounds serious.” Leah puts her own pair of chopsticks down on top of her napkin before she pushes her plate to the side. “You alright?”

“Yeah. I-it’s nothing bad. At least I hope not for you” 

Leah leans forward in her seat. There’s a small smile on her face, but her eyebrows are furrowed slightly in concern. “You’re making me nervous, baby” 

“I wanted to talk to you about my transfer…” 

“Look, y/n.” 

A brief pause of silence. 

Leah takes a deep breath before continuing “I want you to know that I wouldn’t be mad if you signed for Chelsea. Honestly. It is still fucking weird to think about it though and I’m seriously considering knocking you on the head a few times– but if they had put down an offer and you want it then go for it.”

“That’s great, Lee, but-“

The blonde runs a hand through her hair in frustration, a habit she must’ve picked up from being around you so often. “I still can’t believe Arsenal didn’t put down an offer– I mean, you’re one of the best midfielders in the world right now. Seriously.” 

“Lee–“

“Although it’s a bit weird that you would still consider playing for my rival club, like among all the wsl teams out there, you chose the club that happened to my club’s direct rival– wait does that mean we’re rivals now–” 

“LEAH”

“WHAT”

“I signed for Arsenal”

One breath in, one breath out. 

Two beats of your pulse. 

“…fuck off.” 

“Leah!”

“Don’t fucking joke about that” You wince at the sound of her chair scrapping against the hardwood floors as the blonde abruptly stands up. Her hands on her hips, face flushed red in anger. Annoyance even, perhaps. Her lips are pressed together firmly and her eyebrows are still furrowed. 

“I’m not fucking joking. I signed for Arsenal” 

Silence. 

Two more beats of your pulse. 

“Y/N listen to me– my heart is up to my fucking ears right now, and I swear to bloody god if you are saying all this just to have a laugh–“

The blonde in front of you begins to gesture wildly, hands pointing here and there but her posture remains stiff. A flicker of uncertainty danced across her gaze, mirroring the storm of thoughts that were probably racing through her mind at this very moment. The slight tremor in her hands betrayed the internal struggle as she sought to manage the anxiety probably bubbling within.

Every so often, Leah’s lips parted as if she wanted to speak, but it was as if the words remained trapped in the hesitancy of the moment. A subtle, rhythmic tapping of her foot on the floor betrayed the restlessness, a visual of the nervous anticipation coursing through her veins. You hear an audible hitch in her next inhale 

and then silence again.

You give into the silence for a moment. Your own hands are trembling and your heart was pounding but you want to give the girl in front of you the time to process it. It takes a lot to leave Leah Williamson speechless, and if it were a different situation you would’ve teased and bragged about how you had been the one to leave her completely speechless.

But now was not the time to joke around.

After another moment of silence, you could not take it anymore. The quiet was almost suffocating at this point, when it reality it had probably only been a few minutes. 

You expected the blonde to be happy– to be jumping for joy over the fact that the two of you will now be teammates for country and club. However, the lack of reaction was making you second guess your decision to sign for her club. 

“Leah…” You start, but then stop yourself. You hate seeing the uncertainty in her gaze. You hate the way the defender in front of you is hunched over slightly, almost as if she was trying to make herself smaller, seeking a shield against the external world that seemed to loom large around her.

You take a deep breath and start again. “I’m not lying. I did sign for Arsenal. I wouldn’t lie to you–“ 

You wanted to explain things to her but she cut you off. 

“You made me think you were leaving me” Hearing those words leave her lips nearly broke you. 

Your chair rattles at the sheer force of how quickly you stood up to level her stare. “I– I know, Lee, but I wanted to surprise you” 

“For weeks I was stressin’ about where you would be moving to. I was trying to calculate how far Lyon was from London– I was fucking looking up plane tickets, trying to figure out when I can come visit–“

You wanted to run. Like you normally would. You hated seeing the look on your best friend’s face. A face so familiar that it became a source of solace and comfort during your time of need. Now, however, the face looking back at you was filled with disappointment and distrust. 

If it were some other time, you would be out of that room. You hated confrontation. You hated the feeling of being forced to say what you feel on the spot because the thought of accidentally blurting something horrible out in the heat of the moment terrified you. 

But you weren’t going to run this time. Not when Leah was being vulnerable and honest. Your usually strong and capable defender looked like she was the one that needed defending right now. But how were you going to do that when the one thing that was hurting her right now

…was you. 

“I’m sorry, Leah. I really am” Your hands were trembling. You felt like you were losing her, and yet she was never even yours to begin with. 

You close your eyes, taking a moment to will your heart to stop pounding so hard. “I would’ve told you earlier– honestly. But then I started to have second thoughts– I mean I started to worry about–“ 

The next words were stuck in your throat. Tears had started to well up in your eyes, and the soon enough your vision of the blonde in front of you was drowned out by tears. You hastily start wiping away your tears when you feel another hand reach out to grab hold of your arm. A warm thumb gently glides across the span of your cheeks, brushing your tears away lightly.

“Don’t cry. I can’t stay mad at you if you cry” It was said in a hushed murmur. Like she had just divulged in a secret, in a confession. 

You push her arm away slightly. She was standing a little too close. Close enough that you could fall into her and she would catch you. But you wanted to explain things before you gave into the urge to run away like always. 

“I really didn’t mean to lie to you. I swear, Leah. I was worried that you wouldn’t like me being around you to much–” 

An eyebrow raise from the blonde was her only reply. Leah had expressed to you multiple times that she wanted you at Arsenal in passing over the years, but you couldn’t help the small nagging doubt that clouded your mind once in a while. 

Leah chooses to remain silent for the most part. In the many years that she has known you, this is the first time she has ever seen you lay all your cards out right in front of her, so there was no chance in bloody hell that she was going to interrupt you. Leah often joked that you were the master of avoidance.  Whenever a difficult conversation loomed on the horizon, you would flee from the confrontation rather than face it head-on. It wasn't that you were afraid of conflict, but rather that you found it easier to run away than to confront the issue at hand. 

She had gotten used to your flighty responses every time you argued, so this change was a surprise to her. 

And she was so proud of you. 

Her usually reserved and collected girl was pouring her heart out, and she was more than ready to piece it back together again– once you were done speaking, of course. 

A lock of your hair falls in front of your face but before you can reach up to push it away, Leah does it for you. Her touch was feather-light as she tucks your hair behind your ear. This was normal. It was a simple act, one she had done countless of times before, but each time it felt like a reaffirmation of the unspoken intimacy between the two of you. 

You grab her hand before it can fall back to her side. You need something to steady you as your world falls on its axis, and Leah was your anchor. She gives your hand a squeeze, taking a step closer to you. 

Gone were the piercing blues earlier, instead they were now replaced by a softer, warmer look. She gives your hand another squeeze when she notices your slightly dazed expression. “Continue, baby” 

The familiar nickname gives you butterflies. Like it always does.

“I was beginning to second guess my transfer because I was scared that us being around each other so much would ruin our friendship. Y-you know that saying that absence makes the heart grow fonder? Yeah, well what happens if we see each other too much? I-if there is no absence–”

“Baby, what the fuck are you on about”

“That saying that–“

“I don’t give a fuck what a saying says” She air-quotes with her fingers. “I want you with me all the time.”

The defender squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, trying to suppress the urge to simultaneously yell out in frustration and laugh. Not at you, but at your absurd idea that she would grow tired of you. She finds that idea laughable. 

“Y/N, listen to me. I was upset because I wanted to be there for you. We did almost everything together. Remember when we signed our first professional contract, we did it together–” 

You cut her off. “Actually you signed yours first. Mine was a couple days after because the mens team had a match at Old Trafford” 

The familiar, unimpressed look the blonde gave you had you fighting to a grin. Maybe everything will be alright. 

“I saw the comments when you announced your transfer. I saw the fucking nasty ones too, about how you were selfish for leaving United, and I wanted to be there for you every step of the way. To protect you from all that”

“You can’t protect me from everything, Lee”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t fucking try”

Leah takes a deep breath before focusing her gaze at you again. Her voice was quieter this time, timid. “I just feel like you’ve essentially shunned me from such a big step of your career. Like this is your first club transfer and I wasn’t a part of it in any way– not that I think I deserve to be because it’s your career but like– fuck we usually did everything together ya know..”

“I know I probably sound so selfish right now, y/n, but I felt like you didn’t want me to be a part of that. I felt like you were pulling away from me” 

You frown. You were so focused of keeping this entire transfer surprise away from Leah that you did not expect her to feel left out in the process. Maybe you should’ve been more attentive. Whenever Leah would ask about your transfer, you would brush off her questions and quickly change the subject. You didn’t think that by doing so, you were making her feel like you didn’t care about her feelings. 

“I’m sorry, Leah. I didn’t think that by keeping this away from you, I was pushing you away. I was just so focused on surprising you…”

“S’alright. I do feel like I’m overstepping–“ 

“No. You have every right to feel this way, Lee. You’re a huge part of my life and you’re right– we do everything together”

“Yeah. Well it seems like we’ll be doing a lot of things together from now on” Her tone was now light, and playful. 

Leah finally breaks the looming tension with a smile, but not just any smile. She’s smiling the kind of smile that she only reserves just for you. With her lips curved in a tender crescent, her smile held the promise of a thousand intimate secrets, like the ones shared and whispered at 2 am in the morning during England camp. Her blue eyes, now alight with affection and warmth, drawing you into their depths like a moth to a flame. It wasn't just the physicality of her smile that captivated you—it was the way it spoke volumes without uttering a single word. It was the silent reassurance it offered whenever she knew you needed it. 

In Leah’s smile, you found solace, understanding, and an unwavering sense of home.

“We’ll see how we get on when we’re together 24/7” You mutter, still not fully convinced. 

“Baby, listen to me” The blonde cups your face in her hands, lightly stroking your cheek with her thumb. “Quit being such a worrywart. Yeah, we’ll probably get on each other’s nerves. That’s normal. I’ll do things that’ll piss you off, you’ll tell me to go ‘fuck myself’ and vice versa. We’ll still disagree on things– like how you’ll probably nag me about forgetting my boots at training, or how I’ll have to remind you about refilling the petrol in the car because I have an irrational fear of you being stranded somewhere with no petrol”

Leah waits a moment, wanting you to process what she just said. Her gaze firm, unwavering. When she notices your eyes start to water again, she knows it’s not because you’re sad or angry. She knows you’re just overwhelmed. She pulls you close, and tucks your face into the crook of her neck. With your tears wet against her neck and your arms hanging limp by your side, she can almost feel your exhaustion– both from the events of day and the emotional rollercoaster you both had to endure today. 

You welcome her embrace, wanting to bury yourself in the safety and comfort of her arms. She faintly smells like her favourite perfume, delicate notes of jasmine and cedar wood still cling to a warm spot on the side of her neck. You nestle further into her.  

"That's normal, baby. Otherwise relationships and friendships would be far too easy, too boring. But we will always work it out in the end. That's how we work. You run, I follow. I get angry, you calm me down. That's us. And that won't change just because we see each other more often. I promise"

After another minute of silence, Leah pulls back slightly. She gently grabs your face out from where it was buried in her neck, so you could meet eye to eye again. She frowns at the sight of your tear-stained cheeks, and uses her thumbs to wipe away the lingering tracks of moisture that streaked down your cheeks.

“Enough tears” She mutters, bringing your face close and resting her forehead against yours. A whispered secret only meant for the two of you. “You’re breaking my heart, baby” 

She presses a kiss on your forehead, her lips soft and warm against your skin. “Do you understand what I said earlier? About not being a worrywart?” “m’not a worrywart” The blonde chuckles at the pout that you give her. Your eyes are still glassy, the tip of your nose red, and your hair was a mess, but to her you were the most beautiful girl she had ever seen. Bloody adorable too. 

You poke her playfully on her side, giggling when she jerks away and narrows her eyes at you, but her lips are already curled upwards. 

“I understand, Lee.” 

The next thing you know the blonde has wrapped her arms around you waist, lifting you up and leaving your feet dangling in midair. You squeal and quickly move to wrap your arms around her neck tightly. You knew she wouldn’t drop you. You trusted her more than anyone else in the world. You were just looking for an excuse to hold her close. You laugh by her ear as she spins the both of you around a few times, excited cheers and whoops replace the tense silence earlier. 

When she stops spinning and your feet are planted firmly back on the ground again, you both stand there grinning at each other before she breaks the moment. 

“You’re now a Gunner.” “Woahhh hang on a minute– ” Placing both of your hands on the blonde’s chest, you push her away lightly. You are also hyperaware of her hands that are still resting on your hips, a thumb hooked onto one of your jean’s belt hoop. 

Ignoring the pounding of your heart from Leah spinning you around just a second ago, and now from the mere proximity of her, you narrow your eyes at her. 

“Lee, that actually gave me the ick. Don’t call me that” You groan, but your whining falls deaf to her ears. 

“Y/L/N is now a bloody fucking Gunner” She practically screams at your face, her smile growing at your less-than-enthusiastic face. 

The blonde then abruptly pauses her celebrations “Bet your spurs fan dad wasn’t too happy”

“Oh he was fumin’” Leah laughs loudly at that. She and your dad often butted heads, especially during derby days when the mens team were playing against each other. They would purposely rile each other up and taunts would be thrown throughout the match, but it was all in good fun. Leah didn’t know it, but your dad would secretly root for Arsenal when she was on the pitch. When you called him out for it, he said he was “cheering for Leah, not Arsenal.” Yeah right.

In the moody lighting of Leah’s kitchen, shadows dance across the walls like silent spectres, lucky to have been granted a peek into what seems to be the beginning of a new chapter– not just for you– but for Leah as well. 

Leah, who had been by your side for many, many years. Leah who has been your friend, your confidant, and your lifeline. 

“…so we’re actually going to be teammates at Arsenal, huh?”

In the corners of this kitchen, shadows linger like forgotten whispers. The soft glow of the pendant ceiling light that you had given her as a house-warming gift hangs above the dining table, casting a gentle hue over the both of you. The flickering flames of the candles that decorate the table dance across the room like fireflies in the night.

“It appears that way” 

It’s hard to ignore the way shadows dance across her cheeks, the soft light tracing the contours of her jawline and the arch of her brows. Her eyes, darker than usual in the dimness, glimmer. The faint light catches the sparkle in her eyes, leaving you almost breathless from the intensity of her gaze. 

She takes a step closer to you, until you could almost feel her breath as it fans across your face.

“And we’re going to be seeing each other a lot”

She reaches out to take your hand in hers. 

“Yep. At training, recovery, meal times, team meetings…”

Your eyes are drawn to the way her tongue peeks out to wet her bottom lip. A nervous habit of hers that you have become familiar with over the years. Her lips part slightly, catching the light in a soft gleam, their natural colour deepened. She cranes her neck down slightly, forcing your gaze away from her lips and back to meet her eyes. If she noticed you staring at her lips, she doesn’t mention it. Instead, with her voice barely above a whisper, she began to speak.

“Move in with me”

For a brief moment, it was just silence as you both take in what this means for the both of you. This kitchen became a place of quiet refuge from the outside world. Here, you told your best friend and the woman who has somehow crammed her way into your heart that your lives will change. 

You were not only going to be teammates who only saw each other during national duty camp, but now your lives will be intertwined even further. Here, amidst the flickering shadows and muted glow of her kitchen, time seems to stand still. Tonight, you will bask in these moments of intimacy and secrets that are only meant for the two of you, before the rest of the world found out. 

“Yes.”

The much much-awaited chapter was worth it. Hopefully I met all your expectations (if you had any lol). It was a bit angsty-ish but I hope the ending made it worth it considering I was thinking about leaving it on a cliffhanger

but I'm not that evil.

Here's to breaking more glass ceilings. Happy International Women's day, my loves!

-- kisses, butter.

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

[norrizzandpia]

i love your story’s but the way you write oscar and lando are amazing!!!!

okk so i have an idea where the reader is a f1 driver and is a rookie this year as well and her and oscar and have been teammates since karting they ended up going to boarding a school together as well so they are best friends but oscar’s always been in LOVE with her and she just always thought he thought of her as a sister so she never showed any romantic feelings but maybe everyone on the grid thought they were dating and they are at club or party after race and the reader is being flirted with a stranger and the grid notices thinking the two were together telling oscar who denies they are together but still goes over their and drags her out of the part and he gets jealous and admits his feelings maybe angrily admits them and the reader smiled and kissed him

lowkey could see the reader as a landos little sister if you wanted to add more of a story or drama :)

This was so fun to write 🤭 i hope y’all like it

Loving You in the Shadows (OP81)

Summary: They’ve been together for years. Well, they haven’t been together for years. Yet.

Warnings: language, angst, happy ending tho, lots of yearning and longing, sad Oscar

Note: hehehe have fun everyone!!!! Btw shes a long one so buckle up

Lando’s little sister was the first thing he and Oscar bonded over. Throughout the years, he had heard of the friend Y/n had made through karting and school. He was quite elated to hear she was having so much fun with this boy, silencing his worries over the Australian’s intentions. They had met a few times before Oscar officially became his teammate with Oscar having come over to the house multiple times during holidays. Nonetheless, when they were introduced as teammates, Lando took to truly getting to know Oscar.

Surprisingly, getting to know Oscar proved to be easy as all the Australian wanted to talk about was Lando’s little sister.

That was the first time Lando truly ever had an inkling Oscar felt more for Lando’s little sister than he let on. The nagging feeling was forced to the forefront of his brain when Oscar won his first podium and the first person he went to find in the crowd was the girl who had placed P5, his “best friend”. Watching them hug and Y/n shouting out how proud she was of him, Lando clocked the unfamiliar glint in Oscar’s eyes as he stared down at her. It was unlike anything he had ever seen and that image plagued his mind at all times of the day.

He pushed to know more about them, his sister having been decently private about their friendship to everyone. He would slip in small questions about their previous times together every once in a while, amassing information over time.

He learned just how close they grew when they lived one building from each other in school, Oscar making it a regular routine to spend most days over at her dorm as they did homework together. He began to observe her face as she reminisced on that part of their life together. A lazy, adoring smile on her face as she detailed the moment where Oscar had snuck out of his dorm to show up at hers and demand help on his English essay. She would laugh and shake her head as if she was right back there, experiencing the moment again.

Suddenly, he was getting whiplash, realizing his sister was wholly in love with his teammate.

Their interactions became clearer to him even though they were, on the surface, completely platonic. The way her hands would stay glued to her sides, physically trying to restrain herself from reaching out for him; the way he would hug her and hold on a millisecond too long, just enough to breathe her in the way he desperately wanted to, but not enough for it to raise eyebrows.

That was when he understood they were both in love with each oth- “Mate?”

Oscar’s voice filled his thoughts, shutting off the episode he was watching in his head.

Shaking his head, Lando looked up at his teammate standing over him, “What’s up?”

Oscar’s eyebrows pulled together, “The team’s been calling you for ages. They’re ready for us.”

Lando’s mouth formed an “o” shape, nodding vigorously as he checked his phone to see all the missed calls and texts.

“I know you’re usually late, but you seemed kind of far away when I found you. You okay?” Oscar asked, head turned to him as they began walking toward the film equipment.

Lando feigned innocence, “Mmm, yeah? I’m fine.”

Oscar shook his head, “If you say so.”

Their conversation ended there as they reached the woman interviewing them for a Sky Sports segment. The two sat in their chairs, looking expectantly at the presenter with the flashcards in her hands.

The red light glowed bright, a sign for them to reel themselves in and slide into their PR trained skins, “Hi, everyone! Welcome back to another Sky Sports interview. Today we welcome some of the most talked about drivers on the grid as of right now, Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris! Hi, boys!”

They nodded simultaneously, smiles prevalent on their faces. Their time with the woman was limited, so she flew into questions quickly. Gradually, they transitioned from topics such as their car and the expectations they hold for the rest of the season to more personal ones such as Y/n.

“So, you both have a pretty close relationship with another driver on the grid, Y/n Norris. Of course, Lando, she’s your sister and Oscar, your best friend. Has that proved to be difficult? Having to share that time with her on top of how busy all your schedules are?” The woman smiled, leaning her elbow on her knee as she searched for the “real answers” behind their eyes.

Lando coughed to cover up his scoff, slightly annoyed by such an insinuation. His little sister never had a problem with priorities and self-discipline. The three all understood that F1 took a pretty heavy emphasis on her schedule, but they also saw how much effort she put in to keep their relationships growing. They never had to “share” her because she was already balanced enough to see everyone.

By the time Lando calmed his annoyance and protectiveness, Oscar had taken the question.

“No, not at all. Having to share her has never and will never be a thing. She’s an incredibly smart person who is capable of managing her time and managing it well. She has proved time and time again that, even when F1 gets crazy, we still hold a place in her schedule. To think that Lando and I essentially fight for her attention is weird and completely untrue.”

The woman is taken aback by his firm answer, however Lando can see the wheels turn in her head as she calculates her next words, “You seem very close with her, Oscar.”

It’s as if he doesn’t understand her inference, his smile brightening as he speaks, “Yeah! Y/n and I have been friends for years. She and I made some great memories together during our karting days and especially our boarding school days.”

Again, he doesn’t seem to notice the way in which his words have communicated, the presenter’s eyes bulging as she smiles tightly, “Oh?”

“Yeah!” Lando’s shoulders sink as he watches his teammate get taken advantage of by the press, knowing everyone will be misconstruing and manipulating his words. His green eyes glaze over as the feelings of hopelessness overtake him. He wishes to protect his little sister’s oasis with Oscar as much as he can, yet he fails in this instance.

Nevertheless, the interview concludes and the two boys are sent on their way, chatting freely again.

It’s by pure coincidence that they run into Y/n, the girl running around the paddock manically. She runs straight into Oscar’s chest as they round a corner, his arms immediately wrapping around her at the movement. When it dawns on the two of them who have just interrupted their conversation, identical smiles fall on their faces. Smiles which hold two very different forms of love.

“Y/n!” Oscar says cheerfully, falling into their forced hug comfortably.

Lando murmurs a quick hello, going into observation mode as if it’s second nature. What his eyes catch this time is the same thing they always have: lovesick grins and barely there touches.

He nods along with whatever his sister spouts off, his mind elsewhere. Although, when he sees Oscar’s face fall at her information and his body flying around, running in the direction they just came from, he realizes it’s probably best to tune in.

“What’s going on?” He asks, concerned, whilst grabbing his sister’s arm and forcing her to stay long enough to clue him in.

Her chuckling makes the tension in his shoulders ease, “Oh, it’s just I lost that McLaren sweatshirt Oscar gave me with his number on it last year. I know it’s in the paddock somewhere because I showed up wearing it, but I can’t remember where I put it.”

Lando’s face scrunches, “Why do you have merch from another team? And why are you wearing it to a race where you’re working for another team?”

Her innocent smile equates to his heart crushing, her naivety getting the best of her, “Because Oscar got it for me and I want to support him. He’d do the same for me.”

He nods, not wanting to bring up the topic of Oscar having feelings for her again after they’d had it so many times before. All he does is scoff obnoxiously as she runs off after Oscar, yelling, “When are you going to wear one of my sweatshirts?!”

Her gleaming face catches his eyes, “Never! That’s what sisters are for!”

He laughs to himself, “That doesn’t make any sense!”

But, she’s too far to hear him and, in the distance, he sees her reach Oscar, her body crashing into his as she hugs him from the side. His arms coming around to squeeze her impossibly close, Lando wonders if they’ll ever realize what’s left unsaid.

—

Dinner with the grid is always chaotic and tonight is no different. Every single driver in the 2023 season sits in a chair in the corner of a luxurious restaurant, a table so loud people have purposefully moved away. Their laughs echo off the walls and different conversations taking place from every part of the table announce their presence unlike anything else.

“Lando, I’ve always wondered how you felt when Oscar and Y/n told you they were together?” Charles’ giddy voice floats across the party, everyone clueing in to Lando’s answer whilst simultaneously keeping their chatter going.

It’s only when Oscar and Y/n deny their being together that the group falls incredibly silent.

“What?” Daniel asks in disbelief, eyes bulged and mouth agape as he stares at the two.

Lando shakes his head, not surprised in the least that his friends and coworkers believed in something so obvious.

“We aren’t together?” Y/n repeats, Oscar’s face heating up as he sinks slightly into his chair beside her.

Esteban slams his hands on the table as he gasps, slightly drunk, “Yes, you are!”

It’s when his sister stutters, at a loss for words, that Lando steps in, “They aren’t together, guys.”

Every driver aside from the two McLaren drivers and the one female driver sits frozen in their seats, minds reeling from the revelation.

“But,” Alex begins, “what about Y/n wearing Oscar’s number?” His eyes meet each driver, still stunned.

Y/n laughs, “It’s a joke!”

Lando sees the way Oscar’s eyes slowly trail up to stare at the side of her face. They’re drowning in sorrow and longing, the first time Lando’s ever seen him so openly yearn for her. It’s sobering, the turmoil Lando witnesses pass through his friend. He’s so inclined to stand up and yell at them for being so stupid all these years, but he’s so blatantly aware of the fact that they’ll never admit it until they’re absolutely pushed to their breaking point.

While Oscar seems to be reaching it, Lando knows him too well to understand that he’ll go farther, so determined to keep her in his life. The thought makes him down the rest of his beer, wishing greatly for something stronger.

The universe compliments his idea when the waiter comes by and drops the different checks.

“Let’s get to this club, yeah?” He yelps, everyone seemingly dropping the topic of Oscar and Y/n at the notion.

Whoops and hollers meet his ears as everyone throws down their credit cards, the excitement a deep contrast to the sunken face of his teammate.

—

“I’m going to go get another drink!” Y/n yells over the loud music, her words directed mostly toward her brother and best friend although the entire table picks up on it. If anything, Lando’s beat when it comes to the amount of protection held toward his sister. With her being the only woman on the grid, each driver took up a special kind of defensiveness when it came to her. Her age contributed to it greatly, her being slightly younger than Oscar and making her the youngest on the grid. They’re all careful with her, something Lando’s grateful for as time and time before have proven that when he’s not looking out for her, someone else is.

The group nods, Y/n smiling and chuckling at their synchronization and attentiveness to her whereabouts. Their eyes linger on her, making sure she makes it safely to the bar, but it’s fleeting once they become engrossed in their conversation again. Oscar’s gaze stays with her, something everyone else notices.

Max is the first one to call him out on the elephant in the room, “How are you guys not together?”

Oscar seems to think the champion is talking to something else, his entire face turned to the side as he watches the bartender not-so-discreetly look down her top.

Lando hits him on the arm and it’s enough to bring him back from the angry thoughts warring on in his mind, “Sorry, what?”

George presses just as Max is about to, “How are you two not together?”

Oscar shakes his head, “It’s never come up.”

Lando involuntarily lets out a noise of disagreement, all drivers turning to him. He gives Oscar a side glance, “Come on, mate. That’s not true.”

Immediately, Oscar gets defensive. His arms come up frustratedly as he scoffs, “It hasn’t!”

Carlos laughs slightly, “Hasn’t or you haven’t worked up the confidence to initiate it?”

Oscar groans, sitting back in the booth, and speaking quickly, “I don’t know what to tell you all here. We’ve been friends for years and the feelings I have for her mean shit. They always have and they always will. It’s not worth destroying the bond I already have with her trying to get a new one.”

Lewis’ response is instantaneous, “You sure?”

His comment would’ve gone ignored if his eyes hadn’t been looking off curiously into the party. Pairs of eyes follow his and Oscar’s heart drops at the sight they all collectively come to meet.

A random man lays a hand on Y/n’s waist as they lean on the bar beside them. She laughs at something he says and lays a hand on his bicep before utilizing the fact that he’s taller than her and giving him a look that would have any man falling to their knees. The drivers, except Oscar, tear their gaze away, giving each other minor glances that say way more than words could.

Even with all the noise around them, it’s quiet in their corner as they stare at Oscar, trying to anticipate his next move. Lando thinks he’s about to get about and dart over, claiming what’s always been his, but, at the last moment, the Australian whips his head back around and takes a sip of his drink, acting nonchalantly.

The group sighs, all giving up and going back to their side conversations. Oscar’s the only one to sit with himself, quietly, and Lando knows it’s because he’s trying so hard to restrain the last bit of self-control. He can practically see the battle going on within the walls of his head, recognizing that kind of self-doubt and sympathizing.

At some point, Oscar loses the battle he’s been fighting for years and abruptly stands from the table, jostling glasses as he runs through the crowd.

The rest of them nod, satisfied, and turn their heads away, feeling as if they need to give the two privacy for a moment that could either go perfectly right or horribly wrong.

When he reaches her, the flirting has gotten worse. Hands linger in places he’s wanted to touch for years and eyes stare at the lips he’s wanted to kiss for, what feels like, his entire life.

He sidles up to her as if he’s done it for so long, “Babe, what’s taking you so long?”

Her eyes meet his when she feels his hands circle around her waist, Oscar’s hands having pushed the other man’s away once he got there.

She gives him a quizzical look at the pet name before beginning, “Osc, what’s u-”

He extends his arm, interrupting her and setting his eyes on the stranger he loathes, “I’m Oscar. Y/n’s boyfriend.”

He can see out of his peripheral how her face contorts in mass amounts of confusion, “Wha-” She tries again, but it’s the other man that stops her this time.

“Boyfriend? Oh, my bad, mate, I didn’t know.” The guy says, truly remorseful for his “mistake” and it hits Oscar right in the chest. This man seems genuine and nice, everything Y/n deserves, yet he cannot physically bring himself to let anyone else know what she tastes like, feels like, loves like.

Even though he hasn’t experienced any of those things, he’s determined to.

—

The car ride is quiet as Oscar drives the two of them back to the hotel they’re staying at. After he pulled her away from the man, she had shut him out for the rest of the night, gluing herself to Lando. Her brother must have caught on because when it came to him driving her home, he bailed and forced her to get in Oscar’s car.

There was no further discussion, he shut her up with “I’m your big brother. You’re going to follow what I say.”

To say she was annoyed would be the biggest understatement of the year. She was close to fuming.

Oscar didn’t push her, not wanting to add fuel to the fire when he started it, so they sat in silence.

Uncomfortable silence. Something they had never experienced together.

When he pulled into the parking space in the structure, she flew out and slammed the door behind her.

“Y/n, I’m sorry.” He concurred, eyes blurring as he stared at her retreating frame.

She stopped, turning around and staring at him from her side of the garage.

“Why?” She asked aggressively.

“Why what?” He asked back, standing by the trunk of his car.

She exhaled a loud breath and walked closer to him, “Why’d you interrupt me with that guy? Why’d you say you were my boyfriend?”

Suddenly, his confidence from earlier was fading and he began to retreat back to the safe excuses, “You looked uncomfortable.”

He walked away from her, keys clinking against the cards of his wallet before the sound of her rapid footsteps replaced it. Her small hand wrapped forcefully around his arm and turned him around.

What he found was a red Y/n, exhausted with anger, “I fucking wasn’t!”

He shrugged, acting indifferent, something he didn’t know hurt Y/n deeply, “Oh, sorry.”

He tried to turn around again, run away from her and this situation, but her hands pulled him back once more.

“Jesus, Y/n! Can you let me go to bed?” He exclaimed, annoyance with himself rather than annoyance with her. Though, she didn’t know that. The two were in the same situation yet so far apart: both in love with each other, but too engrossed in their own fears and insecurities to realize the pleading in the other’s eyes was the same swimming in theirs.

“No!” She yelled, hands flinging out by her sides, “Tell me why you said you were my boyfriend, Oscar!”

She was determined now, not deterred by his disagreeance, “Fuck, no, Y/n! It’s fucking nothing! Leave it alone!”

Her hands on his shoulders, she began shaking him lightly, “Why, Oscar?!”

Their yelling was bouncing off the concrete walls of the building. If anyone else was in it, they would be able to hear their long overdue argument clearly.

His mind closed in on itself, going haywire at the feelings of panic. He wasn’t ready to lose her, wasn’t ready to blurt out his feelings and have his whole world come crashing down around him. The friends held different determinations, the topics of which should have pushed them closer together, but continued to push them apart.

His eyes darted around as she yelled again, “Oscar! Why?!”

It was frantic and quick, his response, “YOU KNOW WHY!”

His loud yell had her coming back with the same amount of volume, both testing just how echoey the walls around them could be.

“NO, I FUCKING DON’T! I NEVER HAVE! WHY DID YOU DO THAT TONIGHT?”

“BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE YOU! FUCK, I’M SO IN LOVE WITH YOU AND IT’S EATEN ME ALIVE THIS WHOLE TIME! I’M SO FUCKING SICK OF LOVING YOU FROM THE SIDELINES AND WATCHING EVERY OTHER GUY BE LOVED BY YOU, SOMETHING THEY DON’T EVEN DESERVE, BY THE WAY! HELL, I DON’T EVEN FUCKING DESERVE IT, BUT I’M TOO IN LOVE WITH YOU TO THINK THAT WAY. I FUCKING LOVE YOU, Y/N.” He stopped to catch his breath, volume retreating back to a quiet whisper as he looked down at her, “I fucking love you.”

She stared back at him, hands still on his shoulders, with a shaking frame. Her mind lost all power as she smiled at him, immediately moving her hands closer to his neck and bringing his lips down to hers.

What he thought would be a rejection turned out to be something he had thought about for an ungodly amount of time. Her plush, soft lips met his in a tender way, slowly melding together.

There were only a few times in Oscar’s life where he became so overwhelmed with emotion, he broke out of his unbothered persona and showed the outside world the intense feelings he was experiencing.

This was one of those times.

He grabbed her waist as if it grounded him in such a heavy moment. They stood, huddled together, in the middle of the parking lot kissing each other with such certainty that it reaffirmed the inferences made by everyone else.

Their friends, families, co-workers were all right. Everyone was right.

That revelation sat in Oscar’s chest as he tangled his other hand in her hair and pushed her lips further into him. He had wasted so much time engrossed in his feelings for her, he had failed to see hers.

From the nights she spent staying up late because he wasn’t prepared for whatever test they had the next day to the times she would solely come over to his house to cook food because he hadn’t eaten anything for dinner and didn’t know how to cook it himself now held a different light. A light that was no longer shunned by the longing he had been distracted with. A light that exemplified her kind, loving demeanor, something so comforting it couldn’t ever possibly pass as platonic. A light that slapped him so hard across the face, woke him up so harshly, he found himself thinking back to all their times together and realizing that while he was yearning for her love, she was yearning all the same.

When they pulled away and he was met with her grin, the grin she had given multiple times before, his brain recognized how adoring it was.

Always adoring him, always loving him, right in front of him.

He sighed softly, “You love me.”

He stated it in disbelief, but she confirmed when she nodded softly, “Yes, I do.”

He kissed her softly again, “I’m sorry for how long it took me to realize.”

She shook her head, “It’s my fault all the same, Osc.”

He laughed and moved to pull her into him, hugging her. Their hug, however, felt different. Now, he could let his hands linger and wander freely. Now, she could breathe in his scent openly, committing it to memory.

Now, they could love each other in the way they wanted to.

Still, lonesome in the parking lot, he pulled away and smiled at her, “The one thing I’m not sorry for, though, is pulling you away from that guy.”

She laughed, a sound he could now outwardly call his favorite sound, “Me too, Osc. Me too.”

A/N: hope you liked it (and cried) 😚 also lmk if y’all want a pt 2 to this where Oscar and yn go public to Lando, the grid and the public and everyone’s like “ok… we knew it was going to happen anyway 🤨” bc i think that could be funny

[obriengf]

he loves me, he loves me not - w/stiles

it was hard to muster up that much confidence; to intake such a deep breath that you felt dizzy, to ignore the hammering of your heart against the caging of your chest, to fight against the nagging voice in your head chanting 'stop' over and over again. it was hard to find that courage to speak before you think; to take that long leap between two cliffside edges, laying out your cards without the promise of a full sweep, to dip your toes in the cold rage of the ocean waters. the ability to become so incredibly incomposed was something that you wish you could fathom, but it was just so difficult the mere moment you glanced into his eyes. and you knew you were gone. lost. frozen.

"i love you."

it wasn't until you watched his amber eyes grow, bewilderment holding them captive as it was his turn to simply freeze. you didn't even recognise your voice as is slipped involuntarily past your shaky lips - an out of body experience, watching as the scene began to fade to a murky grey to complement the darkened cloud that had suddenly appeared overhead.

stiles gulped. visibly. painfully. conflict danced between the scrunch of his brows and twitch of his jaw - the embodiment of trepidation, eptimome of ambivalence, quintessence of apprehension. he was all of the confusion and indecisiveness that one could muster, and he wore it so well like a badge of honour that he did not want. on the inside, his lengthy fingers would be tearing at his hair and provoking gasps of panic from the look he knew you would be giving him next. the look, that he knew, would break him as much as it was about to break you.

"i-i don't... i'm sorry, but i don't love you. not, not like that."

it was a whisper that could have so easily been carried with the wind. it was quiet, and soft, and shaky as his voice broke. if you weren't standing so goddman close with anticipation, then you would've missed it. it was hard to see those beautiful amber eyes after that - your view disrupted by a glaze of emotion, tears that gathered and clung for dear life until you would allow them to fall. the possibility of his denial was always on the board, but you wished otherwise. you manifested the love he would give you, and how he could have repaired your aching heart, and given you the devotion that you so easily offered him.

words were lost on your tongue as they weighed heavily, preventing any further prying, stopping any further embarrassment.

it was like air as you stepped around him - feet light, floating, the ghost of who you were moving without any thought. you couldn't feel how your heart sunk and screamed for help, how it was drowning. numbness filled the cavity of your empty body, just a shell of a girl who laid everything on the line before losing it all. it was always going to be a gamble.

stiles forgot how to move, himself. as if the second you left his presence, a switch was flicked and his power was drained. what he said was in all truth, but that didn't make it any better; it wouldn't ease his conscious or remove the image of your broken composure from the forefront of his mind. he was convinced that his heart already belonged to another, and even they had no idea just how much of a hold they truly had. would he be able to love more than once? the thoughts were rough as they penetrated his chest, his heart on a skewer, the agony prevalent at the prospect of losing you.

the image of your saddened expression returned and stiles shut his eyes. he could feel you with him, still - seconds had barely passed, everything moving in slow motion. he could smell your perfume as it lingered behind him, and the crack of a stray sob that was choked back. he wanted to reach for you. his hands clenched, momentum building to swing around and just grasp at your wrist, to pull you back to him -

"there you are!" his eyes opened, but there was someone else there. the figure of which he had imagined his heart belonging to, the person he was so surely convinced was for him. but now, he wasn't so sure.

their hold was gentle as they cupped his cheek, asking if something was wrong. stiles shook his head and offered a smile, convincingly enough for the worry to be dropped and forgone. the story that followed from the kind soul before him was lost on deaf ears as he turned around slightly.

he shouldn't have turned. he should not have looked briefly over his shoulder. he should not have let the curiosity get the better of him. stiles should have left it as it was.

because if he did, then he wouldn't have seen you wipe away the tears that you let fall. nor would he have seen the anguish that came with your broken heart.

he wouldn't have wondered, for such a sweet small second, of what would've happened if he just told you that he loved you too.

[arminsumi]

WHEW🚴 can i request corrupting canon verse armin??? sure, he’s seen his fellow soldiers go in and out of brothels but that’s so indecent to him!!! :( poor boy doesn’t get the hype of sex and even how good it feels, maybe armin had an occasional wet dream but he’s too focused on his work to know how an orgasm feels or how to pleasure others… UNTIL Y/N PULLS UPPP😶‍🌫️

thank you sm i adore your writing

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

ARMIN x f.reader

Warnings; 🔞 MDNI, smut

Kinks; masturbation, oraljob (reader giving), inxperienced Armin x experienced reader, accidental edging, unprotected sex, creampie, kinda sub!armin and soft dom!reader

A/N; WHEEE this request had me holding my breath 😩💕 ty i hope u like what i did with it mwaaa

It just didn't occur to armin that he could touch and stroke his cock whenever it got stiff. That needy feeling persistently nagged him, but he paid it no mind like a good and disciplined soldier and went back to his duties.

Sometimes he'd look confusedly at his sheets in the morning after waking, wondering why there was a small puddle on his sheets of this creamy white... milk? No, that couldn't be milk, it was the wrong consistency, and it also didn't taste like milk, as he discovered.

It was curious that, when he was around you, his cock got stiff. And stubbornly so. Sometimes while talking to you, he felt it begin to strain against the black fabric of his uniform dress pants.

When you confronted him about it, he stuttered and attempted to explain himself sophisticatedly. "I don't know, it gets like this when I talk to you... when I think about you."

How cute. But you knew more than he did, poor innocent angel that he was. You offered to help him out, and he accepted with a nervous gulp.

"Wh-what are you getting on your knees for? You're gonna hurt your knees and — it's — it's cold!" he looked at you confusedly.

"Oh, Armin, don't worry. I'm gonna teach you how to take care of yourself, m'kay?" you smiled, your thighs pillowing flat as you kneeled before him.

You looked up at him. What a damn good-looking man, so handsome in his uniform with that pendant around his neck.

When he first felt your lips engulf his hard cock, he visibly melted and went straight to heaven. A staggering moan escaped his lips, but he had no idea why he made that sound. "Sorry... that was, um, involuntary?" he apologized through ragged breaths.

When you pulled away and he saw the sloppy mess of saliva left on his cock, he busted right there. Hot, creamy ropes of cum shot all over your tongue and mouth.

His chest heaved up and down, he tried to catch his breath and apologize at the same time.

"I-I don't know why I — how did I — I'm so sorry, it got all over you! Let me get you a towel!" and he scurried off to get you one.

After that life-changing experience, Armin practiced jerking himself off a few times. He was starting to get an idea of how good sex must be, and why his fellow soldiers snuck off to brothels so often.

Sometimes he felt shameful when he got hard, and avoided touching himself.

He had to really distract himself.

So he'd do some pushups and get into a sweaty workout. But he'd be rock hard throughout it, his cock aching and nagging to be touched. You at the forefront of his mind, of course.

In the shower one day, he finally gave into his desires and stroked himself off. Rivulets of piping hot water ran down the contours of his physique, precum spurted out his reddened cockhead. The veins showed up all over.

Each stroke became faster and faster as he tried to chase that familiar feeling to the finish line. He threw his head back and let the water wash over his face, let it run down his neck, his chest, his abs... his tummy flexed at the sensation of fucking his hand.

His cock twitched at the memory of your lips. And his thoughts? All he could think about was how it would feel to have sex with you. How it would feel to actually be between your soft thighs, to have you take his cock.

"Hey! Miiin? You in there?" you called.

He stopped immediately, hissing because he just unknowingly accidentally edged himself.

"Yeah! Just a minute!" he yelled in response.

He hastily turned the water off and wrapped a towel around his waist.

How annoying... his cock made a tent.

His tip nuzzled against the soft fabric, making a tickling sensation. "Shit..." he mumbled.

He had to calm down before presenting himself to you. But he just couldn't. So instead he compromised and folded his hands over that region, so he could press his cock down and look normal.

"What is it?" he innocently poked his head around the corner.

You motioned for him to come out quickly. It was just some small favor that you needed him for — fixing a tiny ODM gear mechanic.

"I should repay you in advance. Wanna take that towel off?" you asked cheekily.

His ears perked up. His heart raced — it went nuts. His cock only just started calming down, now it made a tent again with the towel. Armin flushed bright red and half-heartedly concealed his hard-on, but you pulled his hands away.

"Don't be ashamed, Armin, it's totally normal. I get it." you said.

"Sorry... I-I gues I just... I like you a lot?"

"Mmm... i think it's a bit more than that." you said. "you wanna fuck me, don't you?"

He audibly swallowed and stared at you dumbfoundedly with those baby blue eyes. He nodded and weakly responded with a small and shy "Y-yeah... I do."

"Well, c'mon, I'm right here. Give it to me." you said, hopping on his bed, pulling off your panties from under your uniform skirt.

Armin's eyes went big. His dick was so hard that it hurt.

"Come here." you beckoned him. He didn't hesitate.

Soon you had him kneeling on the bed, staring curiously as your pretty plush thighs parted for the blond soldier. Your dirty smile was so inviting to him, but —

"What... what exactly am I supposed to do?" he asked.

"Fuck me." you giggled.

"But... how?" he blinked.

You giggled louder.

He let out a gasp when you reached for his cock, tugging on it a bit. "Put this," you said, "in here." you spread your legs wider to display your soaked pussy.

That sight made him widen his eyes. He stuttered, "Oh... o-okay, I'll try?"

The poor boy, it took him a while to... ahem... find the hole. And when his tip first pushed past your supple lower lips, he came immediately. He came a lot. It felt like he burst inside you.

"Ooh, you've never felt pussy before, huh?" you teased.

Well, it wasn't only that; he had just edged himself in the shower.

"N-no, I haven't. I-I don't really know what I'm doing. c-can you guide me? Please?" he pleaded cutely.

"Of course, come closer; push it deeper. Mhm, there, like that, keep going. Deeper, deeper — there we go — oh fuck — you're thick."

"Is that a good thing...?"

"Mhm, definitely. Ah, okay, thrust your hips now, just imagine you're doing those ODM gear warmup exercises, Y'know what I'm talking about?"

"Y-yeah. Ah fuck... like this?"

You rolled your eyes back and he groaned. His cock was pulsating. It felt so damn good all over, he felt all this dopamine rushing through his brain.

"Oh — oh — yes — fuck, ohmygod— Armin, keep doing that."

You kept guiding him through the motions until... well, until he figured it out and ended up fucking you dumb.

You didn't expect that. But that's so Armin of him; he's a quick learner, of course after a little sex lesson he'd know exactly what to do, and excel at it. Well, some of it was also just primal instinct.

Your plush pussy engulfed him and squeezed out more of his creamy cum. It got messy, so messy.

His forehead beaded with sweat, dampening his bangs and causing them stick to his skin.

Fully flushed. Breath short — he panted as he easily came a third time inside you.

His thrusts made your eyes roll back, hard, and your pussy clenched around him like it never wanted to let go. Just a few more strokes and you felt yourself gushing and shaking under him.

"Oh my god..." he whimpered at the sight of you cumming for him.

He wanted to make you do that again and again — he got a little addicted to sex with you after that, some days he'd come pawing on your skirt with these pleading, lustful eyes.

[runscold-runsdeep]

Squeeze

Terzo X Omega - Dark Cardiophilia

Warnings/disclaimers: dark cardiophilia, fluff-ish, arguing, near death experience, heart failure, arithmetic heartbeat, demonic magic induced injury, Google Translate Italian for one phrase.

Word count: 800+

///Author’s note

I finally got it written!!! It’s short, and probably undeserving of a banner that took too much effort to make, but I wanted to scrub off the rust and get back into the swing of things. I’m gonna be adding a tag list to my fics from now on, so be sure to let me know if you want on!

🫀⸸⛧⸸🫀

The room was dark, the only light being the flicker of the TV displaying a horror film with Terzo scooted as close to Omega as he could, the mortal being curled up into the demon’s side. Omega enjoyed this closeness though, wrapping an arm around Terzo to keep him cozy. Despite the volume of the TV not being turned down low and Omega not having his ear pressed against Terzo's chest, he could still hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, occasionally quickening in response to the suspenseful moments in the movie.

Unable to resist the urge, Omega slid his hand down to Terzo’s chest, feeling the gentle, rhythmic beat of his heart against his palm, which made Terzo smile and lean closer to him. Despite his best efforts to concentrate on the movie playing in front of them, something about Terzo’s heart in that moment kept drawing his attention away. A sort of curiosity was nagging at him.

Ever since he was summoned and his natural talents for healing and caretaking were discovered, he found himself dedicating most of his spare time in The Ministry’s infirmary whenever he wasn’t with Ghost or alone with Terzo. The infirmary became a sort of sanctuary, a place where he could learn about the intricacies of the human body and its many ailments. However, amidst all the knowledge he was gaining, there were curiosities that lingered in his thoughts, and one of those questions kept pushing itself to the forefront of his mind. What happened if a heart was squeezed?

He tried to push this thought away once more. He would never test such a thing on his partner of all people. He would rather be sent to the ruthless hounds of Hell than to purposely hurt Terzo to answer such a ridiculous question… But at the same time, he also wanted to know how exactly Terzo’s heart specifically would react to such a thing. As he thought over this dilemma, his mind was clouded with conflict. On one hand, he felt a sense of guilt for even considering such a cruel experiment. On the other hand, curiosity gnawed at him, and whatever damage was done to his heart, he could always reverse it.

A purple light in the corner of Terzo's eye caught his attention, forcing his eyes away from the TV to look in the light's direction. Omega's hand was in a grasping position, aglow like ignited hand sanitizer. As Terzo's gaze lingered on the mysterious light, his lips parted to question Omega, but all that escaped was a wince. As Omega’s talons closed, a tightness formed in Terzo’s chest and a sharp pain began to shoot through his jaw and arm. As he felt his heart begin to stumble, his eyes widened, realizing now what Omega was doing. The sound of his pounding heart filled the room, drowning out all other noise as fear and confusion clouded his mind.

“O…Omega..!” Terzo gasped out, clutching at his chest and watching helplessly as Omega's claws tightened their grip around his heart, slowly squeezing it with his demonic powers, “Omega, s—stop!” He leaned against the ghoul, the pain and his failing heart causing his consciousness to wane.

And at once, Omega did, letting go of Terzo's heart and placing his large hand on the mortal's chest, taking in the pain he had inflicted. His own heart started to falter and ache now as he absorbed the injuries that had once belonged to Terzo.

Terzo closed his eyes, tilting his head back as he took in several deep breaths, trying to regulate his heart and his nerves before his eyes shot open, his head jerking to face his partner, glaring at him. “Tu... Tu fottuto idiota!” He exclaimed, “Wh—What the hell came over you?! You almost… you could have fucking killed me!”

Omega, who more than expected this reaction from Terzo, sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

“Why did you do that?” Terzo pressed his hand to his chest, as if trying to reassure himself that his heart was still beating.

Omega shrugged. “I was curious.”

“…You were curious.” Terzo repeated as he blinked at the demon, as stunned as he was furious. “You tried to kill me just to satisfy some curiosity?!”

“I mean,” Omega exhaled, pausing to choose his his words, “I wasn’t trying to kill you—“

Terzo glared at the ghoul, his white eye bearing a more intense coldness than it normally did, which made Omega cower just slightly.

“…I—I, uh… I wasn’t gonna push you that far. I was gonna stop before you reached that point. And I did.” Omega stammered, averting his gaze from Terzo’s.

Terzo huffed, shaking his head slightly as he curled back up with the demon, snuggling up against him. “Just… warn me next time you try something stupid like that.” He grumbled, “And look, I've missed a part of the movie because of you!” He complained, which forced a small chuckle from Omega as he pulled Terzo close.

“Want me to rewind it?” Omega offered, nuzzling his nose against the top of Terzo’s head.

“No, I’ll figure out what I missed later.” Terzo settled back into Omega’s hold as the ghoul draped his arm around him. Omega turned his attention back to the TV, feeling content at last even though his heart still throbbed and ached with an unsettling rhythm. He hoped that the discomfort would pass soon…

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

I posted a oneshot on my ao3 and forgot to post it here haha. Enjoy!

"Right, what has got you moping about?" Mary asks suddenly, snapping Sirius out of his daze. 

"Hm? Nothing, nothing, I'm fine," He says back vaguely. He's prepared to go back to staring into space, feeling a bit sorry for himself. Mary, however, isn't one to drop a topic. 

"You haven't talked my ear off about anything today, and it's weird, okay? What's going on?" 

"I-" He looks at her a little helplessly, but she just arches an eyebrow. Okay, so she isn't going to let this go. "I asked a guy out," He concedes with a sigh. 

"Okay, and?" 

"And he said no," Sirius adds, after an unimpressed look from Mary. 

"Sirius, I love you, and all, but you can't act like this every time someone doesn't want to go out with you. You'll be over it in a day or two, anyway!" Sirius just shakes his head, frustrated. He really doesn't think he will, not this time. 

Not with Remus. 

Yeah, he's had fleeting crushes, but Remus has been a constant. Somehow, he has stuck around, at the forefront of Sirius' mind, since fifth year. In two years, Sirius fell head over heels in love with his best friend. Well, more realised that he had never done anything but love him. 

So of course he's a little mortified that he brought Remus to the top of the astronomy tower and confessed everything, only for him to turn bright red and stutter a quick 'no'. Still, there's something else. Something that's nagging at him, that he's really hoping isn't just sadness induced delusion. 

"That's not it," Sirius says, half-truthful. "I don't think he rejected me because he doesn't like me." 

"Sirius..." She looks at him carefully, and Sirius knows he needs to elaborate. 

"Listen, I'm not stupid. I know what the signs are, and I'm sure there's something there. The amount of times we've almost kissed, I mean..." for a moment, his mind gets lost, having to blink harshly back to reality. "I- I can read him like a book, okay? There's something else going on. Some other reason why he said no. Some stupid, self-deprecating, endearing reason, and I need to know what it is." 

Mary just looks at him blankly for a second, before shrugging casually and leaning back against the sofa. 

"Ask him, then." 

"...yeah. Yeah, I think I will." 

-

Remus is revising. 

Well, trying to revise. 

No, he's staring at his book. 

It's not his fault, though! It's all Sirius'. Sirius and his stupidly perfect face, looking Remus in the eye and telling him that he loves him. Every single braincell in his head is taken up by picturing it again. Honestly, he doesn't know if it's daydreaming or torture. It doesn't really matter in the long run, it still has him pretending to flick through the pages of his History of Magic textbook, sitting up against a tree by the lake. 

He's so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn't even hear a person approach. He's blissfully oblivious to the presence of another person until a voice rings out. 

"Hey, Moony? Can we talk?" Sirius snaps him out of his daze. Almost immediately, he shoves his book aside, feeling a little like he's been caught thinking about him. Like Sirius can read his thoughts, or something. He cranes his neck slightly to look at the standing Sirius, and almost immediately feels guilty. He's shooting Remus a polite smile, but he can see the hurt that he's trying to cover up. 

"Huh? Yeah, yes, we can, yeah," Remus says quickly. Sirius wastes no time in dropping down opposite Remus, eyes meeting his. He isn't really sure what Sirius is going to say- 

"How do you feel about me?" He asks suddenly, watching Remus carefully. 

"What- what d'you mean?" Remus asks, confused. 

"I mean, did you really reject me because you don't have any feelings for me?" Involuntarily, Remus' eyes widen, shock rippling through him. He was hoping that they'd never have to talk about the whole... confession thing again. He's not even sure he can find the words, really. Instead, he focuses all of his energy into keeping his eyes on Sirius', not letting them fall to his mouth. "We never have to talk about this again if you don't, I promise," Sirius says quickly, almost reading Remus' mind. "I just- well, tell me you don't have feelings for me. Say the words." 

"I- I don't-" 

This is harder than Remus expected. 

He fights with himself for a few seconds, before just sighing. 

"I don't want to lie to you, Sirius," He says hopelessly, shrugging slightly. 

"So you do? You have feelings for me?" 

"Yes, Padfoot, I have feelings for you," Remus admits in a rush, feeling his face heat up. Sirius smiles triumphantly and, even now, that grin makes Remus' heart warm. A kindness weaves it's way into Sirius' features, concern etching into his eyes. 

"Why'd you say no, Moons? Was it- is it me? Whatever it is, I can work on it-" 

"No! No, it's not you, I swear!" Remus says hurriedly, his mind solely on reassuring Sirius. "It's me, it's all me, really." 

"Remus," Sirius says, with a tone so earnest that Remus feels compelled to stop and listen. "There's nothing about you that would change the way I feel, okay? Not a thing." 

He needs to stop saying everything Remus has wanted to hear. It's just making it all more painful. 

"What about the moon?" He says quickly, practically incoherently. 

"The moon? What-? Oh, Remus, you know I don't give a toss about your... furry little problem," He says calmly, glancing around for students as he speaks. 

"I quite literally turn into a monster every month, Sirius!" He exclaims quietly, desperately. Sirius isn't getting it. "You can't really hold onto any feelings. You might think you do, but you don't. You'll get over it, Sirius. I'm not doing that to either of us when it'll be over in a month, anyway." 

For a second, Sirius just stares at him. Christ, he's fucked it up, hasn't he? Sirius isn't even going to want to be his friend anymore- 

"I'm in love with you." 

Oh. 

Oh. 

"I think I've always loved you, really," Sirius adds with a breathy laugh. "And that's not in spite of anything. I don't love just one part of you. I love you. All of you. That's not going to change anytime soon. Especially not since I've known that for well over a year. You can tell me you're not good enough, but I disagree. You're everything, Rem. Merlin, I wish you could see that. I've known you for years. Your lycanthropy hasn't gotten in the way of how I feel; not once." 

"Not even-?" 

"Not once," Sirius emphasises, reaching out and grabbing Remus' hand. He squeezes it once, offering him a gentle smile. "You aren't going to change my mind. If I'm not changing yours, then I'll keep trying. Now that I know you have feelings for me, I'm not going to stop trying to make you see what I see." 

Sirius' other hand reaches out and presses against Remus' cheek. Honestly, Remus is dangerously close to tears. Too much is happening, making his head reel. He's not even sure what compels his next decision. 

All he knows is that he's leaning in and kissing Sirius. 

He hears a small, muffled noise of surprise escape Sirius, before he's kissing Remus back in earnest. It's... everything Remus could have imagined and more. Sirius' lips are soft against his, the hand that was sitting comfortably on Remus' cheek winds around and lands on the nape of his neck instead. Remus wishes that could be it. 

Instead, his brain decides to keep whirring, forcing him to pull away and talk again. 

"I'm going to die first. Shorter life span," He blurts out, instantly wincing at himself. Sirius just arches an eyebrow. 

"You're not dying tomorrow, right?" Remus shakes his head, confused. "Then it's a bit early to be thinking about dying," He says with a grin. Oh, Merlin, how it makes Remus' stomach swoop. "What else have you got? Hit me with it." Remus finally smiles properly. 

"Can't think of anything off the top of my head," He says calmly. 

"Okay, great! That means we're going to try, right?" Sirius asks gently, looking at Remus hopefully. 

"Yeah. Yeah, we're going to try." 

[spoops-screams]

| You and I

Character(s): Malleus Draconia

TW: Bullying (?), loneliness

Genre: Comfort/ fluff

Notes: Gender neutral MC || Getting back into all of my fandoms slowly but surely 👍

"They're always off on their own."

"Yeah, they don't talk to anyone. They just sit down in the gardens and draw all the time."

"Do you think they have any friends?"

"D'know. I know the housewardens are kinda close with them after the overblots and they've got those two from Heartslabyul around them sometimes but they don't talk to any of them."

"It might just be because people need help with the overblots. It's not like there seems to be much that they can offer since they don't have magic. They just seem to be convenient to have around."

"Yeah, maybe—"

"Child of man."

"Hm?" You looked up to the sound of the familiar voice, meeting Malleus' green eyes and noting his furrowed brows and the slight pull of a frown at his lips, prompting you to immediately put your pencil and sketchbook down as worry swept into your mind.

It’s quiet for a moment; not your usual comfortable silence when Malleus has noticed how tired you’ve gotten on one of your walks or when you both simply don’t know what to say but know that you don’t have to fill the silence, but it’s heavy and it worries you the longer than it stretches on.

"Malleus? Have I done something wrong." You only just managed to stop your voice from exposing the depth of your concern, multiple ideas running through your head as you considered the possibility that he might be upset with you. Your anxiety spiked with your heartbeat and you wished for it to slow down. It was almost ridiculous how quickly you were to jump to conclusions. You were overreacting, surely.

You weren't scared of him; far from it. He was perhaps the person that you felt closest to and safest with in this world but you were scared of the idea of him being upset with you.

It was irrational, sure, but a little voice in your head still nagged you with currently unfounded concerns and fears of what would happen if you upset one of the only friends you had here. The people who talked about you being your back only really consolidated the idea that you didn't really... Have anyone here. Not that you really minded.

You were used to being lonely, yes, but you didn't want to be whenever you were with Malleus. You didn’t have to be. You couldn't stand the thought of upsetting him and prompting him to leave you alone.

The draconic fae paused for a moment and his frustration melded into concern as he watched your face twist into slight panic. He had spent so long with you that he could tell what your worries were before you'd said them. "I am not frustrated with you. Are you aware of the manner in which people speak about you?"

His emphasis had you almost breathing a sigh of relief before his actual words had registered in your mind. It took you a moment to realise what he was talking about as you sat there somewhat dumbly as you stared up at him, tilting your head to the side in confusion.

"What do you-" And then it hit you. "Oh! I mean, yeah, more or less. Why?"

It wasn't like you didn't know about the things people said about you. You just didn't care about for it to be at the forefront of your mind. Otherwise, you would never get anything done and you preferred to be able to draw in peace without having to constantly worry of other people's opinions of you though perhaps it was partially because of Vil's overblot that you were really able to ingrain that into your belief system.

"And you don't see an issue with this?"

"Well, not really? It's not like I've given anyone any reason to think otherwise and it's not exactly an unfound belief." You shrugged, the matter really not meaning much to you. You were used to it. You had expected that kind of reaction considering your support for the housewardens and vice wardens was paired with your isolation from people.

"I do kind of just stay out of the way until I'm needed and it doesn't bother me all that much. I'm only really close to you, Ace, Deuce, Silver and Lilia, if you don't count Grim. There aren't really many people here that I could really consider friends, even Sebek would be a very emphasised maybe, so I don't really have an issue with people just saying what they see."

"Honestly, I'm only barely there at the friend mark with Ace and Deuce because of how little I'm around them nowadays so it doesn't bother me much. It's not like I know these people so I have no reason to care what they say."

He looks down at you with an unreadable expression before he sighs with his eyes closed, muttering something too quickly under his breath for you to catch. He doesn't seem to know how to respond to this. He's used to loneliness, it follows him everywhere he goes because of who he is and what he represents, but you?

You're everything he feels that he isn't. So why would be resign yourself to being alone?

He hesitates to sit down next to you and you notice the way that he shifts. Reaching an arm up slightly, you gesture for him to sit down. “Come on, it can’t be that comfortable to be looking down at me the whole time. I know it isn’t comfortable craning my neck to look up at you.”

He stares at your hand for a second. It’s strange, and the first edge is still for a moment. You make a move to retract your arm, an apology ready on your lips, but he reaches out and grasps it in his.

He stares at your hand again. “Are you not-?” He doesn’t finish his question but you understand him well enough.

Are you not lonely? He can’t say the whole thing out loud. It would make him consider who he’s actually asking too deeply if he was to do so.

You smile easily up at him. “Not really. I mean, I’ve got you, haven’t I?”

Do not repost, edit or claim. Only reblog 💕

[wzy3ka]

| When you caught him smoking — S.JY (심재윤)

bf!jake x fem!reader / you caught Jake smoking. warnings: slightly suggestive?, angst?/ fluff kissing, smoking I think that’s all

—————————————————————————-

Jake sat on the spacious balcony, perched on a comfortable chair, his fingers tightly wrapped around the chilled can of beer. The evening had gracefully transitioned into the night a little over an hour ago, casting a mesmerizing array of stars across the sky.

It had been quite some time since you had departed, embarking on your new venture to Japan for a prestigious fashion show. This was the longest period of separation you both had experienced, and it weighed heavily on Jake's heart.

While distance may have physically separated you, the countless

FaceTime calls acted as a lifeline, keeping the connection alive. Each conversation revealed just how much he missed you, and the mere thought of your absence tugged at his heartstrings.

The longing to hold you in his arms grew stronger with each passing day, and he yearned for the moment when you would return to him. That day finally arrived when your work in Japan was completed, prompting you to hastily secure the earliest flight available, eager to be reunited with Jake once more.

In an attempt to create a memory that would linger forever in his heart, you decided to keep your imminent arrival a secret, concealing the delightful surprise that awaited him.

As you turned the key in the lock, the door swung open, revealing the darkness that cloaked your apartment. A flicker of anticipation danced in your eyes as you pondered the possible reasons for the absence of light.

Could Jake be fast asleep, worn out from the day's exertions? The time was well past 11 pm, and you knew his restless nature would keep him awake, even at this late hour.

Setting your suitcase aside, you ventured further into the apartment, making your way toward the shared bedroom.

However, your steps came to an abrupt halt as a peculiar and somewhat unpleasant scent permeated the air, assaulting your senses

A toxic aroma lingered, its presence undeniable.

Casting a wary gaze into the darkness, you caught a glimpse of a familiar silhouette occupying the balcony a silhouette you recognized all too well.

It was Jake, sitting there in the dimly lit space, his thoughts a mystery yet to be unraveled.

From the shape of Jake's tense shoulders, you could sense the weight that burdened him, while a faint wisp of white smoke floated before him, dissipating into the night air.

Startled by your presence, he jolted up from his seat, inadvertently releasing the grip on his beer, causing it to tumble and shatter on the ground.

The tranquility that had enveloped him was abruptly disrupted by the sound of your sweet voice, breaking through the haze of his thoughts.

He wasn't even sure if he could trust his ears the sound of your voice felt surreal and otherworldly.

Turning his figure toward you, his tense expression spoke volumes, revealing the turmoil that had plagued him during your absence.

Unbeknownst to you, the passing days had taken a toll on his spirit, leaving him yearning for your comforting presence. But before he could fully process your arrival, there was a burning question that tugged at the forefront of your mind.

"Jake?" you spoke his name softly,

seeking his attention, and in that moment, his eyes locked onto yours, a mixture of relief and tension swirling within them.

However, before he could respond, you posed the question that had nagged at you.

"Are you smoking?" you asked, your voice laced with concern, as your gaze shifted to the wisps of smoke that lingered in the air.

"I missed you," Jake murmured, his words escaping his lips before he could register your inquiry, his mind still reeling from the sight of you standing before him.

"Are you smoking?" you insisted, determined to uncover the truth.

Jake hesitated for a moment, his internal struggle evident, before he

finally nodded his head in reluctant admission.

"Why?" you inquired, searching for an explanation to understand his actions.

"I don't know," he confessed, his voice tinged with a hint of remorse. He was acutely aware of the detrimental effects of smoking, but his loneliness had driven him to seek solace in the temporary respite it offered.

"You know you shouldn't expose vourself to those toxic substances." you pleaded, gesturing toward the cigarettes with a mix of concern and frustration.

"Y/n, I just felt so lonely here, and I wanted to ease my mind," he confessed, his voice tinged with vulnerability. The weight of guilt washed over you upon hearing his words. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have allowed myself to succumb to this habit."

"It's okay. You have me now, Jake" you reassured him, your voice filled with understanding and love.

As he approached you, his arms outstretched, he enveloped you in his embrace, providing solace in his strong, protective hold.

"Kiss me?" you whispered, a mischievous grin dancing on your lips as you looked into his eyes.

"Your wish is my command," Jake responded, a playful smile lighting up his face. As he leaned in, his lips met yours, igniting a spark of passion and desire.

In that moment, you could feel the tension of longing melt away as your souls intertwined in a dance of fiery love.

But just as things were about to escalate, you halted him, recognizing the importance of the promise you needed from him.

"Wait," you gently interrupted, your voice filled with a mix of seriousness and tenderness.

"Promise me that you will never put another cigarette between your lips as long as we are together."

Jake looked at you, his eyes filled with amusement, a mischievous glint dancing within them before he spoke.

"I promise that your lips will be the only 'cigarettes' I put between my lips," he declared, his words dripping with playful affection.

And with that promise sealed, he claimed your mouth once again.

[neuroticbookworm]

Parenting in Step by Step, a defense

I saw a bunch of posts about how Pat is immature and has poor communication skills, and citing his parents' divorce as one of the potential reasons.

*baffled* W H A T.

I don't have the time or energy to rant about the "poor communication skills" read, so all I'm gonna say is that Pat was busy holding his mushed up braincells together for the majority of this episode and direct your attention to @shortpplfedup's crisp and hilarious Ten Movements that perfectly summed up Pat's emotional journey. Cut him some slack, for fuck's sake.

Now, onto Pat's parents and their relationship with him and each other. I want to highlight the writing and dialogue in their scenes, because it hurts my heart to see not a lot of people talking about them.

When we first meet them, both Pat's Mom and Dad express concern about his eating habits, but the parent-child dynamics in these conversations were very different. Pat's mom says it's not good for him to eat ramen for breakfast, but she quickly accepts Pat's excuse and goes back to doting on him. When she brings up Jeng, and Pat complains that she is nagging and changes the subject, she lets him.

When Dad comes into town a few *undisclosed unit of time* later, he basically asks the same question as Mom, but this time, Pat is a little elaborate with his excuse explanation.

But Dad doesn't let him get away with his bullshit. He offers up a few solutions and wants to work on them with Pat.

After he's sure that Pat knows the need to change his food habits, he then adds levity to the conversation, and goofs around with his son. (I will forever adore the Asian Gordon Ramsey moment, more father-son wholesomeness in Asian media, please and thank you)

(did y'all notice how both Pat's Mom and Dad call him adorable with very different energies? did ya? okay, good)

Now, when the time came for Pat to let go of all his frustrations and break down in front of his parents, I was worried that the show would lean a bit too hard on the parental roles, the good cop/bad cop gambit. But no, it surprised me. It sure started out that way, with Pat offering up an empty excuse to Mom's question.

Which is immediately followed by this look:

(more on this later, I have SO MANY THOUGHTS about this)

When Dad follows up with this statement, Pat's defenses begin to crumble.

He opens up about how he feels overwhelmed and disconnected with himself, and Dad responds with this:

He brings the realities of adulthood to the forefront, reassuring him that he has also been there before and that Pat will learn to manage it. Still in line with the roles the show had previously drawn up for them. When Pat continues, Mom moves to Pat's side as soon as they realise that Pat's problems include heartbreak ("Everywhere I go, it's filled with memories") and she hits him with this:

Oooooof. That's a hell of a line. Accurate? yes. Comforting? Fuck no.

That's when Dad moves to Pat's side, and tries to soothe him. The roles are flipped.

Pat then says that maybe it would've been better, if they had stayed with him all the time. Now, this can mean two different things: I wish I didn't grow up so I could've stayed with you and life would've been so much simpler; I wish you guys did not get divorced and we could've all stayed together. Mom chooses to address the first part. She says that even if they stayed together, no one could stay with him all the time.

Dad, then acknowledges the separation and they tell him, TOGETHER, that they will always be his parents, and they never stopped loving him. And that they don't hate each other.

The TEAMWORK here, between Pat's mom and dad is executed SO WELL. They love their son, and want to comfort and reassure him, and they do it together. They don't do the "one of us do the talking and the other one hmms in the background" bullshit. They both understand his pain and give him their individual and collective opinions. They are in sync with each other's thoughts, and it shows. Remember the look between them at the beginning of this scene?

This speaks VOLUMES. They know something is weighing on him and they can't let him excuse his way out of this conversation. They look at each other, a non-verbal "let's do this", and start talking to Pat.

Being in love with each other and being good parents are not strictly inclusive. The show did not leave this unsaid, either. They show us, how two people can move on and still remain in each others' lives as someone to lean on. Someone who will always know you better than most people in this world.

How some people saw this amazing back-and-forth and thought "yeah, they're incompatible, and they traumatized their son, and he now has communication issues", I'll never understand.

TL;DR:

Stop demonizing divorce and calling it the root of all childhood trauma

SBS writers are doing some things EXCEPTIONALLY WELL, and they deserve credit for it

[myillusions]

I Saw You In A Dream (Joel Miller x f!reader)

Summary: After being ambushed by a group of raiders, you are gravely injured, testing the limits of your life. In torment, it’s dauntingly proven to Joel that without you, his light, he doesn't know how to cope.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: HEAVY angst, death of reader, blood, wound description, fluff, more angst (this is just a buttload of angst tbh), cursing, infected, canon typical violence

A/N: ahhhh ok ok i honestly had so much bloody fun writing this omg. i wont even lie writing angst is a BLAST and for what!! again tysm all of u for the amount of love on Home here's another oneshot bc why not i hope u all enjoy and thank u to everyone who reads! bless u all <33

An owl; a bird which gives an omen of death with its hoot. Joel should’ve taken it as a warning that night. He curses himself every day for not listening intently for it; constantly wishing for a way to go back to the time before it was too late. To the time before he heard the light chatter of perturbed Jackson townsfolk as they flooded their way to the front entrance gates.

In some way, Joel already knew. You had left on your patrol early that morning, before the sun had even begun to make its venture to haul itself above the distant hillocks; and had yet to return, even as navy blue and stygian black clawed at the sky above, drowning the sun downwards revoltingly along with Joel’s hammering heart. He already had that nagging thought which creeped its way to the forefront of his mind maliciously with each movement. As he swerved and shoved his way through the crowd, the only thing that highlighted your physique set upon the horse was the dim lighting of the flickering flames confined within glass, sitting as streetlights and the scintillating reflection of the moon. You were not alone, sitting behind Tommy on the saddle as he directed the horse through the gathered, his own hands smeared scarlet with the evidence of your pained expression. Your head was slung forwards with exasperation, a palm wrapped firmly around your torso.

Joel forced his way to the head of the throng, coming to assist with hoisting you off from the horse and laying you down onto a make-shift stretcher weaved with a multitude of maple leaves against the material in attempt to provide comfort; but it did not serve to calm Joel’s ragged breathing as his hands came to cup your cheeks, searching your dazed appearance mixed with pale skin, your eyes giving their best brawl to remain open.

“Look at me, baby. It’s okay. Look at me.” Joel tried desperately, seeking to keep you conscious. Your mouth opened for a moment like you were going to try and speak, but then two people were gripping the wood pieces connected to the bed, heaving you upwards and towards the Jackson infirmary. As you were lifted Joel’s hands slid down from your face, much to his disapproval. He began to kickstart after you until a hand was placed against his shoulder, abruptly pausing him in his steps. Joel whirled his head around, his brows furrowed, going to shove the intrusion away, before he was met with Tommy’s aggrieved guise.

“It’s not good, Joel.” Tommy warned, his head tilting slowly. Joel went to respond but didn’t trust his own voice at that moment, so he just roughly turned away, storming after you.

Once Joel had shoved past the doors to the makeshift hospital and gotten to the room in which you were located, he immediately perched himself at your bedside, hands running forth to securely grip yours. Joel went to finally examine you for the first time, his stomach churning sickeningly as his gaze settled upon the profound wound stretched along the side of your torso, clearly struck by a sharp-edged knife. The gash was illuminated with deep crimson, and blood emanated persistently.

He shook his head to clear the odious sight from his glare, instead directing it up to your eyes, which were already firmly planted on him. Something unnamed glistened in the cavernous hue of them, as though you were seeing him for the first time; or the last.

Joel couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze from you, too frightened that you may crumble beneath his hold if he did, even as the only doctor of Jackson, John, broke through into the room hurriedly; coming to inspect you, with hushed inquires being passed through the few in the room. Joel caught on to the fact that your patrol was ambushed by raiders, and it caused a tint of vexed red to forsake his vision.

Then, you began to shake; as an agonised cry ripped through your trachea, your eyesight blurring with ample tears. Your head shook vigorously as you blinked up towards Joel, hands desperately trying to squeeze his tighter, though slipping from the quantity of blood smeared against your flesh.

“It hurts.” You sobbed out through a harsh inhale, head falling forwards with exertion and Joel felt himself physically deflate with the demoralised edge to your voice.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” Joel urged, shaking your palms against his until your chin lifted back up to face his watered gaze once again, “Just look at me, baby.”

You sniffled gratingly, your next words coming out rasped as your throat dried with trepidation, “I’m scared.”

Joel frowned laboriously, elevating a palm from your own to press it impetuously against the side of your face, his thumb swiping away the tears that had collected on your cheek.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. It’s going to be okay.” Joel promised warily, his gaze flickering over towards where John was collecting his limited supplies, before he brought it back to your distressed face.

“It’s going to be okay.” Joel reaffirmed, if not more for himself. He pressed his palm closer towards your jaw when your eyes began to flutter with warning of falling unconscious, his gaze widening as he began to ramble out assertions to try and keep you awake.

You listlessly and crookedly smiled over towards Joel as your eyesight blurred in from the edges, creating a tunnel-like vision directed towards Joels panicked optics. Your brain crepitated, cutting off any hearing obtrusively; but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you peered up, hyper fixating on the deep mahogany of Joel’s eyes, swimming with flecks of a colour much adjacent to coffee beans, which you found ironic. Joel had always loved coffee.

You remembered him noting that he had a fondness for coffee on the first time you met. You were situated in the mess hall, sitting at one of the back corner tables, unaccompanied. This wasn’t because you were lonely, no; it was because you currently had a book planted in your lap and were earnestly invested in whatever was on the pages, gravely turning each crinkled off-white page.

“Coffee?” A smooth voice interrupted your reading, causing your head to jerk up with furrowed brows. A man stood there, with a peppered-grey beard and unruled brunette hair; you recognised him almost instantaneously. Joel Miller. He’s Tommy’s brother, from what you had heard; which wasn’t a lot. He mostly kept to himself, and you didn’t dare to intrude on his personal space. Though admittedly, you had always had a piqued interest for the brooding man.

“What?” You gawped up at him, dumbfounded.

Joel cracked an amused grin at your blundering manner, gesturing towards the alabaster mug full of dark amber liquid set on the table.

“What you’re drinking. Is it coffee?” Joel inquired.

You shook your head promptly, tongue clicking discreetly. “Oh. No. Tea.”

Joel grunted, coming to settle in the seat on the opposite side of the wooden table, placing his own mug filled with his drink of choice down. His brusque manner caught you off-guard, honestly, but you were open to it; especially when he spoke next.

“I’m more of a coffee person myself.” Joel rolled his shoulder backwards to relax his posture. An animated smile lifted your expression as your nose wrinkled with distaste, and it caused Joel’s eyebrows to shoot upwards.

“What? Y’ don’t like coffee?” You shook your head, and Joel gave a dramatic scoff of faux offence, placing his palms down against the wood to elevate himself back to his feet, “Well, I don’t think this will work out then-“

“No, no!” You chirped through a boisterous laugh, reaching towards him over the table to place your hand atop his own, coaxing him to sit back down, “You just got here.”

Joel chuckled blithely, settling back down into the seat, yet he didn’t make any actions to remove your palm from the back of his. He seemed to analyse you rigorously for a moment, before he tilted his head, “Joel.”

You blinked with incredulity, retracting your hand to place it back into your lap. You introduced yourself composedly, even if your heartbeat was pulsating rapidly enough to give even a talented gunman whiplash. Joel tested your name out against his tongue for a moment, before he gave a nod of commendation.

“You’re Tommy’s brother, right?” You asked with a tilt of your head and newfound attentiveness. He seemed startled at your question, his arms raising to cross along his chest to comfortably situate himself.

“I am.” Joel confirmed.

“I don’t wish to intrude, I’m sorry- but I heard you came here with a girl, is that true?” You tried, curiosity getting the better hold of you, peeking over towards Joel, who sat in a rather stand-offish manner; protective, you guessed.

“Yes.”

“I haven’t got the chance to meet her yet, unfortunately.” You said gingerly, internally whacking yourself in your face for the idiotic inquiry; clearly, he wouldn’t leap towards the chance to talk about a close one with someone he just met, not in this society. It was far too perilous.

“I’ll have to introduce you both then.” Joel answered to your surprise; and you couldn’t hold off the exuberant smile that lifted your cheeks, which made Joel chuckle faintly.

“So, you’re both liking Jackson, then?” You hummed optimistically.

“Better than out there.” Joel replied gruffly, and you nodded your concurrence with a grimace.

“I’ve seen you around-“ Joel started, before he interrupted himself with a clear of his throat, “You been in Jackson long?”

You smiled gently, nodding punctually, “Almost a year now. I feel comfortable in calling it home now.” Which was true, the solace the Jackson walls have given you in your time of being here have provided such comfort, wrapping you in a warm blanket of dependability, and you were so appreciative of everyone involved.

You and Joel kicked it off almost straight away. Conversation was a bit tense to begin with, but both of your precautionary demeanours soon diminished with time. You discovered that Joel was actually remarkably humorous as much as he was bashful, and you swore the entire time he could undeniably see the shade of red flourishing your cheeks.

Joel rapidly learned that you were the epitome of luminosity. It seemed that wherever life decided to plant you, you always bloomed with grace. It never failed to amaze Joel. He would often grow timid whenever you caught him staring, trying to memorise each and every curve of your profile. God, how he adored you.

He never made any sort of advance in your relationship, remaining diffident and reclused with his touches and words, until five months after meeting you.

You had both been appointed on the outlook patrol together, and Joel remembered being embarrassingly rapturous about it. You had both just reached the designated spot, advancing the latter and discarding your bags by the dusty fireplace. You moved outside onto the balcony to curl your palms over the metal railing, chin lifting as you drew in an extensive breath, simply enjoying the fleeting moment of peace you managed to capture upon the higher level.

Joel had come to a stop as your effulgent hair lightly oscillated, swinging with the smooth rhythm of the passing zephyr. Joel didn’t believe he had ever seen someone look so deeply peaceful since the beginning of the end, and it stole his breath away unexpectedly in the form of you. You, casted in the illumination of the sun’s rays; and him, bordered in the gloomy shadows created by the roof of the outlook.

He didn’t plan to, but the words more-so tumbled from his lips before he could even have a thought of capturing them,

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

The statement made you fall stiff, head revolving around briskly to face him, your glistening eyes held wide. He felt dread cascade against him in a barrelling motion, his mouth running dry.

Joel blinked, shifting on his weight as his shoulders rolled forwards subconsciously, stumbling over his words as he attempted to sought up an excuse, “Well, I- what I mean is-“

He hadn’t noticed you taking a multitude of brisk steps towards him after the moment of revelation dispersed, approaching him until you were only a few mere breaths away, crossing the threshold the sun made between the joyous and dismal. You were almost touching.

Joel’s words died in his throat as he took a leap to connect his eyeline with yours; and what he was met with was awe and tenderness, causing a chill to run along his spine swiftly.

Joel felt his eyes flutter downwards to peer towards your full lips briefly, until they returned to your eyes once again, fleetingly. You both stayed like that, with dense breaths, until Joel spoke again. He had shifted forwards a bit more without noticing now, so close that even an inch of movement from either of you would press you both together.

“What I mean is,” Joel repeated steadily, his gaze searching yours inquisitively, “I didn’t expect to get this attached to you.”

Joel wasn’t even positive he had a heartbeat anymore with the way it was beating so rapidly against his ribcage and with how you drew out a shaky breath, a hand snaking up to be placed soothingly against his neck. Joel watched as your gaze clouded with endearment, and he didn’t take the time to reconsider his actions before he was swooping forth, capturing his lips with yours.

You sighed against his mouth, pressing forwards more, and the kiss escalated passionately. Joel’s hands flew down to your waist, delicately tracing the curves of your hips. He grunted against your lips as your mouths moved against each other, connecting you both completely and intimately for the first time. Joel felt his lungs burning against his chest, but he couldn’t bring himself to tear away from you, chasing after your lips more after every movement.

You keened against his mouth, before you murmured something. Joel finally pulled back, breaths intermingling heavily as you both caught your breath, eyes gradually sliding back open to peer into the others. You raised a palm to stretch it along his chest, playing with the buttons of his shirt.

“I think I’m falling for you too.” You murmured the confession, almost unintelligible; but he caught on. He smiled contentedly, leaning back in to recapture your lips with his fervently.

Joel was always in awe of you. Whilst being graceful and empathetic, you were also insanely valorous and proficient. You were a blazing forest fire, and Joel was a freezing man wondering the wilderness. He never wished to control your flame, only wanted to be near it.

He had uncovered that you were the kind of person to persistently say ‘I got this’, even when tears clouded your eyes. You proved this on the day that you, Joel and the rest of the patrol you were with encountered a lot of infected.

You, Joel and three others had been tasked with clearing out an area by the border of Jackson which had been reported to have been flooded with newfound infected that were drawn in. Upon arriving to the worn-out metal shed, it hadn’t taken long for you all to be ambushed by a group of infected.

It was a whirlwind of reverberating gunshots, mixed with the caterwauls of both human and infected. Joel, in a frenzy, after taking down a particularly stubborn runner, had whirled around to search for you desperately; fear striking along his veins.

Then he spotted you, stuck in the midst of it. Like a spotlight had shone down from the sky, past the tinned roof. The perfect combination of grandeur and violence, shooting adrenaline through your figure with every left jab, swipe of the leg, kick, right hook and shoot of your pistol. You fought with such vigour and persistence to protect your patrol mates; Joel was so eminently astonished of the sight that the figures moving towards him with malice were scarcely indistinguishable. Joel found a relief in allowing himself to focus on the task at hand after seeing you in the difficult situation, in complete confidence that you were able to handle yourself.

Joel shook you lightly to bring you back to your conscious, and he’s positive he’s trapped in a nightmare. John was gawping down at the substantial wound, having assessed the damage and come to a dreadful conclusion. Joel all but dismissed him from his sight, primarily focusing on you as your eyes slowly fluttered back open to face him, although hazy. You gave a dazed smile towards him as his appearance flooded back into your sight, your head tilting to the side, until the pain dived back in, striking you in the gut like a bullet.

You pressed your lips together in a thin line tightly to try and stifle the pain. Joel could do nothing but look on with apprehension. You then reached out for him desperately, an inhale breaking past your windpipe.

“Hold me. Please. Joel- Hold me-“ You choked out, gripping onto his shirt to tug him forwards pitifully. He hesitated, but then complied, twisting around to grab the nearest chair and drag it as close as physically possible towards the bed. He would’ve laid down with you, but he didn’t wish to disturb the wound anymore, so instead he wrapped his arm around the back of your head to cradle you against him, his cheek pressed right up to yours and his chest against the side of the bed.

He rocked back and forth slightly, murmuring emboldening words, “It’s okay, baby. I got you.” He raised his head to peer into your own eyes, his free hand coming back to squeeze your palm faintly, in reassurance, “You got this.”

You seemed to smile bemusedly towards that, as you tilted her head closer to him to seek out his warmth, beginning to shake as a honed chill ran along you, turning your fingertips frigid.

You gave a shallow weep, your mouth opening hopelessly; you were trying to say something. Joel exhaled unsteadily, leaning in towards you as you attempted to make out a few simple words.

You blinked up towards Joel as tears cascaded down your cheeks, but it wasn’t from the pain anymore. You shakily raised a hand, before delicately pressing your raw palm against his cheek. Joel forced himself to meet your gaze as his own significantly watered, multiple of his own teardrops littering his skin.

You endeavoured to get your words out, “I- I- I lo-“ But eventually you abandoned the idea as your throat tightened, cutting you off.

Joel broke now, his bottom lip wobbling until a cry tumbled through. “I love you, sweetheart. Fuck, I love you.”

You swiped your thumb over his cheekbone with an affectionate yet pained smile, your eyes cautiously slipping closed. Joel continued to rock back and forth, not breaking his gaze from you once as he muttered miserably.

“Please, baby, please. I love you. Please, god, darling.” Your eyes completely shut now, and your hand was the last to go limp as it fell from Joel’s face, planting itself by your side. Your chest stilled and the colour drained from your face completely; taking with it the tender-hearted and spirited woman he once knew, “Please.”

Joel prevailed in his swaying, his head drooping to hang low as he muttered nothings into the still air, not allowing the sight before him to candidly present itself.

Though, as soon as a hand landed on his shoulder; it brought Joel down to reality and sent him off the edge all at once. He felt as though he’s just stepped off a cliff, barrelling hundreds of feet into the dark ravine of the bitter currents that awaits below, swallowing him up completely as he fights against ocean currents, and then spitting him out to lay lifeless on the coarse sandy beaches.

Joel leans forwards as a striking pain wretches through his stomach, an agonising wail tearing past his windpipe and crawling its way out of his mouth. With the lamentation of the unveiling scene, the person who had pressed against his shoulder rapidly vacated the premise, leaving just Joel and the limp physique of you in the room. It happened too quick. Joel presses closer towards you, even with your body now not sanctioning the amiability and warmth he’s accustomed to.

Joel gave irrepressible cries which sent his spine forwards, until his body eventually gave out on him, and his arms untangled from you, sending his knees plummeting towards the marble floor, the chair dragging backwards with a deafening screech. Joel couldn’t hear, an ear-piercing ringing resounding through his head. Tunnel vision spiralled so rapidly in his vision that he had to shut his eyes tightly and lift his hands to harshly rake through his hair, ripping at his scalp. He curled himself downwards, his broad shoulders trembling whilst he wept.

For all the time that Joel had been familiar with you; you had been the symbol of radiance, your benign words spreading consolation through anyone fortunate enough to receive it. Your determination transcended further than anyone Joel had ever had the pleasure to meet, and your overwhelming fierceness and vehemence brought a magnificent juxtaposition to your thoughtfulness.

That light of yours had shuddered away to a dim glow, before disappearing completely; and Joel had witnessed it all. That will forever be his torment. To see a rare luminous light of this flawed and run-down world flicker to a formidable and devastating darkness.

And now, Joel is involuntarily enforced to remember you for longer than he had known you, and that is the most significant torture of it all.

"When death takes my hand, I will hold you with the other, and promise to find you in every lifetime." i saw you in a dream - The Japanese House

Comments and feedback are appreciated!

[00127am]

signed with love and forever yours, chenle

postage. zhong chenle & gn! reader, cursing, mentions of kissing, very brief mention of sex (only in name, no details) cost to ship. 625 words

i can't seem to get you out of my mind.

you stick to my skin like glue that i just cannot seem to wash off. it's annoying, really. having to exist in each and every moment with the preconceived fantasy of you playing in my head with every word and every breath and every movement (all dedicated to one more second spent with the vision of you in my head). i hate how much i think of you, nearly as much as i hate being away from you (though the latter proves to be much worse).

i haven't been able to stop thinking about you since before any kisses of ours. and before the first time we fucked (does the use of the word fucking ruin the letter for you? i can practically hear you nagging me to change it to "making love," or something equally as stupid). you've haunted my mind since i before felt your touch on my skin and before you flashed that strikingly pretty smile in my direction. i can't tell you when it began. when you made your permanent home in the forefront of my every waking moment. but i wouldn't be surprised if you were always there, from the moment we first met.

i know i say that i don't remember it. and i don't, not your version of our initial meeting. and maybe i avoid the topic to hold myself from the embarrassment of admitting that i've been aware of you for much longer than you've been aware of me. or perhaps because if we did talk about it, and you pried (like you always do) then i would be forced to admit that i've been utterly and incomprehensibly in love with you from the moment i first saw you. a memory which i revisit nearly as often as i fantasize about you.

it's not revisited enough. at least, not enough to burn off the remainder of your lingering presence in my mind. something i doubt i'll ever be able to truly remove, though i'm not sure i'd ever want too. but if i did, if i had to move on from you, i doubt that i would ever be able too. both a matter of lacking the courage and the simple fact that i'm afraid that i will not ever be able to love anyone as i have loved you. because you, in every essence of yourself, are love to me. more so than any textbook definition and scientific measurement.

i can't seem to get you out of my head. so do me a favor and come to me in person instead. please.

about chenle's love letters.

all of chenle's letters are never meant to see the light of day, much less your gaze. he writes them on whatever is in his reach in the moment, the spare napkin laying on his desk and the back of the cardboard box from his most recent purchase. his words are lovely and kind, filled with an adoration that he expresses to you in touch rather than prose, filing the letters away in the bottom drawer of his desk. they'll reach your eyes some day, just not now, not when he feels like his heart may burst at the mere thought of you.

he often writes his letters in an irritated daze, bottom lip caught between his teeth and eyes set, furrowed, upon the bridge of his nose. the grip of his pen is tight, ink pushing harsh into the paper. all of his letters are written with love, despite being tainted by the faint impression of vexation. an aggravation stemming from the fault of feeling too much. loving too much. something chenle finds easy to blame upon you for all intents and purposes.

your mailbox

taglist. @evilsailorsenshi @222brainrot thank you for supporting me! ♡

🧾 © 00127am 2024

[drapopia]

the flames devour (everything that we are)

pairing: (young) sister imperator x (young) papa nihil emeritus

warnings: SMUT! vaginal sex, vaginal fingering/cunnilingus, groupie sex/mild infidelity, a messy coupling, some light angst and mentioned misogyny, mentioned past murder, set around the late 60's but before the Kiss the Go Goat incident, only Primo and Secondo exist

summary: Control, power, fame. Everything Sister Imperator promised the Clergy that the Ghost Project would culminate and more. But when push comes to shove and Nihil can't look past the packed backstage doors, someone has to put their foot down. (Surprise, surprise. It's not Sister Imperator).

word count: 10.2k

authors note: special thanks to @barelydaisy for commissioning this piece from me! the gratitude i feel towards you makes me ever so fond! i hope whoever reads this enjoys it, comments/reblogs/likes are always appreciated!

MINORS DNI

Read On AO3

--------------------------

Facetious. Flippant. Exaggeratedly stupid enough to make her head thrum with anger on a daily basis. How unfortunate that he be so alluring. 

The motel lobby was stuffy, the air thick and humid with the hum of the heater. She assumed it was the owner’s fault the heat was up so high, the flurries of snow outside swirling across the frosted panes of glass. She looked at the carpet below her, mottled with green and brown in an unappealing combination. It was a struggle to push down the urge to scoff.

Lifting her head, she studied the features in the dimly lit foyer. The furniture was mismatched in an abysmal show of ‘interior design’ skills, a mixing of modern and so dreadfully outdated that it made her want to retch. Resisting the urge to openly huff, Imperator pulled her coat tighter around her. The fur trim tickles against her neck, her hair further up than normal and lessening the chance of it whipping in the wind. The silk scarf wrapped around her head protects her ears, and heightens the anticipation of walking into a room and having all eyes on her. 

She walks closer to the small front office window, peering in a bit more. The urge to ring the call bell and finally get some goddamn service was at the forefront of her mind. The dingy carpet, the thick lining of dust in the creases of the front desk, she could go on about the reasons she wished they were at another motel. To put it lightly, they were shit out of luck. She was no stranger to dingy motels, but the fact that they were better than that was a nagging thought in the back of her mind.

The tour was going well. In fact, better than well. Throngs of screaming fans, clubs and bars packed with people begging for an opportunity to see Papa Nihil up close. From her spot in the wings, Sister Imperator watched with subtle glee. She knew that Nihil was charismatic, but she hadn’t anticipated the reception they had gotten from the public. There were those in it for the music, for Satan, or more overwhelmingly for him. The dingy bars had been acceptable to play, the low tickets quickly piling into more than they had ever imagined possible for the Clergy. 

Sister had fought for the Ghost project, staring down the eyes of men she knew only wanted to see her on her back with her legs spread. Men who wouldn’t shirk the chance to push her down for fun, to throw down her ideas with a lackadaisical “We’ll consider it.” But Sister Imperator had listened to her, looked at her ideas with an interest that led to her taking a young woman with wild ideas under her wing. And now here she was, with her title and her status, a former name now neglected, a shallow grave in the woods at the Abbey that nobody would find,  and a small syringe hidden in a lockbox that she had thrown away the key to. 

But with fame and a message spreading far quicker than anticipated, Sister couldn’t help but wish to stretch the budget in other ways. For once she would like to lay her head in a bed she hadn’t voraciously searched for bed bugs, stripping the sheets to find cigarette burns in the mattress. Nihil hadn’t cared, simply flopping down beside her and mouth opening in an uncaring yawn. Though they had separate rooms, it was seldom that they spent the night away from one another. Though she was loath to admit it, she had grown used to the weight of his head on her chest and the rise and fall of his breath on her nightgown. The road was lonely, who else to turn to but him? Practically any ghoul or stage hand , she thought to herself. But where was the fun in that?

Her line of thought was broken as she heard the waddling gait of the man stationed at the front desk, his non-slip shoes certainly close to slipping on the waxed linoleum. He appeared at the window, the flannel buttoned so tightly around his neck that she was frightened it was strangling him. 

He let out a huff, flipping through the pages of paperwork that the Clergy had sent months earlier in preparation for the tour. Three rooms, two for her and Nihil and one for any reclusive ghouls that didn’t want to pile in on the bus. The man looked at her, locking eyes with an uninterested, if slightly bored, look. “Alright, I found the work in the back. Took me a minute, but it was just tucked away. You have ID, right?” 

Sister nodded, her hand reaching into the mustard yellow vinyl bag she kept her clutch in. After flicking through her pocket change, she found her ID behind Nihil’s credit card. She grabbed it, placing it down on the cracked plastic of the desk and pushing it towards the man. Though she had gloves on, she didn’t trust how clean the man's hands were and didn’t want to risk him staining the crisp white of her faux fur gloves. (She cared little for the plight of the leather industry, but she couldn’t deny the news articles dampened her excitement for a new addition to her closet). 

The man picked up the ID, gave it a cursory glance and nodded his head in acceptance. His hand slid under the desk, looking around for the keys no doubt. She turned around, her arms lightly wrapped around herself as the heater had stopped its incessant blasting. She turned in a half circle, her boots clicking against the floor once and then stopping. Her eyes turned to the window, the flurries coming down as mercilessly as they had been when they had rolled into the parking lot. 

The light from the overhead street light shone hazy light over the parking lot, blending into the dark of the winter night as seamlessly as cream stirred into coffee. The bus was in the distance, the tinted lights only showing blurry shapes moving against the inside of the vehicle. That wasn’t what she glimpsed that snatched her attention away from the moment.

 Leaning against the pillar of the motel was the curved posture of Nihil, his coat wrapped around his waist in a way that posited his sculpted abdomen that anybody would blush at. His makeup was still painted on, though a familiar eye could tell where it was beginning to pill on his neck from the copious sweat that poured down in the stage lights. His legs were crossed behind him, his platforms digging into the swirls of snow that would no doubt accumulate over night. Even through the heat of his body, the flakes of snow drifting down had caught on the unruly strands of hair and failed to melt. That wasn’t what Sister couldn’t bear to tear her eyes away from. 

Nihil’s arm was placed along the hip of a woman, unknown to her. No doubt a fan from the way the woman’s lips were curled into gleeful disbelief at her luck. Sister could almost imagine the tittering, the vapid flustering of words that had become so commonplace that all she could do was turn with a roll of her eyes and a tap of her cigarette. The woman’s lips moved, and Sister could see Nihil’s mouth open in a laugh, the easy smile on his face directed at her. The hand on the woman’s hip visibly gripped tighter, pulling her closer to the warmth of his torso. The woman’s hand raised, gripping his clothed bicep and running up and down. Mocking. 

Nihil turned, the woman moving alongside him and his arm curling around her hips, her deliciously full waist. His fingers pulled at the flesh, and his touch was… soft. Unfamiliar and with an air of understanding that no doubt made the woman’s stomach flutter with warmth. Had she ever been touched by a man, a woman? The intoxicating knowledge that she had sealed the deal with Papa Nihil, up and coming star of the Olde One himself. Did she know just how well his fingers moved, how his cock had made so many feel like their world was melting around them? She soon would. 

Sister’s face was blank, her eyes narrowed in contemplation and thinly veiled vexation. Her stomach was simmering with… rage? Unclear. Her gloves squeaked as her hands squeezed together, her arms still crossed tightly together. 

“Ma’am?” A voice said behind her, and she turned on her heel. What now? Imperator thought, her eyes flicking down at the set of keys on the ledge of the desk and her irritation fading. She picked up the key, gripping it in her hand. 

The front desk attendant reached into the drawer, his head tilting up to meet her gaze. “Do you want the other key for your friend?” He motioned his head, leaning on his foot to look at Nihil outside. 

Sister shook her head, her hair weighing heavy on top of it. She still needed to take a shower, unravel the intricate pins around her bun, and unpack her clothes for the morning. She let out a sigh, a careful shrug of her shoulders as she craned her head around to look out the window once more. Still in the cold, Nihil’s arms were wrapped tightly around the woman, his lips latched onto her neck and her mouth open in what was undoubtedly a wanton moan. In the middle of the night, no one was around to see them. But Sister knew he would have done it onstage, at an after party, on an altar at Black Mass for Satan’s sake. 

She swiftly turned her head, meeting his gaze and pointedly dropping a twenty on the cracked plastic once more. “He can do it himself, I’m certain he can manage.” Her voice came out firm and stiff in the quiet of the lobby, and she turned to walk to the door. While she could ignore the way he licked at the woman's ear, turning pink from the bitter gusts of wind, she couldn’t ignore the simmering heat in her stomach. But there was nothing saying she couldn’t try. 

___________________

The heat of the dressing room was sweltering, the push and pull of bodies making Imperator’s lip curl in disgust. The heat of the fire ghoul to her left was making her sweat, and she couldn’t afford to stain the new Emilio Pucci dress she had purchased earlier that day. The pink and green pattern helped to disguise the sweat no doubt attempting to push its way past her slip, the silk cool against her skin in the overwhelming bustle before the show. She was happy she opted to wear her hair in a high bun, the bump in her hair allowing the thin air to waft against her neck. 

As she studied the people (and otherwise) in the room, her eyes landed on Nihil naturally. His hands were steady as he painted the lines across his lips, his mouth open in what would be a gasp if the thought to do so struck him. She smiled, her hand raising to her lips and taking a small drag of her cigarette. She let her hand fall away, tapping the ash into the crowded ashtray to her left. As the months in the tour had gone on, she had felt drawn towards Nihil. Long nights were spent with him nestled into her side, speaking about where they had come from, their dreams, what toppings they would add to a sundae, what colors they look best in. It was hard to deny the way her heart pounded when he drew near, though she hid it behind a stern demeanor and a perfectly drawn on smile. 

The door opened, a ghoul walking in and looking towards Nihil. “Papa? You’ve got a call on the other line, the manager is trying to patch it through to ‘ya.” The earth ghoul spoke in a lethargic sway as he pushed his way through the crowd, the familiar pungent smell of dope stuck to his clothes. Nihil nodded, shooting the ghoul a half painted grin as he set down the brush and reached for the white marbled telephone to his left. He picked it up off the receiver, holding it against his ear. He paused, listening for the feedback of the call. 

“Yello?” Nihil said into the phone, a confused look on his face, though it stretched into a grin as he let the call go on further. “Yes, it’s Papa. I thought you were supposed to be sleeping? Is it not night there, ragazzino? ( little boy).” Nihil’s lips were wide as he snickered into the phone, cradling it to his ear as he listened intently. Imperator could have bled from the ears at the urge to roll her eyes. 

Nihil’s son Primo was sweet, there were no doubts about that. Quiet and intelligent, he was racing through his studies with diligence that was admirable for children his age. However, she couldn’t stop the irritation that fueled her when she saw him, heard his voice. He was a child, for Satan’s sake, she was being unreasonably harsh! But he was part of the bloodline, time would tell if he was worthy of his spot as Papa in adulthood. For now, he would watch Doctor Who and study to be the antipope. What an antithesis, she snorted to herself, pulling her cigarette to her lips for another puff. 

“I will keep you on my mind, make sure to keep an eye out for your little brother. Especially him, I know he has been eating my Cordials. I have eyes on him, the piccola rana. (little frog).” NIhil laughs, his white paint creasing where he had failed to set it. After a minute or so of diligent listening, he shushes into the phone. “Goodnight, tell your fratello I send my love.” A pause, and a look of tired fondness softens his face. “Bye bye.” He pulls the phone away from his ear, placing it back on the receiver with a ring. 

She wouldn’t pry, Sister thought to herself. Though she was never one to shy away from stirring up the mud with a well placed jab, she knew better than to push at the… delicate nature of Nihil’s relationship with his young children. It’s not as though they were all little monsters (She found herself grimacing internally, they weren’t little monsters all the time. But it would be no hard challenge to count on her fingers all the times she’d found leftover Chiclets from Secondo in her purse. Little bastard). 

She rose from her seat, pushing through the ghouls pulling on their clothes for the performance. Walking up to stand behind his desk, she met his gaze in the mirror with a smile barely noticeable in the haze of the dimly lit room. 

Nihil meets her smile with one of his own, his hand deftly gripping the small liner brush to his left and dipping it into the black grease paint. His eyes pull away from hers with a small degree of difficulty, she notices, and looks towards the mirror and continues the small strokes across his lips, above the bow of his upper lip and ending at his full lower lip. Hands rise, resting on his shoulders as she leans slowly down. Sister smiles, pulling in his scent that was so delicately him. How he managed to smell like juniper and basil eluded her, Nihil even going to a point of going into another room to spray his cologne so she couldn’t see the bottle. (“A man has to have some sort of mystery, si?” He had laughed, and she responded with a scoff. It still didn’t stop her from scouring every perfume counter in every city to find it). 

She leaned her cheek against his, his eyes still locked onto his visage in the mirror, but his hands had a perceptible shake to them. “Nervous?” Sister purred, her pink frosted nails tracing along the line of his black leather coat.

Her cheek pulled away from his, her lips turning to the shell of his ear. Her breath was soft and warm on his ear, a tickle against the skin of his neck that pulled the hair on end quicker than the cold outside. Even in a warm room, Sister made him feel as if he’d gone skinny dipping in November. 

“No, I am not. Merely hot.” His voice was soft in the din of the crowded room. “You would think they would have another room to dress in, si ?”  He smiled at her, adding a thicker line to balance the larger stripe alongside it. Her nails continue to trace along his collar, the soft pads on her finger edging along the skin of his neck. Dipping into the countours of his throat, tracing his Adam’s apple with a calculating grace. His breath was steady, but his eyes, not yet coated with black shadow, were lidded with a hazy fondness. 

An excited yelp from the corner by Nihil’s own guitarist shocked her out of the moment, her hands quickly pulling away. NIhil’s smile dropped in disappointment, but it stilled as Sister’s hands returned to tug his collar closer together and quickly fasten a button.

“We have a budget, Papa.” Sister’s voice said softly, though it was said with such finality so as to stop the train of conversation from going any further. Nihil shrugged, setting down the smaller liner brush and reaching across the table for his loose powder. As he opened his mouth, she knew the attempt would go ignored.

He hummed, looking up at her with a playful smirk, “Oh? And our budget includes a new pair of pumps?” At that her smile becomes an even line, her thin eyebrows furrowing as the words drop from his lips. Of course he had to push too far. It wasn’t as though he didn’t understand the limits of their spending allowance. It didn’t stop him picking the most upscale restaurants in the area, loosening the buttons on his shirts as more and more drinks were sent to the table, the way his eyes roamed the women who passed by. To her annoyance, he had never noticed the way her hands gripped the stem of her wine glass with vitriol, how she met the gaze of every curious woman and turned their eyes away. 

“Yes. Just as it apparently includes a new coat and- oh? What’s this?” Sister’s hands shot towards him, gripping his wrist with care. She held it with tightness, making sure not to hurt Nihil. Never hurt, she told herself. Sister’s eyes sparked with a curious viciousness, but her stomach burned with ire.

“A new watch? Where could you have possibly gotten this little gem?” She hummed similarly to his own playful song moments beforehand. If there was one thing Imperator could do, she could match someone’s game. In kindness or in truculence. 

Nihil’s smile didn’t drop, but the kidnapped arm rose and cupped her cheek. She sighed, resisting the urge to lean into his palm. The hand remained around his wrist, but she let it it go somewhat lax. The thick curls of hair along his arms were soft, though the wiry swirls of hair along his stomach were similar but not quite so coarse. Her thumb rubbed along his wrist, a gentle back and forth. 

“I want to look nice for you, Sister.” Nihil’s accent and the curiously odd intones of ‘Sister’ made her cheeks tighten with the urge to giggle, and the tight smile made Nihil’s lip lift even further.. “Do I not look nice for you? I try so hard, you know this.” He pouts, the pop of his lower lip making her smile spread further. Damn fool, she thought to herself. Was she speaking about herself, or Papa? She could parcel through these thoughts later in the obscured dark of the tour bus. 

“You do.” Sister said in a low mumble. The way her stomach buzzed was unfamiliar, the compressed feeling around her lungs making it hard to conceive of any thought besides how Nihil smiled at her, the way his hand fit along her hip and how her hand had never felt so drawn to touch someone. His skin was so warm, a sunkissed tan that made her buzz with something unknown. Or maybe she had always known. 

He pulled away, and she fought the urge to jump towards his arms again and pull him to her. No, she wouldn’t stoop to begging. He turned to the mirror, patting the powder into his lips. “Good! The crowd will love it, always so attentive. The doors are open after performances, as always.” His eyes gleamed, the devilish glow of his one white eye gleaming in the muted warmness of this damnedly hot room. Could it compare to the warmth in Sister Imperator’s chest? 

The fuzziness she had felt moments earlier was extinguished in that single sentence, burned by the way she had to stop herself from reaching forward and throttling him right then and there. How stupid could a man be? She was stunned every single day by the utter idiocy of men, going from not knowing how to do laundry all the way to this. She let her face go blank, what other course of action was there? If she followed her emotions, Papa Nihil would be buried in a shallow grave behind this very club. To hold her in his hands, and then casually drop that he wanted to get his dick wet? 

Satan, maybe she should have listened to her mother and just become a lesbian in Boston instead. 

Sister straightened her posture. “Of course they’re always open.” she said coldly. Her hands folded in front of her. They’re always fucking open. 

His eyes look towards her, the grin still on his face but his eyes speak of something she can’t pin. She turns around, pushing through the throng of bodies with the force needed. Nihil has the right to his body, just as she does to her own. She could find any man in this glorified venue, pull them into an alcove and possibly cum. There’s no guarantee of that, she thought, fighting back the mocking laugh that wanted to tumble out of her mouth. 

But she won’t. She won’t do that. 

_____________________

The crowd was loud, though the indescribable energy that had pulsed in the room minutes earlier had fallen as the show had come to a close. Sister Imperator looked from the wings, Nihil was glorious. Sweat dripped from his chin, his eye gleaming in the stage lights as he pranced along the edge of the stage. His shirt was unbuttoned, the ringlets of hair soaked under the fabric. His boots were clinking against the floor, the pointed tips tapping in a calculated rhythm. Women were lined along the edge, their hair curled and their lashes stark against pastel blues and blush pinks. Pink blush against dark skin, similar beads of sweat lining their cleavage that was oh so pointedly pushed forward. All for Nihil. And she knew that he knew, regardless of if he had made the asinine comments earlier. 

She turned, walking along the dark corners. Stage hands were leisurely walking, some carrying side lights and some carrying cords, wrapped in loops and gingerly carried to storage closets nearby. She needed a cigarette before he came back there, shucking his coat off and waiting for women to fall to their knees before him, to curl up in his arms. 

She felt the familiar burn in her stomach of anger, of envy. Where the hell did she put her handbag again? She slid along the walls, feeling her way through the dark as her boots clicked along the waxed floor. The burn of eyes along her legs made her grimace, one more nuisance to deal with. Being honest with herself, all she wanted right now was to be curled up in her blankets back at the hotel, pleasantly sated and sweaty, held in Nihil’s arms and dozing in the glow of the television set. But no, she had to see him go back to his room with one, if not several , women running their hands along his thin body. 

She needed a cigarette.

The space opened, the stairs leading back to the green room intersection between a larger side door. She sighed, the flow of air leveling out in the space, away from sweaty rugged men. Reaching for the door, she felt the sweat at the nape of her neck go blessedly cold. A break was what she needed, it would be another hour or so before Sister had the opportunity to be completely alone with a nice glass of champagne. Damn it all, she’d pay for the room service her fucking self. The last thing she wanted after a night like this was the Clergy treasurer waking her up in the night wondering why they’d been notified by the hotel of another ‘useless’ purchase. 

Imperator leaned against the wall, the high collar of her patterned dress constricting the skin around her neck. She was lucky she had done her hair so high, the beehive allowing her to feel the cold air on her skin as best as she could. As best as she could, the thought mocked her. Out of all the times Nihil had fucked her into the bed, it had been her controlling his moves. Grabbing him by the hair and moans punching out from his throat, riding him until he cried from the sheer ecstasy of the orgasms rung from his overextended body, sucking him down in the shitty tour bus bunks when the ghouls had finally taken the message and left. And here he was, leering over the edge of the stage like he called the shots. 

Sister Imperator knew he couldn’t take initiative if it offered itself up with its legs spread. Why the hell would he start now, she lamented. 

The door to her left opened, the conversation high and energetic. As the door opened, she met the gaze of three women. Their conversation halted, noticing the woman on their right. She doesn’t look at their clothes, what point does it serve? They’re back here now and have come for a reason. At one point, she had made a point to memorize what they wore. How their belts cinched their waists, how their breasts spilled softly from their blouses in an appealing display of warmth. Not that she stewed on it, she would just have a bartender conveniently card them, or they would just so happen to lose their tickets. 

Her eyes meet with the first woman. She smiles, a warm if not curious smile. “Hey, sorry to bother, but could you point us in the direction of the dressing rooms?” Her smile is toothy, Imperator files this knowledge away. 

Sister crosses her arms, steeling her features into a cold impasse. “No, they don’t have one.” Her voice is oppressive. 

The other woman with a pale nude lip, stark against the darkness of her skin and softness of her cheeks blinks and screws her face in skepticism. The confusion is clear on her face. Here’s the thing about Sister Imperator: she doesn’t give two shits about her confusion. Sister is tired, her face baking under the powder she applied earlier that day, her feet burning from her platformed boots.

She’s not quite inclined to point these women towards Nihil and exclaim, “Here he is! His cock is always ready! Would you like condoms, or would you prefer to go raw? Both are enjoyable, I surely would know!” 

At this point in the night, she’s far more inclined to being difficult. 

“They don’t have a dressing room?” The first lady intones, her head tilting as she pouts in confusion. 

“Precisely.” Sister says dryly, her eyes narrowing. Her arms, still crossed tightly, allow her to tap her fingers along her arm in impatience. The woman laughs, smiling at Sister. She clearly hasn’t caught on that Sister Imperator would rather be anywhere but here, especially in front of these other women. 

“So does Papa just get changed in the hallways? That’d be a gas.” She giggles, leaning against the propped door. The other two women ignore her, exchanging a look that spelled their confusion more clearly than if they had spoken aloud. 

Sister scoffs sarcastically, her lips lifting in sardonic aggression. “Yes, it surely would be.” The last thing she wanted was a conversation, just let her get her fucking cigarettes, go home and have a good cry away from where anyone could see her. 

The woman smiles at her once more, looking forward and then turning her head back. “Do you know where he might actually be? We wanted to see him before we ditched here.”

Imperator can feel her smile tighten, shaking her head. Get the hint, lady, good fucking Lord. “He ditched earlier. You just missed him.” Her fingers still rap against her arm, the flickering lightbulb above making one of the other woman’s eye begin twitching. The toothy woman’s face falls, her smile twisting into a pout. 

“Bummer.” She sighs, turning back to retreat back through the door. The third woman, her eyes narrowed, lets her eyes run over Sister’s appearance. She scoffs in dismissal, turning back. But before Sister can sigh in relief, her night continues its downward spiral into her own foray into the question of her own sanity. 

The space is swallowed by the dark leather and painted face of Nihil himself, panting heavily. Though the sweat has been patted away from his face, his neck is red with exertion. Of fucking course. His eyes turned to her, and then to the three women currently staring at him with varying degrees of joy. 

“Oh, hello!” Nihil chimes, his eyes flicking to Sister and then the women once more. “I do not think we have had the pleasure of meeting, no?” The women smile at him, the one in the front walking forward and daringly placing a hand on his arm. 

“We were in the crowd, Papa. You were unreal!” She smiles at him, her toothy grin making his own smile widen. Sister watches as the other two women walk closer, closely inspecting his wide white eye that shined intriguingly off in the shaky light of the bulb above them. 

“Your eye is so beautiful, how do you get it like that?” The woman’s nude lips are wide, her arms wrapped around herself in a way that allowed her to push her tits further together. Sister frowned, her stomach roiling with annoyance. Good grief, just get it over with. Have him grab you by the hips and fuck you in his hotel room, leave the next morning and giggle about it with your girlfriends. 

“A gift, bella.” Nihil purred, his hand rising to cup the second woman’s face. Her eyes widen, her cheeks filling out with a flush as he giggles at her. As much as Sister wants to move, she can’t stop. She hadn’t been wooed, as much as she was loath to admit it. Always the one to walk forward first, she had led Nihil along like a puppy on a leash. Of course she loved it, admired how much he turned to her. Either for kindness or guidance, for a fuck on the road late at night, she remained. But had he ever cornered her backstage and let him lick the sweat from her neck without her gripping him by the lapel? 

“A gift? Not meaning to bug out or anything, but the speech you gave on stage was unreal. We’d love to hear more.” Ah, the usual segue. Begging for guidance on the Old One’s beliefs and then fucking at his metaphorical altar. She didn’t care anymore, she couldn’t stand to listen. It was one thing to see it at the hotel last month, another to hear him imply it earlier, but she couldn’t take the scene in front of her. 

Sister turned, pushing gently past the woman at his side and walking past the gaggle. She walks briskly down the way. 

“Mi dispiace belle signore , but I am unfortunately on a tight schedule. Perhaps you could ask one of the ghouls? I’m sure they would be more than happy to speak to such pretty fanciulle.” She can hear the groans of the other women, and the click of their heels as they walk away. The urge to pause and look is strong, but who knows why he did it? Nihil could have already got his rocks off with someone on the way, or the chance of another rendezvous already scheduled. Fool her once, shame on you. Fool her twice, shame on her. She’s already gotten through a third time, and a fourth would just be pathetic. 

She turns the corner to the dressing room, thankfully clear. The packing up tended to go quicker than setting up, so hopefully things were going to plan. Sister still needed to check in, but first she wanted a damn cigarette. She walks across the room, leaning against the couch and looking behind where she had kept it. A growl released from her throat, couldn’t she have anything go right tonight? She wouldn’t cry. She knew better than that. But the tightness in her throat was beginning to hurt, the anger from earlier receding. And the sickly green feeling in the pit of her stomach was back, mocking and ugly. 

A knock behind her, soft and gentle. She didn’t turn, knowing the click of his boot heels as familiar as her childhood home doorbell. 

“Tesoro?” A soft voice calls into the room, loud in the now silent room. Warm earlier with the countless bodies, the lack makes her skin cold under the long draped sleeves of her mini dress. Even adverse to the company of others, she wishes that someone was here to pillow the moment with a stranger's presence. 

“There’s no need to speak so quietly, Papa. We’re the only two here.” Sister says plainly, pushing the emotion out of her voice. All of this because of jealousy towards some fan? Out of all the shows she could have gotten upset over, this is the one? How demeaning. 

“I am aware we’re alone. I see you after all my shows, yes?” She doesn’t turn to look at him, but his hands come to her hips behind her. Imperator stills, the hot sticky feeling in her stomach still there. Why couldn’t she just let it go? Out of all the times she had seen the way he acted, why is now the time she chose to turn her back? 

“Not all of them.” The accusation hangs in the air, Nihil’s hands tight on her hips through the silk of the dress. The heat of his palm almost scalds her, he burns as hot as the sun, a constant inferno that scorches her when she touches him. It burrows into her flesh, finding nirvana in the way he fits inside her. The thought is swiftly cut off as he sighs into her ear, the shell warming with the outtake of breath. She doesn’t move. 

“Si, not all of them. Concerts can be stressful, after parties and such. But do I not come back to your bed?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Imperator yanked herself out of his grip. She walks across the room, looking into the dressers of the cabinet for her purse. She could just get her purse and walk out, back to the hotel. As soon as this Ghost Project was over, she could go back to her comfortable office and deal with this from the back burner. No more Nihil, no more bastard children, no more goddamned groupies. 

“Indeed you do.” The words grind out of her mouth like a knife on stone, slamming the drawer closed and straightening up from where she had been crouched down. The heels click against the floor quickly, and she gasps once she feels the warmth of his torso pushed against hers, her back pushed against the dresser quickly. She can feel the ledge of the small desk pushed against the small of her back. Sister looks up towards him, the placid look on her face crumbling into something sour, and surly, and she has to stop herself from pushing him away and leaving without her purse. 

The words had never been said aloud by her. Late nights where she imagined Nihil fucking her with abandon, taking her from behind and treating her like one of the sweet little things that came to pray at his altar. It lingered in the atmosphere until she saw a scene like earlier, like a rubber band being pulled tighter and tighter until the middle burned hot from heat. White hot heat settled in between the space between her and Nihil, in the impasse of their stares. Always looking, across a room or when she kissed the overstimulated tears from below his eyes in the night. 

There is understanding finally in his eyes. The crystal clear realization that maybe his actions did matter, through the smoke and haze of the lights above him as he sang and crooned to women who had never even conceptualized an existence beyond a white picket fence. Maybe he had finally crossed the line that had always been there. 

(Maybe, everything has always been filled with maybes between the two of them). 

“ Innamorata… Maybe I have not been so attentive.” He says softly, his gaze never wavers. That infernal eye never moves from its impassive gaze. His hands grip her waist, and she glares. She feels it like a warm hand against her throat, and she banishes the thought. 

“Attentive? There are things you want… an inexperienced fuck in a cheap hotel room with a fan that doesn’t even know where her clit is. By all means, go for it.” She spits out, the words scraping out of her throat by the fine edge of a knife: the same knife has plunged into her back countless times during this tour. Pardoned by their own lord, sanctified in blood and sin, and here they were. 

“Oh? You think I don’t smell it, tesoro? It’s dripping off of you.” His hand slides from her hip to her cunt, a gasp ripping itself from her throat as he cups it softly through her dress. She knows him, knows the way his eye glows, the way his cock is pressed against her leg and how it throbs hot, hard, natural. Oh, and it feels good. Feels, she finds, even better as he rubs the palm of his hand against it. 

“Dripping off of you, dripping out of you? I can think of many things I want to fill you with.” Nihil chisels a space into the emptiness between them, rasping out a groan into her neck as the silk of her dress catches on slick between her legs. She should push him away, but it feels too good to have him take the lead. It’s burning, hotter than the fires of hell they pledge to have when they leave this mortal plane. When it all burns down, it is always captivating and aposematic.

Through the back and forth of his hand Imperator can feel him lean forward, his mouth latching onto the soft molten skin of her neck. He lifts his other hand not busied with the soft skin below, grabbing the burning flesh of her breast. She has to stop this, take control. She isn’t a woman begging to be let backstage, flashing her tits at the bouncer and hoping that he’ll press his face between her legs. His mouth is an ember compared to the blaze in his eyes, lavascapes in the stark whiteness of blue and white. She could burn, she realized, but she leans into the hand pressing into her softest places. 

Papa’s mouth is soft against the dewy skin of Sister’s neck, the paint so delicately applied earlier is no doubt a parting gift against the paleness of her skin. His breath ghosts against her skin, pulling away. And she pouts at the loss, ichor rushing through her veins. She never quite understood the meaning of hunger until she met Nihil, a hunger for a man and not power. He rips open a vacuum inside of her, a festering hole that is utterly insatiable. A constant ache that drives her delirious with the urge to consume him with her gaping maw. Rapacious charm, never full. 

“How long have you wanted this? For me to take you like a slut?” The words drag over his tongue, and she’s alarmed by the moan pushing its way from her mouth. No, this has never happened. A step closer, her blood burns. The green feeling in her stomach has uprooted itself, destroyed in the endless warmth of his gaze. From where it had been clotted in her throat, for months upon months on tour, and it’s gone. 

He smiles, leaning down and finally taking her mouth in his. His lips are firm, pressing against hers with a deliberate force that she hasn’t experienced. Is this what these women have been packing at the door for? They had surely kissed, but it was her biting and forcing her way into the soft cavern of his mouth. But at this moment, his mouth doesn’t rest. She presses against him, her arms reaching around his neck and pulling him closer. Her hands shake around his neck, the pulsing of wetness and warmth between her legs dizzying. It jars her, head gummy and full of sin. These women wanted this. 

Their mouths press together, Nihil’s tongue pushing against hers in a sloppy push and pull of slickness. He tastes like sin, cigarettes and the heady tang of peppermint gum. He’s rough, a palpable hunger that pulls the last threads of jealousy from her mind. Papa pulls away, his eyes sharper than Sister had ever seen them. A yawning abyss of knowledge, and then she remembers. Women came to him for a reason, an unknown that would snap at the tips of their fingers if they got too close. And Nihil smiles, his hips pushing against hers and a sigh falling past his parted lips. It’s messy, adrenaline from onstage clearly pulsing through the fog of his mind. 

“Do I interest you? Is that why you haven’t set me aside?” His voice is harsh, his eyes lidded and heavy. 

“I could ask the same.” Her head is a slurry of pleasure, her clit throbbing where it meets the harsh bulge of his cock and the back and forth of silk against her body. It’s messy, less defined than anything she had ever allowed to happen. The backstage fumblings of curious women and- 

“Shush.” He makes a noise, condescending and somehow sweet like a cocktail at the dingy bars they had performed at. It punches into her, makes her gasp. Her hips stutter, she’s never seen a sight more damning. If she had been more stupid, she could imagine herself in a crowd. Peering up at him, a smile tugging at her lips and watching him thrust against the mic stand. And by Satan, she realizes it. The brutality of it makes her crush her lips against his, tongue sliding against the wetness of his own slippery muscle. There is embarrassment of course, and there is shame. But she wants it, the horrible emptiness inside of her that wants to let him treat her like a slut. A groupie begging on her knees, her back, for his tongue and cock to complete her. 

His hands return to her hips, lifting her onto the desk without breaking the kiss. The embers spar, blazing, when he deepens the kiss and presses the bulge of his cock into her pussy. She shivers, a whole body chill that has her breaking the kiss and moaning into the air. “Please.” It’s a plea, a whimper that she has never once spoken aloud to Nihil. And the way he chuckles, biting her lip with ravenous hunger that reminds her of the blood that courses through his veins, has her pushing back against him. She can’t resist, she wouldn’t even try. 

“Oh, please?” His voice sings, a derisive coo that makes her keen. He pulls back, his hands lifting her dress to reveal the pale pink briefs beneath. Nihil crouches, kneeling before her and running his hands over her soft thighs. A sigh, and a kiss pressed against the pliable porcelain before him. He had spent hours before, his head pressed between her thighs while she gripped his hair in a domineering grip as she took her pleasure from him. But now simply gripped the edges of the table, her wide eyes meeting his as he grazes his knuckles against the soft skin. Nihil sighs, shaking his head. 

“Have you thought about my head between their legs, tesoro?” The question is clipped, a grin on his face as he lets his palm glide up and down her legs. A hesitant nod, and her legs quake as Papa Nihil presses a kiss to her inner thigh. He lathes his tongue over the small scar at the influx of her thigh. Another whimper pours out as he peppers kisses against her, and she can’t tear her eyes away from his cocky grin. She should hate this, should be pulling him away and reprimanding him for taking control. But with the way he grips her thighs and the way she drips onto the table, she knows she loves this. Sister mewls as Nihil inches further, his eyes meeting her own. 

“I will take my pleasure from you the same as I do from them.” He murmurs, his mouth latching onto her skin. Her hands grip into the desk tightly, keening as he meets her gaze. “A powerful woman, la mia dea. But a slut all the same, begging for my cock.” He growls, and she moans as he presses the flat arch of his painted nose against her clit, his tongue tracing circles into the slickness of her pussy. 

Moans fill the silence of the room, muffled groaning and the slick movement of his mouth against her creating a back and forth cacophony of sin. Nihil’s hands against her thighs continue their back and forth as he takes his fill, his eyes closed in satisfaction. Sister whines as the sucking against her clit intensifies, his tongue swiping against her entrance. The hand against her leg moves, a finger dropping and dipping lightly at her dripping cunt, lightly swirling around the slickness collecting there. She bites her lip, catching the moan that bubbles out of her throat at the way he slurps at her cunt. 

His eyes shoot open, meeting her own with his mismatched gaze. He pulls back, his mouth unlatching from her pulsing clit while his fingers continue toying with her. “Don’t keep your noises from me, I want to hear.” Papa’s finger slides inside, and Sister chokes out a gasp. “Do you think these women hold back their pleasure? Have you not pulled similar noises from me while you choke down my cock, tesoro? ” She should be angry, she thinks to herself, but she can hardly think after he pushes two fingers into her utterly drenched entrance. He grazes a knuckle against a spot inside her, a high moan punching out of her throat as her walls flutter around him. 

“Nihil, I-” Sister Imperator gasps, her lips swollen and her lipstick rubbed off even earlier than now. He pulls his fingers away, and she moans in complaint. His eyes blaze with ire, his frown making her stomach clench in distraught anticipation. He rubs his fingers over her entrance, toying with the slick collected there. 

Nihil shakes his head, pressing a chaste kiss to her clit. “That is not my name. What am I called?” She whines, thinking back to the times they’ve fucked. It had been either Nihil, slut, or even my love. Never had it been- 

“Papa.” She whispers, his lips raising in appreciation. To everyone else, it’s Papa. His fingers slide back inside, the curls of his breath over her soaked pussy making her eyes roll back. Her hair knocking against the wall was probably a mess, her once perfect beehive now more of a honeycomb. While his tongue sucks against her raised clit, his fingers continue to coax burning pleasure that made her thighs shake. She can feel her lips are bitten raw, her knees pressed against her chest and exposing herself to him entirely. She should blush, she’s sure everyone else does, but his huffs and moans of pleasure persuade her to moan. 

She whimpers, and all thoughts are stuck in the burning mess in her head, rendered out into ashes and into cries for Papa, for more. It’s all a puddle of bliss, including her. His fingers brush against a spot inside that makes her cry out, a wail that she’s sure can be heard outside of the room. The thought is knocked out of her head as the pads of his fingers bump into it again, coupled with Papa’s tongue swiping against her bud. Oh, how she needed this, for him to just show that he knew how to please. 

She feels his lips curl against her clit and a muffled chuckle that makes her gasp, Coy, sweet, the type of mocking grin that he shot the crowd at the end of his show. He pulls back, fingers pistoning against her fluttering pussy, “Are you going to cum already, cara ? I thought you were a seasoned slut, opening your legs for any man with an ounce of talent?” He chuckles darkly, timbre drenched in sex and promise. She grits her teeth, eyes narrowing in a defiant glare that dissolves as he begins to softly lap at her clit. Sister wants to scoff, to roll her eyes but the breadth of his shoulders spreading her legs wide and the ministrations on her cunt cut the words on her tongue short. 

He circles her clit with the tip of his tongue, lapping softly and moaning against it as he closes his eyes. The makeup around his mouth is smeared, his lips shining with her slick and his spit. His mouth is molten, and she can feel her weeping hole clench around his fingers. It’s hot, the high collar of her dress collecting sweat. It’s messy, the opposite of the nakedness she was used to with him. Debauched, wanton, desperate for him. The desperation is tangible.

“Show me how much you want my cock.” He growls into her cunt, nuzzling his cheek into her thigh as his fingers increase their speed. Imperator moans, her thighs shaking as she feels her climax approach much more quickly than usual. At the speed of his fingers, she can feel the delicious burn of pleasure that nears so deliciously into pain, a wire pulled taut and begging to be released. She arches, canting her hips greedily into his mouth. If he weren't so intent on making her cum, she’s sure he would be grinning like the damn dirty tease he is. 

A particular curl of his fingers sends her over the edge, his tongue laving over her clit and his fingers fucking dangerously harshly against the sweet spot inside of her that has her choking out a moan. She can feel the rings of cum wetting her thighs, the spit that coats her lower half. She can’t help but whimper when she crests the wave, an embarrassing litany of pleads for her Papa, a melted husk of a woman drunk on the high of her orgasm. 

Sister can feel the way he presses kisses into her thighs, the way his fingers have been pulled out of her and she cries at the need for him inside of her. Nothing where she rides him for control, where he begs and whimpers for her to let him cum. She lets her eyes fall open, a quavering moan from her mouth whenever she witnesses him suck her cum from his fingers. His eyes blaze as he stands above her, his mouth stretched wide into a grin that makes her heart swell.

Sister’s eyes flick down, where his bulge pushes against the black leather of his bellbottoms. Her hands shoot forward and reach for the laces, if not a bit clumsily trying to pick apart the laces. She knows he aches for it, and can feel him twitching against the confines of his trousers. His hand drops down, and Papa smiles down at her with a fond, if not condescending, smirk. 

Her hands pull the laces apart, a joined moan between the two of them as his swollen cock pops out. The head of his cock is red, smeared with sticky spend at the tip that aids her as she begins to pump him leisurely. He sighs, a hand gathering in her hair as she looks up at him. “You do such a good job pleasing Papa, you know?” She nods quickly, her hand not slowing. Just as she finds a rhythm, his hands have shot out to stop her. The hardness of his cock in her hand makes the emptiness inside her known, aching even. He steps between her legs, craning her head upward towards him. 

“Will you let Papa fuck you?” He whispers, stepping forward to rub his cock against her soaked folds. A whine forces its way from her throat. God, she just wants him, any way at any time. To say she’s been denying it would be an understatement. She needed him, wanted him near her always. It’s easy to worship him, she thinks to herself through the delirious haze of his weight against her cunt. Easy to kiss offerings into his skin, sing a hymn of praise into the dips of his neck.

“Yes, Papa.” A whisper, heavy and breathless. The way she addresses him makes him moan helplessly, and there’s nowhere else to burn eternally than with one another. Leaning closer, the head of his cock nudges inside her, popping in with such ease that it makes the both of them pause in the sheer buzz of skin on skin. Sister leans back, allowing herself to moan as she feels the heavy weight of him inside her. Nihil chokes on his gasp, pushing slowly inside of her. The head of his dick pushing against something soft in her cunt that makes her clench around him with a whimper. 

The cloying feeling of him on top of her, inside her, makes her keen. Why had she fought this for so long, for the treatment he gave other women? The very feeling of him inside her is dizzying, the way he hovers above her with a self satisfied smile makes her match it. The fuzzy feeling in her stomach returns, her heart lifting from the well it had drifted to earlier. Control was something she had vied for, and couldn't let go. The ebb and sway of how he would let her control him, and this is where he got his kicks. Maybe now he could find his respite within her as well. 

Nihil moans, rolling his hips into hers in a way that makes her eyes roll back. The thrusts are slow, a back and forth that knocks the air from her lungs in the most delicious way. Each time he retreats he comes back home, the tip of his cock kissing the place inside of her that makes her legs lock around his waist tightly. Strings of pleasure lick up her spine, her nipples hard underneath the fabric of her dress. She can smell the heady smell of sex in the air, the wetness between the two of them slick in the cool air of the dressing room. Maybe everyone would hear, hear how he fucked her like a woman, like any woman out there in the crowd. 

His hair is soft beneath her hands, moussed from the sweat of the stage and his lingering adrenaline and the many times she had already gripped it in the space between the two of them. 

“So good for me, you take me so well Sister,” He whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss against her lips in a salacious lick against bitten lips. He tips his head forward as Sister clenches around him, his thrusts grinding his cock into her pussy in a way that makes white hot pleasure tickle her spine. She combs over his face, his perfectly debauched makeup sliding down the smoothness of his skin. A thought passes about what he may look like when he’s older, how the makeup will pool in a similar way perhaps. 

As she clenches around him his dick twitches in agreement, his eyes lidded in pleasure as he continues to fuck her. A hazardous grin spreads across his smeared lips when he catches her gaze, his eyes sweeping over her bent form as he continues to fuck her, spread out and stretched over his thick cock. Anyone can hear her, she realizes, can hear how badly she wants her Papa to fill her cunt, to make her cum, how good he is at making women achieve hedonistic pleasure. A star frontman, an experienced lover. 

He grins, and she can feel his cock brush against a soft spot inside of her that makes her positively wail. His hand drops from where it’s clenched around her thigh, thumb swiping over her clit and she groans, needy and breathless. Sister’s hips work with his own, Nihil’s hips knocking against the silky walls of her cunt. His head brushes deep, her back arching in pleasure that makes her quiver in a profoundly intense ache. As his hand works over her throbbing clit and his hips batter against the meat of her ass, Nihil leans over. A kiss pressed to her neck, a stream of moans into her ear dredged up from a place of love and desperation. 

“Will you cum for me?” A whisper into her ear, a fervent nod answered back. Her heart flutters, a taut softness as she feels her toes curl. It pinches taut as he angles his hips, tendrils of pleasure as he pushes his cock further in. In a moment like this, she couldn’t give a damn about a groupie, some faithless devotee. The devotion is right here and right now, between the one at the altar and the abnormality present. 

“Please. I want to be your whore,” Sister whispers, haze filling the curtain of her gaze as she feels the pleasure ratcheting higher and higher. Papa Nihil feels similarly, she knows this, the desperate high moans against her neck as he visibly fights the urge to call out for her like normal. 

A vicious swipe against her clit sends her over, liquid bliss spuming deep within her and setting her off. The rhythmic clenching of her softness around his cock makes him gasp, his breath choked in her throat as he cums deep inside her. She sighs, eyes slipping closed as he sighed against her neck. Her hands rose to his back, slow careful swipes of her hands on his shirt as he heaved for air. 

The air was warm, and she could feel their shared spend dripping down from her hole onto the floor. The sickly green feeling in her stomach was gone, filled with the deliciously delightful feeling of Nihil in her arms, his hands warm against her waist. When he quiets by the end of her gentle petting, the mushy misty eyed look in her eyes won’t leave. An odd juxtaposition for a woman who could bring Nihil down to size in a matter of moments. 

“You don’t suppose I could have a cigarette after this?” She mumbled, smiling softly as she heard a muffled laugh against her neck. Pulling back, they looked at one another. His makeup was ruined, as was hers most likely. Though they still had the drive back to the hotel to fare with, nothing delighted her more than knowing she could curl up in bed delightfully moisturized and nestled against Nihil. And looking into his eyes, she knew he was just as enchanted at the ending of their night together. His hand drifted to her cheek, his eyes soft in a way that made her stomach flip. 

“Never again, Genevieve. I promise.” And she knew he wasn’t talking about cigarettes. He whispered, a delicate kiss pressed against the tip of her nose. His hand was warm, and she leaned into the soft embrace of it against her dreadfully sweaty cheek. Although her heart jumped at her given name, the irony of it in her current religion a mockery to her sensibilities, Sister sighed.

The sickly feeling of envy an ever looming fear now, she knew she could push through. Though he had two children now, the fear of a third, even a fourth was gone. He was hers, and she was his, even through the possibility of another Prime Mover. Satan forbid a groupie try to coax their way into his pants in the future. 

The thought passed with a drop of disdain in her eyes, and a smile making its way onto her kiss swollen lips. All these months of sweat soaked nights on a bumpy bus, a hand held out in a busy afterparty, the soft breath against her neck as she held him close. A hand held in another hand with care, with no fear to be found. 

“Of course. Never again.” 

[just-dreaming-marvel]

The Truth About Love ~ 23

THE TRUTH ABOUT LOVE MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,923ish

Summary: You have one question on your mind: where are you hospital bills?

Notes: There's only one more chapter after this one!

As you continued to heal, a nagging thought kept finding its way to the forefront of your thoughts. Where was the hospital bill? You decided that maybe it took a few months to receive. By the time you had the cast-off and had started physical therapy, the question was nagging you more.

“Okay, that’s it for today,” your physical therapist said at the end of your first session. “Just remember to do the exercises at home and I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Thanks,” you said, heading over to the reception desk. “Hi, I need to schedule my next appointment as well as pay today’s fees.”

“What’s your name?” The receptionist asked.

“Y/N L/N.”

The receptionist hummed as they typed away. “Let’s see here. They want you back in three days. Does 1 pm work in three days?”

“It works great.”

“And it says here that all of your bills have been covered.”

“Uh, what?”

“Yes, someone has already paid your needed bills.”

Your heart stopped for a moment. Though you had been getting used to Steve’s money, he had promised not to spend large amounts on you without talking to you first. On the way home, your frustration only built towards Steve. How could he have done this? Again. You called the hospital on your way, only to find out your bills had been paid. When you got to the apartment, you stood outside the door for a long while. You knew you shouldn’t go in very hotheaded, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Hey!” Steve greeted from the kitchen. “I’m making dinner. I thought you would want something to eat after physical therapy.”

“Thanks,” you muttered.

Steve immediately stopped what he was doing, sensing that something was wrong. “What’s going on?”

“I thought we were done having this fight…”

“What fight?”

“The spending money on me fight. The paying my bills when I am perfectly capable of doing it fight.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—“

“My hospital bills. My physical therapy bills. All paid for. I don’t understand why you couldn’t have just talked to me about this before you went ahead and made decisions for me.”

“Y/N, I don’t have the faintest idea of what you’re talking about.”

You scoffed. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying. I did not pay your bills.”

“How am I supposed to believe you when you’ve continually thrown money at my problems without speaking to me first?”

“You’re tired, you’re hungry. Why don’t we table this conversation—“

“No! Steve, just tell me the truth!”

“I am telling you the truth!”

“I don’t believe you!” Tension grew as silence fell between the two of you. “I need to go.”

“Go?”

“I need a moment to myself… maybe the night.”

“Y/N,” he reached for your arm, but you pulled away. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’ll call you later.” You left. Slipping out the door and across the hall to your old place. 

~~~

After telling Natasha about what had happened, she let you stay in the old apartment while she went to work. You had fallen asleep on the couch before Bucky arrived. He sighed upon seeing you, Steve having already told him about what happened. You woke up as he came around, sitting on the other end of the couch.

“Hey, Bucky,” you greeted through a yawn.

“Hey,” he replied.

“Did Steve tell you?”

“He did.”

You played with the blanket on you for a silent moment. “Do you think he did it?”

“I think that if he says he didn’t do it, he didn’t do it.”

You sighed. “Then who did it?”

“Have you asked Sarah? Or Tony?”

“Tony,” you scoffed. “He just barely apologized. He wouldn’t have done that.”

“Tony is an interesting man. He is more apt to apologize through action before ever saying it in words. It wouldn’t hurt to give him a call.”

“I don’t have his number.”

“I’ll text it to you.” Bucky quickly did as he said. “Trust Steve. He’s been trying to make everything work.”

“I know… I feel bad for freaking out on him.”

“He’ll forgive you. Hell, you’ve forgiven him one too many times.” He leaned toward you and patted your leg. “Call Tony.” He stood up and headed into his room. 

You sighed, staring at Tony’s number on your phone. You knew that it was getting late but you took a deep breath and called him.

“Hello?” Tony answered. “Who is this?”

“Hi Tony,” you replied. “It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N? It’s something wrong? Is Steve okay?”

“He’s… he’s fine. I just needed to ask you a question.”

“Me?”

“Did you pay my medical bills?”

Silence from Tony’s end. You couldn’t get yourself to say anything until you heard from Tony.

“Why don’t you come by Stark Industries tomorrow?” Tony suggested. “I’ll send a car for you.”

“Tony—“

“It will be better if we have this conversation in person.”

“Alright. Tomorrow then.”

“I’ll text you when the car is on its way.”

Then he hung up, leaving you without any real answer.

~~~

Steve never returned to the apartment, even after you snuck back in for the night. You hoped that he was at his studio, not getting into too much trouble. Tony texted when the car was twenty minutes away. You were down there, ready, when it arrived. As you were driven to the Stark Industries Tower, you were reminded of what happened there months ago. The Gala. Tony’s comments. Peggy and Steve dancing. You leaving, only to be involved in a hit-and-run. You tried to push away the memories as you pulled into the garage. Pepper was there, waiting for you.

“Y/N,” she greeted with a smile, pulling you in for a hug.

“Hey, Pepper,” you replied, hugging back.

“Tony’s asked me to take you up to his office. He would’ve been down here himself but he’s finishing up a phone call.”

You nodded, following her into an elevator. “It’s no big deal.”

“He’s been nervous about you coming all morning.”

“He has?”

“Tony is a worrier. He has a lot of anxiety behind the cockiness. He cares what you think of him. He cares about his relationship with Steve and how you affect that.”

“You seem good for him.”

“I try. It took a while to break that shell of his though.”

“I bet.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Pepper stepped out and you followed. She led you over to two large, frosted glass doors. She knocked before opening one of the doors.

“I have Y/N here,” she told Tony, who was sitting at a large desk in front of a wall of windows.

“Send her in,” Tony said, standing up. He walked over and kissed Pepper’s cheek. “Thanks, Pep.”

“Let me know if you two need anything.”

You stepped in and Pepper shut the door behind her. Tony motioned over to a small sitting area in the corner.

“Why don’t we have a seat?” He suggested.

“Okay,” you responded quietly.

The two of you sat in chairs opposite of one another. The air was thick with questions and caution. 

“I’m just going to ask you again,” you said. “Tony, did you pay my medical bills?”

“Yes,” he responded.

“Why?”

He sighed, leaning back into his chair. “At the hospital, I finally saw how much you mean to Steve. He was so scared that you wouldn’t make it, it started to scare me. I knew that I had continually questioned you and your intentions and that a simple apology wouldn’t do it. So I did what I could at the time.”

“I can’t believe I got mad at Steve, again,” you shook your head. “It’s been a continued fight between us, his use of money. I hate how he tries to solve my problems by pushing money at it. I accused him of doing it again.”

“I should have said something.”

“It’s not your fault. I should have believed him when he told me it wasn’t him.”

Tony chuckled. “Steve is Mr. Honesty. He would never lie to you.”

“I know that… Tony, I want to thank you for paying my bills.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

“But I can’t accept it. I will be paying you back.”

“What? No.”

“Tony, I’m serious. It would be over a few months, but I will pay you back for everything.”

“I will not take your money, Y/N. Take this as a gift—an apology for everything that I’ve put you through.”

You shook your head. “I need to pay you back.”

“I will not accept it.”

“There has to be something I can do.”

Tony takes a moment to think. “What are you going to college for?”

“I’ve changed it a few times. But, honestly, I think I’m going to go into hospitality. Why?”

“I’m looking for an event planner. Hospitality and event planning go hand-in-hand. How about I make you an offer? An unpaid internship at Stark Industries as an event planner, but once the amount of your medical bills are paid up it will be a paid internship.”

“Tony. That’s—“

“It’s the only way I will let you pay me back. It would give you real-life experience at one of the top companies in the world. You could quit your other jobs and solely focus on this. What do you say?”

You took a moment to think it over. “I accept.”

~~~

Tony promised to send over a contract within a day or two with a decided start day. You thanked Tony for the offer before heading back down to the car he had for you. You told the driver to take you to Steve’s studio instead of your apartment. When you arrived in the studio, you could see that Steve had been keeping busy. There were painted canvases spread throughout the place. Catching sight of Steve, you noticed that he had paint splattered on his clothes and skin. His hair was a mess with paint in his strands due to raking his hands through his hair. 

“Steve?” You called, pulling him out of his trance.

He looked over at you, doing a double take before standing from his stool. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s fine… Steve,” you stepped closer to him, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for accusing you and not believing you. I should have trusted that it wasn’t you.”

“It’s fine… I could see why you thought it was me.”

“It was Tony.”

“What?”

“He didn’t know what to do. He was trying to fix the mess he made. But I talked to him.” You walked closer and slowly put your arms around him.

“You did?” He put his arms around you.

“He wouldn’t let me pay him back.”

Steve laughed. “That’s not surprising.”

“But he did offer me an internship… Unpaid at first until the bills are paid off and then it will be paid.”

“Oh? Are you going to take it?”

“I am.”

“I think that it will be good for you.”

“Me too… I love you, Steve. I’m sorry.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He kissed your forehead. “I love you, too.” His lips captured yours. At first, the kiss was simple and sweet but quickly turned heated and passionate.”

“Steve,” you rasped. “I want you.”

“Are you… are you sure?”

You nodded. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.” You kissed him again.

“Do you want to go home?”

“Only if you want to.”

“There’s a blow-up mattress in the closet.”

You laughed. “That sounds great.”

next chapter >

[glitterguts13]

Dan Heng or Blade or Jing Yuan (maybe secretly) giving birth to Lan’s child? 👀

I don't write enough Jing Yuan, let's give him some love today, yeah?

There's something scratching at the back of his brain, an inexplicable force urging him to go. Try as he might, the General just can't seem to focus on the work laid out in front of him, the single thought of move cycling over and over.

With the dead of winter hanging over the Loufu, the heavy coat he wears covers the incredibly noticeable swell hanging off his middle. Little light-hearted jabs are tossed his way, on how he'd been gaining weight, that the lazy General was getting up there in years, and perhaps a few more work outs were needed.

His clothes got baggier after that, his armor discarded, jackets and cloaks keeping his secret with only a few centimeters of fabric. The jokes stopped, everyone going about their life as if nothing in the world was any different.

Jing Yuan didn't have that luxury.

Heavy boots echo through the quiet, night-empty streets. Jing Yuan isn't even sure where he's going, just that he needs to get there, and fast.

The last few months had been a blur, nothing was the way it should have been. Every action he took felt muddy, as if something was controlling him, guiding him, pushing him.

The thing inside his belly shifts, jumping and kicking.

It had bothered the General at first, but now as he hurries along, his hands slip under his coat and gently strokes his heavy bump.

The pain starts slow, twinges he ignores while hyperfocused on getting to wherever it was he needed so badly to be. So set on his goal, he barely notices when a burst of liquid dribbles down his thighs and leaves a wet trail behind him.

There's an old, abandoned starskiff on the edge of the Loufu. Lost to time, marked for destruction but somehow spared by someone's forgetfulness. Jing Yuan slips inside, that nagging voice in the back of his skull finally starting to quiet.

He strips from his clothes, folding them neatly aside while the pain begins to come to the forefront of his thoughts. He places a hand on his belly, dazed and confused.

Baby, that's right, their baby was ready to be born.

He settles against the back corner of the starskiff, hands gently smoothing over his middle, chuckling softly as the child inside him kicks impatiently. The muscles of his womb contract, but the pain feels far away. Present, but dulled by something nibbling away at his subconscious being.

Push.

Head lolling back, Jing Yuan takes hold of his legs from behind his knees, pulling them. His belly shifts, tightening, shrinking visibly as another gush of fluid pours onto the dusty ground.

He moans, low and deep, eyes closed.

A guttural hum the only noise he can make as he bares down again and again, feeling their child squirming further down and closer to the world.

Push, harder.

Gasping for air, Jing Yuan feels dizzy, his hole stretching far too wide and sending shocks of agony through his aching body. He pushes, again, and again, groaning and moaning till the life growing inside of him finally slides free.

Panting, tears dripping down his face, Jing Yuan pulls them to his chest.

Small, whimpering softly, faceless with deep, navel blue skin pulsing with energy. Beautiful, and dreadfully inhuman.

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕤𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕤 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕔 𝕓𝕒𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕖

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ @dickarchivist'ꜱ ᴄʟᴏɴᴇ ᴏᴄ ʙᴀɴꜱʜᴇᴇ x ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙᴀɴꜱʜᴇᴇ ɢɪᴠᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʟᴀʀɪᴛʏ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ᴛᴏᴏᴛʜ ʀᴏᴛᴛɪɴɢ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴅᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, (ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ) ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ʙʀɪᴇꜰ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴘɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴀʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴏ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 1.2ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

⋆ ★ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ @anxiouspineapple99, ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ʙᴇʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʜᴏʟɪᴅᴀʏꜱ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ <3 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴄʜɪᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʟᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ʙᴏʀʀᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ʙᴏʏꜱ!

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Becoming friends with the Grave squad is one of the easiest things you’ve ever let yourself do.

Grim reminders of the war you’re fighting make any capacity for just letting things happen practically impossible; you’re always alert, always keen, always firm with decisions and tactics because there’s no space for shrugs and ‘let’s see how it goes’ when everything you know is on the brink of destruction.

So when you join the 404th and meet a group of pleasantly dispositioned clones with some of the coolest helmets you’ve ever seen, letting yourself go with the tides becomes so appealing.

They actively enjoy your company, wave you over when they spot you in a crowd, and flash you handsome smiles as you join in on any conversation they’d been having previously. Each of them has their own story to tell and you find little things to adore about each.

Yet one takes up your headspace more than the rest.

Banshee holds a presence stronger than you initially thought. The quiet, more serenely observing member of their squad never demanded your attention, whether just through implications or bluntly placing himself in front of you (like certain brothers of his), yet your eyes always drifted his way. There’s something to him you can’t place, something that makes his appeal stronger and pulls you into his orbit more.

So you ask questions. Verbally, when you’re grabbing food and ask him if rations are the best thing he’s ever tasted, to which he promptly places his plate down and tells you, it’s better than Specter’s cooking, at least, before scooping a pile of rice and going to his table, leaving you biting the inside of your cheek with the smallest little smile. Nonverbally, when you see him swaying slightly in the carrier. Tired? You mouth, to which he nods and rubs his forehead with a soft grimace, the preceding sigh and gentle parting of his lips too delicate for the world he’s subjected to.

It’s rare for the thought of his face and eyes and pretty smile to leave your brain. It’s always there, whether in the forefront or not, demanding a place burrowed deep into your psyche because it’s just so important.

Not that you’d complain or nag your mind to stop. Being relaxed and smitten is a privilege in wartime.

Especially when you do make a mistake and do falter slightly when you trip on your feet beside Ban and his fast reflexes save the day.

You yelp twice in a row; once when you feel your balance slipping, and once again when you feel strong, sturdy arms wrap around your waist and turn you to face the holder of them. Banshee’s eyes are far too pretty, and you hesitate to say anything when he catches you and stares down at your silly mess, promptly holding your waist and placing you back on your feet without a second thought.

Be careful, he signs, and you stammer, choking up a response you had not thought out fully even as you begin to speak.

“I–I’m trying!” You retort, voice weak. But Banshee still grins and nods modestly before both of you turn and continue walking. You proceed to bedim your face to hide your wide eyes and aggressively unyielding blush.

When you fight beside his brothers, you get to hear his voice. Phantom quips something witty about clankers and you grin, Ghost following suit with a reminder to keep your eyes on the prize, and then you hear the cry tear through the air.

“GET DOWN!”

Something bursts. Your legs crumble above the rubble and your knees are barely saved from scraping when you drop down. Fire ripples above you as if something mystical had let out a breath of scalding kindle, and your eyes widen in shock. 

When it’s finally gone, and the view of dancing and orange blues is replaced with gray smoke, you take a deep intake of breath. Still pressed between his brothers on the ground, Banshee leaves his place behind the three of you and leans down, eyes scanning to your left to check on Phantom, then right to check on Ghost, then to you.

Alright? He signs, eyes not leaving yours.

With a fragile nod, his lips form a tight line as a way to respond and he pulls you up. Why he chose to grab you first, you’re unsure. The mere thought doesn’t occur to you hours after the fact in the solace of the barracks.

“RAI! THE PACKAGE! KEEP IT SECURE!” Banshee shouts again, and all of you follow suit in your urgency, darting to the next blockade.

His voice is what occupies your thoughts for the next few days. It moves along the same orbit as the rest of your curiosities and thoughts about him, posing more questions and fascinations; what does he sound like when soft-spoken? Would he ever speak for you? Mutter, even? You’d hear anything he’d be willing to say. If he wants you to hear.

Your avid, curious eyes get the best of you once again when he catches you gazing at the heart tattooed on his temple.

“I–I like it,” You stammer immediately, trying to seem less creepy.

Banshee presses his fingers right under his bottom lip to sign thank you.

“Why’d you get it?” You ask, then proceed to internally damn your dorkiness. He blinks, taking in your question before signing,

Athena drew it there once.

You smile warmly, then remark.

“She’s quite the artist. She should draw the tattoos for all of your brothers.”

His chuckle simmers in the back of his throat and he grins your way. You try not to let your heart leap (it does anyway).

You have a nice smile.

Ban’s eyes widen ever so slightly when he watches you sign.

I didn’t know you knew sign language, he responds, expression softer every moment that passes.

You shrug and sign back,

I’ve been learning. And I picked up some from you.

None of this is a lie. But it feels untruthful not to tell him why. Learning sign had never been a large priority for you before you met Ban. Picking up any hobby or wanting to accomplish something on the side during a time of war is not the easiest task. But you’d take time for something, someone as lovely as Ban. You do.

The sweetest little smile spreads across his lips and he signs,

I really appreciate that. I hope you know.

And you nod curtly.

“I do know. At least I think so.”

Something you can't quite place is etched across his features as he responds.

I want you to feel my appreciation for everything you do so there’s no doubt in your mind otherwise.

As he finishes his sentence, your heart seizes in its chest and your face turns a deep flush of red. Just then, does the shutter of a camera click to your right.

You turn. Specter’s distinct chuckling gives away his discreet spot behind a beam and you scoff.

“Seriously?”

He peaks out more, shrugging while lowering his camera.

“Just capturing the moment.” He pans out a hand as if highlighting his next words in bold colors for the general public to gaze upon. “‘Two dorks in their natural habitat.’”

“Vod,” Banshee chastises verbally, and the lightest giggle bubbles up Specter’s chest as he saunters away to the rest of their brothers watching avidly from afar.

All of the Grave squad is pleasantly agreeable. But on second thought, perhaps falling for Banshee is the easiest thing you’ve let yourself do.

tagging the homies <3: @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @sunshinesdaydream @wizardofrozz @a-single-tulip @523rdrebel @moonlightwarriorqueen