#can i please sleep straight through the night once this year
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rivalsispunk · 2 days ago
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Inappropriate (Chapter 4 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)
Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader
Series summary: Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.
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Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), mention of male appendages (IYKYK), mention of female orgasm, pussy pronouns, smut smut SMUTTTT, jealous Declan, all the good stuff
Word count: 11.4k
Chapter summary: Happening across your boss pants down only spells the beginning for you and Declan, but neither of you are expecting a surprise visitor to muddy the waters.
A/N: Thank you all for being SO SO patient with this one. I could've easily released this chapter in two parts but didn't want to disrupt the flow of the story (*ahem* smut). This has had a brief edit in my hastiness to publish so any mistakes... Shhhhhh!
© rivalsispunk please do not steal, copy, or translate any of my work onto other platforms!
Chapter Four: Inappropriate
You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t had an inappropriate thought or two about Declan O’Hara in the time you’ve been friends with Taggie, perhaps more frequently since he’d become your superior, but that had nothing on the unadulterated filth that had infiltrated your brain in the hours since leaving The Priory. You can barely recall fleeing down its staircase or the drive home, what unfolded at the forefront of your mind until a self-induced orgasme lulled you into a deep sleep. Now, you’re permanently marred with the visual of Declan — your best friend’s father, your boss — fucking his hand with your name on his lips. You should feel dirty. You should feel violated. You should feel the way you do when Tony Baddingham’s beady eyes drink you in across the office. Like you need a scalding hot shower and to scrub yourself down to the bone. But you don’t. You feel like somebody’s doused you in gasoline and lit a match, your whole body burnt to flames — and it’s exhilarating. 
How many times has he done it?
Was that the first time?
And why do you want to watch him do it again?
“Did ya stay late last night?” Declan asks you the next day while you’re sifting through old newspapers in search for more dirt on Rupert, at your boss’ request. “Went straight up to bed once I got back, so didn’t hear ya leave.”
Liar, you think.
“Not too late. Eleven, maybe,” you respond, eyes glued haphazard clippings across your desk.
“Not that I would’ve heard you anyway,” he continues. “Not with the wailing guitar riffs at full volume on Taggie’s stereo.”
Only then do you flit your gaze up to look at the man on the other side of the office. Acting professional after that murky moment with Declan in the hot tub was one thing, but pretending you don’t know what your boss looks like with his pants dropped and cock in hand is a whole other kettle of fish. Under normal circumstances, you’d be awkward. Uncomfortable. But now it’s as if having his secret affection has allowed you the permission to challenge him. 
“Do you have something against Bon Jovi, Declan?”
“Under normal circumstances, no,” he responds, lighting a cigarette. “But when it feels like Jon is in bed with me screaming in my ear while I’m trying to sleep, I’m inclined to think otherwise.”
Let alone when you’re dancing around all but naked to it.
“So, can we count you out of belting Livin’ On A Prayer at Bar Sinister tonight?” you chide, reminding Declan of the invite you’d all received from the Joneses. Smoke plumes from his lips as he rears back from a drag.
“Yep. I’ll not be going anyway. Got too much work to get done.” “You always have too much work to get done,” you tell him. “You have to take a break sometime.”
“That’s what sleeping is for,” he counters, a slight smirk rising from under his moustache.
“Oh, come on, Declan. It’s one night.” You’re staring at him all doe-eyed across the room and your innocence, faux or not, does the heavy lifting of your convincing. “Come to Sinister. It’ll be fun.”
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It’ll be fun, you’d said, voice all but a whiney beg that zapped like a rod of lightning straight to his crotch. But Declan’s struggling to find the enjoyment in spending his evening watching a revolving door of men try their luck with you, in that impossibly short merlot-coloured dress that’s befitting of Bar Sinister’s name. First, it was Bas Baddingham; the younger, kinder, though no less leery half-brother of Tony. Declan had noticed the pair of you when he arrived, his attention magnetised to you the moment he walked through the door. Bas had you cooped up in the corner by the floor to ceiling wine racks, his frame bowing over you while you chatted. 
Declan wasn’t prepared for the twist in his stomach, nor the prickle of heat that scaled his body until it reached his cheeks while he watched you giggle with Bas, eyes sparkling under his attention. It was almost as if he were a child watching someone play with his favourite toy, unwilling to let anybody else have a turn, even though he was well aware it wasn’t his to keep in the first place. You slung another one of your dazzling smiles Bas’ way, and it was enough to have Declan beelining for the bar to order a wine and a whiskey to keep his envy at bay. After a while, Bas was called away to assist with a kitchen catastrophe. He was quickly replaced with Rupert Campbell-Black, all smiles and slime as craned his neck to whisper in your ear. Whatever words he was imparting on you — undoubtedly dirty — saw you blush, a stunning flush of fuchsia flooding up your neck to your cheeks. This goes on for a while — too long, in Declan’s opinion — and every grin Rupert shoots your way, coupled with you staring up at him all starry-eyed like you’ve been touched by the hand of God, has Declan grinding his teeth to near-dust. 
He’s too old for you, he thinks. Certainly not good enough. The journalist had already been forced to warn the former Olympian off Taggie. He ought to do the same for you. But who was he kidding? He has no claim over you. You’re not his daughter.
The idea has him downing his whiskey in one gulp.
No, you’re definitely not his daughter.
Filthy hypocritical git.
You felt Declan before you saw him, his gaze like daggers slicing into you as you spoke with Bas, then even more so when while you chatted to Rupert. In all honesty, you had no interest in either men, but you made sure to ramp up the flirty act, particularly with Rupert, because you knew how much Declan disliked him. You weren’t entirely sure why; perhaps you wanted to see whether it bothered him, or how much it bothered him, but you could never get a good enough look at him to gauge where his head was at. You weren’t even talking about yourself, save for Rupert once again trying to coax you into a dinner date. Instead, you’d geared the conversation towards your best friend, whom you knew had a burgeoning crush on her neighbour despite her failed attempts to deny it.
“Are you expecting someone?” Rupert asks partway through gushing over Taggie’s catering at a recent hunt. “Or am I just boring you?”
His question falls on deaf ears, and you scramble to make up for your rudeness. “Sorry, Rupert. What was that?”
“Your eyes have been darting around this bar like you’re watching a tennis match.”
“I’m not—”
“Trust me, you are. It’s not often that a woman can bear to take her eyes off of me,” Rupert peacocks, cheeky grin blooming at his shameless confession. “So, who’s the lucky sod?”
God, he’s nothing if not perceptive, you think, chewing the inside of your cheek. Finally, you clock Declan by the till, his eyes stuck on you while Lizzie Vereker chats animatedly at his side.
“So, are you going to tell me or are you going to make me guess?” Rupert tries again. 
Turning your attention back to him, you make a show of laying a hand on the sleeve of his navy sports coat as you lie through your teeth. “It’s nobody. Nobody worth worrying about.”
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“Are you trying to burn a hole through him?” Lizzie wonders aloud, cheeks already flushed from her half a glass of wine.
“He’s just… everywhere. It bothers me,” Declan tells her, not taking his eyes off you.
“Bothers you that he’s here, or bothers you that he’s here with her?” She looks at him quizzically before her sight slices to you.
“You know I can’t stand him, Lizzie. Sorry, I know he’s your friend but, God. Always lurking, trying to shag anything with a pulse. Even that might be too restrictive to the lengths he’ll go to.”
“She’s an adult, Declan. A strong-headed one, at that. She can make her own decisions.”
“Well, she’s making the wrong one with him. He's got all the charm of a burst hemorrhoid."
Lizzie swats Declan for his off-colour description. “And what do you suggest the right one to be, then?” She’s staring up at him, lips pursed like she knows something. Like she’s pried his skull open with a crowbar and all of his dirtiest thoughts about you have leaked all over Bar Sinister’s maroon carpet.
“Someone her own age,” Declan decides, as much as it pains him to admit. “Someone that’s not Rupert Campbell-Black.”
“Someone like Patrick?” Lizzie poses, and Declan’s head whips towards her at the mention of his son.
“Patrick? My Patrick?”
“It’s not that crazy an idea. He’s a perfectly lovely boy.”
“He’s also at university, Lizzie.” Far away from you.
“Was at university,” a familiar and all-too-missed voice sounds from behind the journalist, and he just about spills his Pinot Noir as he turns to greet his son.
“Patrick!” Declan pulls him into a hug, clapping a hand against his back. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I had a few days between exams. Thought I’d pay a visit.”
“Shouldn’t you be studying?”
“Come on, Dad. I’m here to have fun. You should try it sometime,” Patrick jests. There’s that word again. Fun. Despite your earlier promise, so far, Declan’s having anything but. “Hello, Lizzie,” Patrick leans down to drop a kiss to her cheek. “So, what are we talking about over here? Though with you Rutshire lot, I suppose the question should be who are we talking about?” he asks, taking the wine glass from his father’s hand and polishing off what’s left of the heady liquid.
Lizzie steals a quick look at Declan, who feigns disinterest. “We were just talking about that glorious young lady over there,” she tells Patrick, pointing with her wine in your direction. “Rather beautiful, is she not?” 
Patrick’s eyes narrow as he spots you across the dim-lit room, still deep in conversation with Rupert. “Isn’t that Taggie’s friend? I remember meeting her at my birthday party. Rupert hasn’t eaten her alive yet?”
“Seems she’s one of the only women in this town that’s immune to his charms,” Lizzie conveys, and Declan wonders if they’re watching the same scene; Rupert laying it on thick and you seemingly lapping it up.
There’s a soft, almost curious tilt to Patrick’s head, lip pursed over as he watches the pair of you. “She might stand a chance after all,” he announces, then he’s away as quickly as he appeared, swerving through the crowd as he makes his way towards you.
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Freddie is eight minutes through Meat Loaf’s Bat Out Of Hell and the whole bar is loving it. You can’t recall a time you’ve had this much fun out, your throat is stinging from how loud, how ferociously, you’re singing along with the electronics businessman. Freddie’s off-key and lack of rhythm is long forgotten under the haze of alcohol, and even Declan has slid off his broody perch to join the sing-a-long. Before the unmistakable first riff of the song blasted from the speakers, you’d spent the last half an hour chatting to Patrick, who’d surprised his family for a weekend home from university. You’d met him once before at the O’Hara’s most recent New Year’s Eve party. It’d also doubled as his twenty-first birthday, though you’d barely exchanged more than a hello and goodbye on the night and he was yet to venture back until this evening.
The only son of Declan and Maud, and it isn’t hard to see where the majority of his genes descend from. Hickory curls wisp every which way, nougat eyes flecked with black just like his father’s. While Patrick is far more idealistic than Declan, he’s just as foolhardy and exudes the same charm. He’s funny, too, much easier to joke with than his dad, you find, and though he can’t hear what his son is whispering to you over the roar of the crowd, the way you lean into him and laugh between lyrics grates on Declan. He silently curses Lizzie for setting Patrick’s sights on you. He knows — yes, knows — she was doing him a favour, in some roundabout way, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. Especially when he has an unwilling front row seat with you standing between him and Patrick. To compete with Rupert and Bas was one thing, but his own son? Even if the whole thing was complete mental game, it wears on him, reminding him how fucking absurd his affection for you is.
The bar erupts in applause as Freddie wails along with the song’s final chord, his voice landing nowhere near the note Meat Loaf intended. Beside Declan, you cheer for the businessman while Patrick hollers in a way that’s more suited for a football match
“Right then, you randy bunch,” Freddie shouts, his cockney accent impossibly louder under the boom of the microphone. “Which one of yous dares to follow after the King of Karaoke?” The machine, some high-tech gadget flown in from Asia, fades into the next song, and the first couple of lyrics from Don’t Go Breaking My Heart appear on the screen.
“Oh, Daddy loves this song!” Taggie squeals from behind you, hands coming to shake Declan’s shoulders.
“What? No, I don’t,” he scoffs. “Where on earth did you get that idea?” “I’ve heard you singing it in the shower,” she says, shouldering her way between the two of you. “Both Elton and Kiki Dee’s parts.”
Declan playfully swats his daughter. “Oh, shut it, Tag. Can we have no secrets?” Their repartee makes you smile, even more to see Declan without that far-etched scowl he’s often sporting.
“Kiki Dee fan, hey, Dad?” Patrick teases, waggling his eyebrows. 
“Not enough to get up there and sing it.”
Nobody else has jumped at the opportunity yet, and Freddie’s still trying to hype up the crowd to find a taker as the instrumental track rolls into the chorus. 
“You’ll sing it with him, won’t you?” It takes you a second to realise that Taggie is talking to you. “You were saying on the way here that you wanted to step out of your comfort zone a bit more.” 
You shake your head. That’s absolutely not what you were referring to.
“I meant professionally! Not…” you gesture haphazardly to the stage. You hadn’t mentally prepared to get up and perform. It also wasn’t exactly the activity you had in mind when you thought about you and Declan.
“Oh, go on, you two!” Taggie eggs you on, hopping with excitement. 
“I’ll give you ten quid,” Patrick wagers, and Declan slices a dark look his way.
“Anyone?” Freddie is still trying, swinging the microphone around by its cable. Then, you feel a hot breath sluice over your cheek. The scent of whiskey emanating from Declan gives away the dangerous amount he’s consumed this evening, which could be why he drops his mouth to your ear. 
“I’ll do it if you do it,” he murmurs, the deep timbre of his words racking through you. You rear backwards, nearly headbutting Taggie in the process.
“Are you joking? Two seconds ago you didn’t want to get up there either!”
Declan gives a half-hearted shrug as if to say why not. “It is a duet, after all.” His gaze holds yours and walks a fine line between pleading and defiant. There’s something in it now, a dare lurking beneath the surface, like he’s waiting for you to rise to the challenge. The look hits you sharp, suddenly; a flash of lightning tearing through the dark, and one final daring tilt of Declan’s head pushes your reservations aside.
“Okay, fine.” You snatch his glass from his hand and throw back the rest of the thick amber. A swell of pride burns through his chest, watching you pitch up the courage — even if it’s liquid — to get up on stage. “Freddie!” you shout towards the host. “Start it up again. We’re doing this.”
“Woohoo!” Freddie pumps a fist in the air, winding up the crowd until their cheering and applause hit deafening heights. Between the whiskey and the support of Taggie and Rutshire, you should be amped up enough to get through one measly song. But not even the heat blooming from where Declan’s hand rests on your back as he guides you on stage is enough to distract from the terror gnawing at you. 
Despite the small set-up and there only being forty-odd people in the crowd, you might as well have been performing at Wembley. The relentless stage lights make it seem like you’re just metres from the sun and your heart is pumping a frantic, runaway rhythm that just won’t quiet. You blanch, surprised the microphone doesn’t slip from your clammy palm as Freddie passes it to you, the object a heavy weight in your hand. Just below you, Taggie pumps a thumbs up, and Patrick claps supportively. And then there’s Declan, standing beside you, his presence both grounding and electrifying as he leans in, voice low but steady as the intro to Don’t Go Breaking Your Heart starts back up again. 
“Just breathe, love,” he tells you. “The worst that happens is we both end up looking like idiots.”
The first four bars pump out of the speakers, and you barely hear Declan apprehensively sing the first line because you’re too focussed on not regurgitating the cacio e pepe you’d consumed at dinner. You’re already a beat off when you murmur through your round of the lyrics, but Declan does a fine job at making up for your lack of stage presence. He’s side-stepping to the beat, putting his hips into it and clicking with his free hand. He’s still rigid in his movements, because he’ll be damned if performing for his peers this way is a regular occurrence, but it’s all he can do to get the attention off you, to calm your nerves without pulling you into a storage cupboard and fucking the anxiety out of you. 
By the time the second chorus rolls around, you’ve loosened up enough to follow Declan’s lead, your feet no longer paralysed by fear. You move about the stage, pointing dramatically at Taggie and wiggling your body. The gesture is small, but swinging your hips in a circle has Declan stumbling over his words, his trousers tightening over his crotch. 
Ooh-ooh, nobody knows it (nobody knows), the entire bar is singing along now, and Declan’s welcome for the distraction because the song is right. Nobody knows just how far gone he is for you, and this little love song performance isn’t helping anyone. Thankfully, the music begins fading out, signally the end of your time up on stage, and you clamber down the two rickety steps to resounding applause. 
“See?” Taggie says when you return to your rightful place out of the spotlight. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?”
You ignore your heart leaping at the base of your throat and ignore the urge to steal a glance at Declan, who’s made straight for the bar. Again.
“No, not all bad,” you give in, smiling between your friend and her brother.
You stay for one more drink and a few more songs, finally calling it a night once Charles coaxes half the broadcasting staffers into a Les Misérables sing-a-long. You and the O’Hara’s venture outside, the crisp night air pulling all of the hairs on your arms to their ends. While the four of you wait for a cab, Patrick sloughs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, an almost silent that’s better slipping into the darkness. Lighting a cigarette, Declan tries — tries — to mind his own business. But his ears prick up at the mention of you and dinner.
“What do you say?” Patrick is asking you, voice competing with the sound of tires on wet bitumen and the chorus resounding from inside Sinister. “Tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up?”
The words hang in the air. Simple. Loaded.
You feel Declan’s gaze like a weight on your shoulders. You should want to go on a date with Patrick, right? You’re supposed to; he’s smart, funny and, more to the point, not nearly two decades your senior. But all you can think about is how Declan’s attention makes your skin flush, how he’s standing right there, probably watching this all unfold. You swallow, pressure mounting as Patrick’s invitation still hangs between you. A few steps away, Declan shifts, just barely, but enough to catch your attention. When you glance back at him, he busies himself with his lighter, like its manufacture is the most fascinating thing in the world. 
Would he even notice if you said yes to his son? Would he care at all?
You nod before you can second-guess yourself, your words tripping out like they’re not even yours. “Yeah, sure. Dinner sounds good.” Patrick beams brightly as a taxi pulls up to the curb. Declan’s unreadable as he stubs out his cigarette, while the energy pouring from Taggie is hard to miss.
“I’m so excited!” she whisper-shouts, her hands coming to wrap around your left arm as you approach the cab. “If this works out between you and Patrick, we’ll be sisters!”
Behind you, Declan pales at his daughter’s comment.
You and Patrick. Working out.
You and Taggie. Sisters.
The idea makes him sick.
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“Is that thing broken?” Declan stabs a finger at the clock hanging in The Priory’s kitchen. He’s positive something is wrong with it. Every time he looks to the wall, the hands appear unmoving, perpetually stuck at eleven-fifteen.
“It’s working perfectly fine,” Taggie assures her father while kneading a mound of dough that would soon become dinner rolls for tomorrow’s black-tie event at the Baddinghams’. “I think the issue is you keep checking it every five seconds.” Declan shakes his head, boots scraping along the floor as he paces up and down the length of the room. “Daddy, can you stop for a moment? You’re making me motion sick.” “Patrick should’ve been home by now,” he says, ignoring his daughter while his eyes flick to the clock again. 
“He’s on a date, for goodness sake,” Taggie says, and the reminder of his whereabouts — your whereabouts — feels like an infected scrape across his heart. “Just leave him be. He’ll be home when he’s home.”
Declan barks out a laugh. “Leave him be! Thanks, Taggie. That’s just grand parenting advice. I’ll try that one with you when you’ve got kids galavanting around God knows where at all hours of the night.”
“I’d hardly call eleven all hours of the night,” she counters, and the comment stops Declan at the head of the kitchen bench. She keeps stretching and folding the dough, almost unphased by her father’s agitation. Declan smiles, just for a second, recognising that Taggie’s become far more outspoken, less inward, since having you around. He’d be proud if the situation wasn’t so infuriating.
“I’m just—” he stares at a crack in the timber benchtop. “It’s just getting late and he has to drive back to school tomorrow.” It was a cheap excuse. Declan knew full well that Patrick would have no issues making the two-hour drive back to campus, even on little sleep. In truth, he could roll in at four AM and he’d not bat an eyelid. 
But this isn’t really about Patrick, is it? No, it’s you. You, out there with his son, doing God knows what, God knows where. He could feel the weight of it— the resentment, the jealousy — settling deep in his chest. What if you’d kissed? Worse, what if you’d—No. His fingers tighten around the edge of the bench, knuckles coming up white. His mind deceives him again, and there you are, entwined in your bed sheets with Patrick, your laughter mixing with the sound of something more. The thought burns hot and quick through him, and the longer you’re out with Patrick, the harder it is to shake.
Then there’s the slam of a car door. The whine of hinges at the entrance to The Priory. Declan and Taggie both glance at each other before racing to the foyer to greet Patrick. 
“Are you guys waiting up for me or something?” he chides, unravelling himself from his navy scarf.
“No,” Declan is all too quick to answer. Yes.
“So?” Taggie, flour marring her right cheek, is just about levitating with the way she’s bouncing on her feet. “How was it then?”
“Lovely,” Patrick says. “She’s really great. So intelligent.”
Yeah, I know, Declan dares to think.
“Did you kiss her goodnight?” Taggie wants to know, gazing up at her brother like a toddler waiting on a fairytale.
A quiet chuckle rumbles from Patrick as he slings his coat over the staircase bannister. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, my dear,” he muses, thumbing his sister’s chin. 
“You know I’m going to find out from her anyway,” Taggie warns him.
“Then you’ll just have to wait until you see her tomorrow, won’t you?”
She rolls her eyes, and Declan’s stomach churns in a similar motion. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, but Patrick wasn’t usually one to play coy. The only reason for his self-effacement must be because he really likes you. And, as Declan trudges up to bed, throwing a tetchy goodnight over his shoulder to his children, he worries you likely feel the same.
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The date was…fine. Patrick was twenty minutes late, but it was quickly made up for with the bouquet of roses, twice the size of his head, that he arrived alongside. After a quick peck to the cheek, he ushered you into the Clubman he’d borrowed from his father for the night. The car reeked of stale smoke and the leathery wood smell of Declan’s cologne. If you allowed yourself, you could almost hear the rasp of his voice and the sharp click of his lighter. Beside you, Patrick chatted away about his literature class at university while he navigated the quiet streets, completely unaware of how his father’s presence seemed to haunt every inch of this car. You bypassed Bar Sinister and town completely, ending up at Le Petit Chêne — The Little Oak — a small, family-owned French bistro fifteen minutes down the road. The food was delicious, the wine even better, but as the night wore on, you couldn’t help but compare Patrick to his father, even though you were well aware it wasn’t fair. Patrick had that same tapered jawline, those dark eyes, but where Declan’s gaze felt like a bolt of electricity, Patrick’s was softer, warmer. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes were like something familiar, comfortable, like you could just keep moving through the motions and never have to think too hard. But Declan... Declan made you feel every. Single. Glance.
Still, the comfortability and Patrick’s friendliness made it easy to lose track of time as you traded tales from your time at university and compared your favourite novels, arguing over the crux of Of Mice and Men — you find it majorly depressing, while Patrick thinks it signifies hope. You agreed, begrudgingly, to disagree, the squabble wrapping up as your date pulls up outside your flat. 
“I had a really nice night,” he confessed when you reached your door. 
“Yeah, me, too,” you responded, shrugging off his jacket he’d once again loaned you. “That restaurant was lovely. Thank you again for paying.” “You’re worth it.” Patrick shuffled from one foot to the other, the subtle movement signifying the first time you’d ever seen the eldest O’Hara child anywhere close to nervous. You knew what was coming next, with the way he looked up from your doormat with hopeful eyes, blush pinching at the apples of his cheeks. “Can I kiss you?”
You should want to kiss him, the young, likable man standing in front of you. Going against your better judgement, you said yes and tried to enjoy his soft lips against yours. His touch was gentle, one hand on your waist, the other cupping your cheek, but the spark that should ignite at having a handsome man like Patrick wanting you was missing. It didn’t help that you could still feel the ghost of Declan’s presence, like the heat from his stare was still burning into your skin. No hairs stood on end. No rush of warmth flooded your chest. Nothing like the way you felt when Declan’s gaze lingered on you just a little too long, or when your hands brushed, the way they had that night in the hot tub. The gnawing comparisons followed you into your flat once you and Patrick had said goodnight, and tucked themselves into bed beside you, marking the beginning of a long night of fractured sleep.
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The next evening, you find yourself in a sea of black tuxedos and satin gowns, the clink of glasses and low murmurs of conversation filling the ballroom in the Baddingham manor as you celebrate Four Men Went To Mow dominating the winter ratings. Early that morning, Taggie called to hear details from your date with Patrick, revealing that her brother remained mum about the night you’d spent together. You kept it top-line, telling her it was fun and that there was a peck, which was met with squeals from the other end of the phone. Taggie then dished that Patrick had extended his stay in Rutshire and would be attending that night’s festivities, and whatever excitement you held for the party dissipated.
After your date, you’d expected Patrick to return to university, taking whatever fleeting attraction he held for you with him. You found comfort in that, knowing you wouldn’t have to let him down easy and that Taggie would stop prematurely planning your wedding to her brother. Yet, here he is, looking dashing in a three-piece tux and already the life of the party. So, you push any awkwardness aside and focus on the night ahead. Patrick told you he was definitely leaving tomorrow morning—no harm in enjoying his company tonight, right? You can smile, have a bit of fun, try not to think too much about it. The music plays, the conversation flows, and you laugh, genuinely, pretending for a moment that everything is simple. But through it all, you can feel Declan observing the pair of you across the grand hall. No matter the conversations he finds himself amongst, whether it be with board members about his show, or colleagues exchanging gossip about interoffice affairs, a portion of his attention is always attuned to you. He winces every time your laugh rises above the chatter and he’s desperate to know what words his son is crooning to justify such a heavenly sound. There was something in the way you looked at his son — a softness that went beyond polite attention. But who was he kidding? Why wouldn’t you be interested in Patrick? Lizzie was right. Patrick is the right choice, and judging by the smile pinching at your cheeks as you look up at him, a choice you’ve gladly already made.
After two rounds of canapes have made the rounds, Taggie manages to steal a few minutes away from the kitchen to join you and Daysee on the dancefloor for the YMCA, the three of you giggling between the iconic moves as you try to decide which of the Corinium men would be each of the Village People. Despite the low temperature outside, sweat slides down your spine and the hairs framing your face stick to your forehead.  “I’m going to get some air!” you shout, gesturing to the doors in case your friends can’t hear you above the music. As the song fades into a Hall and Oates hit, you push through the throng of guests, ignoring the way Tony Baddingham’s eyes rinse over you in your baby blue dress as you pass by him and Freddie Jones in the corridor. When you step outside, the pulse of music and chatter drifts into the cool night, mingling with the quiet conversations and laughter of guests convening among the manicured hedges and flower beds. The air is thick with the scent of damp grass and the faintest trace of woodsmoke pumping from the manor’s chimneys and many roaring fireplaces.
Down the far end of the house, you spot Declan in the shadow of one of the sky-reaching pillars. He’s still, watching the party through the large windows, light from inside flickering softly across his face. It catches the curve of his cheek and the edge of his stubbly jaw in bursts, and battles with the glow of the cigarette he lifts to his lips. Smoke curls up into the night, and only when it shifts does he finally catch sight of you. He doesn’t say a word, just lets the silence stretch between you for a few moments until you ask him, “Are you hiding?”
“Just getting some fresh air,” he says, taking another drag. 
“With lungs full of smoke?” you dare. 
The cigarette tips towards the sky as Declan smirks. “Watch yourself.” You take the cheeky lilt in his voice as an invitation to join him, your heels echoing off the concrete pavers as you walk. “Are you having fun?” he wants to know when you fall into line beside him. 
“Yeah, it’s a great party. I just hope Freddie hasn’t brought that bloody karaoke machine with him,” you say, only half serious.
“I’ll say,” Declan agrees, dark eyes still fixated on the window. Beyond it, Patrick is talking animatedly with a group of six or so guests gathered around him, all of them ogling the young scholar over their drinks like they’re the disciples to his Jesus. As if he’s just relayed the punchline to a joke, his onlookers throw their heads back with laughter, and the man to Patrick’s left claps him on the shoulder, unable to contain himself.
“People are just drawn to him, aren’t they?” Declan wonders out loud. He doesn’t mean it as a test, but he’s curious to see if you open up to him about the night before. 
“It’s not hard to see why,” comes your answer, and it’s clear you’re keeping your cards as close to your chest as Patrick.
“He’s a good boy,” Declan forges on, nudging his chin in the direction of his firstborn.
“You told me that boys don’t know what they want.”
“Not my son. He’s known what he wants since he was in the womb."
“And what about you? Do you know what you want?” The question is playful and doesn’t probe in the way you wish you could ask, but it’s enough for Declan to debate answering.
What does he want?
You.
To not want you.
“He likes you a lot, you know," he pivots, as much as the facts pain him.
“Oh, yeah?”
Declan nods. “He was out here not long ago, banging on about your celestial light.” The phrase makes him chuckle while he shakes his cigarette, ash flickering from orange to grey as it drifts to the ground.
“Celestial light?" you scoff, breath turning to fog in the air. "You’re joking. I have about as much celestial light as a flickering lamp post.”
“Don’t do that.” Any amusement in Declan’s voice is gone with those three words. 
“Do what?”
“Put yourself down. Make yourself small.”
“I don’t know what you’re—“
“Don’t you?" Declan presses, head quirked. You don't fool me, is what he means. "You don't have to do that with Patrick. Don't have to do that with me."
"And the rest of them? I'm not naive enough to think that I'm more than some young thing expected to keep quiet and look pretty. That's just the way it is. All those men in there," you nod towards the sprawling windows that separate you from the party. "They don't think anything of me. They just see me as —"
“Smart? Witty?” Declan interjects, trying to meet your eye as you toe a stray leaf that's blown onto the concrete. “Beautiful as you may be, you have a hell of a lot more going for you. Believe me.” He’s being earnest, you can hear it in the way his voice dips to barely a whisper. In this way, his words are intentional and just for you. 
You abandon the leaf in favour of his face. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“Be crazy not to."
"Declan..." You don't know where your sentence is going, or why you step towards him, but you do, the confession — as minor as it is — digging into you like a hook and Declan's eyes, pinned to you, reeling you in.
"So, how was your date then?" The question throws up a wall between you. An unscalable, Patrick-shaped wall.  A red flush spreads over your chest and blooms up your neck. You don't want to talk about this. Not really. Not with him.
"Patrick didn't tell you?"
"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, is what he said." There's a strangled edge to his voice, a frustration, like his son being cryptic was the most inconvenient thing in the world. "Did you —"
"There you are, Declan!" The voice has you skittering you across the pavement away from Declan, your heart tugging like you're still attached to him by that imaginary hook. 
"For fuck’s sake," he mutters, snuffing his cigarette out under his dress shoe as Tony Baddingham saunters towards you, sly smile poisoning his lips.
"And here you are," he croons your name. "Never far from Declan, are you?"
"I told ya, Tony. She's my right hand man," your boss says, and you snuff the smile threatening to crack across your face at the thought that Declan’s talking about you, needing you. He’s trying to sound aloof, but he hates watching Tony sniff you out like a wolf stalking its prey — circling, picking up every subtle scent of your discomfort, eyes glowing with that predatory gleam. 
"So, it would seem. I must admit, your show has taken quite a spectacular turn in the ratings since this one's come along," Tony continues, coming to stand beside you. His cool hand slides too comfortably around your bare shoulders, his fingers pressing into your skin with an air of ownership. You flinch and try to mask it with a forced smile, but Tony doesn't seem fazed, chuckling as he leans in closer, eyes trailing down the front of your chest. "This dress is something rather spectacular itself. How did you know blue is my favourite colour?"
"Lucky guess," you tell him, stiffening under the weight of his arm. Declan's jaw tightens, and while he's trying to stay composed, tension radiates from him in violent, crashing waves. Your eyes dart about as you shift uncomfortably — something that doesn't go unnoticed by Declan. 
He digs into his pocket, retrieving a small, stainless steel case that he holds out to Tony. "Cigarette?"
"Ah, I told the lady of the house that I would try to quit," Tony explains, referring to his wife, Monica. "But I suppose one never killed anybody." It feels like a tonne has been sloughed off you when Lord Baddingam unravels himself from you, moving towards Declan to light up.
"Thank you," you mouth behind Tony's back, and Declan returns a wink that goes straight to your warm centre. 
Inside the house, the party erupts in hoots and cheers as La Bamba starts over the speakers, and you catch sight of Daysee beckoning you back to the dancefloor from the other side of the glass. Tony begins rattling off competitor numbers and other industry secrets well above your pay grade, so you take the opportunity to slip back inside for another champagne, another dance.
Before too long, you’re swept into a conversation with Valerie and Lizzie — well, more Valerie, who is probing you for gossip from within the walls of Corinium. She’s a total fiend for a scandal. You’d heard through the grapevine that she’d told Monica Baddingham about her husband’s sordid rendezvous with Cameron Cook, and no doubt Valerie was well across the fact that Lizzie’s own husband was spending a great deal of time pants down in his dressing room with his co-host.
“Well, there’s got to be something,” Valerie whines when you tell her you tend to keep your nose out of other people’s business. 
“Oh, leave her be,” Lizzie tells her before turning to you. “How are you, love? More to the point, how’s Patrick? I heard the two of you went on a date last night.”
Jeez, word travels fast around here, you think.
“You and Declan’s son?” Valerie clarifies, tweeting at the revelation. “Handsome boy, him. God, Declan’s genes are strong, aren’t they?”
The mention of Declan has you searching for him through the windows, and you catch him just in time to see him storm away from Tony, disappearing from view until he barges back into the party with a snarl contorting his mouth. Most of the guests are too drunk to notice him stalking through the ballroom, or swipe a glass of whiskey off the tray of a waiter in one brisk snatch he doesn’t even slow down for.
“Oh, God,” Lizzie mutters, turning away from Declan as he shoves past your trio, the sleek material of his jacket scraping across your upper arm.
You call after him to no avail before Lizzie touches your wrist lightly, shaking her head. “Leave him, darling.”
“Why?” you ask, searching her face for some shred of a clue. “Lizzie, what’s happened?”
“You didn’t hear it from me —”
“Oh, don’t start with that,” Valerie squawks, her cockney twang exacerbated by alcohol. “The whole bloody country’s already read about it in the paper this morning.”
“For God’s sake, read what?”
“Declan’s wife — Maud — well, she’s got some big flashy part in some famous play in the city,” Valerie is all too excited to tell you, while Lizzie takes far too much interest in the ice melting at the bottom of her empty glass. “Three month run if it all goes to plan, the article said.”
“At least,” Lizzie finally pipes up, crimson colouring her face immediately after. “Poor Declan.”
Yes, poor Declan. 
Taggie and Patrick, who are dancing to a completely different song to the one that’s playing, are none the wiser that their father’s just come barrelling through here like a bull in a china shop. And, given that Taggie’s yet to mention anything about her estranged mother, your bet is that they have no idea about her new role, either. Your heart breaks for your best friend, for all of them, which is why you trail after Declan once Lizzie and Valerie have found another unsuspecting guest to pry information from.
The first few doors you try are no-gos: an office space that looks rather untouched, a sitting room decked out with floral upholstery complete with a couple you’ve never met going at it on a sofa, and an ornate guest bathroom. It’s not until the fifth door that you find Declan looking forlorn in the Baddingham’s library. He’s sprawled out in a dark armchair, tall frame filling it out. Legs spread like he’s waiting for someone to kneel between them.
“Hey,” you say quietly, closing the door softly behind you.
His voice is groggy with liquor when he responds, “Where’s Patrick?”
“Dancing with Taggie, I think. It’s nice seeing them together, I know she’s missed him,” you tell him, adding, “You’ve raised some good kids.”
Declan scoffs. “Dunno how. Workaholic father, absentee mother with a chronic wandering eye.” 
Your stomach dips. “I heard about Maud. Are you okay?” 
“So, everyone’s talking about it.” He sinks impossibly lower into the chair, its leather whining as he splays his arms out to his sides. The whiskey in his hand splashes over the edge of his glass with the movement. “Am I okay? What’s it look like to you?”
He looks like shit, inky hair disheveled from raking a frantic hand through it, but the frustration already emanating from him stops you from voicing it. The man just found out his wife has no intention of returning home anytime soon. The least you can do is give him some grace.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t pry.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Declan snaps. “And I shouldn’t be discussing this with you. It’s…” he ponders on the right word before settling on, “Inappropriate.”
You drag your bottom lip between your teeth. “Because I’m Taggie’s friend?”
He laughs incredulously. “Yeah, because you’re Taggie’s friend. You’re my employee. You’re…” He gestures haphazardly in your direction.
“I’m…?” you prompt, taking a few trepid steps towards him.
Insatiable. Infallible. Interminable. Indomitable. How could he ever settle on just one? 
“Insufferable,” Declan eventually mutters, chasing the confession with a slow swig of his drink.
It’s your turn to laugh now. “I’m insufferable? I’m not the one that’s stalked off to sulk and—” You stop, shake your head. “Actually, I’m not going to argue this with you. If you want to sit in here alone instead of spending time with people who actually care about you, people who are actually here, so be it.” After shooting Declan a pointed look, you stalk to the door, but there’s a buzz in your veins that knows you’re not ready to let up just yet, so you turn on your heel to face him again. “And I don’t need you telling me what is and isn’t appropriate. Your moral compass is far too gone for that.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Declan wants to know, sitting a little more upright in his seat.
“You’re kidding, right? I heard you, you know. The other night. Saying my name while you were touching yourself.” Declan’s whiskey glass freezes at his lips, black eyes locked on you. “Not very appropriate considering I’m Taggie’s friend. Your employee,” you confess, throwing his reasons for not opening up to you back in his face. Your chest heaves with shallow breaths, like spilling the secret of you watching Declan come undone has stolen every bit of viable air from your burning lungs. You half expect him to deny it, but his face is blank, and his silence is aggravating. Time, what feels like minutes, stretches between the two of you, gazes set on one another while you silently duel across the library. 
“Nothing to say, Declan?” you press. “That’s a first.”
Leather ripples through the room as he stands, abandoning his glass on a side table before stalking towards you. He doesn’t stop until you’re toe to toe and your back presses into the cool wood of the door. Whiskey, aftershave and a lick of sweat consumes you as Declan regards you down his nose. “Like I said,” he croaks. “You’re insufferable.”
Your jaw unhinges as you go to bite back at him, to tell him that he’s the one making things unbearable, but then he tuts, jabbing his forefinger into his chest. “You’ve said enough. It’s my turn to speak.
“Hiring you is up there with the worst things I’ve ever done, and believe me, love, I’ve done a lot of shitty things. That night in the hot tub? Ruined me for all I’m worth. I can’t go to sleep without seeing you. Can’t go to work without wondering what it’d be like to bend you over the desk. Can’t bear to watch you bat those fucking eyes of yours at Rupert or Bas or Patrick. Then there’s Maud…” His eyes slip shut as he speaks, a small shake of his head revealing shame eroded in the space between his unruly eyebrows. “Every moment she pulls away from me is a moment that pushes me closer to you, and I hate it,” he confesses. “And seeing you with Patrick is fucking eating me alive, because what kind of man — what kind of married man — wishes the worst on his son over a woman that he has no claim over?”
“Is that what this is about? You’re jealous?”
“Jealous,” Declan repeats. He can only laugh. “Did you fuck him?”
You pull back, head softly ricocheting off the wood behind you. “Did I— you can’t be serious, Declan.” “Answer the question. Did. You. Fuck. Him?” 
“Of course not!”
“No?” He sounds surprised, and you’re almost offended.
“No!” you spit. The thump of muffled music vibrates through the door, matching your heart trying to break free from your chest. 
“Why not?”
“Declan, stop—”
“No, tell me,” he probes, hot breath fanning over your face. “Is it because he’s not smart enough for ya? Not manly enough?” You divert your gaze, blurred vision locking onto some benign object in the distance, because you don’t trust yourself to keep looking at Declan. You can’t tell what his angle is, whether he’s jealous at the attention you’re getting from other men, or annoyed that you’re not interested in his son. Eventually, he cocks his head to meet your sightline, finger coming to your chin to turn you to face him. “Tell me why you didn’t fuck him.”
“Because he’s not you!” It flies out of your mouth before you have the sense to stop it, breath catching in the back of your throat as you await Declan’s next move. The energy caught in the mere inches between you continues to crackle, but the fire burning under him seems to have subsided as his shoulders fall from their tense fixture, his suit jacket sagging with his muscles. He looks down at you with heavy eyelids. He’s tired. So fucking tired. Of pretending he doesn’t miss Maud, that he doesn’t want you. That of both those unspoken truths piled together makes him feel like a right failure as a husband, as a father, as a boss. He was already broken, and your admission was the final crack that made him shatter.
Shaky hands come to cover your mouth, a barrier to keep any more secrets from polluting the fragile silence that hangs heavy between you. Declan shuffles back, just a hairbreadth. He’s got his head viced, one hand through his hair and the other gripping his jaw. “Fucking hell.”
“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Even if it’s the truth?” He’s just barely looking at you, sheepish. Like he’s waiting for permission. Or a denial. The torture draining the colour from his face is making it hard to tell what’s going on in that gorgeous head of his.
“It’s not fair. On either of us.” 
“You’re damn right it isn’t fair. None of this is fair.” He’s back at you, crowding you against the door, one large dress shoe pitched between your platform heels. You’re certain that if he took one deep breath, his belt buckle would make impressions on your stomach. You can see the indentations in his lips, the miniscule patch of dry skin at the corner. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? I’ve exercised more restraint in the last month than I’ve ever had to in my life. You’re fucking ruining me.” 
The disclosure has thinned his voice to barely a whisper. Heat bubbles low in your stomach, the pull of wanting to close the gap between you warring with the consequence you know wait for you both if you give in. Still, the way he’s staring at you, with wounded eyes like twin black holes, how could you ever stand a chance?
It’s why you let another confession slip, for better or for worse.
“You think I don’t feel it, too?” 
Declan reaches to tuck your hair behind your ear, his hand trailing back to caress your cheek. The minute he touches you, your whole body goes lax, completely pliable for him. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, and you can practically taste the liquor on his tongue. Black eyes zigzag across your features while his palm moves to cup your jaw, the pad of his thumb meeting the swell of your bottom lip. 
“This okay?” You only nod because you don’t have the strength, the gall, to betray Taggie by vocalising how desperately you want her father to keep touching you in ways you’ve only dreamed about.
“Need to hear you say it,” he urges. “Gotta make sure you really want this.”
He has no fucking idea how much you do.
“Please,” is all you manage to muster before an animalistic growl scrapes up the back of his throat and Declan O’Hara is kissing you in a way that’s going to screw you up forever.
You’re folding like the world’s flimsiest house of cards the moment his mouth hits yours, all teeth and tongues, whiskey, tobacco and him. If it weren’t for him scooping an arm around your waist to hold you to him, you’d be in a heap on the floor. Declan’s faint grunts resonate around your tongue as his own explores your mouth with fervent jabs, only breaking the erratic rhythm to suck your lip so sensually it peels a whimper from you. His arm is scorching against the bare skin that sits above the low-cut back of your dress. His hips flex into yours, and you feel the cool metal of his belt through satin. Then you feel it. His hard length, constricted by his suit trousers, pressing to your stomach. Excitement and desire pulse through you, the feeling of his arousal against you intoxicating, knowing you’re the cause.
“Ya feel that, darlin’? Feel what you do to me?” Declan asks, each word heavy with need and muffled into your neck, tongue flickering over the salty skin there. Your hands twist into his curls while he sucks a kiss into your collarbone. It pulls blood to the surface, most likely noticeable, but you don’t care. Not when Declan branding you feels so fucking good. After a few good moments, he pulls back to take you in, his lips puffy from working over your decolletage. His eyes skim over your face, drinking in every detail — the pale lipstick smeared around your mouth, your glassy eyes, the pink flush staining your cheeks.
“God, look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “So fucked out for me already.” Any shame that previously coloured Declan’s features has evaporated, the pity drowning his eyes flushed out by incessant need. He kisses you again, though it’s not so much a kiss as it’s a collision, only slowing down his movements once he’s confident this isn’t one of his fleeting, filthy dreams. It’s been so long since another person has kissed you like this, touched you like this. It’s everything Patrick’s kiss wasn’t, intimate and intentional despite the roaring laughter and music on the other side of the wall. 
Declan’s large hand leaves your hip and you immediately miss it as his fingers brush over the cool doorknob. They don’t linger, there’s no hesitation before the click of the lock vibrates through you. You don’t hear it, though. Not over your pulse thrumming in your ears. It’s a purposeful, unspoken decision to shut out everything but the heat building between you, then his hand is back at your waist, pinning you in place against the wood. The other grazes down your body until he reaches the hem of your dress, sliding it up your leg until he has it gathered in a pool of azure at your hip. Your breathing hitches at the feeling of his skin on your hip bone. Under the flood of material, Declan’s fingers find the waistband of your underwear, thumb trilling over the flimsy lace holding your thong together. Your breaths mingle, lips barely grazing while his mind runs ragged with thoughts of what colour the garment is. Black to match that sinful bra you wore to your interview? Red like the pair you were wearing in his dream last night? He hooks a finger under the elastic, pulling the panties away from your body then letting them go so they snap against your skin. You let out a sharp gasp at the sting but he’s already soothing it, one step ahead of what you’re needing. 
“I’ve wanted to touch you like this for so fucking long,” he groans. His hand finds its way under the lace material again to glide over the bulb of your arse, kneading the flesh there.
“Declan,” you whine, jutting your hips into his, desperate for friction.
“What’s that, darlin’?” Even with your eyes clamped shut you know he’s smirking, relishing in your neediness. You arch forward again but he’s far stronger than you, his brawniness keeping you in place. “If you want something, all you gotta do is ask.”
“Please,” you sigh, following up with a strangled, “Touch me.”
Declan wastes no time in finding you bundle of nerves, but as soon as he’s there, it’s like time slows to an excruciating speed, his fingers featherlight over the thin material. You’re already soaked. Have been since he started berating you about how much him wanting you was fucking him up. Declan knows it too, groaning as he applies more pressure, your slick seeping around the pad of his finger.
“Christ, you’re wet,” he grunts. “Is all this f’me?” Your head cants incessantly, mind and heart and pussy chanting more, more, more. But it doesn’t come. He just holds his finger to you, steady, waiting, like a finger on the trigger of a gun. The only relief you’re getting is from you squirming under his touch, and even then, it’s just not hitting in the way you know Declan could if he would just. Move.
A chuckle rumbles in his chest and as sexy as it sounds on a regular day, under the circumstances, it almost has you seeing red. “Oh, there she is,” Declan says when you finally look at him. “Needy little thing, aren’t ya?” His eyes are glued to yours, half-lidded with a grin tugging under his moustache. It’s not a challenge. It’s a promise. He has you right where he wants you, and you can feel it in the air, thick with his quiet confidence. Your mouth goes slack when Declan removes his finger from the outside of your underwear, instead using it to push the material aside, granting himself full access to your swollen centre. Then it’s back to square one: unhurried, languid movements as he traces your folds. Up and around, not once sliding over your clit despite your unintelligible splutterings begging him to do so. Declan’s lips fall back over yours with a quiet, charged kiss as his hand comes to cup your mound completely, his tongue seeking purchase against your own. You stay like that for a moment, tongues battling each other, his hand covering your pussy like he already owns it. Every single one of your nerve endings is alight, every inch of your skin acutely aware of his presence as his moustache grazes your top lip, as his middle finger ever so slightly dips between your folds. Then finally, finally, he slides a thick finger into you and you clench around him, the unfiltered pleasure enough to never want to be without the feeling of him inside you again. You both moan, the sound disappearing into your kiss, your hand disappearing into his hair, holding him to you. 
The hard peaks of your nipples create little blue buds against your dress, and they rub against Declan’s chest while he drags his finger from your body, in and out, in and out, each movement as deliciously slow as the last.
After a minute, he breaks your kiss, letting his forehead rest against your own. “You’re so tight,” he grits, adding another finger despite his observation. The new addition allows the palm of his hand to jut against your clit, and the friction almost has you levitating. “Oh, you like that, huh?” Declan teases, pushing into you harder, faster. The change in pace has you jerking like a live wire. Totally unhinged, the world feels like it’s spinning off its axis, more dangerously the longer he keeps that unforgiving pace. All this pent up frustration and teasing and longing bucks you closer to the edge, pins and needles edging their way from your toes up your body until—
Knock knock knock.
The door thumps into your back, scaring your orgasm away with it. Declan’s fingers freeze inside you, your clit pulsating against his palm, your eyes locked on one another as you will away the intrusion. The doorknob jostles next and all you can think is thank God Declan locked it when he did.
“‘S occupied!” he growls.
“Dad? Is that you?” Patrick.
The whites of your eyes blow out as you glare at Declan, panicked by the arrival of his son — your date, not twenty-four hours earlier — as you conjugate just mere inches away. Declan lifts his free hand to his lips, pressing a single finger into the supple flesh. Shh.
“Dad? Are you in here?” Patrick asks again, trying the door for a second time. 
“Yeah, son. You alright?” Declan responds, and your eyes go impossibly wider at him answering while his fingers are still buried in your pussy. While his steely length presses into the crease between your thigh and crotch.
“Are you alright? You’ve been gone a while.”
Declan’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving a devilish smile in its wake. “Everything’s grand,” he drawls, fingers slipping out of you to stake claim on your clit. The subtle movement yanks a gasp from you, a mix of embarrassment and arousal pumping through you as Declan begins to trace circles there. You’re caught between wanting to disappear and wanting more as Declan keeps talking, Irish accent laden with lust. “Just needed a few minutes to myself. Needed to…” he pauses, licking a stripe up the side of your neck before latching his teeth onto your earlobe for a hair of a second, “Decompress.”
“Mmm,” you moan, too loudly, because Declan claps a hand over your mouth to keep any more desperate sounds slipping from under the door. There’s a moment pause, and you panic, thinking you’ve given the pair of you away, but then Patrick is chattering away again, asking after you.
“Have you seen her? Could’ve sworn she came down this way.”
“Nope,” Declan lies, picking up pace as he strums your clit, like he’s getting off on holding a conversation while trying to take you to the brink of no return. “Haven’t seen her.”
The knot in your stomach mounts again, your whole body buzzing at high frequency. Patrick says something else, a goodbye, you think, but for all you know he could be speaking gibberish, the rush of blood to your ears blocking out anything that’s not Declan. 
The slight savour of sweat he’s worked up and how it tangoes with the cigarette smoke still lingering on his suit jacket.
How his mouth hangs slightly open, his tongue resting loosely against his bottom row of teeth, completely dumb for you.
The grunt wrapped in a sigh that pushes out of him when he plows two thickset fingers inside you again, and the matching moan you hum into the palm of his hand, the metal of his wedding ring cool against your upper lip.
“You’re making me crazy,” he says lowly. “Turnin’ me into someone who steals his son’s girl.” Your response comes out distorted, muffled against his skin. Declan’s hand slips from your mouth, finding its way to the nape of your neck and tangling its fingers into the frizzy hair there, the slight tension making your scalp tingle. “You got something to say, darlin’?”
“Not… his… girl,” you pant, words punctuated by Declan pumping his fingers impossibly deeper into your cunt.
“You’re damn right you’re not his girl.”
The subtext is clear. You’re not Patrick’s. You’re his. The feminist in you should balk at the insinuation but who are you kidding? Every stolen glance. Every car ride. Every solo orgasm you’ve yanked from yourself in the dead of night to the thought of him. Everything has led you to this. 
Your mascara flakes over the apples of your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut, Declan’s fingers expertly twisting and careening until the coil in the pit of your stomach is wound so tight you think you’re going to crack in two.
“Fuck, Declan,” you mewl, gripping his biceps to keep yourself steady. “So close.”
“Look at me, love. Wanna see those pretty eyes when you come.”
You could’ve fallen apart at those words alone, but you do what Declan says, gaze fluttering to his face as the butt of his hand against your clit works in tandem with his fingers until there’s a sharp and sudden snap, breaking you apart in a violent burst.
“Fuck, fuck, fu—” your expletives are swaddled by his hand yet again, eyes pricking with tears as you chase your high. Even through the blur, you see Declan grinning down at you with pride, nodding, quietly egging you on.
“That’s it, darlin’. Good. Good girl,” he whispers, thumb at the back of your head stroking tiny circles while his opposite fingers slow down with your breathing. It’s only when you stop convulsing completely that he drops his hand from your face. Your feet scream in pain as you come back to yourself, the weight of digging your heels in to keep you upright making itself known. Meanwhile, Declan slips himself from you, gently rearranging your underwear over your folds and allowing the skirt of your dress to float back down your legs. He shuffles backwards, allowing you space to gather yourself, to ground yourself, breaths still shaky as you step away from the door you’d come to be far too intimate with. You don’t speak, not yet, just watch as Declan peers down at his right hand that’s glistening with your slick, then to his left hand, where his wedding band glints under the library’s chandelier.
“Are you—” okay, is what you intend to ask, but Declan cuts you off, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.
“I should go find Taggie and Patrick. Can’t have them hearing about their mum through some idle party gossip,” he says, voice steady but marred with a tinge of uncertainty, as if he’s trying to make sense of everything. He maneuvers around you awkwardly, all that cockiness from moments ago melted away. He pauses at the door, the heavy silence between you so palpable. His hand rests on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn it. “This was…” he trails off, eyes searching the room for the right word.
"Yeah," is all you can manage, because you can’t find the words either. For how he just made you feel like every single one of your synapses was on fire. For the way he's treating you now, all cool and distant, like he's casually asking you to grab him a coffee. Declan forces a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and nods. Just once, stiff. With one final glance, he slips out of sight, laughter and clinking glasses and whumping music replacing Declan in the room before the door clicks closed behind him. And almost immediately, you feel irrelevant and unsure of what to do next. At least, you think it best to let a few minutes pass before you leave the library, so you shuffle over to the large mirror hanging above the fireplace to take in your dishevelled form. You look utterly wrecked, all puffy lips and smudged mascara. All at the hands of Declan O’Hara.
Oh, God, you think, doing your best to wipe away the fallout of the last twenty minutes from your face. What have we done?
When you’re satisfied that you don’t look like…well, like your boss just plied an orgasm from you, you trace Declan’s footsteps and step back into the party, hoping to go unnoticed by the sparse guests mingling around you. Just when you think you’ve escaped unscathed, you catch Rupert’s eye at the end of the hallway — sharp, knowing. He tilts his glass of champagne towards you, slight smirk with the quiet gesture. It’s not a greeting, but an acknowledgement, and you wonder if he saw Declan leave the library, too.
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If you got this far, thank you for reading!!!! Let me know in the comments what you think, and what you predict might happen next?!
Previous chapters: Chapter 1: The Interview, Chapter 2: Beneath The Surface, Chapter 3: Driving Miss Crazy
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agentcherricola · 6 months ago
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venting in the tags real quick bc it’s 2016 again
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motorsportbarbie13 · 9 days ago
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Aftermath - Chapter 5
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Aftermath - MV33 - Chapter 1 Aftermath - Chapter 2 Aftermath - Chapter 3 Aftermath - Chapter 4 Master List
When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make something out of nothing for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.
warnings: this chapter contains language and descriptions that illustrate abuse (mental and emotional). please don't engage with my work if you find any of the topics triggering. lando is, once again, an absolute asshole in this. i'd also like to point out that this is a character i am writing, i in no way am insinuating or implying the real lando is like this in any way.
pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader
word count: 4k or something like that?
(Everyone say ‘thank you’ to @lestapiastrisgirl for beta reading and helping me through late night plot crisis so this can come out today!!)
f1.gossip.source posted
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f1.gossip.source It's been months since @/Lando and @/MissLeClerc have been spotted togtether and we're starting to wonder...are they even together anymore?! Lando was spotted out alone in Monaco, looking annoyed at fans calling his name while his (ex???) girlfriend was papped out and about with none other than...Max Verstappen. Again. Rumors about the LeClerc sister and Dutch driver started to swirl right around the time her and Lando stopped being seen out in public...What do we think, chat??? Has little miss leclerc finally ditched the cocky British pilot for a new Dutch beau??? user029 maybe she got tired of having to parent her boyfriend??? user220 if it's true, she's really upgraded. 4 time world champion vs...what??? 4 time race winner. please. user0298 he never supported her art or anything, i'm not surprised she's moved on. max always looks smitten with her.
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“Lando, you have got to get this under control.” The head of McLaren’s communications team hisses, her glare shooting daggers at the driver who’s just walked into the the hospitality building ahead of the race in Belgium. 
Lando glances up from his phone, face pale and eyes worried. “How the fuck am I supposed to control what the gossip pages post?” 
Marina throws her hands up in the air as she paces, her McLaren team kit wrinkled from lack of sleep thanks to the British driver. In the four weeks since your argument with Lando after Austria, things have only gotten worse. You’re still not talking to him and he still hasn’t figured out where the hell you’re living. You’re not staying with Charles and Alexandra or Jade, he’s been subtly watching both buildings. He knows you’re still in Monaco because you’ve been papped out with your family and friends but most maddeningly Max Verstappen. 
Everyone seems to have noticed you’re not living with Lando anymore, your appearances in his streams have dwindled down to nothing. Fewtrell has had to start banning people form his chat because they won’t stop asking about you and what’s going on. Everyone knows that something went down but you’re straight up refusing to behave like an adult and come back to Lando, where you belong and it’s infuriating. 
“You can’t, obviously.” Marina sighs, sitting down at one of the high top tables in the middle of the suite. 
Around her, the Thursday afternoon crew of engineers and communications people buzz, all prepping for their weekends. Everyone seems to be acting normal but Lando can feel their glares on his back as he walks through the building. They all know he’s causing the entire team grief by causing so much drama with you, taking the attention away from the decent start to the year they’d had before all hell had broken loose a few months ago. 
“But,” She continues, leveling a glare at Lando. “You either need to bite the bullet and release a joint statement with her announcing your breakup or you need to get her to the track this weekend and make a big show of a united front. It’s up to you Lando, but you need to do something. I can’t keep saying ‘no comment’ whenever we’re asked about the distraction this is causing the team.” 
Lando pulls at his curls, like hell he’s going to admit that you’d left him. He supposed he could go rogue and release a statement without you. That way he could control the narrative and try to get the fans back on his side if he made something up like a cheating scandal or something. The moment that the thought flutters through his mind, he forces it out. For some fucking reason, the fans seem to have a soft spot for you and it’s maddening. Lando knew there was no way he could get public opinion on his side, not with how he was getting ripped apart on socials right now. 
“We’re not broken up.” He bites out, taking a sip out of his water bottle as he contemplates what he can do. 
Marina glances up from her phone, brow lifted in question. “That’s not what it looks like here.” She turns her phone towards Lando and shows him a photo of you descending the stairs of a private jet that’s just landed in Belgium. In front of you, already down the stairs and waiting on the tarmac for you is your brother with Leo cradled in his arms. 
And behind you? A fiery rage burns bright and hot in Lando’s chest when he sees who’s behind you. 
Fucking Max Verstappen. 
The look you’re giving him makes his heart twist and for the first time since this entire thing began, Lando actually misses you. He misses the way you used to smile up at him like that, like your entire world revolved Lando and no one else. He missed the way your eyes would follow him around a room, how your body would center towards his. The way you looked at Max was how you used to look at him and it made jealousy twist violently deep in Lando’s gut just looking at the photo. 
“I’ll take care of it.” Lando spits before stalking off to the privacy of his drivers room. 
f1.gossip.source posted
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f1.gossip.source Alexandra, Charles, and his little sister were seen arriving in Belgium this afternoon on Max Verstappen's private jet. It's yet another instance where the LeClerc sister was spotted without boyfriend Lando Norris, sparking new breakup rumors. Neither party has confirmed if they're still together, with McLaren PR insisting that the personal lives of their drivers are off limits. user019 honestly, I'm here for a LeClerc sister & Max relationship. >>>user028 me too. at least Max seems to actually like her, unlike Lando user0029 I mean, we all can see it. Why can't they just confirm it already??? user2333 fully on board the 'get her away from Lando train' ROOTING FOR YOU MAX!!! Get your girl!!! user029 my friend was out at the restaurant they were all at a few weeks ago and said that Lando crashed the dinner but left after a few minutes looking PISSED. >>>user029 honestly, Lando is kind of unhinged rn. get over her my man, move onnnnnnn!
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“I can’t believe you got me to agree to come this weekend.” You grumble as you follow Max towards the paddock gates Friday morning before practice. 
“You’ve barely been to any races this year and it’s almost the end of July!” Max shoots over his shoulder, grinning like an idiot he’s so happy you decided to come this weekend. 
“I was at Monaco!” You protest lamely, shoving your elbow into your brother’s ribs when he laughs. 
“You live in Monaco, that doesn’t count Little Dove.” Charles chuckles, rubbing at the sore spot where you’d just assaulted him. 
“Whatever.” You mutter, rolling your eyes. 
After arriving in Belgium last night, you had gone straight to your hotel room, needing a bit of alone time ahead of what you were sure was going to be a stressful weekend. As usual, you’d been papped arriving on Max’s jet, which you were certain Lando had seen because the moment you had checked your messages in the SUV Max had rented for your little group, there had been a text waiting for you from him. 
I know you probably don’t want to see me and I get that. I’m sorry, from the bottom of my heart. Can we please get together this weekend and talk? Somewhere neutral if that’s what you want…
As you settled into the hotel room that was yours for the weekend, a war was being fought in your brain. On one hand, you didn’t trust a single thing coming from Lando’s mouth. Not a single thing. He hadn’t given you any reason to trust anything that he said for months, so why should you start now? But on the other hand…
On the other hand, you and Lando had so much history. His message seemed remorseful. You knew everyone in your life would kill you if you even entertained the idea of getting back with him but somewhere deep in your chest a little voice was saying maybe you should hear him out. He was finally leaving you alone, finally backing off, why did he have to pop up right when you thought you had finally gotten him fully out of your system?
You didn’t tell anyone Lando had texted you. Had been texting you all morning as well. You knew no one would understand. But you also hadn’t returned a single text either. The energy that responding to Lando would take was something that you just didn’t have today. 
Your little group is captured by photographers as you walk in, a few even call out your name asking where you’ll be spending your time this weekend. Since dating Lando, you liked to split your time between the McLaren garage and Ferrari but this weekend was going to be different. Your VIP pass had Charles’ face and name on the back, not Lando’s. You had credentials from Ferrari like normal but this morning, Max had also slipped a Red Bull card around your neck, telling you if you got sick of looking at all that red this weekend, you could spend time with him. 
“Are you going to come to the dark side this weekend and use those Red Bull credentials to whip up some gossip?” Max murmurs in your ear, watching as Charles trots off ahead of you after Leo. 
You bump your shoulder with his, rolling your eyes and laughing lightly. “Stop.”
Mischief plays in Max’s pale blue eyes as he smiles down at you, enjoying the way your cheeks flush under his attention. Ever since the race in Austria a few weeks ago, you and the Dutch driver had been spending a lot of time together, all casual but he’d really begun to look forward to the nights you spent curled up on his couch eating takeout and watching bad reality tv with him. 
Before he has a chance to reply though, he sees the color drain from your face as you freeze in the middle of the sidewalk. Whipping his head around, Max searches for what, or more accurately, who has spooked you. He already knows who he’s looking for so when his eyes settle on the McLaren driver standing just outside the sliding glass doors of the McLaren hospitality building across the paddock, his stomach lurches. 
You had known you’d see Lando this weekend. How could you not? This was literally his workplace too. There was no way to avoid him, you knew that but you hadn’t expected to see him so quickly and before you had managed to work out how to respond to his text from the night before. 
Your brother is between where you stand and McLaren’s hospitality so he clocks Lando staring after you at about the same time as you and Max. Turning on his heel, he scoops up Leo and makes a bee line back to where you stand, utterly frozen. 
“Dovie.” Max coos in your ear, twining his fingers with yours in an attempt to pull you out of the state you’re in. “Hey, sweet girl, look at me.” 
You ignore him, gaze locked on Lando’s frozen frame. 
Charles steps in between you and Lando, instantly cutting off your line of sight. This seems to yank you back to reality and your brother snaps into action. “Shit. I’ve got a meeting in five minutes. I don’t want her alone.” Your brother sounds panicked, like the way you’re just staring blankly ahead is really freaking him out. 
So, he improvises. “Here, take Leo and go take a walk. There’s tons of open space on the other side of the paddock.” Charles presses the small dog into your hands and you drop your gaze away from Lando for the first time in several moments. 
Your gaze drops to where your hand is still clutched in Max’s larger one. The steady warmth from his presence grounds you, allowing you to pull in a full breath for the first time in several minutes. 
“No, she’s not going off on her own.” Max cuts in, tone sharp. “I’ve got some time before I need to be in the car. Come stay in Red Bull with me until practice, then you can watch from my garage, okay?” 
The force of his words leave little wiggle room for argument and Charles can’t help but smirk a little. He should have known Max would step right up to make sure you were taken care of. 
“Yeah.” You agree weakly, finally tearing your gaze away from Lando, who is still starting at you, light eyes sharp and observant. You can feel the way his gaze drops to where Max’s hand is curled around yours possessively. “Yeah, that sounds good.” 
Without waiting for Lando to get any more ideas like wanting to try to come talk to you, Max tugs on your hand. He knows you well enough by now to know that you need a distraction and you need it fast. “Come on, you said you wanted to stir up some gossip this weekend, well here’s your chance.” 
You laugh despite yourself, nuzzling your face into Leo’s soft fur. “I’m keeping the dog.” You tell your brother as you allow yourself to be led away by Max. All Charles does is nod, relieved to know that you’re in good hands while he’s busy. 
missleclerc posted
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24,029 likes liked by maxverstappen1, charlesleclerc, redbullracing, and others missleclerc in my defense, I was kidnapped ☝🏻 maxverstappen1 whatever, you wanted to be there. >>>missleclerc lies. It was a hostage situation. >>>maxverstappen1 is that what the kids are calling it these days? >>>user299 chat, are they flirting in the comments??? WE CAN SEE YOU TWO charlesleclerc can't believe you subjected your nephew to this. please make sure you take a shower before dinner tonight. >>>missleclerc rude. user0209 ya know, I'm kinda here for this ship. >>>user987 did you see how utterly distracted Max was during the one interview where she walked past him? couldn't take his eyes off her >>>user0209 lando's gonna be crashing out after seeing that interview tonight >>>user3443 GOOD. bro deserves it
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“I think you may need to roll me up to my room after that dinner.” You groan, rubbing at the food baby making your black leather skirt pinch painfully at your hips. 
After qualifying Saturday evening, when the boys were all finished with their media and team duties, Max had insisted that you, your brother, Alexandra and himself all go out to dinner. He’d wanted to insist it just be the two of you but he wasn’t blind to the gossip you two had stirred up in the paddock Friday afternoon so he’d figured bringing your brother and his girlfriend along would be a bit safer. 
“I think I ate my weight in spaghetti.” Alexandra groans beside you as you plod towards the front doors of the hotel. “Carry me up to the room please, Cha?” She coos, throwing her arms around your brother’s neck as if she can’t go on one step more.
 Charles laughs, snaking his arms around her waist and pulls her close, dropping a kiss on her forehead, a gesture so tender and intimate you have to turn away. Your gaze immediately connects with Max who is standing a few paces behind your brother and his girlfriend. A small smile tips up at the corner of his full lips when you make eye contact at him and your stomach swoops at the affection for you in his eyes. 
You’re imagining things, you think instantaneously. There’s no way Max sees you as anything other than a friend, after everything that you’ve endured while he’s watched. How could anyone like Max be attracted to someone who had spent an entire year drowning in a failing relationship? It was likely a pity smile, something he gives you because he feels sorry that you haven’t found what your brother has found in Alexandra. 
“There you are…” A smooth British accent interrupts your thoughts, jarring you out of your spiral. “You stopped answering my texts.” Lando says pointedly as he joins your little group in the lobby of the hotel. 
Your eyes shutter closed as you blow out a breath. You had been hoping to avoid this confrontation all together but it was just another nail in the coffin of why Max wouldn’t even want to begin to get involved with you in the first place. Why would he willingly want to be with someone who was still so intertwined with her ex still? You’ve spent so long with Lando, were so intertwined with him it would certainly be easier to just go back to him, wouldn’t it? Maybe he was all you deserved after wasting three years of your life. 
“I was at dinner, Lando. It’s rude to text during a meal.” You carefully control the tone of your voice, not wanting to instigate yet another public altercation with him. 
“Ah, yes. I’m sure the company was riveting.” His eyes flicker over to where Max stands, stiff and unmoving, the smile that he’d just been showering you with totally gone from his face. “So, what do you say, can we finally talk like two adults?” 
“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Norris.” Charles cuts in, voice sharp and short. 
“I think your sister can answer for herself, LeClerc.” There’s a challenge in Lando’s eyes that you don’t miss and you know you have about five seconds to diffuse the situation before it gets out of hand. Again. 
Placing your hand on Lando’s elbow, you tug him away. “If you promise to chill out and actually listen to me, we can go to the bar and get a drink. One drink, Lando. Can you do that?” 
If you had been looking at Max then, you would have seen the light flicker out of his eyes. He’s grateful that his hands are tucked away in his pockets when he hears your words because the way the ball up into tight fists would be embarrassing had anyone seen it. He wants to say something, anything, that might convince you to not walk away with him. He wants to tell you how he’s feeling, how this afternoon with you in his drivers room and then garage was the best start to a race weekend he’d had in recent memory. He wants to beg you not to go with Lando. 
But he can’t. He can’t because he still hasn’t worked up the courage to tell you how he feels. Max is stuck in this painful sort of limbo where you two spend time together and he craves any bit of attention he can glean from you but it’s not enough for him to risk your fragile state of being right now. He knows you’re still recovering from leaving Lando. Three years is a long time to spend with someone, even if the last year was as painful as Lando had made it for you. He knows you’re not ready for him to tell you how he’s feeling but he’s afraid if he doesn’t, you’ll go running back to Lando. 
While the internal debate about what to do with his feelings rages on inside, Max watches as a cat-like grin spreads slowly across Lando’s face. He’s won. Lando’s won and they both know it. 
“Of course, baby.” 
You bristle at the name but without the energy to fight him, all you do is roll your eyes. Max’s mask of indifference somehow staying in place when he hears the nickname, but it tears him up on the inside. He’s not sure how he manages it. 
“I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Thanks for dinner, Max.” Taking a step towards Max, you fold yourself into him, enjoying the way his arms come around your waist without hesitation. The hug is firm and he holds onto you for several moments longer than necessary. 
 “I can stay down here if you want me to.” He murmurs in your ear, his breath tickling the shell of your ear, sending a cool shiver of pleasure down your spine. 
“I’m a big girl, I can handle him.” 
“It’s not you I’m worried about.” He responds, looking down at you. You’re surprised to see a stark look of concern all over his face, like he’s genuinely worried about you. 
“Max, I’m fine. It’s just one drink.” 
But Max knows Lando. It’s not just going to be one drink. But what other choice does he have? Reluctantly, he releases you and takes a step back, forcing himself out of arms length. You instantly miss the grounding warmth of his body and fight to keep your expression neutral. 
Max watches you walk away, shoulder brushing with Lando’s and has to resist the urge to rub at the painful clenching sensation that wraps itself around his heart. 
“You don’t have to watch her leave.” Charles murmurs, standing off to the side with a worried looking Alexandra. They both share Max’s opinion that this is a bad idea but like Max, what else can they say?
Max scrubs at his face, suddenly so overwhelmingly exhausted that all he wants to do is climb into bed and sleep until the race tomorrow. “What am I supposed to do, Charles?” He throws his hands up in defeat as you disappear around the corner just as Lando’s arm slips around your waist. “I don’t have a single claim on her, she’s not mine to miss.” 
His stomach twists painfully at the thought of having to go back to his hotel room knowing you’re touching him. 
“She won’t go back to him.” Charles says with more confidence than Max can muster up himself. “She’s been doing so well lately and we all see it’s partially because of you, mate.”
“Don’t give up on her, Max. Not yet.” Alexandra offers quietly, stepping closer to Charles before reaching out and placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “She’s stronger than we all think but she’s going to need your patience right now. It’ll be okay.” 
The way it physically hurt watching you walk away had alarm bells ringing in Max’s head. He hadn’t realized just how attached to you he’d become in the time since you’d left Lando and it terrified him. If you went back to Lando tonight, he had this gut feeling he’d lose you forever and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to endure that. 
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Max barely sleeps that night, tossing and turning for hours trying to convince himself he hadn’t just watched you walk right out of his life again. He knew he was, once again, getting ahead of himself and that he needed to wait before going into full spiral mode but he couldn’t quite get himself there. 
By the time he’s downstairs in the hotel lobby the next morning, waiting for the car that Red Bull had hired for him, he’s exhausted and on the brink of biting someone’s head off. 
“You doing okay over there, Verstappen? You seem a little…irritated.” 
Max turns and has to stifle a groan. “Why can’t you just leave well enough alone, Lando?” 
Lando has the nerve to look confused, brows furrowing as he tilts his head to the side. “I have no idea what you’re on about, mate.” 
It takes every ounce of control Max has honed over the years not to punch the British driver square in the face. “Why are you so fixated on her now that she’s finally trying to get away from you?” 
Lando smirks, quick and ugly, before he shakes his head. “See, now that’s where you’re wrong Max.” He reaches over and pats at Max’s shoulder patronizingly. “I don’t think she really wants to get away form me anymore. Not after last night.” 
It feels like the breath has been sucked out of Max’s lungs at Lando’s words. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He hisses, heat creeping up his neck. 
“You’re a smart man, Max. Use that big brain of yours. I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Lando grins like the Cheshire Cat as he shrugs. “Oh look, my ride’s here. Good luck out there today, Verstappen.” 
Without waiting for a response because he knows full well he’s caught Max completely off guard, Lando saunters off, hands deep in his pockets, without a second look back at the Dutch driver. 
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hivemuthur · 26 days ago
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Dream Within a Dream
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My humble tiny contribution to jayvik nation!
mature! kissing/making out, unresolved tension, teeny tiny bit of angst because I'm happiness repellent
word count: 3,5K
summary: based on @mithrava's hc where Jayce and Viktor are so happy about their Hextech breakthrough, they celebrate with a little bit too much alcohol and well... you know. Therefore, tw: alcohol.
Cross-posted on AO3
“…Will you please stop hovering?” Heimerdinger let out an annoyed huff at two of his pupils, in that moment floating around the room, amidst the blue hextech light scattered around them.
“I’m not sure how to do that, sir,” Viktor replied, trying to keep his composure—but he couldn’t hold back the laughter. He just couldn’t. It was unbelievable. It was unreal. They had actually done it.
Through endless nights of discussions, equations, notes, borderline illegal amounts of coffee, and sleeping in uncomfortable positions, they had managed to get here. To harness the power of magic and encapsulate it within a tiny crystal—endless possibilities contained inside.
So how could he be serious in that moment? There was absolutely no way to withhold the grin on his face. And even though so much was happening at once, Jayce took note of that grin—he hadn’t seen Viktor this happy before. In fact, he had only ever seen him vaguely content or, on rare occasions, excited. Happy? Never.
Heimerdinger’s voice broke them both out of the blissful moment. “This is not what Piltover’s future looks like, my dear boys.” The frown on his furry face gave away a concern that neither of them understood.
“That’s for the Council to decide.” Mel Medarda’s voice reached them before she appeared in her full glory. “Perhaps it is time,” she said, her tone gentle and measured as she scanned the room, “for the era of magic.”
“Uh, Hextech. For the era of Hextech,” Jayce corrected her, feeling the crushing weight of this moment. Where they could go from here seemed endless. And the best part of it was that he would be on this journey with Viktor.
***
They had managed to get the hovering under control, though not without casualties—Jayce had bashed his forehead on the desk while turning the machinery off, and Viktor had fallen straight onto his ass, a loud groan echoing through the workshop.
“Shit, Viktor, are you alright?”
The immediate concern in Jayce’s voice melted something deep inside Viktor. Something tender, almost unfamiliar. He looked up, and there Jayce was—already nursing his own bruised forehead, his face creased with a worried frown. Jayce. The man who, with all his relentless optimism, had somehow made Viktor’s world feel brighter.
Viktor’s lips twitched into a crooked smile, though he couldn’t quite meet Jayce’s eyes. “I’ll be fine. It’s mostly my pride that suffered,” he said, brushing himself off with as much dignity as he could muster. His voice sounded steadier than he felt. “I just need to… sit here for a moment.”
Jayce exhaled, a wide grin overtaking his face—so wide it threatened to split it in half. There was something almost boyish about it, as though he couldn’t hold in the sheer radiance of his joy.
“Wait for me here. I’ll be back before you can say ‘Hextech’!” he exclaimed, already pushing to his feet, a hand pressing against the purpling bruise on his temple. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except this—the breakthrough, the impossible victory that had been years, perhaps a lifetime, in the making. For Jayce, this wasn’t just a moment of triumph; it was a culmination of dreams whispered into the dark, plans scribbled into tattered notebooks. And Viktor—Viktor had made this possible.
As Jayce bounded out of the workshop, his voice trailing triumphant “Wooo!” sounds down the hallway, Viktor was left alone. Mid-inhale, he blinked at the empty doorway. “It’s not like I would go—” he muttered, his voice quiet in the now cavernous silence, “—anywhere.”
The air stilled. Viktor slumped back against the edge of the workbench, his limbs aching but his heart so full it felt as though it might burst. He tilted his head back, letting his gaze settle on the swirling hextech light still dancing across the ceiling, refracting like a kaleidoscope of stars.
What had they done? What had he done?
This wasn’t supposed to happen—not to him, not like this. For years, Viktor had lived in the shadow of his own life. A quiet assistant to minds greater, stronger, brighter than his. A figure scribbling equations in the margins, unseen and unheard. He had been grateful for scraps—a word of praise, an acknowledgment, the briefest recognition that he existed.
But this? This moment was his as much as it was Jayce’s. He closed his eyes.
For the first time, Viktor allowed himself to hold the word in his mind: partner. It was a simple word, but it swelled against his ribs until he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know when it had started—when Jayce’s infuriatingly good-hearted presence had carved its way into his chest—but it was there, undeniable. A bloom of something delicate and dangerous, a feeling he could barely name.
Partner. But perhaps… perhaps something more.
The thought made him scoff softly to himself, shaking his head. Foolish. His pulse still hammered beneath his skin, hot with joy, with relief, with an ache he didn’t quite understand. His hand reached for his cane—a familiar comfort, even in its broken state—but he stopped short, fingertips hovering over the fractured wood.
Had he ever been this happy? Had he ever let himself be?
His chest rose and fell as he breathed, shaky and uneven, overwhelmed by it all. It hurt to feel this much, but gods, it was a beautiful kind of hurt.
“Jayce…” he whispered into the silence, testing the name on his tongue as though it might anchor him. Viktor let his hand fall away, sinking deeper into the weight of the moment. The hextech crystal continued to pulse in its cradle, and its glow reflected faintly in Viktor’s golden eyes—a mirror to the light he could feel, for the first time, inside himself. He had never had a reason to be this happy before. And he didn’t know what to do with it.
“Look what I found!” Jayce announced, as though he’d stumbled across a treasure hoard. “One cold compress—for your aching pride and your even more aching ass.” He tossed it toward Viktor, who caught it with a bemused huff. “And this,” he added, holding up the bottles with a victorious grin, “to seal the moment. A proper celebration.”
Viktor pressed the cool compress against his lower back, a small groan of relief escaping him. “You are… remarkably considerate,” he said, voice dry but fond. Then, eyeing the bottles dubiously, he added, “But I must warn you—I do not hold my liquor well.”
Jayce froze mid-flourish, his mouth dropping open in exaggerated offense. “Viktor, please. If you’re ever going to drink—ever—surely this is the moment to do it. You and I, two geniuses on the verge of changing the world! Are you really going to deny me the pleasure of seeing you loosen up?”
Viktor rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the faint upward twitch of his lips. “One glass,” he relented, holding up a single finger for emphasis. “One.”
Jayce grinned like he’d won a victory greater than Hextech itself. “Deal!”
The cork popped with a satisfying crack, and before Viktor could protest further, Jayce had pressed a glass into his hand, the bubbly liquid fizzing and glittering like gold. Viktor stared at it, his brows furrowed as though unsure whether to admire it or fear it.
“To us,” Jayce said, raising his glass.
Viktor hesitated just a moment longer before mirroring him. “To… us,” he echoed softly. Then he smiled and added, “Na zdraví” in his thick accent.
The champagne was sharp and cold on his tongue, sweet but with a bite that lingered. It spread warmth through him far too quickly, a heat that gathered in his chest and curled behind his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or simply the culmination of the day—the culmination of everything.
Jayce plopped down beside him on the floor, his legs stretched out lazily, their shoulders just barely brushing. “You know,” Jayce started, leaning his head back against the bench, “I can’t stop thinking about what this could mean. What we could do with it. Energy, innovation, security—Piltover could be… unstoppable.”
Viktor let his head loll to the side, a small smile quirking his lips as he studied Jayce’s face—open, bright, unwavering. “You are always looking ahead,” he said, his voice softer now, the champagne buzzing pleasantly at the edges of his thoughts. “It is admirable.”
Jayce turned to grin at him. “It’s easy when I’ve got you by my side.”
Viktor looked away, clearing his throat as heat threatened to creep up his neck. He forced his voice into a teasing lilt. “I could not help but notice how impressed Mel Medarda seemed with you earlier,” he said.
“Mel?” Jayce blinked, and Viktor swore he caught a flicker of hesitation. “She’s… she’s something, isn’t she?”
Viktor’s smile faltered slightly, a small twist forming in his chest. Something sharp and unpleasant. He frowned faintly to himself—jealousy? Ridiculous. Still, the feeling made him cringe. He’d never been prone to such sentiments before; why now?
Jayce, as though sensing something, rubbed the back of his neck and glanced away. “But, uh… I’ve had my eyes elsewhere for a while.”
Viktor turned to him, his brows knitting in confusion. “Elsewhere?”
The question hung between them, and for the briefest moment, Jayce’s confidence faltered. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, looking almost… nervous. Finally, he laughed, too quickly, waving a hand in the air. “I mean on our research, of course! Hextech. What else?”
Viktor tilted his head, his gaze lingering on Jayce’s face. “Right,” he said slowly, though he didn’t quite believe it.
Jayce turned his head away, suddenly focused on the far wall of the workshop. His hands fiddled with the stem of his glass, his thumb running absently along its edge. He felt off-kilter, as though the champagne had stripped him of some unseen armor. His pulse was too fast. And Viktor—Viktor, who sat beside him with his sharp golden eyes and his half-tilted smile—was studying him with far too much patience.
Jayce forced himself to look. Just look. He let his eyes trace Viktor’s features, committing them to memory—the sharp angles softened by the dim light, the faint flush to his pale cheeks, the way his lips parted slightly as though always on the edge of forming a thought. Damn.
He couldn’t stop talking, theorizing. He talked and talked, desperate for Viktor’s attention, for his hums of approval, for his thoughtful expressions. Their faces were getting closer and closer, as Jayce’s voice faltered and began to quiet.
“I mean, if we go about this well, think of all the people we could help. We could revolutionize mining, transport, we could—” His breath caught in his throat, and he didn’t know why. For the love of him, he couldn’t understand what invisible force guided his hands in that moment to cradle Viktor’s cheeks and press his lips against Viktor’s. Maybe it was the Hextech itself, but, oh gods, he didn’t know it was possible—it felt even better than hovering around the room mere hours ago.
It was so quick; he didn’t even register when he got back to his previous position.
Silence fell between them, heavy and aching. Jayce couldn’t bring himself to look up when he felt slender hands tugging at his neck and pulling him back to where he had just been. It was a slow movement—tentative, yet deliberate. Viktor’s arms guided him back to where he was supposed to be, and Jayce had to balance himself on his friend’s hip. The kiss was slow, sloppy, lazy even. Extended in time, as if they wanted time itself to stop and freeze them in this fleeting moment.
Jayce moaned involuntarily as he felt a sharp pull of heat drag through his core, ready to pull Viktor closer, when Viktor hesitantly broke them apart.
A small “Wait,” barely audible, escaped Viktor’s mouth. “I am sorry, I don’t know what—” he tried, but his words failed him. What he needed right now was a calculation: of the risk, of the potential benefits and losses, a detailed outline of what had led to this conclusion. But his mind was so hazy from all the champagne, Viktor scolded himself for having more than one glass.
It was an impossible command for Jayce. He was able to do anything, but ‘wait’ right then. Mindful of his fresh injury, Jayce pulled Viktor up to straddle his lap, their torsos touching through the horrible layers of clothing. He hated clothes so much in that moment.
Jayce kissed him again, deeply, hungrily, a quiet urgency that neither of them had anticipated. Their lips moved together in a rhythm that felt both natural and uncharted, as though they had crossed an invisible line they hadn’t even known existed. Jayce’s hands cupped Viktor’s ass, pressing him down on himself, the bulge in his pants painfully swollen. Viktor’s hips bucked, he couldn’t help it—it embarrassed him completely, but another thing he couldn’t help was a breathy moan escaping his mouth. What had just happened?
“Fuck, Jayce,” Viktor mumbled straight into Jayce’s mouth. “What is… this?” he stated more than asked, breaking the kiss but keeping their faces close together, their foreheads and noses touching, their mouths panting.
“I don’t know,” Jayce breathed, his voice soft but steady, his hands still holding Viktor close, fingers splayed against his back. “But it feels... good.”
His chest tightened as he felt Viktor’s breath hitch, the conflict so clear in his partner’s eyes, despite the way their bodies pressed together in a dizzying, heated closeness. The tension between them was palpable—an uncomfortable, unspoken ache that neither of them could address right now. The weight of their clothes, the awkwardness of their embrace, felt suffocating as if there was too much space to fill but not enough to move. Viktor’s sharp inhale vibrated through Jayce’s chest, and he noticed how stiff Viktor’s shoulders were, like he was trying to hold himself back.
Jayce could feel the conflict in the tightness of Viktor’s arms, the way his body was taut against him as if he were bracing for something. It made Jayce’s heart race, his mind swirling with uncertainty, but his arms were already instinctively pulling Viktor in tighter. His face pressed into Viktor’s neck, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of him—a mix of iron, wood, and something uniquely Viktor. He didn’t want to let go. Not yet.
“I’ve had too much to drink,” Viktor said, his voice strained, as though he were forcing the words out through a clenched jaw. He pulled back just enough to look Jayce in the eyes, and there was a flicker of hesitation before he spoke again. “It’s best if we get some rest. We can’t... I can’t...” Viktor’s voice caught in his throat, the words stumbling out as if they were too heavy to say.
Jayce’s heart sank, a dull ache in his chest at the thought of pulling away. He understood. He knew Viktor wasn’t ready, wasn’t sure of what had just happened, wasn’t sure of what he wanted. It was too much. Too fast. Jayce nodded, slow and resigned, but the words didn’t come immediately. His body was still pressed against Viktor’s, still drunk on the warmth of him, the touch, the kiss that had stolen all their breath.
“It’s okay,” Jayce said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “I understand.”
But as Viktor began to shift back, preparing to pull away, Jayce’s hand tightened around his waist, stopping him. He didn’t want to let go. Not yet.
“Just... give me a minute more of this,” Jayce said, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges, as though the words were torn from him. His head dipped back into Viktor’s neck, inhaling deeply, the scent of him filling his lungs. He breathed him in like he was trying to hold onto the moment, as if if he let go now, it would all slip away.
Viktor stiffened slightly, but Jayce didn’t let go. He just held him tighter, his arms now wrapped fully around Viktor’s back, pulling him closer. And Viktor, though he hesitated for a brief moment, let himself be held.
In that moment, Jayce didn’t want to think about the future, about what this meant, or the next steps. He just wanted the quiet comfort of Viktor’s presence, the feeling of his body against his own, the intimacy of this fragile, fleeting moment that felt like something he never wanted to end.
Later, in their separate rooms, sleep eluded them. The night stretched long, each of them turning over in their own bed, replaying the evening over and over in their foggy minds. Viktor’s head throbbed from the champagne, but it was the kiss that lingered, the warmth of Jayce’s hands, the desperate pull of something he couldn’t name.
Across the hall, Jayce lay wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling, the taste of Viktor still sharp on his lips. His heart raced with the memory of their closeness, the breathless tension that had filled the room. He knew he should sleep, but the moment kept replaying in his mind, teasing him with the questions he didn’t know how to answer. Neither of them could shake the memory, the yearning that now hung between them like an unsaid truth, and neither of them could bring themselves to confront it, not yet.
***
They were both late the next day. Jayce, the ever-thoughtful Jayce, brought the coffees and breakfast to the workshop, only to find Viktor slumped against the desk, napping.
Jayce’s heart swelled momentarily with the memory of last night still lingering, but he managed to speak. “Do I dare check for your pulse?” he joked, approaching Viktor with the coffee first—one could never be too cautious.
“It should be in your best interest that I still have a pulse, otherwise the blood would be on your hands, Jayce,” Viktor groaned, his voice muffled against the workbench. “This is agonizing. The one thing in my body that worked without fault is now failing me.” Another dramatic whine made Jayce laugh. “You’ve broken me, Jayce. No more Hextech, no more genius mind,” Viktor kept whining, his hand blindly roaming the space in front of him, searching for the coffee.
“It can’t be that bad. I’ve brought food. Will that grant me your forgiveness?” Jayce asked, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he set the breakfast down in front of Viktor.
“Ugh, no, I can barely keep my insides... well, inside,” Viktor groaned, his voice thick with discomfort. He slowly lifted his head from the workbench, blinking against the harsh light. But beneath his words, his mind was racing.
He knew exactly how much he'd had to drink, and he knew the effects were still there. But the last thing he wanted was for Jayce to think he was still reeling from the night. So, he lied—an easy lie, one that masked the overwhelming truth. How did we get so drunk? I can’t remember a thing, he told himself, but his mind replayed every second of it. The kiss. Jayce's arms around him. The feeling of something more lingering in the air, unspoken and unresolved. It haunted him, but Viktor buried it beneath the weight of a half-hearted chuckle. "How did we get so drunk? I can’t remember a thing," he repeated aloud, his hand slowly making its way toward the food as if it could somehow pull him away from his thoughts.
Jayce’s heart literally sank at Viktor’s words, the lightness in his chest suddenly replaced by a heavy knot. He forced a chuckle, brushing the unease aside. Of course, Viktor couldn’t remember… Of course. But he played along, trying to keep things light. “Well, we talked about Hextech, and the future. Grand plans, all that. Nothing too exciting," he added with a grin, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Viktor, still half-dazed, blinked at him slowly, as if he was trying to pull the threads of last night together. He took a sip of the coffee Jayce had brought him, his eyes narrowing with a hint of disbelief. “I can’t believe our dream is actually about to come true,” Viktor murmured, shaking his head as if the reality of it was just starting to sink in.
Jayce’s expression faltered, a subtle sadness flashing across his face before he could mask it. “Yeah, it will,” he said quietly, his voice betraying a wistful edge. “Our dream will come true now.” He paused, his gaze distant for a moment, as if the weight of the moment was pressing in on him. But there was another, smaller dream, too. One that had lingered in the back of it all. Jayce had gotten a glimpse of it coming true last night as well. He scolded himself for letting it slip through his fingers.
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itaipava · 1 year ago
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— f1 boys apologizing after a fight.
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˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS
you’re lying back-to-back in bed, neither able to sleep. at some point in the night, he gives in and you feel a hand on your arm, lips pressed against your shoulder, “will you let me hold you? i promise we will talk about it tomorrow.” as you eventually nod in agreement, you can feel him smile against your skin. he wraps his arms around you, whispering a faint ‘i’m sorry’ before you both finally drift off to sleep with much lighter hearts.
˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO
you come home to find him seated on the couch in front of the tv, surrounded by a cozy blanket and a bunch of pillows. he tries to act cool about it, “oh hey, i was just about to watch a movie. you can join if you want.” you almost can’t fight the smile forming on your face as you notice your favorite snacks as well as two cups of hot cocoa on the table. you try to act unfazed and walk past him when he grabs your wrist, “oh come on, it’s your favorite movie and i made the hot cocoa for you myself,” he says then his expression softens, “i’m sorry. can we make up, please? it sucks fighting with you.”
˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ
he apologizes through touch; you guys may not be on speaking terms but at the end of the day, he relents once the cold anger fades. you’re standing by the corner in the kitchen at night, lost in your own thoughts until you feel a pair of arms around you from behind; your body instinctively tenses but it relaxes once you recognize who it is. he quietly holds you in a back-hug for a long while before whispering a soft ‘i’m so sorry. i love you,’
˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC
he apologizes unreservedly and sincerely with a straight face. his face is pretty passive and aloof but somehow, the emotions and the genuineness is evident in his voice - very subtle voice cracks, hoarse tone. probably sits down and talks about the argument and the cause of it and what you both can do to fix the problem. then he hugs you, light-heartedly saying, “fighting with you is exhausting; i think that just took ten years off my life.” then kisses you, murmuring more apologies against your lips.
˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON
he normally needs time alone to process his emotions and thoughts, which is why he decides to sleep on the couch for the night and he leaves for a while before you wake up in the morning. but he doesn’t leave the house without making you your favorite breakfast, drink, and writing a little note that reads: went for a run, will be back soon. i’m sorry about last night. and he finishes it off with his name, followed by a random, cute doodle.
˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI
arguments with him rarely lasts long; he wants to make up and move on from it as quickly as possible. you’re both lying in bed, facing away from each other, both awake and feeling equally guilty. then you roll over and turn around to apologize at the same time. after a moment of gazing at each other, you break into soft giggles and he chuckles as he pulls you into his chest, mumbling apologies and sweet words.
˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN
he awkwardly does little things for you; when you drop a pen, he picks it up and hands it to you without a word; when he sees that you’ve forgotten to take the towel into the bathroom, he wordlessly leaves a fresh one by the door. when he’s having a snack and he sees you pass by, he offers you some. if you accept it, he expectantly looks at you. “sooo, we good?” when you respond with a nod, he lets out big sigh of relief before hugging you; “i’m really sorry, y/n,”
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nats-firefly · 3 months ago
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choices
sorority!wandanat x reader
summary: Natasha never stays the night, what will happen when someone else shows interest - college au
warnings: smut 18+ only you are responsible for your media consumption, drinking, smoking, it gets a little angsty in the middle
a/n: THIS IS A CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE FIC endgame will depend on your choices. (repost)
I was inspired to do this by @caws5749​‘s 1k celebration where she also did a choose your own adventure type story (hers was very cool and is linked here)
🚩 warnings are clearly stated please do not report/flag :) 🚩
header made by wickussy (iykyk) | feedback is always welcome | masterlist
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Natasha has always been straight forward, especially with you. You knew that from the second she strolled into your apartment. Her confidence radiated off her and you were instantly drawn to her.
You threw the last of your clean laundry into your closet just as there was a knock on your door. Glancing over your perfectly and freshly cleaned apartment, you took a deep breath before reaching for the door handle and pulling the door open. 
The air was almost knocked out of your lungs at the girl standing on the other side of the door. Her green eyes sparkled as she looked at you, her lips made a popping sound as she pulled the red lollipop from her mouth and reached out her hand, smiling widely.
“Hi, I’m Natasha,” Her voice was sweet and welcoming and the giggle that followed when you didn’t move made your head spin.
“Um, h-hi,” You shook her hand, moving out of the way so she could come into your apartment. “I’m Y/N.”
She walked in, looking around the small kitchen and connected living room. She needed to pretend like she was still making up her mind; she loved the pictures on the ad you put out and after taking one look at you she knew she had to have it. She had to have you.
“Why did the last person move out?” She asked walking through the hallway to the vacant bedroom. “Was it something wrong with the place?”
“Not exactly,” You chuckled, scratching the back of your neck and following her down the hallway and leaning against the doorframe. She looked at you questioningly, tilting her head to the side as she sucked on her lollipop, your eyes dropping down to her lips momentarily before looking back up to her eyes. “She was my kinda girlfriend, but we broke up.”
Perfect, Natasha thought. “Bad break up?”
“For her,” You shrugged. You and Val started sleeping together very soon after you moved in, which went on for almost two years. Until she wanted to commit and you didn’t. She couldn’t take it, you were completely fine with the arrangement you had. Natasha raised her eyebrow at your response, before popping her lollipop out of her mouth once again and turning her body to look at the room. “She wanted to commit, I didn’t.”
“That explains the ‘kinda’,” She moved into the bathroom, looking over the sink then the shower. You moved back into the living room, waiting for her to finish looking over the place. She emerged from the hallway not two minutes after, waving the lollipop stick in the air, now empty. You pointed at the trashcan in the corner and she walked over to it so naturally, you’d think she already signed the lease. “When’s the earliest move-in date?”
“Um, next week?” You said.
“Perfect,” She said with a smile. “How do I apply?”
“You don’t have to,” It slipped out before you could hold yourself back. But if a goddess walked into your apartment asking to move in, you’d probably give her the keys on the spot. “If you want, we can go over the lease and you can pay the deposit tomorrow.”
Natasha smirked and made her way over to you, her hand gripping your chin as she looked into your eyes. 
“You’re cute,” She said, before shaking your head briefly and letting go of your chin. She turned her body and found a sticky note and a pen on the counter, quickly scribbling down her number. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Things were so different back then. You couldn’t see yourself wanting to commit to anyone. And then you got tangled in Natasha’s web and everything felt different. You wanted more. More of her laugh, more of her lingering looks, more of her touch, more of her. It never felt like it could be enough. 
But you knew she didn’t want more, she was completely fine with what she had. You were wrapped around her finger, always ready for her whenever she needed, in turn she tried to deny it, but knew she would be whatever you wanted her to be, whenever you wanted her.
And you hated it. You hated how much you wanted her, which is why you increasingly looked for distractions whenever Natasha wouldn’t find herself in your bed, ready for you. Your phone buzzed with your most recent and most exciting distraction: Wanda.
homework sucks :/ come help me out?
something tells me if I do your homework isn’t gonna get done
i wasn’t talking about helping me with homework ;)
[i’ll be there in a second]
OR 
[busy tonight. are you going to delta psi on friday?]
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bedlam-barbie · 14 days ago
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Crawling back to you
Or Attention part 2
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Part 1 Part 3
Pairing: In Ho x recruiter!reader ; slight salesman x recruiter!reader for the plot
Warnings: hurt no comfort,some suggestive language, reader has BPD, mentions of mental illness
Summary: 3 months after that faithful night in the club, they meet again, only this time, the Frontman was not going to let her go so easily. 
Word count: 4.2k
Author’s note: I am so beyond grateful for all your comments and likes! I was truly not expecting for you to like my work. I was half expecting it to flop lol. Anyway, I am unsure where to go with this story if I should leave it as a two part or write more. So please tell me if you have any ideas or suggestions regarding the direction it should go in. In other news, it kind of got me excited to write for the Salesman as well. So please let me know if you are interested in a Salesman centric one shot. The Salesman’s name will be Gong Yoo as I am not creative enough.
The room was immaculate, every detail meticulously curated, as though plucked straight from the pages of an opulent design catalogue. Rich, dark drapes cascaded elegantly over the towering windows, leaving just enough of an opening to let the faint shimmer of stars peek through, casting a delicate glow into the space. Furniture in nude fainted colors. The air carried a quiet sophistication, but it felt almost surreal. If she didn’t know any better, she might have believed she’d just had sex in a high-end furniture showroom.
She quietly put her bra and underwear on, starting her search for the rest of the clothes throughout the apartment. The man she had just slept with was watching her every move from the top of the king size bed, an amused smirk on his lips.
“You know most women would jump at the opportunity to spend the night with me”
“Please, you already know I am not most women” she replied rolling her eyes. “Have you seen my shirt?”
“And what do I get if I help you?” he asked coily, slowly moving towards the woman like a predator watching its prey.
Her face turned to meet his, his eyes taunting her looking for a reaction. She tilted her head and gave him an innocent look. One of her hands sneaked around his neck, her fingers playing with his dark locks.
“Nothing” she said simply and then yanked him by his hair downwards. “We have an agreement, Gong Yoo, and I don’t very much enjoy when my toys overstay their welcome.”
“Tsk, and here I thought we were friends” the man replied amused, a sharp knife appearing suddenly, its blade now resting just under the woman’s chin.
Her soft giggle filled the room at the sight of the blade. This was exactly why he was her perfect match in her nocturnal activities. She did consider the Salesman, a friend of sorts. Well, as good of a friend a psychopath can be. Her head moved slightly, enough for the knife to press between her lips. Her tongue danced around the silver metal.
“And I thought you knew who you were sleeping with” she said casually. “Now, I do need to leave, we have an early flight tomorrow morning.”
She let go of his hair and took the sharp object out of her mouth. His body was still pressed to hers, wearing nothing and God he did look good. But somewhere in the back of her mind, was a familiar older face, chiseled to perfection, dark orbs full of secrets that could stare into her soul who knew her inside and out. She quickly dismissed the thought, focusing on the scene in front of her instead.
“How could I forget? It’s not everyday that the games celebrate 30 years. How would you like to be my date?”
She was not easily surprised by the man. She had come to know him almost better than herself in the last 3 years. And much more in the last three months. It all started once the games of 2020 ended and they went out for their yearly blackjack event. The night began as a way to hurt their boss, but the more days had passed she realized she liked the Salesman’s company. Not in a romantic sense, but definitely sexually. It was a welcome distraction from work stress and more importantly. From him.
It was almost unbelievable how she let a man toy with her emotions again. A part of her wanted to yell that she was over the man behind the black mask, that his rejection did not sting at all, that she simply went home with the Salesman that night because she wanted to. Not out of vengeance. Gong Yoo had become in a weird way her safe space. While the man was deeply disturbed, she saw him as predictable. When the words regarding the gala left his mouth, she was speechless. He could read the confusion of her face and smirked.
“Well, darling, we both know why we started our little randez-vous. The Frontman will be there, no doubt with a date, so I believe it would be in our best interest to show up together.”
“Interesting, and what is in it for you?”
“Oh, I am sure you can find a way to thank me that night” his eyes were dark and intense, watching her every move.
“God you truly are a narcissistic psychopath, huh?” she asked giggling like a schoolgirl.
“And you are such a borderline cliché, my dear” his smirked grew. “Do we have a deal?”
“Absolutely.”
There was an undeniable comfort in the rhythm they had fallen into. Their days followed a familiar pattern: each would go about their routine, which, now that the games were over, mostly revolved around endless paperwork and researching potential recruits for the next year. The office was stark and quiet, tucked away in the bustling heart of Seoul. Some days, the real fun began after hours. They’d invent new ways to compete, often over the most ridiculous games, challenges that almost always escalated until one—or both—ended up naked in her apartment or his. The routine was theirs, equal parts playful and intimate, a strange solace in a world that had once been chaos.
The woman couldn’t lie, not even to herself—she wasn’t over the Frontman. In fact, she hated how deeply he still had a hold on her, so much so that even hearing his name felt like a fresh wound being reopened. Every thought of him sent a volatile mix of emotions crashing through her—jealousy, pain, anger. She presumed it was all of them but mostly she felt worthless, abandoned. The demons in her mind weren’t new; they had taken root long ago, feeding on every rejection, every unanswered plea. And every time she recalled that morning, it brought her back to feeling like a forgotten child, desperate for even the faintest trace of love. But she wasn’t that child anymore. She had stopped begging a long time ago.
So his invitation, although unexpected, felt like the right call. Although not wanting to admit it even to herself, it gave a strange sense of comfort that Gong Yoo would be there by her side and she did not have to face their boss alone.
As they stepped into the dimly lit ballroom, her eyes instinctively scanned the space, searching for the black mask—and, more importantly, the man behind it. It was clear he played a significant role in the event’s orchestration. The room demanded respect. Every detail, from the grand chandeliers casting a warm, subdued glow to the meticulously placed furnishings, exuded deliberate perfection. The air was crisp, almost unwelcoming, with stone statues lining the room, their lifeless eyes seeming to watch her every move with an air of expectation.
A symphony of classical music filled the space, the notes rising delicately from a live band tucked into a corner near the expansive dance floor. The atmosphere reeked of opulence and elegance, yet an undeniable chill lingered, making the grandeur feel eerily detached. Conversations hummed softly, muffled by the anonymity of the masks each attendee wore. The VIPs, ever distinct, were adorned in elaborate gold masks, while the guards stood out with their pink ones. Management’s masks, jet black and severe, carried an air of authority, while hers—and those of the other recruiters—were a deep burgundy, striking but unmistakably subordinate.
She opted for a long gold dress. Her gown was a statement in itself, perfectly at home in the opulence of the ballroom. The fabric shimmered like molten gold under the dim light, every movement catching the soft glow of the chandeliers above. The structured corset-like bodice hugged her figure, cinching her waist and giving her the regal posture of someone who belonged in a room like this. The neckline swept off her shoulders, its draped detailing softening the otherwise commanding presence of the gown, leaving her collarbones and shoulders beautifully exposed.
The skirt flowed effortlessly to the floor, its subtle draping at the hip enhancing her curves and giving her an almost statuesque elegance. It was the kind of dress that didn’t just demand attention—it commanded it. Her strappy gold metallic sandals clicked against the marbled floor. Gong Yoo wore a burgundy suit perfectly tailored to his measurements, looking almost like her perfect accessory. They walked arm in arm to the bar.
“You clean up nicely, darling” his voice purred in her ear. “All of this for little old me?” he added mockingly.
“You know it, baby,” she whispered playfully. From the outside, they looked like the perfect couple. Too bad her eyes were looking for a particular figure in the sea of bodies.
And then she saw him, At the grand balcony overlooking the masses. The Frontman was a picture of restrained elegance, dressed in a sharply tailored black suit that exuded authority and quiet sophistication. The fabric was rich and matte, absorbing the dim light that filtered through the grand balcony. Beneath the perfectly cut blazer, a matching black vest hugged his frame, its buttons glinting subtly, accentuated by a delicate chain that trailed from one pocket—a subtle yet striking detail that added a vintage edge to the modern ensemble. His tie, jet black like the rest of his attire, was perfectly knotted, a seamless continuation of his sleek, monochrome look.
Seated on the grand balcony, the ballroom’s muted hum stretched out before him, but his focus remained inward. A glass of deep amber liquor rested casually in his hand, the light from the room catching the liquid’s warmth. His  posture relaxed but deliberate, the weight of unspoken thoughts settling on his sharp features. The boutonniere pinned to his lapel—a delicate arrangement of soft blooms—offered the only contrast, a fleeting touch of life against the otherwise dark, striking uniform. His familiar mask perfectly put onto his face. For just a moment, she forgot how to breathe. It was as if he felt her eyes lingering on him and instinctively went to her.
He raised his glass in her direction and tilted his head slightly before resuming his chat with presumably Il-Nam. The minor interaction made her pulse raise, blood rushing to her ears. God, why was she acting like a stupid little girl with a crush? Was he right that morning? Was she that pathetic? She quickly downed a glass of champagne.
“Atta, girl” Gong Yoo said amused. “ Just remember this is not the place for table dancing”
“Hilarious, does the humor come with the personality disorder or did you pay extra for that?”  she asked sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist.”
“Who said I am wearing any?” she replied, smirking slightly.
“There she is.” He laughed, a sparkle playing behind those eyes. “Maybe you should stop speaking like that or I might come to collect that favor you owe me.”
“That’s if you can catch me before I turn into a pumpkin, Mr. Salesman. Now come on, I would like a dance” she replied innocently.
“Your wish is my command, darling”
As they weaved their way through the sea of elegantly masked couples toward the center of the dance floor, her gaze instinctively flicked to where she had last seen In Ho. But he was gone. Still, she could feel him—his presence lingering like a shadow, his eyes tracking her every move from some unseen vantage point. It sent a chill down her spine, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it. Not tonight.
The quartet began a new melody, its hauntingly beautiful notes echoing through the grand ballroom. Taking their positions, she and the Salesman fell seamlessly into the rhythm, their movements effortlessly synchronized. His precision was remarkable, each turn, step, and sway executed with an almost mechanical flawlessness that both impressed and unsettled her. He led with quiet confidence, his hand firm yet gentle on her waist, guiding her through the intricate dance as though they’d rehearsed it a hundred times.
Her gown shimmered with every twist and spin, catching the light as their bodies moved in perfect harmony. For a moment, the rest of the room seemed to melt away, the opulent surroundings fading into the background. Yet, even as she danced, the weight of unseen eyes bore down on her, a reminder that the game they were all playing was far from over.
As Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons no 8 : Winter began to play, a chill swept through her, and with a sudden turn, she felt a cold hand grip her arm, pulling her toward him. Her breath caught in her throat. No—it wasn’t just any man. It was In-Ho. Her In-Ho. God, how she wanted to slap herself for thinking of him like that. With flawless precision, he guided her every step away from the eyes of Gong Yoo.
“In-Ho,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“Hello, little dove,” he replied, his tone heavy with menace. “Did you enjoy playing house with Gong Yoo?” His words dripped with sarcasm.
She could feel herself getting angry again. How dare he speak to her this way after he was the one who pushed him towards the other man, himself?
“Funny. Almost as funny as your face that night in the club.” She replied coolly, maintaining his gaze. Although she could not see his face, she felt his body tense up , his grip on her waist hardening as well.
“Are you in love with him?” he asked directly.
“What is between me and Gong Yoo is none of your goddamn business. You are the one who threw me out like a rag doll you were done playing, or don’t you remember that? And now you are doing what? Ambushing me?”
Her words cut through the air like a knife, a sarcastic smile plastered on her face trying not to raise her voice. Although she did love indulging in creating chaos, she believed there was a time and a place. Surrounded by her colleagues and all the potential donors for the games? Not a bright idea. There was a certain way she enjoyed chaos, calculated, ruthless, like a contained flame. Moreover, the woman was very much aware that tonight In Ho was to be selected as the new Host by Il-Nam. As much as she hated his guts, she would put on a show, a pleasant smile and clap for the man. That being said, it was taking everything in her power not to yell and hit him.
“I knew you were not going to pick up my calls so instead I opted for a more discreet way. I wanted to talk to you about what happened.”
“What is there to talk about? We fucked, I thought you loved me since that’s what you claimed and then you threw me out. I was being a stupid pathetic girl. There is no big mystery to elucidate.”
Even speaking of what had happened, made her feel mortified. How mortifying it all sounded on her lips. Her eyes were searching the crowd for her date, hoping he would swoop in and save her, but he was nowhere to be seen. Serves her right for believing that he was actually a friend.
“If you are looking for Gong Yoo, Il-Nam wanted to speak to him.” The Frontman spoke as if reading her mind. “Your sociopath in shining armor has more important matters to attend to” he added.
Although she could not see her face, she felt a flicker of jealousy in his words. The mask he wore was impenetrable, but something in his voice betrayed him. A part of her wanted to kiss his worries away to tell him how everything between her and the Salesman was nothing but a physical affair. She would have taken him into her arms, taken his mask off and caressed his handsome face. Snap out of it, you are truly pathetic.
“As much as I loved this dance of ours, Sir, I fear, I need to go and powder my nose, otherwise I might have to shoot my brains out” she said, a fake smile playing on her perfect lips.
In-Ho sighed, but he released her as the final notes of the song drifted into silence. She bowed respectfully, her movements precise, and he tilted his head slightly in her direction—an almost imperceptible acknowledgment. For a moment, she stood still, her gaze lingering on him. But then, with a practiced smile, she turned and made her way toward the restrooms, weaving through the crowd.
Her body shook involuntarily, the emotions bubbling up inside her like a storm. A rush of anger, bitter and raw, mixed with an ache deep in her chest. It felt like her heartstrings were being pulled and twisted, as if every step forward was one taken away from the person she used to be. She clenched her fists, her perfectly manicured blood red nails digging into her skin, the sharp pressure enough to draw blood from the palms. The sting spread through her hands, but she didn’t flinch. She couldn’t afford to. It was the only way she knew how to keep the chaos at bay—how to stop herself from spiraling into a panic attack, or worse, breaking down in front of everyone.
Her method wasn’t graceful, but it was hers. Unrefined, perhaps, but effective. It anchored her, forcing her to stay in the moment, to keep the lid on the storm inside.
Once inside the restroom, she leaned against the sink, her fingers trembling as she fumbled for the powder in her clutch. The mirror in front of her reflected a woman she barely recognized: the smile from moments ago still lingering in her eyes, but beneath it, there was something fractured. Something torn. She closed her eyes for a brief second, taking in a steadying breath, and then began to pat her face gently, as if each motion could somehow smooth out the tension knotting inside her.
Her hands moved automatically, as they always did when she needed to hide what was truly going on. She applied the powder with care, trying to ignore the way her heart was racing, the way her mind threatened to break free from its restraints. Each tap of the puff against her skin was a moment of false peace—a temporary illusion of control. She hated it, but at least it worked.
With one final sweep of her hand, she put the powder away and adjusted her hair in the mirror. She could hear the music still playing softly in the background, but all she could focus on now was the quiet rage that swirled within her. She wasn’t ready to face him again, not yet, but she would. She always did.
Taking one last breath, she straightened herself up and walked back into the crowd. No one would see the cracks. She made her way outside in the gardens. A beautiful labyrinth laid before her eyes, flower bushes in her sight. Her hands opened her clutch again and pulled out her case of cigarettes, carefully taking one out and lighting it. As she took the first drag, she felt her heartbeat slowing down, closing her eyes. His scent lingered in her nostrils. Musky and seductive mixed with his body odor. The same scent she spent hours scrubbing off her skin in the hot shower after the night they spent together.
“Can I have one of those?” his voice rang behind her.
“What? Are you stalking me now?” she asked harshly without moving an inch.
“No, the atmosphere was stuffy and my social battery in speaking to the VIPs was slowly drained”
He sounded sincere, she thought, though she didn’t give him the satisfaction of another glance. Without a word, she reached into her bag and handed him one of her Marlboros. In-Ho removed his mask, setting it down gently on the marble fence. The action was deliberate, almost ceremonial, as if the mask itself deserved reverence.
They stood there in an uneasy silence, the kind that hung thick in the air, neither of them willing to break it. The Frontman searched for her eyes, but she refused to meet his gaze, doing everything in her power to avoid it. Instead, she focused on the cigarette between her fingers, drawing in a steady breath of smoke, feeling the burn in her lungs.
She took a sip from the glass of champagne she had grabbed on her way outside, its coldness a fleeting distraction from the heat building inside her. Above them, the stars twinkled, casting a soft glow across the garden, and the faint hum of music drifted from inside the building. If it weren’t for the tension hanging between them, the scene would have almost been romantic. The flicker of stars in the sky, the music, the champagne—everything about the moment was meant for ease, for connection. But there was no peace here, not with him, not with the weight of the situation pressing down on her.
She clenched her jaw and took another drag from her cigarette, determined not to let her mind wander too far.
“You look breath-taking,” he admitted, breaking the silence.
“Thank you” she replied coldly, but his compliment awakened something inside her. Warmth pulled through her body.
“You know, gold was my ex wife’s favourite colour” In Ho spoke, his eyes trailing in the distance.
The woman looked up to him and for the first time he saw how handsome his face was looking under the stars. Although a part of her wanted to quiet him, she decided against it, instead opting to understand where this little confession was going.
“She loved gold and white roses and those American pancakes that I know you also enjoy so much” he continued. Her eyes looked at him with caution, almost testing to see where the conversation was headed.
“What happened to her?” she asked softly.
“She died.” He admitted while taking another drag from the cigarette, looking down. “You know she loved Vivaldi’s seasons, particularly winter number 8. She always said it reminded her of me”
“Cold, sharp, determined. I can see that.” The woman replied quietly. “But also oh so captivating and tragically beautiful” she added, her words more of a whisper to herself.
His eyes lifted to meet hers, and for a fleeting moment, the tension dissolved, leaving only a fragile, unspoken intimacy between them. In-Ho hadn’t expected it, the sudden wave of tenderness that swept through him, but it was undeniable—and strangely welcome. Something ached deep within his chest, raw and unresolved. Perhaps it was the pain of speaking about his late wife after so many years, or maybe it was the way the moonlight kissed her skin, making her seem almost otherworldly, like she didn’t belong to this grim reality they both inhabited.
He wanted to pull her into his arms, to bury his face in the warmth of her shoulder and murmur apologies that had long been buried beneath layers of regret and silence. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was—for everything. But words stuck in his throat, too heavy to form.
Instead, he flicked his cigarette against the marble, extinguishing it with a sharp twist of his fingers. The ember died quickly, leaving only a faint wisp of smoke curling into the night air. His hands drifted back toward the cold, familiar weight of the mask. It was easier that way—to retreat behind the impassive facade, where vulnerability couldn’t touch him.
But for a single beat, he lingered—just long enough for the ache inside him to remind him of what could never be.
“Are you and him a couple?” In-Ho asked suddenly, his eyes going back to her, studying her face.
“No,” she laughed dryly. “I am not that stupid, I am very much aware of the kind of person Gong Yoo is. He is great in bed, but I am not naive enough to think I can save a psychopath”
“Then why are you here, with him?” Curiosity took the better of him before he could stop himself.
The woman hesitated, wondering if there was any point in answering. Silence might have been safer, but perhaps it was the champagne loosening her resolve—or the charged atmosphere pressing in around them. Something inside her shifted, compelling her to seek his gaze, searching for answers she wasn’t sure she wanted to find.
Was that jealousy lacing his voice? Pain? Or just cold, detached curiosity? After all, the Salesman had taken away his favorite toy. But was that all she had ever been to him—a possession, something to flaunt and control? The thought twisted uncomfortably in her chest.
She clenched her jaw, torn between bitterness and intrigue, unsure whether she wanted to push him for the truth or leave it buried where it belonged.
“It sounds insane, but I know what I get when I am with him. The lines are clear, I can see his intentions behind every gesture. I don’t have to worry myself to death about what he wants, I already know it. Sex, an accessory on his arm, a thrill. Someone that challenges him. He is easy”
“Unlike me”
“Unlike you” she confirmed while finishing her own cigarette.
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thewidowsledger · 12 days ago
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Midnight Rain
© thewidowsledger - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE
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Pairings: Fuck buddy Avenger!Natasha Romanoff x Fuck buddy Student!Female Reader
Word count: 1.3k
Tags | Warnings: Angst, bit of fluff, deep talks, no happy ending but a realistic one, this is a self-respect fic y'all don't expect part two or anything
Author's Note: Just a random short product of procrastination
Navigation | Masterlist
"Why? Aren't you enjoying…this?"
"Nat, I do. I swear. But I feel like I am regretting all of it."
"Your post-nut clarity is crazy babe." Natasha joked, your cheeks heated up in embarrassment but you just laughed it off once again.
Finally, it was the end of your long and tiring graveyard shift, you step out of the school building, exhausted and worn out. You pull out your phone, seeing multiple missed calls and texts from Natasha.
"Where are you, babe?"
"Can I see you? I just got back from a mission."
"Where are you, Y/N?"
"Do you have uni today or tonight? I told you to send me your schedule."
"Text back, please."
"I miss you."
"I'm in your uni :)))"
As soon as you step out of the university gate, you see her sports car parked outside, the engine purring quietly. You hurry towards the car, a few students from your year noticed and started whispering to each other, pointing towards Natasha's Chevrolet Corvette Stingray. You can feel your cheeks flushing a light shade of pink as you quickly slide into the passenger seat, slamming the door beside you.
"Hey there, cutie." She reaches over to give your leg a gentle squeeze before focusing back on the road. "Long day?"
You nod tiredly in response to Natasha's question. "Mhm, felt endless. How have you been? I never got any calls from you after you left me that night." You lean back against the leather seat, turning your face towards the window so that she won't see the disappointment in your face but is evident in your voice.
"Sorry, baby. You know, the world calls for me."
You just hummed, it's not that you can demand for more of her anyway.
You and Natasha had been watching TV on the couch in your apartment, slowly drinking the wine she bought. You found yourselves making out heavily. She had picked you up, wrapping your legs around her waist and carrying you off to your room. Then one thing led to another.
The next morning, you wake up to the warm sunlight filtering through the curtains, and a strange feeling in your lower region. As you slowly open your eyes, you realize you're completely naked, and so is Natasha, sleeping soundly beside you under the duvet covers of your bed. You made sure to slowly get up and dress yourself with your favorite sweater you arbored from one of the world's mightiest hero, then you went straight to the kitchen to cook some breakfast.
While you're busy in the kitchen preparing breakfast—the smell of bacon and fresh coffee filling the room—Natasha wakes up, stretches lazily, and watches you from the bed. She props herself up on one elbow, admiring your focused expression as you cook. "Good morning...smells amazing here."
Natasha slides out of bed, she dresses herself up and pads softly into the kitchen behind you. She wraps her arms around your waist from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. "Need any help, gorgeous?" Her voice is still husky with sleep.
"Get the plates and prep the table. And sit pretty for me."
She chuckles softly before reaching on top of your cabinets, her height towering you. You turned around only to be trapped by her, you giggled and hit her chest playfully before moving around her to put her coffee and your milk down the table.
It was so out of the blue, you two were okay as you both dug into the breakfast you made. Natasha was telling you about how she caused a circuit problem on Tony Stark's suit and how she had to sing for the Hulk for him to calm down. You two were joking and being playful around, but all of a sudden it changed.
"I don't think this is for me." You laughed it off, but there was more to your words.
Natasha suddenly frowned, her mood dropping down. "What do you mean?"
"I…I just-I feel guilty." You muttered, flashing a small awkward smile towards her.
"Why? Aren't you enjoying…this?"
"Nat, I do. I swear. But I feel like I am regretting all of it."
"Your post-nut clarity is crazy babe." Natasha joked, your cheeks heated up in embarrassment but you just laughed it off once again. The redhead immediately noticed making herself feel bad about it, then the tension became finally really serious, Natasha cannot help but ask. "Why? Why do you feel that way?"
"I just…I just feel like I am losing respect for myself with this kind of set up. I don't think this is for me, beb." Your voice was raw with vulnerability.
"So, what do you want to happen?" She asks in a flash, you laughed to make the atmosphere lighter, which always worked.
"Wait, my dialogue is not yet done." You smiled, you were still trying to sort things out in your mind but you have been thinking about this for some time now.
You told her that you feel like you aren't made for a fuck buddy type of relationship. You will not call what happened to you both a mistake, but an experience. Somehow, Natasha felt bad since she was the one who offered to be fuck buddies but you kept reassuring her that you agreed to it in your own will.
You and Natasha met in a bar while partying, both of you were hard drinkers and accidentally something happened between both of you that night due to drunkenness. You didn't even realize that she was the Black Widow not until you ended up being in the Avengers compound.
Natasha said that she wasn't ready for commitment and you agreed being so focused on your studies and side job—from there your relationship or set up rather, started.
"I don't know, I just feel sorry for myself. I pity myself." All playfulness instantly drains from her face. She's completely taken aback, her brain momentarily stopping from processing. "This type of set up isn't for me, I cannot keep up. I know I wasn't looking for something serious because of the demands of my study and my job but I didn't know that it would change."
You stare at her for a long moment, your eyes searching hers. You then gave her a faint smile.
"I am not made for relationships like this, I don't think I can still do this anymore. I think I am ready for something serious, a relationship where I can respect myself. I want to be with someone genuinely, not this shallow. I finally want someone to know me for who I am. I know you are interested and attracted to me, Nat. But now I am yearning for a deeper connection. Like I hope you knew I do digital arts, I sculpted, I do paintings and I love films before you saw my body. I wish you saw all the arts I made before you get to touch me. You don't even know I can sing and dance, you don't know that I play volleyball." You look defeated, like a weight has been pressing down on you for so long and you're finally allowed to collapse but still, you gave the redhead a warm genuine smile.
"That's all. I just feel like I am wasting myself in this when I am genuinely so much more, Nat." You tried to hold your tears back, biting your inner lip but the smile on your face never faded away.
You sit there, waiting for her to say something—anything. You want her to look at you and confess that she wants the same things you do. All this time you have been hinting her that. But the silence is deafening. It's telling you everything you need to hear. The longer she remains quiet, the more your heart sinks.
"I'm sorry, Y/N. I just don't think it is for me, you know, love? " She cannot even say the word without grimacing, but you gave her an understanding smile.
"I know you'll find someone that will make you feel that it is for you."
It was bittersweet. You two are on a different page now. And somehow, that's okay—it's not that you can ask her to be the person to make her feel that love is indeed for her anyway. You wanted something more but she stayed the same.
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glitterjay · 8 months ago
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can u please please please write husbandgirldad!Jay x fem Reader (idol Jay) and he comes home after a long day of work and misses his wife
(smut)
⭒ husband!jay, idol!jay, wife!reader, married, they have 2 daughters, pet names, praising, soft dom jay, coming inside, there's some fluff, minors dni
⭒ c's note: i've become even more delulu because this man is soooo husband material 😞 i need him so bad its not even a joke anymore
⭒ taglist (open): @hollyoongs @fertilizedtoesw
please reblog if you like it! it helps me a lot
the idol life behind cameras was way harder than people imagined. the public eye does not see the amount of hard work and training idols have to go through every day to be able to give their audience an excellent performance. the support of fans is crucial for artists to be successful and so they had to fulfill things according to their preferences.
it was a big deal when jay wanted to put out in the light his relationship with you back when you were still boyfriend and girlfriend, but it was a risk he was willing to take. to both of your surprises, the news didnt receive as much backlash as you expected, with some people saying jay was already an adult tat knew what he wanted, and it was his life to live anyway.
now you were openly his wife, and you and your two girl were known of. the only difference was that nobody knew who his wife or kids were. your relationship had been open ever since you were just dating, but for your privacy and now your girls' sake, jay never put your faces to the light.
he was preparing for a comeback, so he was hardly home during the day, and was only there at night to rest and then went back to work early in the morning. your two daughters said they missed their dad, and that they wanted to play with him and see him in person, not through facetime like they had grown used to for the past month. it was hard to tell them he was busy, but it was all you could say.
promotions would be over eventually, and he'd be back home for a while before the company decided to give him another comeback. it was tough to get used to at first, but the routine became a part of you.
-
it was already pretty late at night. your oldest daughter who was already 6 years old had gone to bed after a shower while you tried to comfort your crying 3 year old. she was a little irritated because she was tired, but she kept repeating the word "dada" over and over. it broke your heart, but it was too late to keep waiting, and she was evidentially falling asleep as the seconds passed.
as you tried to sing her to sleep, you heard the front door open. it had caused her to open her eyes again, and she started crying once more. you sighed and took her with you to the living room to greet your husband, who smiled as soon as he saw the both of you enter his field of vision.
"what is this little one doing awake?" he asked, taking the little girl from your arms to hold her in his. she quickly laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, it was as easy as that. she missed her dad and you couldnt blame her for it.
"she was being grumpy and stubborn. she wanted to wait for you and refused to sleep. our oldest princess couldnt make it, she went straight to bed on her own like a big girl."
jay laughed and kissed the little girl's temple, giving you a kiss on the lips after. "i'll put her to sleep with her sister and then we can catch up, mmkay?"
-
it was very sweet to see your busy husband make some time to see his daughters even if he was exhausted. he was leaning on the frame of their room's door staring at them with glistening eyes. it was the same look he had on his face when they were born. you would stay up for him and you would ask how things were going with his schedules, but it didnt last long most of the time. you were both tired, him from all the training, and you from doing everything around the house and taking care of the kids. being a mom is a full time job as well.
you waited for him in your shared bed, already getting comfortable as he changed his clothes. you laid on your side, your back facing his part of the bed, and you sighed. the day had seemed to be longer and more tiring than other, and you didnt think you'd stay awake much longer.
you felt the other side of the bed sink as jay laid down, quickly pressing his chest to your back, hugging you tightly and giving you kisses all over your neck and shoulders. you missed him. his scent, his voice, his touch. it didnt take much time for you to feel his hips moving under the covers, something rock solid poking your ass. jay was still incredibly close to you, and you could feel him breathing on your ear. his hands roamed your body, tickling your tummy as they passed by every inch of skin he could possibly touch. you closed your eyes and melted on his arms.
his hands found a stop on the hem of your sleeping shorts, sliding in past your panties as well to touch where you needed most. you let out a shaky gasp, throwing your head back to rest it on jay's body. he was still busy kissing all over your neck and shoulders, biting and licking as well. his hand was doing wonders to your clit and hole, it was a charm that was still there despite all this years.
in all honesty, jay missed all the intimacy you used to have as boyfriend and girlfriend, which was soon lost when his girls, who were his pride and joy, came into the world, and his busy schedules. the stress was starting to pile up on his shoulders, and there was nothing else he longed for more than having you all to himself like he used to.
he removed the covers that were covering both of you, and hovered over your body. he positioned himself between your legs, and stayed there for a good minute just admiring you. for some reason, his gaze made you feel intimidated, and you looked away. this caused him to reach for you face and force you to look up at him again. "is it just me, or do you look more stunning as the days go by?"
it was like your first time all over again. the sweet talk, the ghosting touches, the nervousness, the excitement that came with it, it was just beautiful. jay was quick to get his, and your lower half naked. his dick was free and for a moment your eyes almost popped out of their sockets. was he always this big?
he aligned his tip with your entrance and you saw him throw his head back at the contact. he was overly sensitive and he could've sworn the rest of his life flashed before his eyes. there was just something about you that made him go crazy in every sense, and not being able to have a moment like this in a long time had thrown him over the edge.
once he was fully in, he let you adjust for a few seconds. your walls were clenching hard on him, swallowing his cock entirely. he wanted to move, he wanted to thrust, he wanted to make you scream, but it wasnt the same as before. there were two girls soundly asleep in a room a few steps away. he had to go slow and plus, he wanted the moment to last as long as it could.
he was gentle, moving with a steady but not too fast pace. your hands held to his strong arms, which held your waist tightly. the ring on your hand was glowing and so was the one on his hand. it was a cute thing to see. jay could see the way his pace made your body move up and down and it was an amazing sight to watch.
"missed you so fuckin' much." he said between thrusts.
all you could do was groan and gasp in return. you were biting your lip to retrain your noises as much as you could. you knew that if you replied with words, your own voice would betray you, and jay would definitely make you moan out loud on purpose.
" 'm gonna make you mine again."
his words were not only directed at you, but at your pussy as well. his right hand left your waist to play with your clit, and you had to let go of his arms to cover your mouth. jay knew you were close by the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and how you body was starting to shake.
"fucking hell, you're so hot. cum for me, baby."
and right on command, you released on him, gasping for air as you tried to push him away with everything you had. it had been a long time since you came this hard, it was overwhelming to still have him inside you. to your dismay, he would keep going until he was done.
"hold on a little bit, honey. you're doing so well for me."
it was hard to hold in a scream, and jay was aware of it. the hand that was once playing with your bundle of nerves made its way to your face, where he inserted to fingers into your mouth.
"that a girl. stay busy, love. let me use you while i can."
with groans and low moans, he came inside you. the warm sensation made you have yet again another orgasm, and your sight became fuzzy. there was a ringing in your ears from the rush that died down quickly when you felt your husband kissing your thighs to soothe you up.
"im sorry for finishing inside like that," he said. "it just had been so long since i last did it.. three years to be exact."
you laughed it off with the last bit of energy you had left, and signed for him to get closer with your hand. you grabbed his face and kissed him passionately. "thankfully, i've been on the pill ever since."
"bummer, i wanted a third."
© glitterjay
509 notes · View notes
lokigodofmyheart · 11 months ago
Text
THROUGH TIME 
Tumblr media
Pairing: Loki x Female Reader.
Words: 9.455
Summary: The history of Loki and Y/N through the time since they were 8 years old. 
Warning/Content: Canon Divergence; Mean Odin; Friends to lovers; really small enemies to lovers; virgin!Loki, virgin!Reader, first kiss, loss of virginity, marriage, planned pregnancy. 
MASTERLIST
A/N: I really like to write this one. Loki deserves his happy ending. If I forgot any warnning, please let me know. English is not my first language. You can also find this work on AO3.
Y/N and Loki had been best friends for a couple of years now. They met when her mother, a close friend of Frigga, accepted the invitation to move to Asgard and live with them. Loki and Y/N were 5 at the time ant that was 3 years ago. Now they’re 8 years old. 
Y/N had a nightmare that night and woke up scared, so she decided to go to her best friend’s room, like she usually did when she was scared. She knocked on his door, gently. Loki was laying on his bed, sobbing on his pillow, but when he heard a knock on his door, he sat up and tried to stop crying. Y/N didn’t wait for an answer, she knocked and enter his room and went straight to his bed with him. Loki looks over at her and wipes the last of his tears with the back of his hand “W-what do you want?” 
“What happened?” She asked worried seeing him cry, her nightmare long forgotten. 
“Dad hurt me...” Loki said quietly. 
Her face showed pure shock “...what?” 
Loki nods, looking down “He...he hit me.” 
Y/N hugged the little boy tightly “I’m so sorry, Loki.” He hugged her back, sobbing into her shoulders. “Do you want me to stay with you? Or maybe come to my room?” 
He looks at her, his face wet with the tears “I want to come to your room.” 
She held his hand as they got off his bed and walked to her room, Loki following her and still shaken. They went to her bed as soon as they entered Y/N’s room and Loki curls up next to her. “I’ll protect you.” She says to her friend. 
Loki smiles and closes his eyes, slowly beginning to fall asleep feeling safe with her. Y/N seeing he was peacefully, finally closed her eyes and slept too, with no more nightmares in the night. After that night, they made a habit to sleep together sometimes, but no one really mind since they were only kids. 
4 years later
Loki and Y/N were now 12 and they still sleeping close by with Y/N. They are laying on her bed, when she broke the silence. “How was your day?” Loki mumbles something about Odin being mean to him, again. “You should come train with me and Thor. Maybe that could help you relax." She smiles at him. 
Loki just nods at her. He didn’t like that much of the idea to train with Thor. Everyone thinks so highly of his brother. They talked for a few more minutes before they decided to sleep. Loki tried once to train with her and his brother, but he didn't like. So, he starts to spend more of his time in the library reading. 
3 years later
 They're 15 years old now. Loki had gotten taller than Y/N, which was normal, his voice had changed, and he looked more like a man than a boy. Y/N's body was also changing and they're both filled with hormones. Loki got better with his magic and Y/N got better with the fight skills. They still sleep sometimes together, it was a habit by now. But the hormones were starting to act on them. 
Loki was reading a book but couldn’t stop thinking of Y/N. He had thought of her a lot recently and had even caught himself fantasizing of her a lot. He tried to keep his mind on the book, but it was hard when he had been thinking about her so much. Then a knock came on the door and interrupted his thoughts. 
“Loki?” She called him. 
He put down his book and got up then walked over to the door and opened it, looking at her “Yeah?” 
“Can I come in?” She looked a little sad. 
“Uh, yeah.” he steps aside and opens the door wide enough for her to enter. Y/N follow straight to let her body fall on his bed with a groan. Loki walked and sat next to her with concern on his face “Are you okay?” 
“No.” 
“Why? What’s wrong?” Loki looked at her with genuine curiosity and concern. 
"Sif and your brother keep making fun of me because I never kissed anyone." She rolls her eyes. 
Loki thought about it for a minute before a smirk grew on his face “You haven’t kissed anyone at all?” 
"Oh, come on, not you too." Y/N says frustrated and looks away. 
He chuckles and playfully nudged her shoulder “I’m not making fun of you, I’m just surprised.” 
Y/N sighs, sitting and looking at him “Have you?” 
Loki turned slightly red “Well… no I haven’t kissed anyone…” Y/N smiles sympathetic at him. Loki was still a little red “B-but have you really never kissed anyone?” He still couldn’t believe it. In his mind Y/N had kissed loads of boys because she was so pretty. She just shakes her head at his question. 
He thinks for a second and then speaks “So let me get this right, you have never been kissed and I’ve never been kissed, right?” 
“Yeah...” She nods. 
Loki thinks for another second then looks back over at her “I have an idea…” 
“What is it?” Y/N asks curious at him. 
He takes a deep breath and then leans in towards Y/N “Just close your eyes…” She looks at him for a few seconds and then do as he asks. Loki takes a deep breath and then leans in further, so his lips meet hers. It isn’t a very long kiss and is quite short. When it is over Loki looks at her with a blush on his cheeks “So what do you think…” 
She he opens her eyes and smiles, with a blushing on her cheeks too "That was...uh, nice." 
Loki is still blushing hard and can’t pull his gaze from her “You really think so…?” 
Y/N nods "Can we...do it again?" 
He can’t contain the blush on his face and his body is practically radiate heat. His eyes are still glued to her face “Yeah definitely…” he leans back in for another kiss. She leans in too, kissing him. Loki’s mind was racing with thoughts. He never thought this would happen, especially when the person he’s kissing is Y/N. It was incredible, better than anything he had imagined in his fantasies. He holds her waist, pulling her closer to him as he kissed her. 
Loki moans softly into the kiss as the heat escalate, his body reacting to the heat between them. His hands move up her back, tangling in her hair as he deepens the kiss. He can feel himself growing hard against his pants and he breaks the kiss, gasping for air “We should stop.” 
Y/N could feel herself getting wet with just kissing Loki, but she agreed “Yeah, we should.” 
He nods, running his hand through his hair. He can feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. This was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He knows they need to stop before things go too far “Do you want to sleep here tonight...?” 
“Sure.” She smiles while she tries to recover from that hot kiss. 
Loki smiles back, laying down in the bed and patting the space next to him for her to lay down next to him. She does it and he pulls her close to him and hugs her tightly as he closes his eyes. 
“Loki?” She called him in a whisper. 
He opens his eyes and then looks at her “Yeah?” 
"We're not gonna tell about this to anyone, right?" 
Loki nods “Yeah definitely. I mean, there’s no reason for anyone to know about it. And I doubt you’d want just anyone to know about this.” 
"Yeah. Just two friends helping each other." She says smiling. Loki nods again and looks back down, closing his eyes. Y/N does the same and they soon fell asleep. 
3 years later
Loki and Y/N were now 18. Loki’s body had changed a lot since he was younger. He was more muscular than he was back then, and his face had matured to the point where he didn’t look like a little boy, but a man. Y/N also changed in those years. She looked like a grown woman now and it she was becoming one of the best fighters on the realm. 
Loki was laying in his bed and staring at the ceiling, thinking about things that were not that important. He heard a knock at his door, and he sighed, getting up to answer it. He looked at Y/N standing there for a few seconds, her beauty striking him a little bit.  “Hey, you’re just back from training?” 
"Yeah. I beat Sif's ass all the time today." She laughs getting in his room, dropping her sword closer to his door. 
He grins “Damn, that’s pretty impressive. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you off or complain about you being better than her.” 
"How said she didn't?" Y/N laughs. 
“And I assume you gave her a good comeback, like saying how you’re better than her?” Loki laughed too. 
“Something like that.” She says still laughing. “Can I use your shower? Mine’s not working.” 
Loki tilts his head in curiosity but then nods “Sure, go ahead. There’s soap right next to the shower and a towel is on the floor next to it too.” 
"Thanks." She smiles and enters his bathroom. After a few minutes, Loki heard the shower being turned off. But then Y/N appears on the door with only a towel "Can I borrow one of your shirts? I forgot to bring my clothes." 
Loki looks at her, his eyes trailing down her body. He could see the outline of her breasts through the towel and feel a familiar stirring in his pants. He nods, standing up and grabbing a shirt from his dresser “Here you go.” 
"Thanks." She smiles "Maybe one of your boxers too?"  
Loki blinks caught off guard by her request. His heart races and his breathing hitches. He hesitates for a moment but then nods slowly, grabbing a pair of boxers from his drawer. He hands them to her with clumsy fingers. “Here.” 
"Thanks." She smiles and goes to the bathroom to get changed. She exits the clean clothes she’s borrow. Loki stares at her as she walks back into the room. He can't help but notice how sexy she looks in just his shirt and boxers. His mind races with thoughts of all the things he could do to her, all the ways he could touch her. Y/N lays by his side on the bed. 
Loki glances at her with a smirk “You look cute in my shirt.” 
She chuckles "Thanks." 
He can feel her body pressing against him, and he can't help but respond. His hand finds its way to her thigh, slowly moving upward. “What are you thinking about?” 
His touch sent shivers down her body "Sif and I were talking today about...some things." 
Loki nods and then leans closer to her “What sort of things…?” 
“Personal things...” 
He thinks for a moment and then speaks softly “can you tell me…?” 
Y/N chuckles and nods "She was telling me about her first time." 
Loki’s interest is piqued, and he raises his eyebrow “and…?” 
"I don’t know, I was just...wondering about things.” Y/N looks at him, a small blush on her face “Have you...did you already...Have you ever had sex?"” 
Loki turns red and he blushes “uhm well no….” 
“Really? But you’re a prince.” She smiles. 
He shrugs and blushes even harder “well, have you…?” 
“...no.” She blushes. 
Loki turns to her and looks her in the eye “So you haven’t…ever?” 
"No. Why?" She looks at him. 
“I just thought…well, you must have had boyfriends, right...?” Loki asked. 
Y/N chuckles "I spent my free time with you, so no. I don't." 
Loki blushes more and moves a bit closer to her “So…we’re both virgins…?’ 
“Yeah.” Y/N let out a nervous chuckle. 
Loki smiles at her and his body heats up. He leans in closer to her, almost whispering “So…want to change that...?” 
“...what?” She whispers back to him. 
His breath hitches and he speak softly “Do…you wanna….y’know do it together?” Y/N thinks for a few seconds before she nods at him. He was her first kiss and she trusted him to be her first time too. Loki smiles gently, biting his lip ever so slightly “You sure this is what you want?” 
“I am. Are you?”  
Loki nods, his heart pounding in his chest “Yes, I am.” he leans in slowly, pressing his lips against hers. She kisses him back, remembering a when they kissed for the first time years ago. 
Feeling her lips against his, Loki groans softly into the kiss. He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her closer as their tongues slowly explore each other’s mouths. Their kiss deepens as their desire grows stronger. 
Loki’s hands wander over her body, exploring the curves that have developed over the years. Y/N’s hand also explored his body and his muscular chest through the clothes he was wearing. That made Loki let out a groan when her hands travelled his body. He breaks the kiss to press his lips against her neck, trailing soft kisses down her collarbone, making Y/N moan and her hands going down to palm him through the pants. Loki gasped at the feeling. He’s never been touched like this before by someone else and it’s driving him wild.  
He slides his hand on her body to take off the shirt she was wearing, exposing her breasts to him. Loki’s mouth goes down, capturing one of her nipples in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth softly. Y/N’s hands worked quickly to take off his shirt too, while his hands worked to slide down her body the boxer she was wearing.  
Y/N’s hand found his cock when she opens his pants, making Loki gasp and his hips buck into her touch. He groans loudly as he feels her fingers wrapped around his throbbing length “Oh gods, Y/N... this feel so good...” She kept stroking him while he struggles to maintain control when her hands worked on him. 
She suddenly stops, smiling at him “Can you take these off? I want to try something.” 
Loki grins and quickly pull the remaining clothes off, his erection visible now making her eyes widen, thinking if he would really fit her. “What do you have in mind?” 
“Lay down.” She says. 
With a nod, Loki obey her. She starts stocking him slowly again, making him moan loudly and squirm beneath her as she kept her slow pace. “Oh, fuck...” 
“Can you guide me?” She asks with a smirk on her lips. 
Loki just nods his head when she decided to put him on her mouth. His hips jerk up off the bed ad he feels Y/N’s warm mouth on his cock, making him let out a long and low moan. Loki’s hand run though her hair, guiding her as she takes more of him. Loki’s eyes roll back into his head, unable to believe how good this feels.  
Y/N looks at him confused when he suddenly pulls her off “Did I do something wrong?” 
He shakes his head quickly and pulls her to kiss her deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth and tasting himself “No, you were perfect. I just want to finish with you.” 
“Oh, okay.” She smiles. 
Loki lay her down underneath him, smiling at her as his hands moved to her folds. Y/N let out a moan just with the feelings of his hands coming close. She was never touched like that by anyone. Loki slide one finger inside her, slowly stroking her wetness and rubbing her clit with his thumb. That made her let out a louder moan. 
Feeling her inner walls clench around his finger, Loki chuckles softly. He kisses her neck and moves to her ear, nibbling gently “So wet for me...” 
“Loki...” She moans his name. 
Loki groans in response, pushing a second finger inside her slowly. He starts thrusting them in and out gently, stretching her as he leans down to capture one of her nipples in his mouth again. Feeling her body respond to his touch, Loki puck up the pace slightly, increasing both the depth and the speed of his thrust. 
“Loki, I think I’m close.” 
He quickens his pace even more “Come for me.” Seconds later she was hit by her climax, and his fingers keep stroking her, feeling her muscles relax and loosen after her orgasm. “I don’t want this to hurt you, Y/N/N. Are you ready?” 
Y/N just nods at him. Slowly, Loki lines himself up with her entrance, taking a deep breath before he starts pushing forward slowly, feeling the tightness of her entrance as he slips inside. Her face showed pain when he enters her and a few tears scape her eyes. Loki freezes seeing her tears and stops, kissing her tears away. He then keeps sliding inside her, slower than the first time and stops, kissing gently her forehead. 
“You can move.” She says after a few more seconds. 
Once he’s sure that she wasn’t in pain anymore, Loki begins to move, his thrusts slow and gentle as his hands find their way to hers where they lace their fingers together. Y/N let out a small moan, her pain turning into pleasure.  
Loki speed up his thrusts slightly as he hears her moans, watching her face for any sigh that he was going too fast or too hard. When she smiles softly at him, he returns her smile, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. After years of waiting, he finally lost his virginity with her, his best friend. 
“Loki, I’m...” 
“I know.” Was all he said before kissing her. Loki was close too. Her walls clenched around his cock as she moans his name again. Feeling her climax, Loki couldn’t help but release his seed deep inside her. He groans into the kiss, feeling a wave of pleasure wash over him. Panting heavily, Loki slowly pulls out of her, and he collapsed onto the bed besides her. A small smile crept onto his lips as he thought of what just happened between them “That…felt incredible…” 
Y/N nods, still trying to catch her breath “You’re sure you never done that before?” 
Loki chuckles as he wraps an arm around her and pulling her to him “I’m sure, that was honestly all new to me.” 
“Well, you were really good.” she chuckles, laying her head on his chest. 
He blushes as he rubs his hand up and down her back, a small smile on his face “Thank you…you know…I gotta say that was one of the best things I've ever done in my life…” 
“We should do it more times.” Y/N suggested. 
Loki nods “I agree, I wouldn’t mind doing this over and over again with you…” 
She smiles at him “Yeah. We’re friends, we can be a bit more intimate...” 
He smiles and rubs her back a bit “I guess that’s how we can describe it and that’s how it should stay, right? Just friends…” 
“Yeah.” She agrees. 
----- 
Y/N and Loki manage to keep that way for about 8 months. But being intimate brough them closer than they already were, making people inside the palace starts gossiping about them, how they were cute together, that they were probably together but just hiding for the public, that they’re in love. Even Thor and his friends engage with that gossip. 
Loki would notice the whispers. Some people in the castle would start joking around with him about him being ‘in love’ with her. He would jokingly brush it off with a laugh and would deny it. But he was starting to actually have feelings for her. But he could not act on them due to the fact that he remembered what she said to him about them just being friends. So, he remained silent about the situation, still only acting as just friends with her. 
Y/N knocked on Loki’s door earlier than normal. Loki was just sitting on his bed reading a book and he was quite shocked at her early arrival. He quickly put his book aside and went to the door “Hey, what’re you doing here?” 
Loki could see she was angry “Your dear brother just kicked me out of our training today.” 
He was take by surprise by her answer and he got slightly confused “W-what...? Thor kicked you out…?” 
“Yes!” she sits on his bed letting out a frustrated sigh. 
Loki was shocked and he wasn't expecting her to be this angry. He sits down next to her and thinks about this for a moment before finally asking “Why did he kick you out?” 
“Just because I was mad that they kept saying those gossips about us.” 
“Well…you shouldn’t be paying mind and listening to what people are saying, okay?” Loki says to her, trying to easy her anger. 
Y/N sighs “I know, but it’s all the damn time...” 
Loki nods, taking her hand gently “Don’t let them get to you…alright...?” 
She looks for a moment to their hands together, a small smile appearing on her face “I’ll try.” 
Loki smiled back at her and then speaks softly “Listen…about those people that gossip about us….do you think they’re right?” 
Y/N chuckles, looking at him “We both know that we’re not together.” 
He just nods, looking down before he says quietly “Right, we’re not… just friends right…?” 
Y/N noticed the way he was acting. In fact, she noticed the last time they were together too, but she said to herself she was imagining things. “You’re not happy with this, are you?” 
Loki sighs, avoiding eye contact with her “No…honestly…no I’m not happy with this…” 
She nods at him, feeling tense and fearing his next answer “Do you want to stop?” 
He looks back up at her “No…I meant…I’m unhappy with the fact that we’re just friends.” 
Y/N let out the breath she was holding, relaxing with his answer and smiling “Oh, thank the gods!” 
Loki was surprised by her reaction. He had expected her to pull away as soon as he had said his last few words “But…you…you’re not upset…?” 
“No.” She chuckles “I was thinking about that the last two times we had sex…” 
His body tenses up and he blinks in surprise, his heart pounding as he realizes what she’s said “H-hold on a sec…w-we’re you actually wanting to take this further…?" 
“Yeah, I just didn’t know how to bring this up…” 
Loki was speechless as he realized how stupid he was for not acting on those feelings earlier “But does that mean you would want to start a…. relationship with me…?" 
“If you want to.” Y/N smiles widen. 
He smiles and grabs her hand “You have no idea how happy you’ve made me right now. I’ve wanted this for so long…” She smiles at him. Loki’s heartbeat quickens as he feels her hand brush against his. He was finally with the woman he had always wanted to be with for so long. 
Years later
 Y/N and Loki were still dating. They were the favorite royal couple.  
Thor instead in them going with him to fight the frost giants. Loki had become a master of magic in thoses years and Y/N was one of the best warriors of Asgard. When Thor asked them to go with him to fight the frost giants, Loki agreed without any hesitation or question. 
As they were preparing to leave Loki walked up to Y/N. He looked at her and smirked a soft smile “Hey.’ 
“Hi.” She smiles at him. He could notice she was tense. 
"Are you ready for this?” He asked walking closer to her. 
“Yeah.” 
Loki grabs her hands and gives it a tight squeeze “Don't worry, I won't let anything hurt you.” He smiles at her and pats her forearm reassuringly. 
That made her chuckle, she probably was a better fighter than he was "I'm not worried about that." 
He looks at her curiously, raising his eyebrow “Then what are you worried about?” 
"Odin said for Thor to let it pass, and yet Thor insisted. I just have a bad feeling about this..." She says at her boyfriend. 
Loki thinks about what she's said, he also was feeling a bit uneasy as well, but he wasn't going to admit that yet “Hmm... well, I think we'll be fine. I mean we're fighting frost giants, not the entire realm.” he then smirked and spoke sarcastically “Besides, are you scared?” 
Y/N rolled her eyes at him “Me? Never!” 
Y/N and Loki joined everyone else. In the middle of the fight, she saw one of them grabbing Loki's arm. When she run to him, he looks like he just saw a ghost. She grabbed his arm expecting to see a wound, but it had...nothing. He was fine. 
Loki’s eyes were widened, and he looked at her in shock as he slowly pulls his arm away from her. He was scared and his mind was going a mile a second as he was trying to figure out what exactly had happened. 
“You’re...not hurt.” She says looking at his arm confused. 
He blinks and looks at her, his gaze was now a bit more confused, and she could see that he was still shaken up. “I…no…I’m not….” 
They didn't have much time after that to talk. Everything happened so fast, Odin came and took them all back, banished Thor to Midgard. Y/N quickly took Loki back to her room, before Odin decided to do something with him too. 
Loki was obviously shaken up by everything that had happened. He was quiet and kept to himself whilst Y/N took him to her room and his mind was just running a mile a minute. Once they were inside her room, he spoke for the first time since everything had happened "I need to go...to see something." 
Y/N nods “Okay, I’ll go with you.” 
"No... I'll go alone. It's something I have to do on my own...I’ll be right back." Loki doesn't explain any further as he walks out of her room, leaving a confused Y/N. 
It had been already an hour after that. Loki sat silently in his room, staring at a blank wall as he tried to take all of it in. This had to be a mistake...this couldn't be right...how the hell was he a frost giant? There were so many damn questions racing through his mind right now. 
There was a knock on his door. He looked up and he opened the door, he was still processing everything, and he had almost forgotten about Y/N. “Yeah?” 
"I've been looking for you like crazy." She says entering his room. 
Loki raised an eyebrow “Looking for me? I think you’re being a little dramatic” he says casually, although his voice cracked slightly from the stress of everything that was going through his mind. 
"Me? Dramatic? You're the one who left me alone and was being mysterious and all." Y/N says. 
He was angry and confused at everything that happened with him “What the hell is your goddamn problem? It isn’t like I left you for days or something, why are you so worried?” 
“Because I care about you.” 
Loki scoffs and glares down at her, he was feeling more and more pissed off “Did you not understand me the first damn time? I just needed some time to myself, is that so goddamn hard for you to understand?” 
"Your brother have just been banished and you left gods knows where. Are you really complaining about me being worried about you?" She was not believing the way he was acting. 
He rolls his eyes and sighs, closing it for a few seconds before opening them again. “Do you think that right now I want your goddamn sympathy? No! I want to be left alone! Alone with my thoughts. Don’t you get it?” 
Y/N took a step back “Is that what you really want? To be alone?” 
“Yes! That’s what I want! Can you not take the damn hint?!” Loki yells at her, taking a step forward and clenching his fists as he did. 
“Do I annoy you that much?” She asks almost in a whisper. 
Loki glares at her “Yes! You do! You annoy the hell out of me!” He yells, he had never said something like that to her before and it really caught her off guard. 
Y/N keeps looking at him "Okay...I won't 'annoy' you anymore...or ever again" She took out the bracelet Loki had gifted her when they started dating and put on his desk, before she turns and left him alone "I'm ending this." 
That hit Loki like cold water. He was shocked when Y/N placed the bracelet that he had gifted her on the desk. But when she said that she was ‘ending this’ and then started to walk out, he quickly ran after her “Wait! Wait!” he yelled, trying desperately to get her attention. But she didn’t stop, she kept walking away, with tears on her face now. 
Loki runs up to her and grabs her wrist gently and stops her from going “Wait! Please wait! Just hear me out! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I…” Y/N just shakes her head, crying. Loki feels guilty, he didn’t really mean what he said. He was just overwhelmed and stressed out from everything. he was still trying to control his emotions “I didn’t mean it…I swear…” Loki sighs heavily as he wipes away her tears “I’m just confused right now. I’m sorry about what I said. Please don’t end this over what I said, I was just emotional. I didn’t mean any of it. Please don’t end this…” 
“Why did you say it?” She asks him in a whisper, tears still running down her face. 
Loki sighs once again and doesn’t speak for a few seconds “I don’t know why I did…I was stressed out and confused. I had no idea what to do, and my emotions just exploded. So…I’m sorry…I really am…”  
Y/N tries to wipe the tears, but more came "I need you to be honest with me." 
Loki nods, still glancing away from her to the side. He then spoke quietly, as to avoid choking up or his voice faltering, he was still trying desperately not to cry “I will…” 
“Do you love me?” 
He sighs and looks back up at her “Yes…I love you so much. And I’m an idiot for just saying all those things to you without properly assessing my own emotions…” 
"What happened?" She asks softly. 
Loki pauses for a few seconds before speaking. “Well…to make a long story short, i found out about my true heritage...I’m not an Asgardian…” He could see the confusion on her face “I’m a…frost giant.”  
Y/N’s eyes widen in shock for a second before she looks down at her feet. A few seconds passed, in a silence that was making Loki more anxious than ever. “I don’t care.” She finally says. 
He was a bit surprised that Y/N didn’t take the news horribly. He was waiting for her to call him a monster, say she never want to see him again...but she was actually alright with him being a frost giant. “You’re just…fine with this? Most people would be terrified of me now.” 
"Well, I'm not most people, Loki. I'm the person who stays with the little boy who cried when his father was mean. I'm the person who was always by your side. I’m the person who loves you.” 
Loki was stunned, hearing her say that made his heart melt and some tears fall off his eyes. He never knew he was going to find someone like her. “Thank you...thank you for being here for me..." Loki couldn't help himself, he pulled her close and kissed her. Y/N smiles into the kiss, not expecting it at all. She wraps her arms around him, embracing the kiss. She felt comfortable in his arms once again and she felt happy.  
"Don't you ever say anything like that to me again. Or I swear I will break things up for good."  
Loki couldn’t help but smile when she said that. She wasn’t leaving him after all, and she still loved him. So, he nodded and spoke softly “I won’t. I promise…” Y/N had tried her best to keep Loki sane after all of these events, but he was too angry. After the events that succeed, Y/N had cried a lot when Thor told her he had die in the Bifrost.  
But then, imagine her surprise when Thor came telling her that Loki was on Midgard, trying to dominate the planet with an army. Y/N was in shock when she heard that. She wasn’t quite sure how to feel. On one hand, she was happy to hear that he was still alive but on the other, she wasn’t excited about him being on Midgard. The thought of him trying to take over the planet worried her. 
Thor took her there with him, thinking that maybe she could get him to stop if the moment came. She hadn't seen him until the final fight in the Stark tower, when she walked to him with her armor and her sword in hand, like Thor had requested her. Loki had his back to her "Loki?" 
Loki heard his name being called but he continued to gaze out at the destruction behind him that he had left in his path. He didn’t turn to face her, and his voice had a hint of a cold indifference in it “…what do you want?” 
She looks at the image in front of him "That's not you." 
He continued to stare out into the destruction and chaos he had left. He knew she was right. He wasn’t himself, he was a completely different version now. One that was angry, manipulative, cunning and cold “I’m fine. I don’t see what the big deal is…” 
Y/N walked closer to him, putting her sword on the ground and using that hand to hold his shoulder “Loki...” His cold gaze finally turned to face her, though his expression remained the same, unchanging and uncaring. When she put her hand on his shoulder, he immediately flinched a little bit because of the sudden touch. “That’s not you.” She said again. 
Loki didn’t say anything for a few seconds. He was silent, his face gave away little to no emotion “I’m no longer the person I was before…I’ve changed…and I’ve learned much…and I’ve become so much more…” 
She reached for his face slowly, and Loki was caught a bit off guard when she put her hand on his face, but he didn’t flinch or move his face away from her. He noticed that she was still wearing the bracelet he gifted her as well.  
"Give up this madness dream. Come home with me." She says softly, her hand caressing his face. 
Loki was silent for a few seconds as he stared at her. Then he finally spoke, his voice now had a slight hint of anger in it “I *will* have my revenge. Nothing...no one will stop me…” 
"Please, Loki. I know the man I love is still in there." She says with tears on her eyes. She didn’t know if she would be able to fight him if it was necessary. 
His anger immediately disappeared when she started to cry. Seeing her tears only reminded him of all of the times she had stood by him, through thick and thin. She was always there for him, he couldn’t just abandon her again. So, he pulled her close and hugged her tightly, still not saying anything and just simply holding her close. 
Y/N return his hug "I know something must happen to you...but please, stop it." 
Loki continues to hug her and just holds her close for a few seconds. He didn’t want her to know his traumatic past, at least not yet. So instead, he spoke softly “You’re right…something did happen…I can’t tell you…” 
"It's okay. Just stop this attack and come home...I'll protect you."  
Loki was now on the verge of crying when she said that. But she had told him she would protect him, and he was so desperate for that right now. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. So, he spoke softly “Please…I need you.” 
He stopped the attack and end up fighting alongside the Avengers. Thor, Loki and Y/N went back home. Y/N and Thor talked with Odin and convinced him that Loki help them in the end, so he wouldn’t send him to a cell. 
Loki was now back at Asgard, where everything slowly became normal once again. However, he was still slightly traumatized by what had happened and was still suffering from the PTSD that he had acquired after the torture. The two of them were still together and he felt relieved that he didn’t lose her. Loki struggled a lot with his nightmares, which were getting worse every night. Whenever they hit, he would wake up in a cold sweat, his heart beating out his chest and he would usually be crying. Y/N would be next to him every time, holding him gently and speaking softly, trying to comfort him when he woke up. He felt very weak and helpless during these moments, and he was glad he had her with him. 
That night Loki also woke up with his nightmares, running to the bathroom to throw up. Loki was already on his knees, hugging the toilet and throwing up, his tears streaming down his face. Any second now he would begin hyperventilating, as was typical for how these nightmares would usually go for him. Y/N woke up and walked to the bathroom, holding his hair back. He immediately calmed down a bit and took a deep breath. Hearing her voice and feeling her touch made things more bearable. 
Loki was still shaking a bit when he finally finished throwing up, so Y/N hugged him tightly as they sit on the bathroom’s floor. His body was shaking almost uncontrollably, and he was trying not to hyperventilate. His breath was shaky, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly as he tried to control himself. But when she hugged him, he stopped for a few seconds and then he hugged her back, burying his head into her shoulder and holding her tight. 
"You know you'll have to talk about this some time, Loki..." She says softly. 
Loki sniffled and held her a bit tighter for a few seconds before he finally spoke softly. His voice sounded choked up and shaky and he was still trying to stop himself from crying. “I know...I just...not yet.” 
“I hate to see you like that.” Y/N says while she brushes his hair away from his face. 
He nodded his head, still holding her tightly “I know…I know that I need to talk about it…it’s just…I don’t know if I can….I just…” it was clear that he didn’t know how to speak about it. He simply couldn’t bear to relive what had happened to him. 
"Do you want me to...see it?"  
Loki flinches, the prospect of her seeing his memories was terrifying for him. He didn’t want anyone to see what he had gone through, least of all someone who he loved so deeply. So, he shook his head. 
"Loki, you need to let it out. He can't hurt you anymore." 
He takes a few seconds before speaking again. He was still on the verge of tears, and he was shaking quite a bit. He understood the importance of talking about it, but he could barely even bring himself to speak about it “I know…I know that it will help…but I’m just…I’m just scared…so scared…” 
"I'm here with you." She says "I'll always be here with you." 
Loki sniffled and he hugged her back tightly. Hearing her say that she would always be there for him gave him a bit of strength, and he tightened his grip on her as if to show his appreciation and gratitude. He slowly let out a breath and his tears began to subside. “I know…I know you will be…” 
She starts brushing his hair, close to his forehead "Can I?" 
Loki was a bit hesitant at first, he wasn’t sure about her entering his mind and reliving the trauma with him. He hated the idea of possibly putting her through that…but he felt so weak and so helpless, and she offered. So, he eventually nodded.  
So she did it. She could see the memories when he let her enter. She was gently around his mind when she starts seeing the fight with Thor at the Bifrost, when he let it go. She saw all the torture he endured from the mad titan and everything that happened with him. She could feel his pain and she could understand why he was so reluctant to talk about it. It was a horrible realization but now she knew the extent of the abuse he endured while under the mercy of Thanos. 
When she came back, she was crying. Loki noticed that she was crying, and he looked up at her with a concerned expression. “A-are you okay...?” 
Y/N shook her head. "No, Loki. I'm sorry you have been through all of that." She hugs him so tightly. 
Loki was still silent for a few seconds as he simply hugged her tightly and buried his head in her shoulder again. He didn’t know quite what to say, he just wanted to forget about what had happened. Especially now when having to think back on it all. When she hugged him back, he started to squeeze her even tighter, as if seeking comfort and trying to remind himself that the pain was now gone. He didn’t want to relive it ever again. 
"You'll never go through that ever again. I'll protect you, I swear." 
Loki wanted to believe her so much. Having her to protect him was a great comfort for him and a great relief. He was so vulnerable right now, scared to ever face anything like that again. Hearing that he would never go through that again was extremely reassuring to him. He kept hugging her and didn’t want to let go. “You promise?” 
“I promise.”  
Loki was getting better after a couple of months. He still had some nightmares, but not as often as before. Thanks to Y/N being by his side, he had started to sleep a little more soundly than before. His nightmares had gone from multiple times a week to only once a week, which was an achievement in his eyes. He didn’t feel as scared to sleep anymore and he was thankful for that. Especially because he knew his girlfriend was right by his side, ready to help him out whenever he needed it. 
After six months, Loki was finally getting better. His nightmares were now happening rarely instead of occasionally. He still had them from time to time, but they were now much more manageable. He still had a lot of healing to do, but this was definitely progress. 
With each day that passed and each night that went by, Loki just continued to think about how much he loved his girlfriend. She was always by his side, and she always managed to comfort him whenever he needed it. She supported him through everything, and she understood him like no one else did. It was only natural that he started to think about marriage. He didn’t necessarily know if she thought the same, but the thought hadn’t left him for a while now. 
"What you're thinking about?" Y/N asks as she notices he was not paying attention to the book on his hands. 
Loki was still lost in thought, thinking about the prospect of marriage. He hadn’t realized that he had stopped paying attention to the book he had in his hands, as he had simply been staring blankly at it. But then she asked him a question and snapped him out of his thoughts. “Nothing…just…nothing…” 
Y/N chuckles “It doesn’t look like nothing.” 
He also chuckled a bit and then said “Okay, maybe it was something….” 
"Are you gonna tell me?" She sits closer to him. 
Loki was silent for a few seconds and then he finally spoke softly “I was just…thinking about something…about us…?” 
"Should I worry about this?" Y/N says with a playful smile. 
“Not necessarily…I was just thinking about…what if we took our relationship to the next level…you know…” 
“Like how?”  
“…like…getting married?” Loki spoke carefully and anxiously as he said this, he was wondering what her reaction would be. 
Y/N smiles softly at him* "Are you serious?" 
Loki nodded and spoke softly “Yes….I’ve been thinking about it for a while now….and I wanted to know what you think….” 
“I wouldn’t be opposite of the idea.” Loki’s heart started to beat rapidly as she said that. “Can you imagine us, married and with a mini you running around?" Loki blushed and smiled, imagining the scenario was a bit adorable.  
He could just imagine the two of them with their child, living happily ever after. Loki liked that idea…very much. It felt so innocent and so pure, something that he had wanted for so long. And there was no way he would ever let go of it, not ever. “That would be so perfect…our own little family…” 
Y/N smiled at the thought “Yeah...” 
Loki smiled back at her, and he wanted to say something else. But he still felt a bit anxious, he still felt like it wasn’t set in stone just yet “So…you’re really saying yes…? Like…definitely, yes…?” 
"I don't know...make the proposal." She chuckles. Loki smirked at her response and then thought to himself. He was definitely going to propose to her soon, that was for sure.  So he started to hatch out a plan for the perfect proposal he would want. Once he had that all figured out, the only thing that would be left was to execute it. 
Days had passed and Loki had been waiting for the right moment. And after a week of waiting, he got that perfect moment. He found her alone in her room and he knew that now was his chance to do it. 
“Hey.” Y/N smiled as he entered her room. 
“Hey…” Loki smiles back at her. He feels the rush of adrenaline as he finally has his chance. This is the moment he’s been waiting for. So, he speaks confidently as he approaches her “I want to ask you something….” 
“Sure.” 
Loki takes a deep breath and steadies his voice, trying to sound as confident and sure as he could when speaking. “You know how a few weeks ago I brought up marriage…?” She nods at him. Loki nods too and gets on one knee, making Y/N smiles. There was a hint of nervousness in his voice, but he managed to keep it steady, and he spoke confidently. “I want to make you mine…completely…and I would like for you to do the same…will you marry me..?” 
“Yes, Loki. Yes!” She hugs him. 
He breathed a sigh of relief as she said yes. He was so excited and happy right now, he was over the moon. He smiled back at her and then he spoke softly. “Then…will you please take this, as a sign of my love?” Loki holds up the ring, waiting for her to accept it. 
Y/N gave him her hand so he could put the ring on her. “It’s beautiful.” 
Loki was absolutely overjoyed. It was one of the most perfect moments of his entire life. All his work in planning the proposal payed off. And seeing her accept the ring, his mother's ring, was the cherry on top. Loki was just so relieved and so happy, he was beaming with joy. "It used to be my mother's...I wanted you to have it..." 
“Thank you.” She smiles before she kisses him. 
He smiled back at her when he breaks the kiss, the entire moment was like a dream come true. He was so overjoyed that he almost couldn't keep his cool. This was the perfect moment. So he took her hand again and squeezed it softly. "I love you..." 
“I love you too.” 
A few months after, the royal wedding happened in Asgard. It was a beautiful wedding. A true fairy tale wedding. Loki and Y/N had finally married. The prince of Asgard had found true love and married his princess. Loki was happier than ever, with the woman he loved the most besides him. This was his happy ending, this was his happily ever after. 
Five months after the wedding, Y/N started not feeling well. She usually woke up throwing up. 
Loki was still asleep beside her when he suddenly woke up to the sound of her vomiting. He immediately jumped out of bed and went over to her. “A-Y/N…? 
“Hm?” She had her eyes closed as another wave of nausea hit her. 
Loki was now in distress and panic. He was getting worried as he tried to keep his cool and not let her know his real feelings yet. “A-are you okay..? You’ve been vomiting for a few days now….” He was so concerned about her at this point. 
"I don't know, maybe it's something I eat?" She felt the nausea passing and open her eyes to look at him. 
Loki still looked worried and concerned, he wasn’t quite buying her excuse. It didn’t make sense to him “But it’s been four days in a row…don’t you think that’s concerning a little?”  
"I'll see a healer later if that's makes you feel better." She smiles at him. 
He wasn’t reassured, he was still concerned about her. But he decided to not press the issue further for now “Okay…just promise me you’ll see one as soon as possible…” 
Y/N nods and later that day, she went to the healer. When she got back to their room, she had a small box in her hand. 
“What’s in that box…?” Loki was waiting for her back in the room. 
"Oh, it's a present for you." She smiles handling him the box. "Open in.” 
Loki’s nervous look remained on his face as he slowly took the box from her, not knowing what may be in there. But he then opened it and his eyes widened when he saw what was inside. His heart raced as he saw that it was a small pair of shoes. “What….are these…?” 
"I don't know, Loki. What are these?" She asks him smiling. 
“They look like…baby shoes…” Loki’s heart races as he realizes what she is implying. He didn’t even want to believe it. But then he spoke, and his tone was shaky. “Are you…”  
Loki was speechless. It was official now; he was going to be a father. He was so happy, he felt so many different emotions rushing through him right now, but the main one was pure joy. “I’m going to be a dad…?” 
"You're going to be a dad." Y/N spoke softly before she kissed her husband. 
Nine months later, Y/N gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Loki was overjoyed about it. Holding the baby boy in his arms felt like a dream come true. His life would never be the same after this, everything would be different. And it was for the better. This child would be the most important thing to him, there would be nothing that would compare to this precious baby. He kissed him on the forehead, smiling as he did so.  
Loki was the best father ever to his son. He was everything Odin never was to him. Loki made sure the child had everything he could ever want or need. He made sure his childhood would be beautiful and happy and he made sure he gave him everything he never had. He made sure to give him all the love he had to offer to his precious son. He spent a great majority of his time with him. And Y/N made sure she took good care of him as well. She made sure to teach him about love and everything he needed to know about the world. It was a beautiful sight. 
A year later, close to their son first birthday, Y/N had found out she was pregnant again. But this time, she was better prepared to make a surprise to Loki. 
He had just put the baby to sleep and came back to their room. “I have a surprise for you.” Y/N said softly. She gave him a present box. "Open in.” 
Loki open the box and just looked at the shirt in a bit of confusion. It said 'Daddy’s girl’ when they had a son. “Uh…? Did you buy this by mistake…?” Y/N shakes her head ‘no’. Loki was still quite confused. Why did she buy a ‘daddy’s girl’ shirt? They had a son, not a daughter. So, it made no sense for her to buy that. “Then why did you get it…?” 
"Because our daughter will need it." Y/N was holding back her smile seeing Loki’s confusion. 
He immediately tensed up at the word ‘daughter’ and realized what she was implying. Their daughter. She was implying that they were going to have a second child. He just couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe that it was really happening. Loki was overwhelmed with emotions, and it showed on his face. His mouth dropped open as he spoke softly. “Our daughter..?” 
Y/N nods, making Loki’s heart raced and his breathing quickened as he realized the good news. His smile became so wide that he even felt his cheeks ache. He was going to be a father again? That was an overwhelming thought and he loved it. The happiness he felt was overwhelming. “We’re going to have a daughter…?” He finally asked. She nods again, a few tears escaping her eyes. 
Loki was filled with so many emotions right now that he just embraced her in a tight and loving hug. He held her close to him, smiling as he did so. Loki’s happiness was palpable at this point. He couldn’t believe that he was going to be a father again. He just couldn’t. And it was so unbelievable that he almost couldn’t accept it just yet. But as he held his wife close to him, he embraced the idea of having another child. 
They had some hard months ahead. Thor had given up the throne, so Loki was next in line to be king now. And a few more months, another baby, a beautiful and healthy baby girl, was born. Loki felt like he was on a cloud, he just couldn’t believe how his life was working out so well for him. With a gorgeous wife and two beautiful children, life couldn’t get any better. 
He was truly overjoyed and grateful. His life was filled with nothing but love and blessings. There was nothing left that he could possibly ask for now. With two beautiful children, the best wife in the world, a kingdom to rule one day. Things couldn’t be better. And as he looked down at his babygirl, he thought about all of this. He loved his life, he loved being a father and he loved his family. And this was more than just a passing thought, this was his life. His happy, fulfilling, life. 
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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago
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The House Guest 7
Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Bucky Barnes
Summary: an old acquaintance calls in a favour, leaving you with an unexpected house guest.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
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You’re always wiped out after an episode. After the late-night paralysis, you don’t get much sleep. Your adrenaline dissipates but only leaves you tossing and turning. You surrender to the day as it softly rises through your window. 
The mornings don’t come with bright sunshine this time of year. Instead, the gray horizon gets a bit paler. Your head feels just as dull as you emerge from your room, dragging your feet in your well-worn slippers as you rub your eyes. 
You yawn as you walk blindly into the kitchen. You go through the automatic steps of brewing your coffee. Last night was strange. And then the open door-- 
Shoot. You almost forgot. As if he can sense the very thought of him, Bucky appears through the doorway. He pushes back his floppy hair and your eyes catch on his bulging bicep. The ripped tank top is stretched around his burly middle and he wears a loose pair of boxers. He’s entirely shameless. 
“Coffee?” He growls. 
You nod, “yep.” Your own voice is coarse and dry. You clear it and cross your arms as you lower your chin. You’re not wearing a bra and the morning chill makes that obvious. You shiver and sway as you wait for the drip to finish. 
“Mm, you sleep okay?” He asks. 
You wince and shrug. “You know, fine.” 
“Fine,” he echoes. “You seem pretty freaked out.” 
“You remember...” you rub your neck, your other arm still across your chest. “I get sleep paralysis. Really, it’s nothing.” 
“Oh, shit, scary stuff.” He comments. 
“Mhm, can be. But really, I’m good. It happens.”  
You step forward and open the cupboard. You take down a mug, then a second as you peek over at him. He nods in silent gratitude. You close the door and back up. 
“Think I’m going to have my coffee outside. Check on the bird feeder,” you say. 
“Right...” he says, sniffing as he lingers behind you. “If I’m crowding you, you can just say so.” 
“I will,” you assure him.  
You pour your coffee and slip past him. It’s as if he makes no move to let you despite his previous sentiment. You stop by your room to get your robe and continue on through the back door. 
The crisp air makes the steam of your coffee visible as you come down the steps. The yard is spacious and a low fence lines the barrier before the thicket of trees. You cross the grass, blowing over the cup as you near the hanging bird feeder. It’s empty and crooked on the chain. Damn squirrels. Could be the raccoons too. 
You set your coffee down on the old wooden stool and return to the feeder. You focus on fixing it. You finally get it straight and go into the shed to grab the bag of seed. You set it at your feet and scoop out a healthy helping to dump through the roof of the feeder. 
There’s a rustle in the trees and strange friction. You ignore it, assuming it’s nothing more than the wind. You really need a new feeder, this thing is going to tip again.  
The chain link rattles and you pay no attention to it. The cold seeps up your robe and there’s a sudden thump and groan from the other end of the yard. You look over, expecting a raccoon, but find worse. 
A black bear rolls around, trying to find its footing, and you can’t help the scream that erupts from you. You scramble away from the feeder, the sack of seed spilling over as that you just replenished does the same. As you turn toward the house, the back door opens. 
Bucky is still in only his tank top and boxers. It doesn’t stop him as he rushes out. “What’s going--” 
The bear lets out a growl and you hurry towards the house, “get inside!” 
He doesn’t listen. As you reach him, he puts his arm behind you and urges you on, “lock the door.” 
“Bucky, you can’t--” 
“This thing’s gonna be at the backdoor all day if I don’t,” he snarls. 
“Bucky--” 
“I said get inside,” he rolls his shoulders and snaps his metal arm with a flex. 
You don’t have the courage to refuse. It’s not just the bear’s growling, but his. He’s blunt and a bit monotone, but that lilt in his voice is dangerous. 
You go inside and close the door. You hurry into the bedroom and look through the window as you hear Bucky shouting. You see him waving his arms at the bear, then stretching them out as if he’s about to grapple the beast. 
“Hey, go! Get!” He tries to herd the bear along the fence, “Get outta here!” 
You watch wide-eyed. He’s going to get himself killed. He grabs a log of split wood from against the shed and hurls it at the bear. It hardly flinches as it roars and charges him. You cry out as Bucky barely dodges out of the way. 
He’s fast. Faster than you’ve ever seen someone move, yet it all moves in slow motion. They chase each other around. Bucky trying to lure the creature back into the bush and the bear swiping and charging. 
When they clash, you hit the window. Shit. He’s a maniac! 
You rush back out, not think and burst out the back door. Neither notice you as they have each other in a death lock. Bucky has his arm around the bear’s thick neck and the bear claws at his torso.  
You take the feeder poll and pull it from the ground. You swing without hesitation and hit the bear in the snout and it roars. Bucky throws his weight back and both of them fall onto the ground. The roll together in a cluster of man and bear. 
You strike again. This time you hit the bear’s paw as it swipes at Bucky, then its shoulder. Again and again. 
“I said... get... inside,” Bucky grits through thick breaths. 
“You’re going to get killed.” 
“I’ve faced worse,” he sneers and brings his metal fist down on the bear’s head. 
The bear yipes and unlatches from the man. He rolls over, wobbling on his furry legs, and bounds for the fence. He runs through it, bending the poles as he plunges back into the wilds.  
You grip the feeder, the house ruined and the metal pole warped. You bend over to catch your breath as Bucky gets to his feet. He clucks and turns to stare out into the forest. 
“You should have a bigger fence.”  
“Gee, thanks,” you stand straight. 
“You’re welcome,” he says. You glance at him. He’s almost smirking. You shake your head as he faces you. “Told you I could handle it.” 
“You think,” your eyes skim down to the dark stain forming across his tanks top. The fabric is shredded along with his side. 
“Paper cut,” he looks down. 
“Are you serious? I’m calling an ambulance,” you toss the pole and turn to head inside. He catches your arm before you can leave. 
“I don’t need it.” 
“You’re bleeding all over,” you avoid looking at the gashes again. The claw marks make your nauseous. 
“Listen, doll, I had my arm torn off my body. I can handle it. I need towels and rubbing alcohol. Oh, and beer.” 
You stare him in the face, too scared to look anywhere else. His grip keeps you locked in place. You shudder and heave a breath. 
“Fine, but don’t get blood all over my floors.” 
“How compassionate,” he lets you go and puts his hand to his side. “We both know an ambulance would take too long up here.” 
You nod and turn back to the house again. You offer no argument;0 you don’t have one. Even if he is being stupidly stubborn, he’s right. It would take at least an hour to even hear the sirens. 
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alyakthedorklord · 2 years ago
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Chiroptophobia: the Fear of Bats.
Bruce Wayne is Scared of Bats. This is a Canon Fact.
In a difference from canon, Batman pretends to actually BE a bat man.
(Again, “Loading and Aspect Ratio” by JUBE514 situation with fake wings. Please go read it I love it so much.)
Bruce turns himself into a physical manifestation of his personal worst nightmares, and sets out to be a street cryptid. People see him flinching from bright lights and loud noises (he hasn’t slept in three days and he really hates guns) twitching weirdly (testing his wings function/stimming) not fully understanding human social niceties (you cannot tell me this man isn't Autistic) and, duh, wings, and go ah yes this being is Inhuman.
However, people KNOW Brucie Wayne™ is petrified of bats. There was an incident at a party when one flew through a window, another at a zoo, there was this one time Manbat showed up and he practically teleported away. No one saw him for a whole month, even after Batman had captured Manbat. (He got injured in the fight.)
By extension, this means that Bruce Wayne is afraid of Batman. Just- absolutely terrified of him. No ones seen them in the same place. Ever. Bruce Wayne actually publicly refuses to even believe in the cryptid for YEARS past when he's already been proven to exist.
When the Justice League gets called in to protect Bruce and his smattering of children from some plot (batman conspicuously absent, despite Gotham being his territory) Bruce straight up tells the league that he doesn’t believe in Batman, and he feels much safer with “real heroes” rather than “a urban legend spawned from overdramatic furries and gang wars.”
The justice league is, obviously, confused.
Certified little shits Dick, Jason, and Tim, (because we’re going with JUBE514’s canon and jason doesn’t die they’re all brothers f off-)
ANYWAYS: Certified Little Shits Dick, Jason, and Tim, ready for chaos/solidifying secret identities: “Don’t worry! We believe in batman! We saw him!” :D
They then proceed to tell the justice league that Bruce HAS met Batman, but he has a phobia of bats, so when Batman saved them at a gala Bruce screamed so loud and shrill he threw off the bat-hearing and then punched batman in the face so hard he knocked him out cold, grabbed then-baby Jason and ran. (Nightwing and the second Robin had to HEROICALLY rescue a dazed Batman, Dick saw it with his own eyes!)
Bruce was so scared of the bat coming to take revenge that he jumped at every shadow for a whole month. Why, Jason, (who was younger then) had slept in Bruce's bed to keep him safe! (Dick is crooning about his cute little brother. Jason, who is hitting his growth spurt and not a little kid anymore, is infinitely embarrassed.) Right now, Brucie has settled into firmly denying Batman’s entire existence so that he can sleep soundly at night.
“Why is he so scared of bats?” The Justice League is wondering. Oh, they are so glad they asked!
“Alfred told us a story once,” Dick says, eyes wide and innocent as he prepares to lie through his fucking teeth, “that when Bruce was little, really little, he got trapped in a cave filled with bats, and his dad had to come rescue him. Apparently, Little Bruce had been crying about a massive bat, even bigger than he was, with glowing red eyes and human hands and (gasp) wait oh my goodness gracious what if that was the BATMAN :0”
“The baby batman.” Jadon adds.
“Batboy?” Tim wonders.
“Alfred, do you think Bruce met Batman when they were little?” Dick asks.
“I believe,” Alfred “the greatest enabler” Pennyworth hums, offering fresh baked scones to thier gleeful audience, “that Master Bruce referred to what he saw as ‘the bat king’ and reported seeing him outside his window several times over the years.”
“Maybe it really was him! Will you ask Batman for us?” Tim asks, already planning to hack the watchtower cameras and set up some popcorn with his brothers.
The Justice League, who have learned more about the Batman in one conversation than they have over MANY years of working together, tell the Wayne children that it will be their Genuine Pleasure to quiz batman on his interactions with BRUCIE WAYNE who has, apparently, laid batman out cold with one punch.
Alfred adds on that he personally thinks the Batman is being rather courteous to Master Bruce, as “bat king” sightings were after “difficult times” and he doesn’t come near the manor otherwise, as robin had been the one to return some family heirlooms that one time they were stolen. He calls the batman and his robins “polite young gentlemen” and then leaves.
But now the gears are turning in the justice leagues heads. Batman? Courteous? Polite? Batman is not Courteous or Polite. Not unless something else is going on.
Now. From their point of view. Batman lives in the cave systems under the richest houses in Gotham, Phantom of the Opera style, hiding his meta form (because this batman is playing cryptid really well. Maybe he was a mutant baby of some Rich Gothamites, who threw him into the caves in shame!) He’s been watching Bruce Wayne, likely as he struggled with the highly reported on demise of his parents, seeing the effects that crime had on the boy that fell into his cave all those years ago. Batman has always been so protective of children, so hateful of guns, obviously the Wayne tragedy is part of what motivates him. He loves Gotham dearly, territorial of it to the point of keeping other heroes out, and yet he breaks that rule here, for Gotham's prince, solely for Bruce’s comfort.
Bruce, another person who obviously loves the city of Gotham just as much, putting millions into charity and relief efforts. Who is clearly very protective of his children, even if he usually has no spine, to the point of attacking his greatest fear to keep then safe, and good enough to land a hit, even. (Bruce Wayne is also considerably attractive.)
Its all so clear to the Justice League: Batman is madly in love with Bruce Wayne. Has been for years. To the point of watching him sleep, on occasion. How very tragic! Batman, in love with someone he can never be with! Not only would it paint a massive target on Bruce’s back if they ever did get together- there’s no questioning what Gotham villains would do if they discovered this, (and denying himself love out of an attempt to keep others safe is EXACTLY the kind of self-sacrificing nonsense Batman would pull) But Batman can’t even truly see the man he’s in love with without Brucie running away in terror! Well, the poor guy… how sad…
This conclusion can be supported by the following evidence-
Batman being the one to catch the guy who put the hit out on Bruce. He sent them to babysit/make sure Bruce was safe while dealt with the actual threat. (Bruce had a suspiciously long bathroom break/a nap)
Batman’s first appearance being right after Bruce Wayne returned to Gotham. Was the bat following him to protect him in those missing years? Or maybe he decided to clean up the city now that his beloved had returned?
Batman always being seen near where Bruce is. He’s never once been at the watchtower when Bruce has a public appearance- he must be watching over him, a silent guardian in case someone gets it in their head to kidnap Gotham’s Prince.
Batman insisting that Bruce is innocent in a corporate scheme, despite evidence to the contrary. (Hes right in the end, of course, but they’ve never seen him ignore evidence so clear.)
Batman casually referencing Wayne Tech/Foundation inner workings- he keeps an eye on them, of course. (If he can’t be close to the object of his affections, the league reasons, of course he’d make sure that Bruce’s company and projects are on the right track)
Nightwing, when asked, confirms the Bruce Punching Batman story. He says “honestly I think B was impressed! Caught him off guard!” (Since when does Batman lower his guard? Only when he’d be… distracted, perhaps…)
Superman saves Bruce, who thanks him with a kiss on the cheek. Later, justice league was teasing Clark, batman huffs and leaves the room. He’s CLEARLY jealous! Superman feels just awful!
Batman inexplicably knowing social dances/high society manners- he must have learned by watching (stalking) bruce! He can navigate high profile talk if he wants to, he just doesn’t want to most of the time. but if the situation calls for it he can talk like the Richest of Pricks in a way that only comes with observation.
Batman bristling when some of the league members start making Comments on Brucie Wayne’s Physical Attributes. (Jealousy? Defensiveness? Perhaps… embarrassment at GL’s detailed explanation on what he’d do with a chance in bed with Brucie.)
Batman absolutely freezing up when confronted with any of the above evidence. (He’s trying SO HARD not to laugh/go tell his kids)
Dick/Jason being big enough to wear the Bat-wings rather than thier own and be convincing- they save Bruce, though the man passes out (from fear? Blood loss from an injury? Perhaps- he is faking) and Dick/Jason, either out of genuine concern for their dad or general “how can i stir the pot” chaos, gently strokes his hair away from his face in an act of compassion that the cameras just so happen to catch. (There’s a few tears shed in the justice league- poor batman! He can’t be with his love!)
The robins (in both identities) telling the justice league that they've seen batman watching him.
“oh yeah he does background checks on aaaaaall bruces conquests. Had a conniption when brucie found a mafia boss that one time.”
“And when he found out Bruce and Two-face had a fling!”
(The league notes that often, if a criminal gets too close to Brucie, they’re put away not long after. B is usually collecting evidence in his civilian ID. But it looks like angry Batman wanted them to get the hell away from his mans.)
The Justice League is swooning over this tragic, forbidden love story. Batman is a little creepy but hey. He apparently grew up in a cave system. Its a wonder he's as well adjusted as he is. Batman has their sympathy, he seems less unflappable/untouchable, they’re a little more understanding with him now. Superman is all too happy to be a rebound, if needed. There are magic users offering glamour spells. Green Lantern is making exposure therapy innuendos.
The robins can’t believe how lucky they got. They’re def grounded but B can’t be too mad bc his secret identity is FUKIN SET.
Alfred is rather proud of Batman's new nickname in the league being “the bat king” and keeps sending batman along with cookies. The league thinks Batman is checking up on bruce with his butler. Its a mess.
Eventually, Batman loses a bet to one of his kids. Committing to the Bit with an exasperated sigh (he’s definitely not having fun, shut up jason.)
He admits to his crush.
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propertyofwicked · 11 months ago
Text
SECRETS part 5 - LN
content warnings: FULL SMUT, cute sex, oral (fem receiving), unprotected - MDNI !!
this is lowkey a filler chapter, so you can skip it and read part 6 if you dont want to read smut :) - i have kept the same taglist so if you have been tagged but dont wish to read this part please do skip <3
previous part -> next part
masterlist the playlist
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“morning,” lando’s rough morning voice travelled through the hotel room as he saw y/n’s eyes open below him. during the night, y/n found herself wrapped around him, her leg slung over his whilst her head rested on his chest, her arm stretching over him, pulling him in closer.
lando had been awake for a while. he’d decided that today, they would drive down to max’s and try and talk some sense into him. he’d woken up to a text from P, telling him to come to the house and talk to max in person - she was equally as fed up with his foul mood and angry outbursts.
“how d’you sleep?”
“shush,” she hushed him, “still sleeping.”
“i was thinking we should go see max and talk to him in person. today,” he said, earning a groan from the half-asleep woman who rolled off him to lay on her back and stare at the ceiling.
“and i was thinking i could just change my name, cut all contact with everyone i know and live the rest of my life in the woods.”
“i don’t think that will work,” he said, laughing softly at her remark.
“yeah? i dont think your plan will work either so at least were both coming up with stupid ideas today,” she said, as he rolled onto his side to face her.
“you always look pretty in the morning,” lando announced, ignoring her insult.
“you always lie in the morning,” she replied. once again, he ignored her insults, moving to press a quick kiss to her lips. well, he intended for it to be quick, but before he knew it, she was straining her neck up to join their lips together again.
“i could get used to this,” he said, grinning against her mouth.
“not if max has anything to say about it.”
“y/n,” he groaned, still hovering above her, “im trying to be romantic and you’re talking about your brother, fuck him.”
“and fuck you instead?” she quipped.
“well, if you say so,” he hummed, taking the opportunity to kiss her again and shift his bodyweight so he was hovering fully over her, using his arms to hold himself up. she deepens the kiss, tracing her tongue over his bottom lip while burying her fingers in his curls to pull his face closer. his head drops to her neck, pressing small kisses along her skin.
“if you don’t want max to rip your balls off, i recommend you not leave marks on my neck, lan,” she said breathlessly, his breathe tickling her skin as he laughs.
“i’m going to fuck you so hard you forget all about your stupid brother and the things he said about you,” he grunted in her ear, lowering his hips to roll over hers. and for the first time that week, she couldn’t think straight enough to respond with anything other than a quiet moan.
lando slides down the bed, pulling at the waist band of her shorts as he goes, but looking up at her. she nods at him, and he pulls her shorts down her legs, discarding them off the side of the bed. her fingers lace through his curls, her eyes focused on his head tilting to the side to press kisses to the inside of her thigh. he nips down on the skin, sucking slightly, leaving bruises in his wake. at least max wont see those, she thought to herself.
with no warning, his face dived into her folds, her hips arching up, pulling him in closer. he parts his lips, dragging his tongue up to circle her clit.
“taste so good,” he muttered, “wanted this for years.” another moan fell from her lips, spurring him on. one arm came to wrap around her waist, holding her hips down. the other arm reached up, pushing her top up, his hand kneading at her breast.
“fuck, lan, keep going.”
her view is something she wish she could take a picture of and tattoo on her arm. lando’s veiny arm pinning her hips down, his jaw muscles peaking out as his tongue moves in a steady rhythm, his curls falling over his forehead, as his eyes glance up to see her facial expressions. the arm on her breasts drops down to her heat, parting her folds and his fingers pushing gently into her. her hips struggle against his arm, desperate for more.
within a matter of seconds, two of his fingers are twisting into her, hitting that spot that has her almost purring for him repeatedly. before she knows it, she cums around his fingers with no warning, legs shaking, loud moans filling the room. lando crawls back up her body, grabbing her jaw with one hand, opening her mouth and pushing his fingers slowly into her mouth. her tongue moving to lick up the length of them, tasting herself on his calloused fingers. the moment he retracts his hand, her hand is pulling his head down to hers, kissing him hastily as his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss.
he used one arm to balance himself, the other moving down between them to tug at his own shorts. he grabbed himself, rubbing his hand up and down and few times before sliding his cock through her fold, eliciting small whimpers from her as he hit her sensitive spot.
“you sure you want this? there’s no going back after this, he mumbled in her ear.
“i never want anyone else for as long as i live.”
slowly, he entered her, pushing into her slowly. her face screwed up slightly from the stretch.
“you’re ok, you’re ok,” he reassured her, stroking the side of her cheek softly, waiting a moment before he retracted and pushed back in.
“you’re doing so well f’me.”
his began to build up his pace, the headboard moving with each thrust. y/n moaned out beneath him, grabbing his arm to stabilise herself. her noises encouraging him more, he grabbed her thigh, pulling her leg up to wrap around his back, hitting new angles that brought out obscene noises from the two of them. y/n’s hands wrapped around the back of his head, pulling lightly at the hair at the top of his neck, his own hand moving down again to play with her clit. he could feel her walls tightening around him, pulling him closer and closer to his own finish.
“fuck, lan. don’t stop,” she cried out, her head rolling back on the pillow.
“wouldn’t dream of it,” he remarked, his thrusts getting faster and faster with each pant.
“i’m gonna c-”
“i know baby, come for me, come with me,” he said, wrapping himself around her to bring them closer together as they both reached their orgasms.
he waited a few moments, before pulling out of her, flopping down on the bed beside her, both of their chests heaving with heavy breaths.
“stay there,” he said, kissing the top of her head before rolling out of the bed, and walking to the bathroom. he returned with a damp cloth and a glass of water, handing her the drink he then crawled back to clean her up.
when he did return to lay next to her, his arms instinctively moved to pull her in closer.
“so… when should we go and break the news to your brother?” he asked, grinning.
“id so nearly forgotten about him,” she groaned in annoyance.
“clearly, i need to try again,” he said, still smirking at her.
★ ☆ ✦ ✧ ✩ ✶
tag list: @harrysdimple05 @scopeiguess @hiireadstuff @landosgirlxoxo @natt9598 @phantomxoxo @val-writes @secretgal66 @ririyulife @littlehoneyfreak @leclercdream @mehrmonga @eviethetheatrefreak @thatoneembarrasingmoment @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @formula1mount @lottef1 @rayna-s @5starl1ght @cthgee @thesiduation @urfavsgf @littlehoneyfreak
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rxmqnova · 1 year ago
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Hi. So this is based on something similar that happened on a family holiday once.
WandaNat mums and kid reader.
R is half asleep when we arrive at the airport. Mums are busy with Yelena and the twins so we get quickly sat on the suitcases and wheeled inside.
Everyone enjoys the first day on holiday, until it comes to bedtime. R can't find her baby blanket anywhere. The whole family look and nothing. Until Natasha thinks back and realises it's still in the car.
Knowing we can't sleep without our blankie Natasha calls in a favour and makes the 8 hour round flight to pick the comfort item up.
The next morning (where we're super grumpy and demand that mummy Wanda carries us around) we shuffle into the living room to find both mama nat and blankie curled up on the sofa.
Totally exhausted we curl up with mama and sleep almost straight away.
We never realise what mama had just done for us. But Mummy does. And she falls more in love with her for it.
Please and thank you 😊
The pink bear blankie
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Y/N: 3 years old Billy and Tommy: 10 years old Wanda: Mommy Natasha: Mama ——————————————————
NO ONE'S POV "Sleepy, mama" Y/N whines, burying her head into Natasha's neck as the redhead only just took her out of the car, one of Y/N's small hands playing with Natasha's ear piercings while the other one is wrapped around her mama's neck tightly.
"I know you are, sweetheart. You can sleep on the plane, yeah?" Natasha smiles, pressing a kiss to her baby's cheek while rubbing her back.
"Boys, you got everything?" Wanda asks her two sons, raising an eyebrow as they've been arguing about something.
"Yes, mom" Both answer.
"Yelena, do you have everything?" Natasha asks her sister, knowing she's the one who's most likely to forget something.
"Yes, yes, Natasha. I have everything" Yelena rolls her eyes, taking her suitcase and walking inside just behind the boys and Wanda.
"And now you, детка" Natasha sits the tiny girl that's been in her arms on her suitcase, getting a tired smile in response. "Is that fun, Y/N/N?" She asks with a chuckle, looking at her daughter who's tiredly smiling and looking around. (baby)
———
The flight was fine. Y/N fell asleep as soon as Natasha sat down with her on her lap, the boys were busy with watching a movie, Yelena was listening to some music and Wanda with Natasha had finally some time to talk and just enjoy each other's presence.
As soon as the family arrived to the holiday house they're staying at and unpacked some of their things, they went on the beach.
Everyone had a great time, especially Y/N as she got to build a sandcastle with both her mommies while Yelena was doing silly things with the twins.
"It's bedtime for Y/N, baby. Come on" Wanda smiles, lifting her daughter up with a playful groan. "Say night night"
"Ni-night" Y/N says, resting her head on Wanda's shoulder and giving everyone in the room a wave.
The tiny girl would normally complain about going to bed, but today has really worned her out. Natasha smiles, pressing a kiss to her baby's forehead and telling her goodnight along with the others.
Wanda carries Y/N into the bedroom, placing her down on bed, but the tiny girl sits up immediately.
"Where's my blankie, mommy?" Y/N questions, not seeing her little pink bear blankie anywhere in bed.
"I'm sure it's somewhere around, baby" Wanda assures, looking for the item.
She's one hundred percent sure Y/N had her blankie when they left their house, so it must be somewhere around, right?
After minutes of looking around, Wanda just sits her daughter on her hip and carries her back to the living room where is the rest of the family playing uno.
"Everything okay?" Natasha asks, noticing her wife and daughter's presence in the living room.
"Have you seen Y/N's blankie? " Wanda asks, getting a no from everybody. "Can you help us find it?"
"Alright, let's go, boys" Natasha smiles, standing up.
Every single person starts looking for Y/N's blankie. They search through every single corner of the house, but the baby blanket is just nowhere.
Natasha goes through her mind, trying to picture the whole day and then it clicks. Y/N last had her blankie in the car, so they must had left it there.
"You can stop looking, I think I know where it is" Natasha sighs, walking over to Wanda who looks at her with hope the blankie is found. "I think it stayed in the car"
"Oh no, what do we do now? Y/N won't sleep without it" Wanda sighs.
"Mommy" Y/N whines, making her way over to her mothers. It's already way past her bedtime and she's extremely tired, but without her blankie she just won't sleep.
"I know, honey" Wanda sighs once again, lifting Y/N up and sitting her on her hip. "How about you try to sleep without your blankie tonight, hm?"
Those words are enough to make Y/N cry and Natasha volunteers to try to put Y/N down as it's time for the boys to go to sleep too by now.
So while Wanda's tucking in the twins, Yelena's occupying the TV and Natasha's walking around the whole place, rocking her crying daughter back and forth while humming her a lullaby.
But after two hours of not making any progress, she gives up. If they want to get some sleep during the vacation there's only one thing to do.
"Nat, are you sure? It's so late and the flight is so long" Wanda sighs.
"I am. Y/N obviously won't go to sleep without it. I'll just grab it and be back by morning" Natasha smiles and pecks Wanda's lips before placing a kiss to Y/N's head who is now in Wanda's arms. "I love you"
"I love you too" Wanda smiles back, stealing one more kiss from her wife and then watching her leave.
———
Y/N slept for like 3 hours in total during the night. Both, her and Wanda, are absolutely exhausted, but if there's no blankie, there's just no sleep.
"Noo, mommy, no" Y/N whines, lifting her tiny legs up, so Wanda wouldn't be able to stand her on the ground.
Wanda doesn't have the energy to deal with another tantrum, so she just goes with it and somehow manages to make a quick breakfast for her and Y/N with her grumpy daughter attached to her hip.
Y/N eventually decides to watch a cartoon in the living room after breakfast. And because she refuses to walk once again, Wanda carries her there.
"Mama" Y/N whispers to herself, a grin appearing on her face when she spots her mama curled up with her blankie on the couch and sleeping. "Mommy, down!" She immediately orders, trying to wiggle out of Wanda's strong hold.
And as soon as Wanda manages to stand her daughter on the ground, Y/N runs to the couch, climbing it and cuddling up to Natasha and the blankie.
Wanda can't help but smile on the sight. She still can't believe Natasha just flew all the way to New York and back just to pick up Y/N's blankie.
Her smile widens when she realizes Y/N's already fast asleep, curled up into her mama's side with her blankie secured in her arms.
Y/N is still just a little girl and surely won't realize what Natasha did for her, but Wanda knows. And this is exactly why she fell in love with the redhead in the first place.
Natasha would do anything for their children and that's what Wanda adores the most. And every single moment like this just makes her fall more and more in love with her wife.
----------------------
WandaNat masterlist
Masterlist
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luveline · 1 year ago
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hey! would you mind writing sirius black x reader (ole flame or something) when they meet for the first time since azkaban at a meeting for the order? thank you and happy holidays!
thank u for requesting, hope this is OK! ♡
—you and sirius both get to go home eventually, 2.2k. fem
You were still kids when Sirius… went away. You thought he hurt James and Lily, and it didn't matter that you loved him because he was evil and cruel and he hurt the people he loved most in the world, and then you were outposted thousands of miles eastward, your life a shadow. 
Remus sent you letters. You always answered, even when it hurt, but his last was too much to believe. You told yourself that someone forged his handwriting through a curse or some new gimmick, and then a second arrived with a smaller envelope hidden inside. 
No name written on it. No Dear anything to begin. 
Things are different to what you've been told. Please come home, it said. This penmanship was shaken like a hand out of practice, but something felt familiar in the curves and dots. 
If Remus’ letter (and the second smaller one too) were in fact telling the truth, it means you did something awful, and so, for a while, you don't go. 
Please, the next letter says, again enclosed within a larger explanation from Remus, I'm sorry. I just want to see you again. 
Getting home isn't as simple as he might think. You have to picture the destination very clearly to disapparate, and you have no sustained recollection anymore of the places you used to go. You remember silly things, slices of memories; the four of them laughing in a big green field, the sweet smell of hair oil to your left; the beige walls of a rented flat where you'd lay in bed for hours, sometimes days at a time, before things got too terrible to sleep; a string-lit garden that last summer, hands of poker on a glass table. These places aren't real anymore. You can't go back to them. 
Upon your request, Molly forwards you an address and a secret code. 
Trains, buses, trains again. A long walk through a cold street. Some secret this or that. You arrive in the night and a frowning face ushers you in, past a painting sealed away and up the creaking stairs. You spend hours sitting on the end of a bed coated in dust waiting for the sun to rise, your back stiff with nerves. You could slip out before anyone else knows you're here, it's not as if Moody would give you away. But why did you come, if you were going to run straight back to your outpost? 
You don't want Sirius’ betrayal to be true, of course. It took your breath away imagining what it would mean if he hadn't done what you thought. If it's all lies (as it seems to be), if he's innocent as he and Remus claim, it means you turned your back on him and left him to suffer, and he's still asking you to come home. 
A few people stir for breakfast. Molly, who's voice you remember, and some younger sounding ones that may be her children, or perhaps the newer Order recruits. Then comes Remus’ voice. He sounds different. Less Welsh, more tired. Homely anyways as he passes your door with someone beside him. 
“...any day now,” he's saying, “try not to worry.” 
“I do worry. I've worried about it every day for years.” 
You freeze up. 
The stairs creak, Remus’ voice moving further away. “She doesn't need worrying.” 
Sirius must stay at the top of the stairs for a moment. He sounds close. “I wouldn't know what she needs.” 
“Come have some breakfast.” 
“I'll write her again.” 
“After breakfast.” 
“What if she doesn't come?” 
“After breakfast,” Remus insists. “She can ignore you once we've had toast.” 
“I forgot how funny you are,” Sirius mutters. 
Hearing his voice fills you with doubt. He sounds nothing like he used to, no easy confidence to be heard, just fatigue. 
You look down at your hands. Hearing his voice has a new emotion sprouting, too. When you first learned what had happened to your friends, you felt anger like a knife everywhere you went. How could he do that to them? How could he do it to you, be that person, ruin everything you'd loved and made together? But later, when anger faded and grief ached, you'd missed the Sirius you loved. Shamefully, in longing pangs, you'd toss and turn to dreams where things were different. 
Now there's a chance he might still be that person, and you're hiding from him in his own house. 
“There's someone here,” Molly says as you leave your room, her voice nearly too quiet to hear from the kitchen. “Moody's told me this morning.” 
“What?” Arthur asks. 
“Who?” a younger voice says. 
A small intermission of quiet. “Well, I don't know,” Molly says eventually, though she must have guessed it was you from the letter you sent. “But I'll need another loaf of bread. You'd better go, boys.” 
“Mum,” one whines. 
“Come on now.” 
The stairs whimper as you descend, the bannister sticky with old gloss under your hand. Paisley wallpaper and drapes catch your eye as you pass the overflowing shoe rack. There must be more people here than you'd thought. The coat stand is similarly overloaded. 
You can see into the kitchen as soon as you take the last step down. Molly stands wringing a dish cloth between her hands, two teenage boys at the kitchen table. Remus stands near her right with a cup of tea, and when he sees you, he genuinely smiles. 
“Oh, good,” he says, the scar that bisects his lip pulling as he takes a sip of tea. 
The teenagers turn to see you. “Bread, boys! Arthur, you can go with them," Molly says.
Arthur doesn't complain. You falter in the hallway, quiet as the trio of Weasley's leave the kitchen in their slippers to take a quiet exit from the front door. They smile politely as they go, but the boys whisper as the door shuts behind them. You wonder if they have an inkling of who you are, and then you wonder what you might say now they're gone. 
Molly remains, inquisitive to know that you need privacy but also the security of her company. She was always smart like that.
“Come in, then,” Remus says. 
“I–��� You clear your throat. “I'm not sure I should.” 
A startle of silverware against china. 
Remus gives you one of his looks. It has tears threatening to well. Why didn't I fight to see him more? you think. Suddenly years have passed and he's changed, but his reassuring glances remain. It's like he's saying everything is fine, why wouldn't everything be fine? Chin up, dove.
Sirius appears in the doorway. Dark circles beneath grey eyes, his cheeks gaunt with hunger rather than the sleek sharpness he once possessed. He's still pretty, if wounded. It's as though you've found an old photo of him that's been smudged with age. He's stepped out of one of your moulding albums to haunt you. 
“Angel,” he breathes, his hand clasped low on the doorway, “you're here.” 
You look past him to Molly and Remus. There isn't a reality nor dimension where they'd let him stay here if they didn't believe his innocence. Remus explained it all in the letter and still you worried if he might have gotten it wrong, and simply believed what he wanted to believe, but it's not possible. Remus loved James so much, he would've killed Sirius himself if he really thought Sirius was the secret keeper who betrayed them. 
So. It's a relief to be home. 
You stare at him. “You look tired,” you say quietly. 
“I'm fine. I am.” 
He seems alright, considering. You'd even say he was handsome with his hair pushed away from his face, a dark shadow of stubble around his mouth, but he looks exhausted.  
You're expecting him to say what you'd say. How could you ever think I'd do it? 
Sirius was prone to similar bouts of pride, or righteousness, justice, whatever you want to call it, but he doesn't bother with that now. He looks at you as though you're the only person on earth, gaze narrowed but eyes wide, pain between his brows as he asks, “What's wrong?” 
Your hand finches up to your cheek to wipe the sudden tear away. “I thought I'd never see you again.” Your Sirius. 
“Don't be upset,” he pleads. 
“How can I not be? I left you all alone for so long.” 
He laughs roughly. “Sweetheart, what were you supposed to do?” 
“Not just give up.” 
“You thought it was me. That's the only thing you could've done. Either of you,” he says, gesturing backward with his hand. “It was hard… to know who to trust, at the end. It's not your fault.” 
You really were only kids together, not half as in love as James and Lily, but that doesn't mean you weren't mad for each other. He looked after you. You would've had a life, you think. 
“You were just gone,” you say, looking down at the floor between you, eyes tracing lines of wood grain. “Everyone. There was nobody left. And I just let you go.” 
“Do you want to come here?” he asks. You lift your head. His hand is barely in front of him, fingers open, palm up. 
It's like taking a stranger's hand for the first few seconds. You keep them low between you both, unfamiliar to each other. But, you find, as his fingers wrap around yours in that selfish way they used to do, squeezing rather than intertwining to make all of them fit, he remembers you.
You step a little closer, your arm to his chest, and look up at him through your lashes. It would melt him like a candle near a furnace, this look. He'd be smug or seething about something and you'd sidle in to stand between his shoes, unsure of what to say but determined to be there for him. It's the same now.  
“What's wrong?” he asks under his breath. 
“I left you all alone,” you repeat. 
“It wasn't your choice, okay?” He smooths his free hand from your elbow to your upper arm. 
Molly says something to Remus. He chuckles and says something in return. Happier to admit it if it's only for Sirius’ ears, you say, “I'm really sorry, Sirius. I miss you every day.” 
“I miss you too,” he says. 
You push your arms around his waist and hide your face in his chest, feeling for the lines of who he used to be, the dip of his spine in his back or the soft cotton of one of his old t-shirts. You regret hugging him at all, until he puts his arm behind your head, a shaky breath released against your crown. 
I'm scared, he'd said. But I don't want you to be scared, okay? Barely twenty, he smelled of the sticky red powder on the end of matches after a night doing things he couldn't tell you about. You could tell him you loved him, and he you, but you weren't to discuss Order business. We'll be okay. 
But Lily–
Everyone's going to be fine. I promise. 
“You promised,” you say to yourself. Too quiet for him to hear, but he does. 
“I promised you so many things I'm not sure what one you mean,” he says with a disappointed laugh. 
You pull away, taking his face into two hands. “How do you feel?” you ask, ignoring the tremble working up from your wrists. 
“What?” His eyes are dark. 
“How are you? Did they– I mean, are you okay? Are you sick?” 
“Remus has patched me up. And Cordelia, the medwitch, you know her?” 
“I don't know anyone. I've been away.” 
He nods sadly. “Yeah. Well, you look the same.” 
“I don't.” 
“You do! You look the same,” —he almost sounds happy, his lips curling into a smile— “sweetheart. Sweetheart–” He closes his eyes. 
You push his hair behind his ears. “You don't look the same,” you confess, “you have wrinkles, right… here.” You touch the corners of his eyes. 
“You're still beautiful.” 
“Mm. You can't even see me.” 
“I don't need to see you. I knew you would be.” 
You rise up to kiss his cheek gently. “It's like you're back, like– like, I always felt like you were gone. And now you're home again. You are home, aren't you?” 
He covers your hand with one of his. “You're here, so–” 
You laugh together nervously. “Yeah, I'm here.” 
“I have stuff to do to make it right.” 
“Then we'll do it.” 
“Okay,” he says. He swallows a breath, and wraps you in a surprisingly tight hug. “Did you read my letters?” 
I don't want anything from you. Just to see you're okay. 
“I read them. I'm okay. Don't I look okay?” 
“You look perfect. Just like the last time I saw you,” he says. It startles you how suddenly he sounds like he did when you were young, his flirting drawl, voice velveteen. 
“Not like that,” you laugh. 
He pulls you as close as you can be, rough now, his arms solid around you. “I missed that,” he says, rubbing your back. “I forgot how you sound when you laugh.” 
You've led very different lives. “I didn't forget yours.” 
“You wouldn't. You love having things to hold against me.” 
You stroke his hair. “Maybe a little.” 
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kelthebarb · 2 years ago
Text
the dark
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pairings - carl grimes x fem!reader
genre - fluffy smut, slight angst in the beginning
warnings - p in v penetration, use of pet names ??(baby, mama, love, pretty girl), dirty talk, praise, carl’s a bit ooc, kissing, cussing, CARL & READER ARE 19!! (during the 6 year timeskip, if carl was still alive)
request: anon - ik you haven’t done any fanfics but can you do a carl grimes x reader? smutty ofc 😏😏 but the reader is laying in bed in the dark and carl comes through the window and then they fuck cus yk straight to the point 🤭. but he calls her “mama” bc ahhhh carl saying mama is my new hyperfixation 😁 anyways-
a/n: OOOH LORD, stop it y’all makin me act uppp 😭😭 anyway absolutely, carl calling you mama? BRO.
-
y/n laid on her bed, only half asleep. she hadn’t been able to completely shut her eyes since the bridge blew up with rick on it. she had stood there, right in front of carl to stop him from running towards it. she felt terrible, she herself was crying. watching carl break down and almost beg her to let him help his dad, to go save him from the flaming pit of walkers. even if it had been a few months, and carl had seemed to get a little better, she still lied awake at night, his face and the way he clung on to her while crying later that evening haunting her.
a few taps on her window were enough to startle her out of her train of thought. she jumped up and turned her head. somewhat hiding in the bushes, she recognized the silhouette of a sheriff’s hat and long hair that fell to the man’s shoulders. she scoffed and walked over to the window, opening it and taking the hat off his head.
“carl, what’re you doing? it’s late as hell,” she asked, crouching to meet his eye.
“couldn’t sleep. can i come in? i don’t wanna look like a creep, staring at a girl through her bedroom window,” carl said.
“isn’t that what you were just doing?”
“not necessarily.”
y/n chuckled and opened her window up as far as it would go, making there enough room for carl to slip through.
“quiet! i live with people! you’re gonna wake them up, dingus!” y/n whisper-shouted at the boy, who had just almost fallen straight to the floor.
“sorry,” carl grimaced. once he was through the window, he took his hat off of y/n’s head and kissed her lips.
“you sure you couldn’t sleep? or did you just wanna see me?” she asked, resting her hands on his midsection.
he pretended to think for a second, “both.”
he leaned down a bit too kiss her again, one hand on her hip and the other cupping her jaw. the kiss became heated, y/n standing on her toes to get closer to carl. the two started stumbling to her bed, almost tripping over themselves as carl laid her down on her back. he continued to kiss her lips, then moving down her jaw to her neck. he littered it with little purple marks - they’d definitely be noticeable in the morning.
she quietly hummed at his actions, entangling her hands in his hair. carl stopped for a second, lifting his head to admire his work. he chuckled, going back up and kissing y/n’s forehead.
“i love you,” he said, resting his head on hers.
“i love you, you little tease,” y/n giggled, smacking his arm playfully.
“is that so?”
“mm-hm,” y/n hummed with a smile on her face.
“well,” carl got close to her ear, “say the word and i’ll stop teasing.”
y/n’s breath hitched. she clenched her thighs together, trying to get any kind of friction. she looked up at carl with big eyes and whispered, “please.”
carl smiled, dipping his head to kiss her again. he undid the buttons on his flannel, tossing it to the floor next to the bed. y/n slipped off her shirt as quickly as she could. carl tugged at the waistband of her sweatpants, sliding them down her legs. he leaned up over her, unbuttoning his pants with his right hand and his left on the pillow right above y/n’s head for support.
his jeans were soon on the floor along with the rest of their clothes. carl could tell that y/n was getting impatient; she was rubbing her thighs together desperately.
“hey, baby, only a little longer,” he said, spreading her legs apart. “just take off your bra for me, yeah?”
y/n nodded, lifting her back a bit to unclasp it. she threw it to an unknown spot, not even caring where it went.
carl chuckled, “eager, aren’t you, mama? you want me inside you? want me to fuck you dumb?”
y/n whined in response, becoming a bit annoyed at carl’s lack of initiative at the moment. carl smirked and tilted his head to press more kisses to her neck. she moaned softly, practically begging him to stop it and just fuck her.
“didn’t you say no more teasing?” y/n asked, pouting. he kissed her lips, biting them a little so she opened her mouth with a gasp. he shoved his tongue over hers, lapping at it with desperation.
he pulled away, breathing heavily. “sorry baby, you just look so cute when you’re needy.”
he pulled down his boxers, letting his cock spring out. y/n had seen it a few times before, but it never failed to surprise her.
“lift your hips for me, love?” carl asked, tapping the side of her hips as she elevated them. “there we go, that’s my girl.”
carl slid himself in, her slick making it easy to do so. he groaned loudly as she clenched around him, hiding his face in the crook of her neck to shut himself up. he panted loudly in her ear, kissing her cheek while waiting for her to adjust.
“you okay, mama? can i move now?” he asked.
“yeah, please,” she breathed. carl started off slow, going deep and drawing long moans from y/n.
“you gotta be quiet baby, we don’t wanna get caught,” carl whispered. he went a little faster, making y/n dig her nails into his back. carl lifted his head to look at her, enjoying the way her face scrunched up with each thrust.
she noticed him looking and immediately turned red, she lifted her hand to cover her face, but carl moved it.
“nuh uh pretty girl, i wanna see you,” he said, connecting his lips with hers again. he shoved his tongue back into her mouth, swallowing her noises. his cock twitched when her hands went up his back to tug on his hair. he reached his hand down and started rubbing her clit.
y/n was close, she could feel it, but carl’s mouth felt too good on hers that she couldn’t form a coherent sentence. she came without warning, surprising carl entirely.
“yeah? only made you cum once and you’re already fucked out, baby,” he said, thrusting harder. he got louder as his climax neared.
“i’m- fuck, i’m gonna cum,” he whimpered with his forehead against hers.
“inside! d-do it inside, please,” y/n gasped as he hit her sweet spot over again. she felt him spill his cum inside of her, groaning as he pulled out.
“c’mon love, let’s go shower.”
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