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riboism · 5 days ago

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she's my collar

》 pairing: assistant! k.ys x CEO! fem reader

》 wc: 5.3k

》 plot: For three years, Kang Yeosang was the quiet, obedient assistant to one of the most powerful women in tech—until she fired him with a cold, impersonal email. Drunk and furious, he confronts her at a bar, expecting to see the same ruthless CEO he once feared. Instead, he finds a woman exhausted by control, desperate to let someone else take over. Now, she’s offering him that power. Yeosang has spent years following orders—but can he step up and be the one giving them? And what happens when surrendering control turns into something neither of them can resist?

》 content: babygirl (2024) inspired, office sex, power dynamics, pet names (puppy), humiliation kink, submissive reader, face-fucking, shoe-grinding, cumplay, smut, comedy, this was written around Christmas time so it’s set around that time as well, also set in NYC

》 playlist: she's my collar- gorrilaz and kali uchis, leash- sky ferreira, crack baby- mitski, the perfect girl- mareux, closer- nine inch nails

Yeosang stared at his laptop screen, the faint glow of the monitor illuminating his face while all the color drained from it. His hands trembled slightly on the keyboard, his breathing growing shallow and uneven. Each word on the screen struck him like a dagger. He reread the message as if repetition might change its meaning.

Subject: Employment Termination

Dear Mr. Kang,

We regret to inform you that, due to recent budget cuts and ongoing concerns about your performance, we have made the difficult decision to terminate your employment with ChromaTech.

Please arrange to return all company property, including devices and ID badges, to our office as soon as possible. Alternatively, we can schedule a FedEx pickup from your home.

Your final paycheck will be processed and deposited later this week.

We appreciate your contributions to ChromaTech and wish you the best in your future endeavors.

Regards, HR

The words blurred together as Yeosang's vision clouded, his mind racing to make sense of it all. Performance concerns? He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the surge of humiliation and anger that coursed through him.

This wasn’t just a job to him—it was stability, routine, a cornerstone of the life he’d painstakingly built through hard work and commitment. Now it was gone, reduced to a cold, impersonal email that left no room for explanation, no chance to plead his case.

Yeosang let his head fall into his hands, the faint whir of the laptop's fan echoing in the room. It all felt surreal to him like he woke up to find the ground had shifted beneath his feet, leaving him dangling over a dark abyss.

He looked over at his digital calendar, every hour clogged up with reminders, appointments, and deadlines for the next month and a half, all completely useless now. For the first time in years, he had no idea what he was supposed to do next.

The rest of the day passed in a hazy blur. Yeosang drifted from room to room in his cramped East Village apartment, his gaze occasionally landing on the precarious stacks of Amazon boxes littering the floor. A pang of regret twisted in his chest. He’d splurged on gifts for his friends, family, and—most indulgently—himself during the holidays, telling himself it was fine to celebrate, that he deserved all the latest new tech and shiny sneakers. Now, staring at his dwindling savings, the extravagance felt like a slap in the face. Great timing.

After scheduling the FedEx pickup and stuffing his work belongings into a battered cardboard box, he tossed it into the corner, out of sight but never out of mind. Every motion felt mechanical, his thoughts distant and dulled. He couldn’t sit in this suffocating silence anymore, couldn’t let the reality of his situation consume him.

Tomorrow was Thursday. No work, no obligations. Now he had all the time in the world and no idea what to do with it.

Fuck it, he thought. If life wanted to kick him while he was down, then he’d kick back, even if it meant getting obliterated in the process. Grabbing his coat, he made a decision. Tonight, he wasn’t going to sit in his misery. He was going to hit the fanciest bar he could find and drink himself into oblivion, maybe even pick up a cute girl to take home. Consequences could wait until tomorrow.

⸻

Yeosang slouched over the bar counter, his cheek nearly pressed against the cool wood, looking more like he was napping than nursing a drink. The Manhattan in his hand felt cold, its amber glow reflecting faintly in his tired eyes. He swirled the liquid absently, his thoughts as muddled as the cocktail before him.

He regretted coming here. Liquor wasn’t his thing—he’d always avoided it, telling himself he needed to stay sharp for work. But the truth was simpler: alcohol made him sleepy. One drink, and he’d be nodding off like some human embodiment of the Sleepytime Bear. There’s no way any girl would want to go home with him like this.

And yet, here he was, sipping on a cocktail he’d never had before tonight, all in the name of free will. He’d picked it for no other reason than its price tag—it was one of the most expensive options on the menu. If he was going to spiral, why not spiral in style? The bitterness of the drink soured his tongue, but he kept sipping, his mind already drifting into that hazy, detached state where everything felt just a little less sharp, a little more bearable. It wasn’t the escape he thought it would be, but for now, it was enough.

Yeosang had served you diligently for almost three years, though to him, it felt more like a decade. When he first got the position as Executive Assistant, he’d been thrilled—not for the prestige or the title, but for the hefty paycheck that came with it. A corporate job was soul-crushing, sure, but at least it paid handsomely for the privilege of grinding you into dust.

For three years, he’d been your shadow. He made your coffee just the way you liked it, meticulously scheduled and rescheduled your endless meetings, and trailed after you as you tore through Midtown in your impossibly dainty heels. Somehow, your So Kate pumps made you walk faster than him, even in his worn-out tennis shoes.

He picked up your dry cleaning, planned your trips down to the minute, and waited bleary-eyed at baggage claim after grueling international flights to haul your overweight suitcases to your hotel room. He booked your dinner reservations at trendy restaurants, juggling waitlists and cancellations like a magician. He prepared your reports and presentation notes, answered your emails, your calls, your texts—every last trivial thing—so the only task left for you was to look polished in your Banana Republic pencil skirt and flash a pretty smile at investors.

To everyone else, you were the epitome of success—the poster child for Women in Tech. An Ivy League graduate at the helm of one of the country’s biggest tech companies, you embodied the impossible standard, all while maintaining a buzzing social life, and an aura of poise that never cracked, no matter how demanding the circumstances. While others juggled, you danced, balancing it all with a grace that seemed almost superhuman. To the outside world, you weren’t just successful—you were aspirational, the kind of woman others admired, envied, and tried to emulate. But to Yeosang, you were a full-time job, a 24/7 whirlwind that consumed everything in its path, leaving him wiped out and drained.

Performance concerns. He knew exactly what that meant.

It had been a few weeks ago, late at night. You were stressed, working overtime in your office, which, of course, meant he had to stay late too. The request wasn’t anything unusual—just your evening coffee: Colombian roast, vanilla creamer, a delicate dusting of cinnamon powder on top. Simple enough.

He’d handed the mug to you with both hands, careful not to spill a drop. Then he lingered, waiting for you to assign something else. But you barely looked up, waving him off with a flick of your fingers. As he turned to leave, his eyes caught your reflection in the glass doors.

That’s when he saw it.

A look of disgust twisted your features as you took a sip, your lips curling ever so slightly in disapproval.

The memory of it hit him like a slap. At first, he hadn’t understood. But back at his desk, it came rushing back, sharp as a pin in his chest. Peppermint mocha.

He’d grabbed the festive creamer that someone had left on the kitchen counter instead of the usual vanilla you liked. It wasn’t intentional—just an absent-minded mistake made after hours of exhaustion. But in your world, there were no small mistakes.

And now, sitting alone at the bar with his life upended, that one moment felt emblematic of everything.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t just the peppermint mocha creamer.

His nerves had always been his downfall, often betraying him in the form of small but noticeable mistakes. A double-booked meeting here, a forgotten reservation there—usually because he was too busy helping you pick out a new pair of Christian Louboutins for your Paris trip, or researching market pricing for an upcoming presentation. There was also that time he missed a few typos in a report you handed to the company heads, which earned him a withering glare in front of the whole boardroom.

But could you really blame him? You treated him like he had six arms, and the ability to teleport with the speed of light when in reality, he was just one man. No matter how hard he worked, it was never enough. If he meticulously completed every task you gave him, you’d point out the smallest flaw. If he preempted your needs, you’d call him presumptuous. Every win felt hollow because you’d always point out what could have been done better. Pleasing you was like chasing a mirage—no matter how close he got, the finish line kept moving farther away.

Still, one thing was certain: the peppermint mocha creamer had been the final straw. A small, almost insignificant mistake in the grand scheme of things, but for you, it had been enough to seal his fate.

Yeosang's ears perked up, his sluggish thoughts snapping into focus at the sound of a familiar voice. He froze, the glass of Manhattan halfway to his lips, as he scanned the dimly lit bar. And then he saw you.

You were tucked into the corner booth, surrounded by a few friends, with a pink cocktail in your hand. The faint hum of laughter carried over the low jazz music, and you looked so relaxed, so carefree. It was as if nothing had happened—as if his world hadn’t just imploded because of you.

A spark of anger flared in his chest, simmering, then growing hotter with each passing second. How could you? How could you throw him away so carelessly and then go out for drinks, laughing and clinking glasses like it was any other night?

The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. He’d done everything for you. Everything. He’d missed his niece’s first recital because you needed him to oversee a last-minute report. He’d skipped Thanksgiving with his family because you insisted on an "urgent" trip to Japan that turned out to be nothing more than a glorified shopping spree. His love life? Nonexistent. How could he have one when you were the only woman in his life, demanding every ounce of his time, energy, and attention?

And now, here you were, sipping cocktails without a care in the world. You didn’t even have the decency to tell him to his face why you let him go. The least you could’ve done was look him in the eye and explain yourself, to acknowledge the years he gave you, the sacrifices he made.

Yeosang clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the glass in his hand. He felt the weight of all those buried resentments rising to the surface, demanding release. For the first time in three years, he wasn’t going to stay silent.

Yeosang drained the last of his Manhattan, the liquid fire burning its way down his throat as if fueling his decision. The warmth spread through his chest, blurring the sharp edges of his hesitation. When he saw your friends stand to leave, laughing as they hugged you goodbye, he seized the moment. The alcohol coursing through his veins muffled his nerves, and the simmering anger propelled him off the barstool.

He approached you with purpose, his heart pounding harder with each step. He’d imagined this confrontation in his head for hours, maybe even years. But when you looked up, your eyes narrowing in confusion, it all dissolved.

“Yeosang?” you said, your tone laced with surprise as you squinted at him. “What are you doing here?”

For a moment, he froze, caught in the trap of your gaze. Then, the words tumbled out before he could stop them, anger surging past his control.

“An email? Really?” Yeosang spat, his voice cutting through the low hum of the bar. His eyes were dark with anger, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap. “You couldn’t even— didn’t even have the decency to say it to my face? Are you that much of a coward?”

You stiffened, the weight of the bar patrons’ stares pressing down on you. You reached out toward him, your voice was soft but firm. “Hey, let’s calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!“ he roared, his words slurring slightly, his stance wobbly from the alcohol. “Three years! I gave you three years of nonstop devotion, and I don’t even get a proper goodbye? No thank you, no explanation? Do you know how much shit I had to sacrifice for you?”

His voice cracked, his frustration spilling out with every word. “You love parading around with this ‘girlboss,’ fearless woman-in-tech image, but you’re just a scared little girl. Too scared to even look me in the eye and tell me what I did so wrong that you had to hide behind HR to fire me!”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you caught the awkward glances of nearby patrons, their murmured conversations stopping as they pretended not to eavesdrop. You pursed your lips, your patience snapping like a brittle thread. Grabbing his arm roughly, you dragged him out of the bar, ignoring his protests as the cold, snowy air hit both of you like a slap.

“You really wanna do this here?” you hissed, your voice low but sharp, cutting through the quiet of the empty street. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

Yeosang blinked at you, his anger simmering as he swayed on unsteady legs.

“You want to know why you were fired?” You stepped closer, staring him dead in the eye. “You’re a terrible listener. You fuck up my coffee order. You double-book meetings, forgot to confirm reservations, and just last month, you botched the presentation I needed for the board by misspelling half the client names. Do you know how humiliating that was for me?”

Your words hit him like gunshots, but you didn’t stop. “You don’t listen, Yeosang. You never pay attention to detail. I needed someone I could count on, someone who could make my life easier. I’m not asking for much. Instead, I got someone who left me to fix their mistakes half the time!”

Yeosang flinched at your words. But even as they sunk in, indignation burned in his chest. He didn’t believe he deserved this—not for the mistakes you listed, not for everything he had done for you.

He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of defiance and pain. The cold outside nipped at your skin, but the heat of his breath against your face made you hyperaware of the tension between you.

“I listen,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You’re just impossible to please.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he didn’t let you.

“I double-booked your meeting one time because you refused to confirm your schedule with the finance group until the last minute. I misspelled the names on that report because the stupid intern—your intern—gave me an Excel sheet with half the names wrong. And reservations? You spring that shit on me while I’m busy walking your dog or picking up your overpriced $20 salad. And the coffee? The fucking coffee? Give me a break!”

His voice cracked with frustration, his breath coming faster now. “You act like I’m some incompetent idiot when all I ever did was clean up after your chaos. Do you know what it’s like working for someone who changes their mind every ten minutes, who expects you to read their mind and be three steps ahead all the time? No matter how much I did, no matter how fast or how perfectly, it was never enough for you! You are a soulless, narcissistic, she-devil, and you love making everyone around you miserable because nothing makes you happy!”

You were nose to nose with him now, the closeness electric and unnerving. Yeosang didn’t realize how close he had gotten until he could see every delicate detail of your face. But he didn’t back away. He didn’t want to.

For the first time, he felt taller, stronger, more in control. He wasn’t just the assistant trailing behind you, fetching your coffee and carrying your bags. Right now, you were the one looking up at him, your confidence faltering under the weight of his hard gaze.

Then, something shifted. His anger, which had been a roaring fire just moments ago, flickered and dimmed. His eyes dropped to your lips, noticing how you worried them slightly between your teeth. The cold had turned them soft, flushed red, quivering as though they couldn’t decide what to say next. He felt the heat in his chest start to dissipate.

“All I ever wanted was to please you, but you never gave me a chance” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost soft. His words hung between you like a fragile thread, and he didn’t know whether to pull it tighter or let it snap.

His gaze met yours again, and for a brief moment, the tension shifted into something vulnerable. He remained where he stood, towering over you, suddenly feeling exposed, but the weight of his words lingered, heavy and unanswerable in the snowy silence.

You couldn’t explain it, but you liked this side of him. It was the first time you’d seen raw emotion in his face—anger, frustration, passion—it was fascinating. For as long as you’d known Yeosang, he had been quiet as a mouse, his replies clipped and deferential: Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am. Always composed, always distant, like a shadow that existed only to serve.

But now? Now he looked alive. His dark eyes burned with intensity, his lips still slightly parted from his impassioned outburst. You hated to admit it, but he looked almost…sexy? The sharp line of his jaw, the way his breath puffed in short bursts against the cold, the heat radiating off him even in the freezing air. And his voice—you liked how deep it gets when he’s mad. You liked it enough to disregard the she-devil comment. It almost delighted you. You liked being talked down to. Not enough people had the balls to do so.

“I can give you another chance…” The words slipped from your lips before you even realized you were speaking. Your tone was quieter, almost sultry, betraying the tug of something entirely outside good judgment. You had nothing but the liquor to blame. You tilted your head slightly, holding his gaze, the weight of your offer hanging heavy in the cold air.

“To please me, that is.”

His breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly before narrowing in confusion. The air between you crackled with tension, unspoken implications simmering beneath the surface. For a moment, you both just stood there, the snow falling softly around you, caught in an electric silence neither of you knew how to break.

After a moment of hesitation, Yeosang broke the silence. “Okay.”

⸻

"I'm not sure if I understand," Yeosang said slowly, blinking up at you. "Ma’am." The word left his lips instinctively, like muscle memory, but his voice was hesitant.

You sighed, shifting your weight against the desk, arms crossed. The two of you were alone in your office, the usual hum of the busy workday long gone. The only sound was the soft ticking of the wall clock and the faint buzz of the city outside.

He sat stiffly in your chair, the black leather cool against his back, making him even more uncomfortable. He didn't belong there—you both knew it. But this was an experiment, after all.

You tilted your head, your patience wearing thin. "It’s simple. I’m letting you be the boss today. You just have to tell me what to do, and I’ll do it." Your lips curled slightly. "And don’t call me Ma’am."

Yeosang swallowed, his getting throat dry. Power had never been something he craved. He had spent his life taking orders, following directions, and anticipating needs before they were spoken. Most people in tech burned out quickly, leaving to chase the dream of being in control, of being the one to give orders. That drive had never come to him. It wasn’t in his nature.

And yet, here you were, handing it to him.

His fingers curled against the leather armrests as he searched for something—anything—to say, his mind wading through unfamiliar territory.

"Then what do I call you?" he asked finally, his voice quieter now.

You held his gaze, a small smirk playing at the corner of your lips.

"Anything you want."

Yeosang mulled over your words, his mind scrambling to process what was happening. Call you anything he wanted? Tell you to do whatever he wanted? It was the kind of fantasy teenage boys dreamed about, yet his mind was a complete blank.

You sighed, exasperated by his hesitation. "Can I give you a suggestion?" You asked, stepping closer.

He nodded, swallowing hard, the words still stuck in his throat.

You leaned in slightly, your voice dipping just enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand. "Ask me to get on my knees."

Yeosang's breath hitched. His mind latched onto the words, turning them over, considering. Then, slowly, he nodded in agreement.

You chuckled. "You have to say the words, Mr. Kang."

His ears burned. "Oh, right," he said quickly, his voice a little too high, a little too quick. He cleared his throat. "Get on your knees."

The words felt foreign and awkward, but the way you looked at him made something tighten in his chest.

Mr. Kang.

No one had ever called him that before. It was always Yeo, Yeosang, or, on occasion, the intern—his young face fooling half the office into thinking he was some college kid on summer break. But Mr. Kang…He liked the way it sounded coming from your lips.

He sat frozen, watching as you slowly sank to your knees in front of him, settling neatly between his legs. His breath hitched, his pulse hammering against his skin.

You looked up at him, eyes glinting with something—Desire? Amusement? He couldn’t tell, but whatever it was, it left him breathless.

You waited, patiently, expectantly, your lips slightly parted as if anticipating his next command. You almost looked like an obedient little puppy, so much so that he almost called you pup.

Yeosang exhaled sharply, gripping the leather armrests as his mind raced. He was supposed to be in control. Supposed to be giving the orders. But right now, sitting in your chair, watching you kneel before him, it felt like he was the one unraveling.

“Take off your shirt.”

He was getting comfortable now. He watched as you unbuttoned your top and discarded it to the side, leaving you only in your lacy black push-up bra. You placed your hands neatly over your lap, patiently awaiting his next request. Yeosang was stunned at how easily and effortlessly you followed his instruction, not showing a single sign of shame as you undressed in front of your junior. He wondered how far he could take it.

“Take that off too.”

You unhooked the back part of your bra and tossed it to the side with your blouse, your hands returning to your lap.

Yeosang let himself relax into your chair, eyes fixed over your soft and bare skin. He bit the skin around his thumb, drinking in your physique. He wanted to touch them, knead them, feel their weight in his hands, but he kept himself restrained. He was growing to like this game and wanted to see what else he could make you do.

He licked his lips, finally settling on his next request. “Come here.”

You scooted closer to him, your eyes now level with his clothed cock.

“Kiss it.”

Without hesitation, you leaned forward, letting your lips trail slow, deliberate kisses along the outline of his growing bulge. You could feel the firmness of his balls from beneath the thick fabric, the desire to see them making your core ache with need. Glancing up through your lashes, you took in the sight of Yeosang already succumbing to the pleasure, his body relaxing into the chair, eyes dark with lust. He was undeniably beautiful, every feature accentuated by the flush of arousal, and the thought of pushing him to the edge, of watching him cum, was a temptation you could hardly resist.

You began palming his cock, feeling it stiffen just under your touch. “Can I please take it out, Mr. Kang?” You asked in an airless and sultry voice which no doubt made Yeosang feel weak.

Yeosang gripped the leather armrests and nodded. “Go on.”

With glee, you unbuttoned his pants and fished out his throbbing cock, his skin feeling warm and tender as you gave it a few lazy strokes. You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his blushing tip, the sudden touch making him hiss from his seat.

You giggled softly at his reaction, continuing to leave a trail of kisses on the sides of his cock, your hand gripping at the base. He felt so hot and heavy in your hand, and you were growing impatient for a taste.

“Put it in your mouth.”

You eagerly fed him into your mouth, the weight on your tongue already making you dizzy. You salivated around his length, a few dribbles of drool rolling down his shaft. Yeosang could feel himself twitching inside you. The sight of his uptight boss with her mouth so full of his cock made his head spin, all the hesitations and apprehensions he had in the beginning now dissipating while a hunger took over him.

“Now suck it.”

You began sucking at his head, the thickness of his hard cock proving to be a challenge, so much so that you could only really take the tip in your mouth. You grabbed onto the base with both hands, bobbing and slurping him as his breathing grew more unsteady. When you looked back up at him with your big, puppy-dog eyes, you were delighted to see that same Yeosang from earlier—the one with fire in his eyes, with furrowed brows and a sharp tongue, throwing demands and names at you without hesitation. Gone was the quiet, obedient assistant who trailed behind you like a shadow. In his place sat a man who, for the first time, wasn’t afraid to take up space. And you liked it.

“Fuck,” He moaned, “That’s it, that’s a good puppy…take all of me in that dumb little mouth, yeah, just like that.”

You loved hearing him coach you, loved when he called you a dumb little puppy. You could feel your wetness leaking through your stockings, a need aching so strongly between your legs that you had no choice but to grind yourself over Yeosang’s new shoes, your slick wet juices glistening over the rubber soles.

Yeosang was so far gone now, his only purpose left being to chase his high. His hands gripped your strands tightly to hold you in place. Before you knew it, he was thrusting himself into you, his whole length pushing down into your throat with no warning. He set a brutal pace, fucking your mouth with no mercy, reveling in your wet gagging sounds as he makes use of your throat.

“Fuck, I love fucking this little mouth,” He panted, “Good little slut, gonna take my cum? Gonna swallow all my cum down your little throat, huh?”

Tears streamed down your face as he ruthlessly plowed into your mouth. Despite his roughness, your body trembled with need, your hips continuing to grind against his shoes, desperate for release. Your muffled moans vibrate around his shaft, spurring Yeosang on as he chases his pleasure.

Yeosang gripped your hair tightly, thrusting and plunging his hard cock deeper into your eager mouth. For years, he dealt with your nonstop nagging and bitching, and he had to admit it was nice to finally get you to shut up, with a mouth full of his cock no less. “This is what you like, huh? You like being put in your place? Like being a little fuck doll for me?”

He punctuated his words with harsh snaps of his hips. The term fuck doll was enough to send you over the edge. Your hips stilled, your core tightening as you came, your moans muffled by his hard cock. A devilish grin spread across his face as he playfully tapped the tip of his shoe against your swollen clit, the jolt of overstimulation sending shivers cascading through you. He relished in the sight of you laid bare in vulnerability, a stark contrast to the composed persona you typically wore. “Such a mess for me” He sighed, satisfied with your mascara-stained cheeks and reddened, slobbery lips. “So, so pretty…”

You grunted with each thrust, the tight clutch of your throat milking his cock deliciously. You looked up at him with pleading eyes, silently begging for his cum as you took everything he gave you. Your tongue danced along his shaft, massaging the sensitive underside as he fucked your face with wild abandon. You swallowed around him greedily, your throat convulsing along his length as you strived to please him.

With a final hard thrust, Yeosang buried himself deep into your warm mouth and let go, flooding your throat with ropes of his hot cum. His breath hitched, a deep, guttural sound of pleasure escaping him as his seed spilled and trickled from the corners of your lips. With firm hands, he held your head snugly against him, grinding against your face as he emptied himself, savoring the sight of you taking every fervent drop.

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you took him deeper, the bittersweet taste of his seed offering a strange satisfaction on your tongue. As you pulled away with a soft pop, Yeosang gently traced your lips with the tip of his cock, leaving a glistening trail of his pearly essence. You couldn't help but lick your lips in delight, a soft moan escaping you as you savored his flavor.

Yeosang felt like he could cum again from watching you grind your cum-drenched face on his cock. You were so desperate, so depraved, he almost couldn’t believe this was you. The same career-driven CEO he had dutifully served, the woman who made decisions with razor-sharp precision, who commanded everyone’s attention with a snap of her fingers—this was what you secretly craved? To be stripped of control? To be the one taking orders instead of giving them? Who knew that the woman he had once feared, the one who dictated his every move, secretly longed to be a mindless servant, void of responsibility, bound by nothing but the will of someone else?

You gazed up at him adoringly, drinking at the sight of his ruffled hair, his heaving chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. The rawness of him, unfiltered and unrestrained, filled you with a thrill you hadn’t felt in so long.

To serve someone else for once.

To be the one waiting, watching, hoping for approval.

To do so well for someone that it left them utterly speechless.

It was nearly midnight now, and you had a meeting at 7 AM. You should have stopped, should have called it a night, and sent him home. But how could you now? Not when your body was buzzing with anticipation, not when you craved more—more of his voice, more of his praise, more of him.

You wanted to keep going. To do more for him. To hear him call you his good little puppy again.

Slowly, you pushed back onto your heels, your wide, eager eyes locking with his.

“What would you like me to do now, Mr. Kang?”

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save-mohamed-family · 7 months ago

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Please,

help me restore hope to my children's lives. I beg every father, every mother, every brother and sister, and everyone who has children in this world.

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maiamore · 21 days ago

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STAR-STRUCK

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 5k

Summary: You’re a fresh-faced production assistant for known action star Joel Miller. He’s not quite what you expected–but neither are you.

Tags: actor!joel x production assist reader, action film set, no use of y/n, rough/dom Joel, use of the word ‘kid’, mirror sex, rough sex, unprotected pinv, mentions of injuries & violence, Joel does his own stunts, public sex, bdj (big-dicked-Joel), Joel is not nice in this fic, more untagged read at your own discretion A/N: oof this a long one. also! i swear i've seen something similar relating to the mandalorian reference. if anyone knows the fic, pleaaaase let me know

READER’S TATT/PIERCINGS-SPO

This wasn’t what you’d imagined your life to look like.

For the majority of your adult life, you’d clung to a glittering, idealistic vision of your future. You’d blame it on those countless movie marathons with your dad–the late nights, the worn-out couch and the satisfying click of the DVD player setting the stage for your ambitions. You’d dreamed of being a part of the magic. The glitz, the glamour, the art of it all.

Directors like Ridley Scott, Martin Scorsese, John McTiernan captured your adolescent heart, fanning the flames of your Hollywood dreams.

You knew coming into this that it was going to be far from easy. God knows you’d paid your dues living in NYC after having moved from your small town–sharing a tiny shoebox of an apartment with three others, taking multiple part-time gigs, hustling to finally land a Production Assistant (PA) role.

And now here you were. Accommodations comped, flown to Atlanta for the shoot of some action movie you weren’t even allowed to know the title of thanks to the NDA you’d signed.

It was suspenseful, sure, but not in the sexy, thrilling way you’d imagined. More like in the “what fresh hell did I sign up for” sort of way.

“So you’ll be handling scheduling, coordinating, and helping the stylists. And making sure his overall well-being is met.”

You shuffled behind Jonah, the PA you were supposedly replacing. It was nearly overwhelming. Already built streets, custom housings, all wrapped up in a larger than life sound stage. Everyone was in their own world, working on their own tasks.

Normal people might have felt small and unseen. But you? You were still star-struck. You could be a part of something so much bigger than you, and that thought excited you.

“7am every morning. You’ll need to be on standby to help Joel with everything he needs. So here’s the schedule.”

More papers were being shoved to you, your arms slowly vanishing beneath an ever-growing stack. You scanned it, eyes twitching in dread.

Every fifteen damned minutes had its own designation. Was this a movie or a military operation?

“Right! Got that. So…who exactly am I…” You squint at the bolded text on freshly printed paper, still warm to touch. “Wiping sweat at 16:45…for?”

Jonah halts mid-strut, turning back to you like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “What…do you mean? You don’t know who you’re working for?”

“I do.” You shoot back defensively. “Well–okay. No. Not really. I was given an NDA, so I’m–”

“It was a yes or no question, hun.”

Suddenly, you were grateful to J-hole leaving. Not so much of replacing his long ass list of endless tasks, though.

He stops before the stylist’s station, gesturing to a cluttered board, displaying headshots and costume references for your apparent “boss.” As you step closer, your breath catches in your throat.

No way. No fucking way.

“Joel fucking Miller?”

Your fingers, almost acting on their own, plucked one of the profile shots from the board. Joel’s broad frame was practically sculpted. His Special Forces uniform taut over his muscles, probably for the character he was playing. Another close-up featured his face smudged with faux grime and fake injuries, his expression hardened and grim.

And then…there were the less clothed test shots. Your gaze betrayed you, dipping to the dark trail of neatly trimmed curls disappearing beneath his belt.

Your head snapped up so fast it was a miracle you didn’t pull a muscle, as though the sheer force of willpower could exorcise the horny demon possessing you.

Jonah grins at your obvious surprise. Sighing dreamily at the profile shots of him, side views and costume shots.“Yep. Now. It isn’t going to be a problem with you now is it? We had to fire the old girl cuz’ she attempted to–nevermind. Don’t wanna get into that. It was a whole debacle. You can look it up in the files under the Miller versus Nancy lawsuit.”

You glanced at Jonah, confusion knitting your brow before returning the photo to the desk. Honestly? You probably wouldn’t have blamed this Nancy. Joel had been the blueprint for your sexual awakening.

As fucked as it was. Considering he was closer in age to your dad than your own.

Watching him star in films by the greats back in high school had left you fantasizing, his smoldering intensity seared into your brain. God. You were going to need the entire night to mentally prepare for this.

“You tellin’ that story again?” The voice behind you sent a shiver up your spine–it was the kind of voice that wrapped around you like a thick yarned blanket on a cold night. And the kind of voice you fantasized about when you were grinding against your pillow.

You froze, every damned nerve on high alert. Turning slowly.

Joel Miller stands there. Resurrected from the photos itself.

He was dressed like he’d just walked off a lazy Sunday pickup game. Grey athletic shorts that hung low on his hips, revealing sturdy, hairy legs that somehow made him seem even more rugged. A black t-shirt clung to his frame, dampened at the collar with sweat. Navy cap sitting snug on his head.

You couldn’t stop yourself from shamelessly dragging your eyes from the damp curls peeking out at the nape of his neck to his thighs.

He scratches his stubbled jaw, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on you. They paused, and you realized–a little too late–that he’d caught you gawking.

Joel nudges his head towards you. “This her?”

Jonah nods, handing Joel a call sheet. “All new and sparkly.”

He looks you over–not in a predatory way, but like he was cataloging every detail. Dark and steady. And it lands on your shirt. For a split second his brows lifted, just barely.

“You watch that one?”

Your brain stutters and you look down, realizing you’d stupidly worn your Mandalorian graphic tee. His face–or well, Din Djarin's helmeted face, was plastered across your chest along with the iconic Star Wars logo.

“Oh! Um. yeah,” you stammer, tugging the hem of the cotton as if the ink would magically disappear.

Great. You meet the man you had dozens of posters of and you were stuttering like a fucking idiot.

“Big fan. Of the show. And, um, the movies. And, you know, your–” Joel holds up a palm, silencing your rambling. “Right.” He sounded amused, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “...‘preciate it.”

Joel never liked change. It was ironic, given his line of work. An actor, in its nature, had him slipping into new roles and personas on a constant basis. But no matter how many characters he played, he'd preferred the familiarity of a constant crew.

So the news that Jonah was leaving and that his replacement was a fresh out of film school rookie had Joel grumbling for days.

Then he saw you.

Maybe it was the way you looked at him, like you were seconds away from fainting. Or maybe it was the shirt. That damn shirt.

You clearly hadn’t gotten the memo about dressing for long hours on set. Instead of the usual hoodie and less than glamorous foam sneakers combo, you were rocking a cropped baby tee stretched taut across your chest.

His gaze dipped, almost involuntarily, taking in the rest of you. The way your bootcut jeans sat low and snug on your hips—to the bunch of keys and a juicy grape chapstick hung on a carabiner attached to your belt loop.

When you shifted nervously, the movement sent a glint of light flickering from your stomach. A silver charm, shaped like a star, dangled from your belly button. He caught himself mid-thought, forcing his eyes back to your face, but the damage was done.

You weren’t as innocent as you looked. He’d figured out that much.

Your fuck-ups hadn’t gotten you fired. Not yet, at least. Somehow, you were still here. Holding onto your job by a thread.

It still felt surreal, working for Joel Miller. You’d spent years watching this man on screen. All his works & press interviews. It seemed pretty fucking unreal to think that you now had his name saved to your phone like no big deal.

Given you weren’t able to tell anyone about it, though the purple vibrator that sat in your bedside drawer was pretty much the only thing that knew his name by now.

In the weeks that followed, you’d fallen into a rhythm with him. There were rules–unspoken ones. You didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t hover too close, and didn’t take it personally when he barked orders or dismissed you with a grunt. Joel wasn’t an easy man to work for.

What was even worse, was that in Joel's eyes, you were probably the least sexual entity to have ever existed. It stung, especially when you considered how much of your mind he occupied.

“Give me a…second. Dunno how these things work.”

You’d shifted uncomfortably, dropping to your knees to Joel’s horror. You sat on your thighs with a huff. Attempting to gather the hem of Joel’s pants to tuck into the army garters.

“Christ. You don’t hafta…” Joel’s throat tightened as he fought the sudden, unwelcome heat pooling low in his gut.

“Huh?”

It was distracting, the sight of you so close. On your fuckin’ knees no less. Joel tugs around his belt. He snaps his fingers to catch your attention and you look up at him, with wide eyes.

His thumbs twisting around the two metal hooks of the thin garter until it connects. “Just hook em’ together, kid.”

You nodded at his words. Finally managing to neatly tuck it into his boots.

Though from his vantage point, something else catches his eye–a small mark etched into your skin. Black ink at the nape of your neck, a star, delicate like the charm that hung from your belly button.

“Ya got a thing for stars?”

You blinked a few times before the words finally registered. Was he really starting a conversation when you were on the ground like this? You notice the slight nudge of his head towards your left.

Instinctively, you cupped around the back of your neck. “Oh..yeah. I mean…it’s pretty and all.” You had to admit, Joel’s childlike curiosity over the ink on your body all of a sudden caught you off guard.

He raises a brow at your admission. “What’s the point of puttin’ it at a place you can’t see. Seems pretty pointless.”

“Didn’t put it there for me to see.” You say with a shrug.

Joel’s jaw ticks when he realises the insinuation behind your words. He drags his hand down his face, opting to finally keep his mouth shut when the images conjured in his mind couldn’t be held back anymore.

You didn’t quite notice his distress till you looked up after the lengthy silence that settled.

The imperceptible twitch in his crotch area catches your attention. Your lips parted to stifle a gasp of surprise.

Was he— “Jus’ get the hell up, kid.”

The respectable thing to do was to go on about his job. It was humiliating enough that you’d caught him in a painfully embarrassing position.

But Joel Miller learned two new things about himself.

First, he didn’t quite mind the soft, lingering scent of strawberries and vanilla you seemed to carry. A quiet, comforting sweetness that seemed to cling to the air whenever you were near.

The second? Well, the second was far more troublesome.

The thoughts that plagued him at night when he was fucking his fist, or someone else for that matter. It didn’t help that he was aware of such vivid and intimate details of you. It fucked with his head how desperately he wanted to draw pleasure out of you and stain that pretty little dainty star you had on your belly with ropes of his cum.

The culmination of it all was taxing. But somehow? He managed to keep those thoughts at bay.

When the director finally called cut for the day, Joel stepped off set, muscles aching and shirt damp with sweat. He scans the area out of habit.

Jonah would’ve been there by now–towel, water & phone in hand, ready for the usual barrage of calls and texts he needed to deal with.

Instead, it was you.

Joel exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as the realization hit him again. Right. Jonah was gone.

“You don’t have to look like the world’s ended, Joel.”

He doesn’t answer you, not at first.

“It’s not like I’m going to tell people that you—“

Joel seats himself in his chair loudly. A silent warning for you to not go there. He lets out a long, drawn out exhale. Folding his arms tightly. “Kid. Don’t know whatcha think you saw–”

That again. Kid. Was that how he saw you? You had half the mind to admit what the idea of it did to you—the idea that he might’ve gotten hard at the thought of you.

“Hate that I even have to ask.” You begin, not letting him finish his thought. “You realize I’m not.” You were dabbing a little harder now, tossing out the used makeup wipes in the trash beside you.

“Y’are when I’ve got a decade over ya.” He says simply. Wincing at your harsh gestures. “Don’t need the complications.” He pushes your hand away, his deep brown eyes stayed locked on you, searching, warning.

“Leave well enough alone, got that?”

The following weeks on set proved to be grueling, even by Joel’s standards. His reputation preceded him. A stubborn, self-reliant actor who insisted on doing his own stunts. For the studio, it was a nightmare. Higher insurance premiums, a ballooning budget, and his manager losing sleep over the what-ifs.

For Joel, it was just how he’d always worked.

But his body wasn’t what it used to be. He could feel the aftermath of his aching limbs with every roll, leap, and landing. By the end of each day, he was a drained man.

The tension on set that evening was suffocating, the kind that made every sound sharper, every movement feel urgent.

Joel’s stunt wasn’t supposed to go wrong. It rarely did. But today was different.

You’d seen the way his jaw tightened with every take, the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. Monitoring him from the sidelines when the cameras were still rolling.

Then it happened.

A sickening crunch, the unmistakable sound of something gone wrong. Joel hit the ground hard, and the set erupted in chaos. The director’s voice echoed through the sound stage, “Cut! Jesus. Check on Joel. Now!” as the crew scrambled toward him.

You froze, the towel and water bottle in your hands suddenly feeling useless. Your feet moved on instinct, but the crowd around Joel was essentially a wall. Blocking you out.

You couldn’t get through.

“Back off. M’fine.” Joel’s voice cuts through the commotion, frustration dripping from every word. He swatted away helping hands, gaze darting through the crowd. His face twisted in anger, not from pain but from the lack of order.

“Where the hell is she?” he grumbled.

You hesitated, your stomach knotting. His eyes finally locked onto you, and his expression darkened. “You. Get over here.”

The weight of his command pulled you forward, even as your gut screamed to stay back, letting someone more qualified deal with it. You shuffled behind him as you’d maneuvered out of the crowd and back into his trailer. Eyes widening at the sight of blood seeping through a tear in his shirt.

“Joel, I–…shouldn’t we call–”

“Don’t need someone else,” he interrupted, his tone biting but strained. “Just. I’ll tell ya what to do. Kits in the left drawer.”

“Okay,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady, wracking your brain for memories of those first aid videos you’d seen on YouTube. Film school did not prep you for this.

As you grabbed the first aid kit, you watched Joel slump against the trailer walls. You stood there, awkwardly, watching the scarlet blossom against his abdomen.

He looks at you for a moment before exhaling. “Y’know, you can ask n’ not jus’ stand there like a mute, darlin’.”

The witty remark dies in your throat when he yanks his shirt off. Effectively shutting your brain down entirely. You stare down at his body in its’ full glory. Damp with sweat and streaked with dirt. Blood smeared in jagged trails down his arm to his abdomen, mingling with grime from the fall. Joel pulls out the antiseptic wipes from the first aid kit, handing it to you.

“Shit, Joel. That looks fucking bad.” You hissed out, as though you were the one with a darkened gash on your midriff when you attempted to wipe the first streak off.

“Why…” Fuck. Your voice was cracking. “Why didn’t you just let someone else help you?”

He huffed, his dark eyes flicking to yours for a moment in amusement before looking away. “Ain’t worth makin’ a scene over somethin’ small.”

“This isn’t small, Joel,” you protested, frowning as you uncovered a deeper gash on his side. “You should’ve let the medics handle it.”

“Don’t need all that fuss.” His tone was clipped, defensive. “Been doin’ my own stunts for years. Ain’t stoppin’ now ‘cause of a scratch.”

“This isn’t a scratch.”

Joel’s gaze flicked to yours again, a flash of something unreadable in his expression. “Look, I get it, alright? But I don’t need everyone actin’ like I’m fallin’ apart. I’m fine.”

He knew deep down that his ego was far too big to admit that he actually needed help.

“Stubborn,” you murmured under your breath, shaking your head as you pressed a clean pad against the wound.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Joel’s patience was paper thin, but he bit back whatever comment was forming on his tongue. “Enough of that. Just…tie it up” He sighs, strained, handing you a roll.

You nodded, fumbling with the bandage as your heart pounded in your ears. The wound was deeper than you’d thought now that it was clean, and the sight of it made your stomach churn.

“C’mon, darlin’. Ain’t got all day.”

You secured the bandage, tying it off with a bunny-eared bow before sitting back on your heels. Fingertips drumming on your knees, seemingly proud of yourself.

Joel glanced down, his brows furrowing as he took in your work. “What the hell is that?”

“What?” you say defensively. “You told me to tie it.”

“Looks like ya wrapped a damn present,” he muttered.

“Fine, I’ll redo it–”

“Don’t bother.” He caught your hands before you could move, holding them in place. “It’ll hold.”

The silence that followed proved to further intensify the air between the two of you. His grip on your wrist was firm but not harsh, his eyes locked on yours. You didn’t dare to move.

The curve of his nose grazed your cheeks, the faintest touch sent a shiver down your spine, but he had enough sense to move away.

You however, didn’t think, didn’t hesitate when you leaned in, capturing his lips in a quick, tentative kiss.

It seemed to have caught the both of you off guard.

Joel froze, the kiss barely lasting a second before he pulls back, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he’d tell you off.

But instead, he leans forward. Kissing you harder, deeper. A palm slips to the back of your neck to anchor you in place.

With nowhere else to put your hands, you placed them on his thighs, gripping them tightly.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin. His other hand gripped your waist, drags you closer until your knees pressed against the side of his hips.

But just as quickly as it started, Joel stops. He pulls back with a bated breath. His hands slip from where he held your neck. “Shit,” he mutters, his jaw clenching as he looks away. “Shit.”

You blinked, your heart racing as you tried to catch up. Trying not to let the disappointment show in your voice. “Joel–”

“Stop. I shouldn’t have.” The curtness in his tone startled you. But you frowned. Trailing behind him as he gets up.

“Well you did.” You blocked his path towards the door of his trailer. Eyes filled with a burning persistence of him once again denying you.

“Don’t push it, kid.”

You’d practically stepped up to him confrontationally. “—Or better yet, you gonna tell me that I imagined it?”

“You can’t do all of that and then just back off.”

It frustrated you to no end when he stonewalled you like this. Like you were some irrational kid who couldn’t read between the lines.

When Joel finally does speak, he merely says your name. With a finality you couldn’t quite refute. You bite the inside of your cheeks. Feeling humiliated at being shot down when you’d thrown yourself onto someone like this.

“Fucking coward.”

This time, you didn’t mumble.

Joel visibly grimaces at that. You feel his hand grip painfully around your wrist, stopping you from leaving the trailer.

You let out a choked gasp when his hands shoot out to grip around your throat before you could even react. Forcing you backwards at every step. Instinctively, you grab around his wrists to loosen his grip.

“Hey!”

He leans down to your level, lips grazing against your ears in a deep whisper. “Fuckin’ coward, huh?” You'd pushed all the right buttons. He'd held back for so damned long and he didn't have it in him to hold back. Not after you'd run your mouth.

You let out a shaky exhale. Teeth grit painfully. You should’ve felt scared. Horrified, really. But the tenderness in his hold makes you feel conflicted about what you should’ve felt.

Joel’s grip held you firm. Tipping your head up. “Y’want me to fuck you that bad?”

A soft whimper leaves your lips when his back presses against you. The hardness rubbed up against your core. You shudder at the sensation, nodding weakly.

His rough palms circle around your waist, turning you over the dressing table until your pelvis sat flush against it. The grip around your throat swiftly turns to a vice grip around your jaw.

He tugs at your jaw. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Ugh—yes.…need you..tofuckme.” You manage through gritted teeth. It irked you to say it, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t have let up.

Joel tugs you to look up into your own reflection. Your gaze immediately sours, attempting to look away.

“C’mon now. S’a pretty sight.” He tuts. His other palm drags the fabric of your top up harshly, pulling it up along with your bra. Your tits spilling at the notion. A gasp slips from your lips.

“Joel!” Your palms tightens into fists on the table at the obscene sight.

So much for someone who didn’t want to give in.

It doesn’t faze Joel, merely letting out a low whistle. Kneading them in his palms. “Perfect fuckin’ tits.”

He presses a kiss down the sides of your neck. Twisting around your nipples till they hardened between his fingers. You let out a pathetic whine at the sensation. Holding his arms firmly, you squirm as he nips your shoulder.

“Could you just—“ Your protests don't stop him in the slightest. Nudging your head a little to give him room. He takes it as a sign to bite down on your neck, bruising you with hickeys all over.

Joel seems to catch your nervous flickers towards the doors. He shifts your hair over one side of your shoulder. Thumbing over the ink on the nape of your neck. You hear the sound of the zipper, briefly catching sight of him shucking his pants down. He winces slightly at the dull pain shooting across his abdomen, but the desperation of needing you was far greater than the pain.

Somehow, the idea of not being able to see it made it so much worse. And as though he reads your mind, he presses his jaw against the side of your head. “Relax.” The tenderness in his tone through the roughness does manage to soothe your nerves. You nod slowly.

Your hips jolt as the cold air hits your body when Joel dips a finger under the waistband of your sweats. He teasingly brushes his fingers lightly against your skin before swiftly tugging them down to your thighs along with the flimsy cotton panties you had on. “A little warning would help.” You bite back, finally losing patience at his tactless gestures.

Joel meets your gaze through the mirror. A lopsided smirk quirking up his lips. “Right. My bad.” You could feel the disingenuity in his tone before he taps the length of his cock against your lower back. The gesture almost mocking.

A shudder runs down your spine. He was big, unlike anything you’ve experienced before.

He hikes your hip backwards and flush against him. Your palms instinctively clutches around the edge of the table. Joel takes his time, sliding his hard cock between the softness of your thighs. The sensation nearly sends you doubling over. Watching the weeping tip poke through in the reflection, slightly smearing his precum on your clit.

You squeeze your legs together subconsciously, earning a wince from him. He was certain he could come just from fucking your thighs like this. The pace he took now bordered on torturous. Teasing you with everything but giving you nothing.

You took it upon yourself to stretch your hands between your thighs in an attempt to notch him in you. You were aching. Badly.

Joel lets out a grunt of disapproval, yanking your wrist to pin it behind your back. Leaving you to steady your body weight onto your other hand. “Eager little thing. Daddy ain’t ever teachya patience?”

His snark burned in your cheeks. It was a futile effort. He could see every single expression you were making from your reflection and he fucking thrived on it. Joel takes a hold of his cock, lining it up against your soaked cunt, he slowly drags your slick over his length. You were soaking him before he even started.

Your head dips, clinging onto the fleeting pleasure every time the tip of his cock bumped against your clit.

“Joel–please just fuck me...”

So he does.

Before you could even catch your breath, he snaps his hips into you. “Deep breath f’me, sweetheart.” If not for his grip around your wrist, you would’ve probably face planted into the dresser.

The sting from the intrusion of his thickness had your cunt tightening with every move he makes, squeezing the absolute life out of his dick.

Your hair falls in front of your face as he mercilessly fucks you. You swore you could feel him almost grazing the entrance of your cervix. “T-Too..too fucking...big.”

Joel tips his head at the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock, probably only halfway. He doesn’t say anything yet. Only humming at your whines. “I know baby.”

You look down shakily at where the both of you were connected, the lines between pain and pleasure blurring to the point you hadn’t registered the tears prickling the corner of your eyes. “Hurts…”

Joel seems to feel a tinge of empathy at the way you were struggling to take him, hiccuping through your whines. His gaze flickers to the way your pretty little face scrunched up, doing your fucking best like the good girl you were. A slight groan leaves his lips involuntarily.

All rationality be fucked.

His hand grips around your throat, forcing you to look up at the mirror.

As humiliating as it was, you couldn’t help but feel increasingly turned on at the sight of his cock fucked into your dripping pussy in squelches. “See that? Takin’ me so ’fuckin’ well.” He sighs into your shoulder.

The praise has you lifting your hips higher, on your tippy toes–forcing a deeper arch at your hips. With how slick your thighs were, you weren’t even sure yourself if you did come.

Nothing but the sounds of his pelvis snapping into your ass in rhythmic, hard slaps. He buries his head in the crook of your shoulder. And you hear him audibly grunt this time. Thrusting into you at a punishing pace.

Joel could feel the all familiar tightening in his sack, he knew he was close. The sheer suction your soft, slick walls were providing him was nothing he’d ever felt before. He lets go of your throat, both palms gripped around your hips, painful enough to leave a mark. The table rattles under your combined weights and Joel’s frantic thrusts, products rolling and clattering onto the ground. He noses your cheeks, stubble rubbing against your pulse point. “Perfect fuckin’ pussy…”

You offer a slight whimper at his words, meeting the intensity his thrusts weakly. You both still at the shuffle of footsteps approaching the trailer.

The sharp knocks against the trailer door has the both of you whipping your head towards it.

“Everything okay?”

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears loudly. The door wasn’t locked.

Joel doesn't answer, simply looking at you. Your expression twists in frustration. Mouthing the words ‘me?’. There wasn't time to deliberate. Your lips parts to speak, barely able to form coherent words. “Y..yeah. A-All good.”

“Right…productions cutting it close. So if Joel’s oookaaay…”

You cursed internally at how persistent whoever behind the doors was. But you nearly see white when Joel fully slams into you. Deeper than before. You couldn’t control the sharp cry that leaves your lips, but it is soon muffled by Joel’s rough palms covering your mouth.

“M’fine. Give us ten.”

Your tears pool around his hand. Gripping onto his wrists when he continues to pound into you at a faster intensity. You were whining by the time the crewmate finally left. Joel pulls you against his chest. Audibly groaning into your ears now. “Fuck. M’close.”

You nodded dumbly, not even sure just what at anymore. Shaky hands clinging onto him like a lifeline. With a final rut, his hips stutter, ropes of his cum painting the insides of your walls.

He held it there for a couple of seconds before pulling out. All messy and soaked with your arousal.

You let out a strained exhale at the feeling of loss as your pussy convulses around nothing, pearlescent liquid dripping from your reddened cunt.

Joel sighs wantonly at the sight. With the state of you, he was briefly worried that he might’ve gone too hard. And then he sees it. Your smaller, manicured hands, pushing more of his dripping come into your folds. Yeah. Joel was fucked.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel x reader #pedro pascal smut #joel the last of us

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mcrdvcks · 3 months ago

Text

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1974 - ...but it was never meant to be

chapter summary: You and Logan have been living in the Canadian Rockies for almost 6 months, enjoying the peace and solitude that comes with it.

word count: 8.9k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: this is just fluff, at least until the end... but we're finally hitting the movies! and sorry for it being a bit shorter than the others, there are some ideas i'm saving for a future chapter :))

(p.s. the first sentence about the hotel in nyc is going to be very important to remember for a future chapter...)

warnings/tags: fluff, origins!logan, smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, (beginning of) x-men origins, character death

series masterlist - chapter 5 → chapter 7

Leaving was easy once you got past the one incident. You and Logan had stopped that day at a hotel a bit out of New York City only to be found by your father’s men.

But what happened was almost like magic. Logan, your Logan, took them all out with claws. At first you were bewildered, shocked at what you just saw. But now, after 6 months of living in the Canadian Rockies, it was normal.

Normal.

Mornings would start with the soft light streaming through the windows, casting a warm glow over your shared space as Logan brewed coffee and you stretched, enjoying the easy comfort of it all.

Logan had found work quickly enough as a lumberjack, something that kept him outside and busy, and it suited him. Meanwhile, you’d stumbled upon a small animal shelter in the nearby town. You’d started going once or twice a week, helping out with the dogs and occasionally picking up shifts to keep yourself busy and connected to some semblance of normal life.

The routines you fell into together were quiet, steady, and for the first time in a long while, you felt grounded. Though you missed New York sometimes, especially the volunteer work at the retirement home, the silence of the woods and the small town was a peaceful change.

Not only were things peaceful, but Logan had started opening up to you in the quiet of your cabin, usually in the early morning or after one of his nightmares. It started with little things—details about his mutation, his healing ability. Then, as the days blurred into weeks, he told you about his age and the wars he’d fought in, his voice quiet, words weighed down with old memories.

One chilly morning, you found him staring out the window, his gaze distant as he sipped his coffee. You moved up beside him, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Hey, you alright?”

He looked down at you, a flicker of a smile breaking through the shadows. “Yeah. Just… thinkin’,” he murmured, his voice rough but calm.

“Anything you want to talk about?” you offered, watching his face closely.

Logan considered this for a moment, then took a long breath. “I think… just realizin’ how long it’s been since I had somethin’ like this,” he finally admitted, a glint of honesty in his eyes. “It’s been a hell of a road, darlin’.”

You reached out, resting your hand on his forearm. “I don’t need to know everything, Logan. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He gave a short nod, letting his hand rest over yours, a simple gesture that spoke volumes. He didn’t say anything, but his fingers wrapped around yours, holding them a moment longer than necessary.

---

Life in the cabin wasn’t extravagant, but there was a certain charm in the simplicity. Nights spent by the fire, mornings with the scent of pine and fresh coffee, and the comforting weight of Logan’s arm draped over you as you both drifted into sleep. But there were also the little bumps—like the time you tried making him dinner.

It had been a stew recipe, something you thought would be foolproof. You’d stirred, added spices, tasted… but when you served it, the look on Logan’s face was priceless.

He took a spoonful, eyebrows lifting as he held back a chuckle. “This a new recipe?”

“Okay, I get it—it’s not great,” you sighed, laughing a little as you took a bite yourself. “Alright, yeah, maybe it’s terrible.”

Logan chuckled, setting his spoon down. “It’s not so bad. I mean… it’s got heart.”

You nudged him, rolling your eyes. “Heart doesn’t mean it’s edible, Logan.”

“Maybe not,” he smirked, “but I’ll still eat it.” He winked, lifting another spoonful as he pretended to struggle through the bowl, making you burst into laughter.

---

Late one night, Logan awoke from one of his nightmares. You knew, even before he’d fully come to, just by the way he stiffened beside you. He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face, and you reached out, fingers brushing his shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whispered.

He looked down at you, the muscles in his jaw tight. But after a moment, he nodded. “It was a long time ago. Just old ghosts.” He paused, exhaling heavily. “There’s been a lot of violence. Stuff… I don’t ever want you to have to see.”

“I know you’ve seen a lot,” you murmured, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “But you don’t have to go through it alone, Logan. Not anymore.”

Logan’s hand covered yours, and he turned his head just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes soft but searching. “You’ve been more than I deserve, Y/N,” he said quietly.

Your heart twisted, and you reached up to cup his face. “Logan, I don’t care what you’ve done or where you’ve been. All that matters is who you are now.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. “Then I’m one lucky man,” he whispered, his voice low.

He held you close that night, your presence calming the echoes of a past that seemed finally willing to rest, if only for a while.

---

One day you were trying to make something simple, roast chicken and potatoes before Logan got back from work. You diligently checked the oven, making sure that nothing was burning, until Logan came home, wrapping his arms around your waist as you stood up from the oven.

Logan’s hands settled warmly around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he looked over at the oven. The familiar, steady weight of him grounded you, even as you felt your heart give a quick little skip at the simple, domestic gesture.

“Smells good in here,” he murmured, his breath brushing your ear as he took in the scent of roasting chicken and herbs. “Didn’t know you were this fancy in the kitchen.”

You let out a small laugh, shrugging one shoulder. “Fancy might be a stretch. I’m just hoping it doesn’t come out dry.”

His arms tightened just a bit, pulling you closer. “Even if it did, I’d still eat it,” he said, a hint of that playful glint in his voice. “Means a lot, havin’ you here. Feels like… home.”

A warmth rose in your chest, one that went beyond the physical, and you leaned back into him, a smile tugging at your lips. “You know, I could get used to this too.” You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. “Long days, quiet dinners, just us.”

“Us,” he echoed, his voice softer, thoughtful. There was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes, something unspoken yet weighty. His thumb brushed small, slow circles along your hip, as if anchoring himself in the moment, and he gave you a slight smile that didn’t quite mask the intensity behind it.

Logan was quiet for a moment, and you felt a shift in his posture, almost like he wanted to say something but was holding back. He looked at you in that way he sometimes did—like he was seeing more than just you standing there in your small, cozy kitchen. Maybe he was seeing all the days stretching ahead, those simple moments you’d have together, and the weight of that left him speechless.

“Logan?” you asked, brushing a hand along his arm.

He blinked, then smiled, the intensity in his gaze easing back into something gentler. “Nothin’. Just thinkin’ how lucky I am.”

You laughed softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Guess that makes two of us.”

The kitchen fell into a comfortable silence, with just the faint hum of the oven and the quiet, steady beat of Logan’s heart against your back. In the quiet of your little life together, things felt simple, natural. Here, there were no expectations, no obligations—just the two of you, building something real out of those little, ordinary moments.

But later that night, as you drifted off beside him, Logan stayed awake, lost in thought. His hand brushed over the small velvet box in his drawer, the ring that had waited all this time, the one that had been meant for you once before. He ran his thumb along the edge, thinking about when the right time might be—or if he’d even have the chance. For now, though, he’d savor each day, each quiet moment, holding on as tightly as he could.

---

You lay nestled between Logan’s legs on the couch, your head resting comfortably on his chest as you read, while he watched TV, idly sipping his beer. His free hand drifted up and down your arm absentmindedly, and you could feel the faint rumble of his quiet breaths beneath you. There was a calm in the cabin tonight—a peace you’d found only since being with him.

“What’s got you so hooked?” he asked, glancing down at your book with a smirk. “Looks like you’re deep in it.”

You tilted the book so he could see the cover, Jaws. “It’s a book about a shark.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, “a shark, huh?”

You turned back to the book, keeping a small smile hidden. “Kind of. It’s a little deeper than just a shark, though.”

“Deeper than a shark, huh?” Logan smirked, shifting slightly to glance down at you, looking mildly amused. “Didn’t think a fish story could be that interesting.”

“It’s not just any fish, Logan,” you said, letting your hand rest on his as you settled back into his warmth. “This shark’s on a whole other level—a menace, basically unstoppable. And there’s all this tension between the people in the town, like who’s responsible, what to do, whether they even believe it’s happening.”

He gave a soft grunt of understanding, taking a sip of his beer. “Guess I can see why you’re hooked. Townsfolk fighting over a monster they can’t get rid of… kinda familiar.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, a glint of curiosity in your eyes. “You got experience with monsters, Logan?”

“More than you’d believe, darlin’,” he murmured, his eyes holding that far-off look he sometimes got when his mind slipped somewhere else, somewhere harder. But his grip on you stayed gentle, grounding him here.

There was a moment’s quiet, then he smirked, leaning down closer. “But I could take out your shark, no question.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, closing the book and giving him a look of mock skepticism. “A great white shark, Logan. One that can bite clean through a boat. I think even you’d have some trouble with that one.”

He snorted, giving you an exaggerated look of disbelief. “I’m tellin’ ya, I’d have it done in five minutes.”

You laughed, poking his chest. “I’d like to see that. You, in the water, with a shark. You’d probably scare it off.”

“Probably,” he chuckled, his tone playful but carrying a hint of something genuine. “But I’d do it for you.”

His words caught you off guard, softening the teasing banter into something warmer, something real. You looked up at him, and the light in his eyes held a familiar steadiness, a promise you hadn’t expected. You felt a smile creeping up, one that made your heart beat a little faster.

“That’s sweet of you, Logan. But don’t go risking your life over a shark.”

He shrugged, giving a small grin. “Risking my life’s kinda my thing.”

With a smirk, you shifted to put your arms around his neck. “I don’t need you to fight any sharks. I just need you here, safe, preferably not trying to tackle any more sea monsters.”

Logan’s hands came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “Don’t worry, darlin’. For you, I’d stay outta trouble… or at least, try.”

Your breath caught as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours softly. You melted into him, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath you, the steady beat of his heart, a promise in every kiss, every touch.

When you pulled back, he let out a small sigh, looking at you with a softness that made you feel as though you were the only person in the world.

“Now,” you murmured, your voice quiet as you tried to keep the mood light, “how about you let me finish reading this book before you start making any plans to fight sharks?”

“Fine,” he chuckled, leaning back into the couch, his arms still loosely around you. “But I’m just sayin’, the offer stands.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting back to lean against his chest, your book in hand. But even as you returned to the words on the page, the comfortable silence between you filled every corner of the cabin, your heart warmed by the man beside you.

---

When Logan came home and removed his jacket, the sound of music drifted to his ears, mingling with the low hum of a vacuum. The cabin was warm, a sharp contrast to the biting chill outside, the smell of pine and faint wood smoke greeting him like an old friend. The soft glow of late afternoon sun streaked through the windows, and as he stepped further in, he caught sight of you.

You were standing in the middle of the room, barefoot, wearing one of his old flannels that hung loose on your frame, the hem brushing just below the tops of your thighs. The vacuum roared in your hand as you cleaned, entirely oblivious to his arrival.

Logan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you. Something about this—a simple domestic scene—made his chest tighten, a warmth blooming there that he couldn’t quite name.

“Y’know, you’re not supposed to wear clothes that fit me better than they fit you,” he drawled, his voice cutting through the vacuum’s roar.

Startled, you turned it off with a quick flick of the switch and looked up, a sheepish smile spreading across your face. “Logan! You scared me,” you said.

“Didn’t mean to,” he replied, his tone warm as he pushed off the frame and walked toward you. His boots thudded softly against the wooden floor, and as he got closer, his eyes drank you in, lingering on the way the flannel gaped slightly at the neck, exposing the soft line of your collarbone. “Got a habit of sneakin’ up, I guess.”

You laughed softly, setting the vacuum aside. “If you were a little less loud, I’d think you were some kind of predator.”

“Oh, darlin’,” he said, his grin spreading as he reached for you, hands settling at your waist and pulling you close, “if I wanted to catch you, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Your breath hitched as his words settled between you, his voice a low rumble that always managed to make your knees feel just a little weaker. You placed your hands on his chest, feeling the solidness of him beneath your palms. “Good thing I’m not running then,” you murmured, tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

He leaned down, his nose brushing yours. “Good thing,” he echoed, before his lips claimed yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. His hands slid lower, fingers splaying over the curve of your hips, pulling you tighter against him. The flannel you wore rose slightly under his touch, and you gasped softly into his mouth as his fingers found bare skin.

“Logan,” you breathed against his lips, your voice a soft plea.

“Yeah?” he rasped, his mouth trailing down your jawline, his scruff brushing your skin in a way that sent shivers racing down your spine.

“Think you should let me finish cleaning,” you teased, though your hands had already slid up to wrap around his neck, fingers threading through the dark strands at the base of his skull.

He huffed a laugh, his teeth grazing the delicate line of your throat. “Nah, think I got a better idea.”

With a swift move, he bent and swept you off your feet, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back. You let out a startled laugh, clinging to him as he carried you toward the couch. “Logan, the vacuum—”

“Vacuum’ll be there later,” he cut in, his voice gruff but tinged with amusement. “Right now, you’re the only thing I’m worried about.”

He set you down gently on the cushions, his large frame hovering over you as he knelt on the floor, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the flannel higher. The intensity in his gaze sent a flush rising to your cheeks, your heart pounding in anticipation.

“Been thinkin’ about you all day,” he admitted, his voice thick, raw. His hands paused, fingers curling just under the hem of the shirt. “Mind if I show you how much?”

You nodded, breathless, and he smiled—a rare, almost boyish expression that quickly dissolved into something darker, hungrier. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that left no room for doubt about where his mind was. His hands roamed freely now, skimming along the curve of your thighs, pushing the flannel higher and higher, exposing bare skin to the cool air of the room.

“Goddamn,” Logan muttered against your lips, his voice thick, raw. His hands splayed across your thighs, gripping them as though grounding himself, his thumbs brushing along the tender skin there. “You’re a fuckin’ dream, darlin’.”

A shiver ran through you, anticipation building as his kisses trailed lower, down your jaw, your neck, leaving a path of warm, open-mouthed caresses. You gasped softly, your hands tangling in his hair as he moved further down, sinking to his knees before you, his broad shoulders nudging your legs apart.

"Logan..." Your voice was barely more than a whisper, already trembling.

“Shh,” he murmured, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed a kiss just above your knee, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. The intensity there made your breath hitch. “Let me take care of you.”

He kissed his way up your inner thigh, taking his time, each press of his lips deliberate, teasing. Your heart pounded as you felt his warm breath against your skin, so close to where you wanted him, needed him.

When his lips finally brushed against you, his tongue darting out to taste, you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that spilled from your lips. His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you closer as he buried his face between your thighs, his tongue working you with an expertise that made your head spin.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your hands clutching his hair, your hips arching into him. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his tongue delving deep before retreating to flick against the sensitive bundle of nerves that had you trembling, your thighs pressing around his head.

Logan growled against you, the vibrations shooting straight through your core, and the sound of it—rough, primal—only spurred you on. He was relentless, his lips and tongue working you with a fervor that left no doubt about how much he enjoyed this, enjoyed you.

“Logan, I—” Your words dissolved into a whimper, your body tensing as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His name was a mantra on your lips, each syllable punctuated by gasps and moans as he pulled you apart and put you back together with every stroke of his tongue.

When you finally shattered, the release crashing over you like a tidal wave, he didn’t stop. He worked you through it, his hands holding you steady as you trembled, as your body arched and writhed against him. Only when you were completely spent, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps, did he pull back, his lips and chin glistening as he looked up at you with a wicked grin.

“You taste like heaven,” he said, his voice rough, gravelly, as he rose to his feet, his hands still resting on your thighs. “I could do that all night.”

You laughed breathlessly, leaning back against the couch, your body still tingling, your cheeks flushed. “You’re insatiable.”

“Says the woman who was just beggin’ me for more,” Logan teased, his voice a low rumble as his lips brushed against yours. His kiss was slow and deliberate, his tongue sliding into your mouth with practiced ease. The taste of him mixed with the remnants of your own release sent a thrill racing through you, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, keeping him close.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You sure you’re not tryin’ to kill me, darlin’? Feels like every time I get my hands on you, I lose a few more pieces of myself.”

Your lips curved into a soft smile, your fingers idly playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing.”

Logan huffed a laugh, the sound deep and almost self-deprecating. His thumb traced lazy circles on your thigh, his gaze locked on yours. “For you, maybe not. For me? I’m startin’ to think I wouldn’t mind it.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, a quiet confession that made your chest tighten. You reached up, brushing your thumb along the rough edge of his jaw. “I wouldn’t let that happen,” you murmured, your voice soft but steady. “You’re too important, Logan. To me.”

His expression softened, the hard edges of his usual demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me, Y/N.”

“Maybe you should show me,” you said, your voice carrying a teasing lilt, though the heat in your eyes betrayed how serious you were.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small, almost mischievous grin. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “Maybe. But you don’t seem to mind.”

He let out a low growl, his hands sliding up your thighs to grip your hips. “You’re damn right I don’t.”

In one fluid motion, Logan had you lifted, his hands firm as he repositioned you to straddle his lap. You let out a surprised laugh, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself as you settled against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, the solidness of him grounding you in a way that felt almost necessary.

“See? Told ya I had better plans than cleanin’,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your collarbone as he spoke.

You tilted your head, giving him more access, a soft hum escaping your lips. “I think I’m starting to agree.”

Logan’s hands roamed over you, calloused fingers exploring the soft curves of your body with reverence. There was no rush, no urgency in his movements. It was deliberate, almost tender, as though he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

His lips trailed a path along your neck, his scruff scraping against your skin in a way that sent shivers racing down your spine. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he admitted, his voice low, almost like a growl.

“I could say the same about you,” you whispered, your fingers trailing down his chest, tracing the lines of muscle beneath his shirt.

Logan’s hands gripped the hem of the flannel you wore, his knuckles brushing against your skin as he slowly lifted it. He paused, his gaze flicking up to meet yours, seeking permission.

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as he pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside. His eyes darkened as they roamed over you, taking in the sight of your bare skin bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice thick with something between awe and hunger.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but the look in his eyes kept any hint of self-consciousness at bay. “You’re staring,” you teased, though your voice wavered slightly under the weight of his gaze.

“Can’t help it,” he said simply, his hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing just beneath your ribs. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, Y/N. Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of lookin’ at you.”

The sincerity in his words made your heart ache in the best way. You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that was slow and deep, your hands threading through his hair as you pressed yourself against him.

Logan’s hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he shifted beneath you, the hard press of him against your core drawing a soft gasp from your lips. He swallowed the sound with a groan, his grip tightening as he began to rock you against him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure racing through you.

“Logan,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need.

“Shh, I got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Just let me take care of you, darlin’.”

His hands moved to your waist, guiding your movements as he kissed you again, his lips moving against yours with a deliberate slowness that left you breathless. Each roll of your hips against him was maddeningly slow, the steady build of tension making you ache for more.

“Logan, please,” you whispered, your hands clutching at his shoulders as you tried to quicken the pace.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your lips. “Patience, Y/N. I’m not in a rush.”

You huffed in frustration, though the warmth in his gaze softened the sharp edges of your need. “You’re cruel,” you muttered, though the slight smile tugging at your lips betrayed your words.

“Cruel, huh?” he echoed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His hands slid down to cup your ass, squeezing gently as he shifted beneath you. “Pretty sure you’ll be thankin’ me when I’m done with you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound dissolving into a soft moan as he bucked his hips against you, the friction sending another wave of heat coursing through you.

“Logan,” you gasped, your voice a mix of exasperation and longing.

He grinned, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. “Yeah, darlin’? What do you need?”

“You,” you said simply, the single word carrying a weight that seemed to hang in the air between you.

Logan’s expression softened, his teasing demeanor shifting as something deeper flickered in his gaze. “You’ve got me,” he said, his voice steady, his hands firm on your hips as though anchoring you to him.

Your heart stuttered at his words, the raw sincerity of them making your chest feel impossibly tight. You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his as your fingers slid down his chest, the fabric of his shirt rough under your touch. “I’m glad,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips found yours again, the kiss unhurried and deliberate, his hands roaming up and down your thighs. The heat of him seeped into your skin, grounding you as you moved against him. The friction was maddening, a slow burn that made you ache for more.

“Darlin’,” he rasped against your lips, his voice thick and strained, “you’re makin’ it real hard to take this slow.”

“Maybe I don’t want slow,” you countered, your tone teasing, though the way your breath hitched betrayed your own urgency.

Logan chuckled low, the sound vibrating through you as his lips moved to your neck, trailing kisses along your skin. “Trust me, you do,” he murmured, his teeth grazing your pulse point just enough to make your thighs tighten around him. “I want to feel every second of this.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your fingers tightening in his hair as he took his time exploring every inch of you. Logan’s hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting you slightly as he shifted on the couch, settling back further into the cushions.

The new angle pressed you more firmly against him, drawing a gasp from your lips that he swallowed with another kiss. “Fuck,” you whispered, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

“You okay?” he asked, his tone softer, though the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

“More than okay,” you replied, your voice trembling as you shifted your hips, testing the pressure between you.

Logan growled low in his throat, his grip on you tightening as his hands slid up your back. “You’re somethin’ else, Y/N,” he said, his words heavy with reverence.

You didn’t reply, too caught up in the way he was looking at you, as though you were the only thing in the world that mattered. Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. “Off,” you said simply, your voice breathless but firm.

He smirked, obliging without hesitation as he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Your eyes raked over him, taking in the broad expanse of his chest, the scars that marred his otherwise flawless skin.

“Like what you see?” he teased, though there was a hint of vulnerability in his tone.

“Always,” you replied, your hands trailing over his chest, fingers tracing the lines of old wounds. “You’re beautiful, Logan.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, his hands sliding back to your waist. “Don’t think anyone’s called me that before.”

“Well, they should have,” you said, leaning in to press a kiss to his collarbone.

Logan’s hands tightened on your hips, guiding you as you moved against him, the steady grind of your bodies making your head spin. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, though the words were laced with affection.

“Not likely,” you quipped, a soft laugh escaping you.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shifted again, one hand moving to undo the button of his jeans. Your breath hitched as you realized what was coming next, anticipation coiling tightly in your stomach.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice softer now, his gaze searching yours.

“Logan,” you said, your tone steady despite the way your heart was racing. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

He nodded once, his hands steady as he slid his jeans down just enough, freeing himself. You couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped you as you took him in, your cheeks flushing at the sight.

“Come here,” he said, his voice rough as he guided you closer, his hands firm on your hips.

You moved slowly, adjusting yourself over him, the heat of him against you making you tremble. Logan’s hands were steady, his thumbs brushing soothing circles on your skin as he guided you.

When you finally sank down onto him, the feeling was overwhelming, a perfect mix of pleasure and fullness that made you moan softly. Logan groaned, his head falling back against the couch as his hands gripped your hips tightly.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasped, his voice raw. “You feel... Jesus, darlin’, you’re perfect.”

You didn’t reply, too caught up in the way he felt, the way he filled you completely. You braced your hands on his shoulders, your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps as you began to move.

Logan’s hands guided your movements, his grip firm but not controlling as he let you set the pace. His lips found yours again, the kiss deep and consuming as you rocked against him, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

The steady rhythm built slowly, the intensity growing with each roll of your hips. Logan’s hands roamed over you, sliding up your back, tangling in your hair, grounding you in the moment.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You met his gaze, your heart skipping a beat at the way he was looking at you. It wasn’t just lust—it was something deeper, something that made your chest ache in the best way.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his hands tightening on your hips as he thrust upward, matching your movements.

The new angle sent a wave of pleasure crashing over you, a soft cry escaping your lips as you clung to him. “Logan,” you gasped, your voice trembling.

“Right here, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the strain in it.

The intensity between you grew, the slow, deliberate pace giving way to something more urgent as your bodies moved together. Each thrust, each kiss, each touch pushed you closer to the edge, the tension building to an almost unbearable peak.

When you finally shattered, it was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Logan held you through it, his hands steady on your hips as your body trembled, his name falling from your lips in a breathless mantra.

He followed moments later, a low, guttural groan escaping him as he buried his face in your neck, his grip on you tightening as he found his release.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your breaths mingling as you clung to each other, the world outside forgotten.

“You okay?” Logan asked finally, his voice soft, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“More than okay,” you replied, your voice muffled against his neck.

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not lettin’ you go anytime soon.”

“Didn’t plan on going anywhere,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips as you leaned back to look at him.

Logan’s expression softened, his hands moving to cup your face. “You’re somethin’ else, Y/N,” he said, his voice filled with quiet reverence.

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your tone steady despite the warmth spreading through your chest.

“Damn right I am,” he said, his lips curving into a small, almost boyish grin.

The two of you stayed like that, tangled together on the couch, the rest of the world fading away. For now, there was only this—only him.

---

You turned off the water that was filling the bathtub and dipped your hand in to test the temperature of the water. The water was just right—hot, with steam gently rolling off the surface. You stood, wiping your hands on the towel, just as you heard the front door creak open and close with a soft click. Logan’s footsteps padded quietly through the cabin, but you could still feel that familiar presence, that comforting weight of him even when he wasn’t yet in sight.

You barely had time to turn around before he appeared in the doorway, eyebrows raised as he took in the sight of you standing by the tub. “Now this is a surprise,” he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Thought you’d like a soak after all that work you did today,” you replied, a little smile tugging at your mouth. You stepped aside, gesturing toward the water. “Go on, it’s ready.”

Logan’s gaze softened, though his smirk never quite faded. “So you’re spoilin’ me now, huh?”

“Maybe a little,” you teased, leaning against the doorframe as you watched him. “Can’t have you overdoing it. You might be practically indestructible, but a hot bath never hurt anyone.”

He chuckled, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off. “Got a point there,” he admitted, tossing it onto the nearby chair. You tried not to stare, but you couldn’t help your eyes drifting over the familiar planes of his chest, scars crisscrossing his skin like a map of all the years he’d survived. He didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he didn’t mind—just kept undressing as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Logan stepped into the tub, easing himself down with a contented sigh as he settled into the water. He leaned his head back, his eyes fluttering shut as the steam rose around him. For a moment, you simply watched him, a fond smile on your lips.

“Good?” you asked softly, breaking the silence.

He cracked one eye open, glancing at you with a lazy grin. “Better than good. You joinin’ me?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “This one’s all yours. I’ll go make us something to drink.”

Before you could turn, Logan reached out, his wet hand catching yours. He looked up at you, his expression softer now. “Stay, darlin’. Least for a bit.”

His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, and you found yourself nodding, unable to refuse him. You sat down beside the tub, close enough that you could still feel the warmth of the water, and he let his hand rest in yours.

Logan kissed the top of your hand, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Sure ya don’t wanna join me? Promise I don’t bite."

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Uh-huh. That's what they all say."

He chuckled, his fingers still wrapped gently around yours, as if he was savoring this quiet moment between you. “Could use a little company, that’s all,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving your face.

“This is supposed to be a bath for you.” You replied, your own eyebrow quirked.

“I’d enjoy it more if you were in here with me.”

You raised an eyebrow at Logan, the corner of your mouth quirking into a teasing smile. “Is that right? Well, maybe if you’re lucky.”

Logan’s smirk deepened, a playful glint in his eye as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the side of the tub. “Oh, come on. I’m always lucky when it comes to you.” His voice was a low murmur, pulling you in with that familiar, lazy charm he always seemed to have.

“Uh-huh, says the guy who tried to convince me he could take on a shark,” you shot back, crossing your arms, leaning casually against the wall. “You’re just full of bold ideas, huh?”

He chuckled, giving a shrug. “I stand by that. But I’m talkin’ serious here.” His hand reached out, fingertips grazing your wrist in a way that sent a warmth through you. “No sharks, no messin’ around. Just you, right here.”

The sincerity caught you a little off guard. The tension settled into something deeper as you looked at him, his hand steady on yours, like he was holding onto more than just the moment.

“I guess… I could keep you company,” you said softly, the lightness of your earlier words giving way to something quieter. You slipped out of your shirt, feeling Logan’s gaze follow you, his eyes dark with a warmth that made you feel both nervous and excited.

Sliding into the water, you settled in close to him, leaning back as his arms naturally came around you. The water was hot, relaxing every part of you, but it was Logan’s touch, the gentle press of his fingers tracing over your arm, that made you feel completely at ease.

“See?” he murmured against your hair, his lips grazing the top of your head. “Told ya this was a good idea.”

You hummed, closing your eyes as you leaned into him. “You did. Guess I should listen to you more often.”

Logan’s hand slid along your shoulder, trailing down your arm with a steady, careful touch, like he was trying to memorize every inch. You felt the warmth of his breath against your neck, followed by the soft press of his lips just below your ear. The tension of the day melted away, leaving you relaxed and content in his embrace.

For a few moments, you both just stayed there, the only sounds the quiet rustle of water and the occasional creak of the cabin settling. Logan’s fingers traced small, lazy circles along your arm, his other hand holding you close against him, anchoring you to him like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“So,” you murmured, breaking the silence, “this isn’t so bad, right?”

Logan let out a low chuckle. “Could get used to it,” he said, his voice rumbling against your back. “Peace and quiet. Just the two of us.” His hand dipped below the water, wrapping around yours.

You squeezed his hand, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. “Thought you’d be the type to get bored out here, all this peace and quiet.”

He gave a noncommittal shrug, though his thumb continued to brush over the back of your hand. “Can handle a bit of quiet if it means you’re here,” he said softly, almost as if he was talking to himself.

You smiled, tilting your head to look at him, your faces close. “Guess that makes two of us.” You felt a strange flutter in your stomach, the weight of those unspoken words lingering between you both.

Logan’s eyes flicked down to your lips, his gaze soft and intent. “You gonna kiss me, or do I gotta ask real nice?”

“Always so impatient,” you teased, but you leaned in, closing the distance, your lips meeting his in a soft, lingering kiss. His hand moved up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he deepened the kiss, slow and unhurried, like he was savoring every second. When you finally pulled back, you were both breathing a little heavier, your forehead resting against his.

Logan looked at you, a small, crooked smile on his lips. “See? Worth the wait.”

You laughed, shaking your head, but there was no denying the truth in his words. “You really know how to charm a girl, you know that?”

“Only got one girl I’m tryin’ to charm,” he replied, his voice rough but warm.

Your smile softened as you nestled back against him, letting the silence settle over you both once more. The warmth of the water, the feel of his arms around you—it felt like a small eternity in that moment, like nothing else in the world mattered except this.

---

Trying to turn the conversation away from what Logan told you, about Stryker coming to visit him about a ‘mission’, you started to talk about your day, with Logan’s head in your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“The stray was matted but Tina started calling him Wolf. Said the dog reminded her of another animal.”

Logan hummed, his eyes still closed, “lemme guess, she showed you a picture of the animal from her book.”

You giggled, “yeah, she did. Gotta admit that dog looked quite similar to the wolverine in her book.” You tilted your head downwards to look at him, “Reminded me of you. Grizzly, sometimes dirty.”

Logan opened one eye, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah? Grizzly, huh?”

“Maybe a little.” You grinned, your fingers drifting through his hair in slow strokes. “Not just the dirty part, by the way. Wolverines are pretty fierce, don’t let much stand in their way.”

He let out a low chuckle, closing his eye again, seeming to relax further under your touch. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment, comin’ from you.” There was a slight pause, and his voice softened a bit. “Not everyone’s a fan of the grizzly type.”

You scoffed lightly, continuing to thread your fingers through his hair. “Well, good thing I am. You know, even wolverines have a soft side somewhere.”

Logan huffed a small laugh. “Yeah? Don’t think I’ve got much of that left, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“Oh, you definitely do.” You brushed a thumb gently along his temple. “Trust me. Like today—taking the time to help out with that old couple’s truck, even after a full day’s work.” You smiled down at him, admiration clear in your gaze. “I see it, Logan, even if you don’t.”

He tilted his head a bit, opening his eyes and looking up at you, his expression unreadable for a second before he sighed, a smirk breaking the moment. “Keep sayin’ things like that, and I might start to believe you.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

Logan’s gaze softened, but he kept his usual, laid-back tone. “Guess I’m lucky you put up with me, huh?”

“You know it.” You winked, letting your fingers trail down to his jawline, and you felt him relax a little more, like he could melt under your touch. “Plus, someone’s gotta keep you in check.”

“Not an easy job,” he muttered, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he leaned into your hand, his voice barely above a murmur. “You’re somethin’ else, Y/N.”

The two of you fell quiet for a moment, the warmth in his gaze making your heart beat just a little faster, and you couldn’t help but lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. When you pulled back, he just looked at you with that familiar mix of amusement and something else—a depth you didn’t need him to explain.

You shifted slightly, a small smile still on your face. “Now, about that dog—think you could convince Tina to bring him around here?”

Logan’s eyebrows lifted, a smirk tugging at his lips again. “Bringing a stray mutt up here? You sure?”

“Why not? He’d be a good watch dog for you when I’m not around,” you said, with a wink.

He chuckled, a bit softer this time. “Guess I’ll think about it.” Then, his eyes crinkled with that familiar spark of humor. “But only if you promise not to call me Grizzly in front of anyone else.”

You laughed, leaning back against the couch, his head still in your lap. “Deal.”

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke, and you just let yourself soak up the comfortable silence, the simplicity of Logan resting there, perfectly at ease. And as your hand drifted gently through his hair again, you couldn’t help but wonder if this—these quiet moments—might be what you’d both been needing all along.

---

You were driving down a narrow road, the trees thickening as you made your way toward town. The familiar hum of a cassette player filled the car, and you tapped your fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm. It had been a good week—a small but sweet milestone with Logan, half a year together, and you’d even managed to keep things peaceful in that cabin of his. Tonight was supposed to be simple, a little surprise you’d planned: a tiramisu. Probably the only thing you could bake to perfection.

You rounded a curve, smiling to yourself when—

The sight in the distance made your stomach twist. A figure stood in the middle of the road, dressed in black, unmoving, watching you with an unsettling focus. You slowed the car, blinking to see if you were imagining things. But no—he was still there, large and unflinching in the middle of the narrow path.

As you approached, your heart hammered against your ribs. Something about him was familiar, but not in any way that felt safe or warm.

You pressed on the brake, bringing the car to a cautious stop. The man took a slow, deliberate step forward, his face coming into view under the faint sunlight streaming through the trees. His eyes were cold, almost amused, and his mouth twisted into a cruel smile.

It was him—Victor. The man Logan had mentioned a few times, enough to make you know he wasn’t someone you’d ever want to meet, much less find waiting for you like this.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, his voice deep, mocking, and calm in a way that was anything but reassuring.

You tried to keep your face calm, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Just heading into town,” you replied, voice steadier than you felt. “Is there…something you need?”

He tilted his head, like he was sizing you up. “Logan ever mention me?”

A chill crawled up your spine, but you kept your expression guarded. “Maybe once or twice.”

Victor took another step forward, his gaze raking over you with a twisted curiosity, almost like he was toying with the idea of letting you go—but only almost. “See, I’ve been meaning to have a little chat with him,” he drawled, his tone venomous, “and here you are, just making it easy for me.”

You felt a pulse of dread, instinct telling you to turn the car around and get out of there, fast. But you knew better than to provoke him. “Logan’s not here,” you said, hoping that would be enough.

He smirked, that same cold expression never leaving his face. “I’m aware,” he murmured, taking another slow step toward you. “You think he’d leave someone like you on your own if he thought you’d be safe?”

Your heart raced, a knot of fear tightening in your throat. You wanted to say something, anything, to stall him, to get yourself out of this, but nothing came to mind. The realization was dawning, and from the look in Victor’s eyes, he knew it too. There would be no bargaining, no reasoning with him.

"Didn't think Logan would be the type to leave someone behind. Guess I was wrong," he said, sounding amused.

You tightened your grip on the steering wheel, refusing to give in to the fear swirling in your chest. "Logan’s not here," you repeated, your voice firm.

"Like I said, I know," Victor replied smoothly, taking another step. His eyes traveled over the car, then over you, a twisted curiosity behind them. "But I figure, maybe you can pass along a little message for me."

Every instinct told you to run, but the car blocked you in, and Victor was only feet away. "What do you want, Victor?"

He grinned, his sharp teeth glinting under the dim light. "Simple. Tell Logan I said 'hi'... if you get the chance."

The dread in your stomach crystallized as he lunged forward. You tried to move, to react, but he was too fast. His hand closed around your throat, lifting you out of the car as though you weighed nothing, and you fought, kicking, clawing, anything you could think of to get free.

"You know," Victor’s voice was disturbingly calm, "he’s been through a lot. But there’s always that soft spot, that weakness he can’t seem to shake."

Desperation flared within you, and you kicked harder, one foot making contact with his chest. It only made him laugh, and he tightened his grip, his face drawing close enough that you could see the cold cruelty in his eyes.

"You’re just like all the others," he murmured, voice almost thoughtful. "Maybe a little more stubborn, but that’s hardly new."

Black spots began to dance at the edges of your vision, your breath coming shorter and shorter. You knew there was no getting out of this—not with him, not with a monster like Victor Creed.

But Logan...

---

Logan walked through the vegetation right by where he and the other guys were cutting apart a tree. He stopped short once he saw the head of an animal laying on the yellow grass.

“What you doing, Logan?” One of the guys asked from behind.

Logan looked around before seeing large scratch marks on a tree trunk, lined with red. “Y/N.” He whispered, before running down the hill and through the forest.

Once he hit the clearing, he could see the truck on the side of the road. Logan reached the car, his hands gripping the window frame as he scanned the empty interior. “Y/N…?” His voice was rough, the crack of worry breaking through, echoing in the quiet forest.

His eyes darted down to the disturbed earth, faint scuff marks in the dirt telling him where you might’ve been dragged. His heart hammered as he followed the path into the trees, every step growing heavier with dread as he moved through the dense underbrush, the silence unsettling.

And then, in a small clearing, he found you.

You were lying there, so still, your skin pale against the forest floor, hair fanned around you like a dark halo. Blood flecked the ground, stark and terrible against the greenery. He staggered, dropping to his knees beside you, reaching out with trembling hands, one of them clenching briefly before he let himself touch you.

“Y/N…” he whispered, voice breaking as he cupped your face, his fingers brushing a smear of dirt from your cheek. Your eyes were closed, lips parted just slightly, as if you’d been trying to say his name. For a split second, he could almost pretend you were just asleep, and that any second you’d open your eyes, make some joke, or reach up to tug him down to you.

But there was no warmth, no spark, nothing.

Logan’s breath caught, and he pulled you close, his arms cradling you as if he could shield you from the reality already etched into his heart. The rage simmered below his skin, burning through the grief, fueling the ache with something primal. He rocked back, jaw clenched so hard it hurt, his face buried in your hair, trying to hold on to any last trace of you, the faint scent of you still lingering, even as everything around him felt like it was falling apart.

“You… You were supposed to be safe here,” he whispered against your hair, voice hoarse. “I shoulda been here. I shoulda…” His words trailed off into silence as he sat there, unmoving, clutching you in his arms as if the weight of his grief alone could pull you back.

He looked down at you, his thumb grazing over your cheek one last time, as though trying to commit every detail of your face to memory. “Y/N… I swear… I’ll make him pay.” The last words came out like a promise, a vow laced with the kind of anger only a man like Logan could bear. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before letting out a long, broken breath.

When he finally tore his gaze away from you, his eyes turned cold, a new resolve searing through him.

This wasn’t over.

umm... sorry??

i tried to make a different version of how logan got the name 'wolverine' to try and fit reader's personality, since she probably doesn't know about the myth kayla did.

next chapter will be x2!

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #i love you in every time

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onlyangel4 · 4 months ago

Text

the life i deserve. part three. LN4. OP81

in which reader unexpectedly falls pregnant but her current boyfriend can't say no to his party lifestyle so he leaves her. who better to fill his place than his teammate.

warnings- pregnancy. angst. baby trapping allegations.

faceclaim: hailey bieber

author's note: trace results are all fictional

part one // part two

part four

y/ninsta posted a story

f1wags

liked by user7, user8, user9 and 34,819 others

f1wags: lando norris' pregnant ex girlfriend y/n y/ln was pictured entering the imola paddock today. she arrived to the paddock with norris' teammate oscar piastri. this is the first time she has been in the paddock since her break up with norris.

sources say they saw y/n and oscar and y/n arrive and then logan sargeant and his girlfriend riley whittall arrive five minutes later this was when piastri and y/n parted ways as y/n went to the williams garage with whittall and sargeant.

yesterday y/n had a gender reveal for her baby boy, most of the grid and their partners were in attendance, other than lando norris who stated that he will continue to support y/n and their baby but it seems like the couple ended things on less than friendly terms as y/n is hiding in the williams garage.

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user7: everyone on the grid picked team y/n, there has to be more of a story there

user8: i'm glad oscar is looking after y/n, something tells me that lando is not going to be a very good dad

user9: i just know that mclaren pr team hat y/n because she has definetly caused a few headlines as of recent

y/ninsta posted a story

written: lovely change of scenery

f1updates posted a story

written: shock exit from the imola gp, after starting from pole lando norris has suffered a dnf after a crash with fernando alonso

f1 posted two stories

story one: two f1 firsts today, oscar piastri's first win

story two: and logan sargeant finished p8 winning his first f1 points

y/ninsta posted a story

written: had to run to the bathroom because this crazy pregnant lady cried when her two favourite people achieved greatness in italy

f1gossip

liked by user10, user11, user13 and 458,928 others

f1gossip: sources confirm that it all just kicked off in the paddock. y/n y/ln (lando's pregnant ex girlfriend) and riley whittall (logan's girlfriend) were walking through the paddock when lando ran over to them and got in a heated conversation with y/n. the british driver got angry and started shouting in the pregnant woman's face. this alerted oscar and logan who were doing interviews nearby.

piastri and sargeant ran over to the group with oscar pushing y/n behind him while shouting at lando for getting in a pregnant woman's face like that and logan got lando to leave. meanwhile y/n was crying and a load of papparazzi were getting close to her so all the near by wags performed a protective group hug around her making sure no one got pictures of y/n so upset

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user10: i used to be a lando fan, but who the fuck berates a pregnant woman like that

user11: yeah does he forget that he was the one that got her pregnant

user12: i am so glad logan and oscar were nearby

user13: what a fragile man

user14: my heart breaks for y/n

y/ninsta posted a story

written: me and baby fly back to nyc today, just to let you all know that this weekend was my last time in the paddock for the near future, i'm going to focus on cooking this baby and nesting ready for his arrival

series taglist

@bibissparkles

@milkysoop

@hadids-world

@callsignwidow

@barcelonaloverf1life

@queen-of-the-hunt

@piastrams

@kravitzwhore

@a-beaverhausen

@fangirlforever2000

@formulaal

@azeal-peal

@magical-spit

@that-one-little-soybean

@raizelchrysanderoctavius

@zatarias-pandora

@unknownmystery22

@anotheranotherblogwoah

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 smau #formula 1 smau #f1 fandom #formula one smau #formula one #formula 1 #f1 social media au #lando norris x reader #lando norris #ln4 smau #lando norris smau #oscar piastri social media au #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri #op81 smau #op81

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seoltzuki · 4 months ago

Text

nyc baby!

mina x fem reader

fluff, suggestive

gentle, fleeting, free, adoring, just wondering what life would be like as lovers in a normal world

a/n: self-indulgent bc nyc is a place i adore very much and i'm convinced that in my future life i belong there with my future lover xx (also title stolen from an old work of mine that was with seulgi instead)

Would we be happier in another normal life?

Mina sighs happily as she finishes up the New York Times mini crossword. She’s been on a roll with these ever since you landed, even sending you a screenshot during her Boucheron event.

You’re just about to slip out of bed to grab bagels from across the street when she suddenly whines, grabbing your arm and pulling you back with a pout.

“Needy,” you tease, sinking back into the sheets.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes playfully. “Funny coming from you. Don’t you remember last night?”

“You mean a couple of hours ago?” you reply, grinning. “I don’t think I was the needy one—you’ve left a number on me,” you say, pointing to the faint red marks on your neck.

Mina’s cheeks flush pink as she fumbles for a defense. "Well, it’s your fault," she mutters. "You sent me that picture while I was at the event."

You laugh softly. "It was literally just a good night selfie."

She groans, burying her face in the pillow. "You were in your robe, looking all cozy and good! What did you expect?"

You grin, leaning closer. "So, you admit it—you were the needy one after all."

Mina peeks out from the pillow, her cheeks flushed as she grins mischievously. “Fine, maybe I was,” she admits, her voice low and teasing. “It’s hard to control myself when my girl always looks this good.”

Her words send a rush through you, and before you can think, your lips are on hers. The kiss starts soft, but her fingers are already tangled in your hair, pulling you closer. The warmth of her mouth deepens the kiss, and soon, everything else fades away as you melt into her.

She shifts beneath you, tugging you on top of her as the kiss becomes more intense, her hands roaming over your back, making it hard to focus on anything but her touch.

When you finally pull away, breathless, your foreheads rest together, a grin spreading across your face. “I guess the bagels can wait.”

Mina laughs softly, her fingers brushing your cheek. “Definitely worth waiting for.”

~~~

After breakfast, the two of you wandered over to Bryant Park, sipping coffee beneath the trees, watching the city hum with life.

You spent the next hour window shopping along Fifth Avenue, admiring the elegant displays without any pressure to buy. There was only so much you could bring back home, but Mina’s eyes sparkled at every storefront, and you found yourself more captivated by her excitement than anything in the windows.

Now, you’re strolling through Central Park, hand in hand, the noise of the city fading away as you walk the winding paths. The soft rustle of leaves and distant laughter blend into the air as Mina leans into you, her arm wrapped around yours.

“So, you still want to head to DUMBO for the bridge view, right?” you ask, glancing at Mina over your sunglasses.

Her face lights up instantly. “Yes! Let’s call a taxi,” she says, already reaching for her phone.

“No way! Let’s do this right—let’s take the subway. The real New York experience.”

Mina hesitates, her excitement shifting to uncertainty as she raises an eyebrow. “The subway?” she repeats, a little unsure.

You give her hand a reassuring squeeze, so excited for the trip. “Yes! Trust me, it’ll be fun.”

She lets out a soft sigh, still unconvinced, but seeing the sparkle in your eyes, she can’t help but smile. “Fine,” she agrees, stepping closer. Her arm wraps around your waist, fingers lingering on your hip. “But only because you seem so into it,” she murmurs, pressing herself against your side, her warmth seeping into you.

You chuckle, your hand sliding to her lower back, pulling her in even tighter. “I promise, you won’t regret it.” You lean in, brushing a light kiss against her cheek.

~~~

The subway car sways gently as it rumbles along, packed with commuters and tourists. You and Mina are squeezed together in a corner, her warmth pressed against your side. Around you, the chaos of the subway unfolds: someone is doing chin-ups on the railing, drawing a few amused glances, while others are asleep in their seats or lost in music blaring from their speakers.

Mina leans in closer, her voice a whisper. “They’re staring at us.”

You glance up and muffle a laugh. “That’s because you’re staring at them, baby. Your sunglasses are see-through.”

Her cheeks flush with a hint of embarrassment as she quickly looks away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Shit! I didn’t mean to,” she hushes.

You give another glance at the two people across from you and something catches your eye. You squint and notice keychains with photocards. And that’s… Nayeon’s face?

"Onces…" you whisper to yourself, holding on to Mina’s hand tighter.

Just before you can tell Mina that they’re fans, she gasps and points at the window of the doors. You smile, enchanted by her reaction. She’s so cute as she admires the view of the city through the subway doors, as you pass over the Brooklyn Bridge. The contrast from the underground darkness to the stunning sunset hovering over the skyline is breathtaking.

"Baby, look! It’s beautiful!" She exclaims, hand over her mouth as she shakes you a little.

You sigh and nod, pushing your worries away. "It’s very pretty."

~~~

Later, you find yourselves sitting on a bench at Brooklyn Bridge Park, the quiet hum of the city settling around you like a soft blanket. The lights from the skyscrapers flicker in the distance, casting reflections on the calm waters.

Mina sits close, but you can sense something’s off. She’s fidgeting with her hands, her fingers twisting together in a nervous rhythm. You glance at her, about to ask what’s on her mind, but before you can speak, she breaks the silence.

“Do you think we’d be happier in another life? A normal one?”

You frown, confused. “What?”

She hesitates for a second, looking down at her hands before continuing. “I just… I wonder what it’d be like to live a normal life. Not an idol. No eyes on us all the time.” Her voice softens, tinged with a sadness you rarely hear. “I knew those people in the subway recognized me. I could see it in their faces. And I saw how you tensed up, too.”

You shift uncomfortably, realizing she had noticed your own worry.

She sighs, her gaze drifting out over the city. “I just wonder if things would be easier, better, without the spotlight. Without everyone always watching.”

You stay quiet for a moment, letting her words sink in as the city hums in the background. The weight of what she’s feeling lingers between you, heavy and familiar. You reach over and gently take her fidgeting hands in yours, giving them a soft squeeze.

“Mina,” you say quietly, your voice steady, “I know it’s hard. Sometimes it feels like the whole world is watching. But I don’t think another life would make us happier.”

She turns her head slightly, her eyes searching yours, but you continue before she can say anything.

“You’ve worked so hard to get where you are, and yeah, it comes with all this pressure, but it also brought so much joy. To you, to your fans, and to me.” You offer her a small smile. “You’re not just an idol. You’re you. And even though people recognize you, that doesn’t mean you can’t find peace or moments like this.”

Her expression softens, though the hint of doubt still lingers in her eyes.

“I know it’s not easy,” you continue, brushing a thumb across her hand, “but I wouldn’t trade this life with you for anything.”

Mina blinks, her eyes glassy as she bites her lip. She leans in, resting her head on your shoulder, her breath steadying. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she whispers.

“You’ll never have to find out,” you reply, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. “We’ve got each other. And no matter what, we’ll find our own kind of normal.”

I love you so much.

Mina squeezes your hand back, her fidgeting finally stopping as the tension melts away.

After a few more moments of peace, you nudge her gently. “Pizza?”

She lifts her head, blinking up at you before a small laugh escapes her lips. “Yeah,” she says softly, a smile finally breaking through. “Pizza sounds perfect.”

“And we’re definitely trying pineapple on it this time,” you add with a grin.

She scrunches her nose, groaning playfully. “Ugh, yuck… Fine, baby. But only because it’s you.”

"Yes! NYC baby!"

#twice x reader #twice imagines #twice scenarios #kpop imagines #twice smut #gg x reader #gg imagines #mina x reader

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et6rnalsun · 2 months ago

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introducing … fashionkilla!reader. ✶ basically me lots of bitches / fav is currently: CHRIS STURNIOLO

⭒ her way by partynextdoor. sees her tattoos artist more than her dad. future but in girl version. baddest bitch you’ll ever met. make boys cry. livin’ her best life in NYC. #womeninmalefields. her resting face is disgusted. rich??yes. works? nope!! black dresses & gold jewelry. r&b. french tip mani-pedi’s. knows what she wants. ( chris )

seen him on tt for the first time, she knew she had to get him. 1MLN ON TIKTOK, 222K ON INSTAGRAM. chris was quick to follow back. was spoiled before, even worse with him. the way he manages to stand up to her makes her weak. possessive & jealous. most importantly: loyal.

yappin🪽: all the creds of the idea goes to @secretlocket, aka my girlfriend. i wanted to do something i actually feel close to but i also want to embody her as best as i can for yall. no faceclaim used!!

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #fem reader #★: fashionkilla! reader #christopher sturniolo #christopher x fem reader #christopher sturniolo fluff #christopher sturniolo smut #chris smut #sturniolos

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notlongtolove · 2 days ago

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petals and frost

hotch had called it a brief attachment—six months, no more. an agent liaison from the nyc office, sent down to smooth future communication, to streamline workflow. a brief attachment, hotch had said. too bad spencer hadn’t really remembered to keep it in mind.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst w no happy ending (sowie)

content: avoidant bau reader, non descriptive mentions of sex

word count: 2.8k words

note: written for @mggslover 1k event, congrats once again my love!!! yall can blame @esote-rika for that sadistic ending, i idea dumped that on her and said i didnt know if it wld be too angsty and she begged me to use it so... fuck yalls valentines ig (anyways spencer reid, just know that i, user notlongtolove, would neverrrr do that to you)

a line: You’re spring and the purple wildflowers on his skin are begging to be made yours, over and over again.

And some part of me came alive, the first time that you called me ‘baby’ The perfect genius of our hands and mouths. - Hozier, First Time

Hotch had called it a brief attachment—six months, no more. An agent liaison from the NYC office, sent down to smooth future communication, to streamline workflow. You were easy to like, easy to talk to, definitely easy on the eyes. A brief attachment, Hotch had said. The phrase seemed almost oxymoronic—Spencer hadn’t really remembered to keep it in mind.

As it turns out, there are a lot of other things Spencer forgets around you. When you twist your hair into a haphazard ponytail mid briefing, he forgets the third personality trait of a classified sociopath. You don’t. Interpersonal offensiveness, Reid. That’s criminology 101. Emily makes a comment under her breath about his IQ being slashed in half. If you do hear her, you pretend not to.

When you slide a beer across the table after your first case, he forgets that he doesn’t drink, masking a grimace as he takes a sip. You’re trying. He doesn’t want you to feel bad. By the time he’s on his second, his face is warm. Too fast, he tells himself. From the alcohol, definitely not from the way your thigh is pressed against his in the booth.

Later, when you’ve got him pinned against the wall under a dim lamppost kissing him breathless, he tries to forget the bureau’s policy on interoffice relationships. It’s after hours. You’re not really part of the team. You’re here contractually. A technicality. He can make an exception.

You run your hands through his hair tugging faintly and he decides he will make an exception.

The only thing Spencer doesn’t forget that night is the route from O’Keefe’s to his apartment though it’s a blur all the way from the cab to his apartment to his bed. He pulls you through his front door, fingers curled tight around your wrist. A tangle of limbs and lips pressed against lips feverishly, desperately—He’s certain he’s got that memorised.

“I’m not…” you start, voice faltering between kisses, searching for the right words that just aren’t coming when you’re straddling him and he’s looking at you the way that he is, “not looking for anything… serious.”

Alarm bells go off in his head blaring amidst the euphoric haze he’s in. It’s a warning he registers but doesn’t heed. Caution. Danger ahead. He tells himself that if he squints hard enough, that if he really really tries—It’s a challenge. And Spencer Reid has never backed down from a challenge.

So he bites. Takes the bait. Plays along.

“What makes you think I am?”

You smirk like you don’t believe him but your fingers move to make quick work of the buttons on his shirt anyways. He tries to laugh when you joke about how you should definitely apply for a permanent spot on the team now, but it sticks in his throat. He distracts himself by closing his eyes.

“Spencer,” you say breathlessly, “you sure about this, baby?”

His eyes snap open so fast it startles you, leaving you flustered, halfway to pulling back before his grip tightens at your waist, keeping you right where you are. His throat bobs as he swallows hard.

“W-what’d you just say?”

You blink back at him. “I asked if you’re sure about—”

“No, the—the other part. The last part.”

A pause. Then, deliberately, “Baby?”

Oh fuck.

“Y-yeah. That.” He squeezes his eyes shut like he’s bracing for impact. “Say it again. Please.”

You smirk, the corner of your mouth twitching like you’re holding back a laugh as you lean down to press slow, open-mouthed kisses down his bare chest, whispering against his skin, “whatever you want baby.” Spencer has to force his eyes shut again.

You mark him up in the shades of purple wildflowers. Spencer shivers at the sight of them. Theres not much talking when skin finally meets skin. Spencer’s starved, insatiable, burning hot and ice cold all at once. This okay, baby? Yes, yes, god, yes. Can I? Yes, please, please do. Sweat pools around your bodies and Spencer tries to forget how much he wants to remember this moment. The purple wildflowers bloom across his skin—deadnettle, henbit, african violets.

Oh, he thinks, this one’s gonna hurt, isn’t it?

When Spencer wakes the next morning, he’s only mildly afraid to open his eyes.

He’s never done this before—doesn’t know what to expect. But he knows enough to predict the possibilities. Regret. Yours, not his. Shame, embarrassment, maybe even anger. You’ll be gone. Nothing left behind but the imprint of your body on his sheets, marks of purple left in your wake.

Spencer Reid does not like not knowing.

So he braces himself, steels his nerves, and opens his eyes—only to be met with something far worse.

You.

Still here.

Curled up beside him, peaceful, angel deep in sleep, gut wrenchingly soft. In sleep, you’re nothing like how you are on the field. Out there, you’re a good shot, a great one, you think quick on your feet, you’re confident, never stuttering or stumbling like he does. You’re heaven on earth, right in his bed—He’s utterly ruined for it. He doesn’t know what possesses him to move closer, to let newfound confidence guide his arm around your waist. But he does. You stir, just barely, waking to the feeling of his lips pressed into your hair.

The morning melts into something else entirely. An abandoned attempt at breakfast in bed, clothes forgotten in a scattered trail from the kitchen counter to the couch. Unsanitary, he’d think, if he weren’t already too far gone to care. The boy’s insatiable once again, chasing a thirst only you seem to have awakened in him. It’s fiery and passionate as drinks you in, icy cold hisses when you nip at his neck. But you’re neither summer nor winter. You’re spring and the purple wildflowers on his skin are begging to be made yours, over and over again. The way your nails claw at his back, marks of sinful desire turning into ivy that grows to cover you both. It’s entirely all encompassing.

God, you have him in the palm of your hand and you don’t even know it.

Dancing around the team is its own kind of purgatory. Turtlenecks in sweltering Texas heat which you make up for with a fleeting kiss to his cheek in the break room when everyone else has their back turned. Spencer tells himself to keep his feelings in check, to keep his adoration at bay. But it’s hard to when you exist so seamlessly within the liminal spaces of the team. Always in Hotch’s good books. Cracking jokes just dirty enough to make Morgan laugh and Rossi raise a brow. Even JJ loves you.

Silently, Spencer thanks the BAU’s abysmal budget for the run-down motel they’ve stuck you in. It makes it that much easier to convince you to stay at his place—only for a night or two, maybe three, maybe four, eventually a Baby, Hotch is gonna call us in soon anyway, and the freeway near yours is a nightmare in the mornings. You might as well stay one more night. He seals with a look, a soft plea, and you cave every time.

5 months and a week is what you’ve built together. Your days are disgustingly domestic and Spencer just can’t seem to get enough. It’s not like the two of you go out much. Long days (and longer nights) in the field leave you both drained, running on fumes. Just enough energy left to call in takeout accompanied with something strong for you, water for him. Just enough left to trade lazy kisses between bites and fall into bed tangled together. This is it, isn’t it?

Waking to rushed mornings, shared showers, half-hearted protests when you insist on shampooing his hair for him. Bare feet on hardwood floors and the bumping of hips in the kitchen as he makes coffee for two. Rendezvous on a crappy motel mattress that creaks beneath the weight of both of you when you run out of clothes for the week. Baby, we shouldn’t really—swallowed by the press of lips.

Your laughter comes to him in little bursts of light. You’re his absolute heart in human form.

The purple wildflowers haven’t made an appearance in awhile but spring blooms in his chest all the same. When you inevitably drift off to the sound of his voice reading Spencer makes a mental note to bring The Iliad when he comes to visit. You’ll probably be done with Dante’s inferno by then. The weak fistful you have of his shirt tightens ever so slightly in your sleep and he knows what you want. He turns to shut off the light and fits himself against you, tucking you closer to his chest. Spencer tries to distract himself from the fact that you’re set to leave in a month. He’d drink dry the River Lethe to forget it if he could. Instead, in the quiet, he allows himself to think about what the weather will be when he gets the chance to visit you.

He’s always wanted to go to New York. He’s never been the best flyer and he doesn’t know how he’ll fare on a flight without the comfort of his team and the jet’s coffeemachine. It’ll have to make do, he thinks. It’s only a little over an hour’s flight. He tells himself it’s basically nothing. He can handle it. Besides, he can always make the eight hour drive, or the six hour train. The options are endless, much like his devotion to you—He’ll walk to you if he has to.

“Do you think you’ll have time for a trip when I come visit?” Spencer asks one night, eyes boring holes into the ceiling. You’re too busy fumbling with the buttons of his pants to catch the lovelorn grin tugging at his lips. “I know there’s probably a lot to see in New York, but I’ve been saving my days off. And if I catch Hotch on a good day, I think I could carve out a few more.”

“Oh, baby, I don’t know,” you murmur, distractedly, “I usually don’t get much time off when I’m back. Let me know if you are planning to come, though—I’d love to show you around for a day or two.”

The fuck?

Show him around? A day or two?

It’s frosty. Ice cold. A slow caress of his cheek at arms length. Cruel in the way that kindness can be. He tenses beneath you, shifting upright so suddenly that you blink up at him, confused.

“Everything okay, baby?”

The frown on his face indicates he’s anything but okay. “Yeah,” Spencer lies. “I just… I just thought—I mean, you knew I was planning to come visit, right?”

You hesitate. “Spence, we didn’t really discuss that, I—”

“I know we didn’t.” He tries to keep his frustration subtle, but it slips through when he runs a hand through his hair sharply. “But this? Us? How could I not?”

You try again, gentler this time. “Oh, baby, you don’t have to. I know you’re really busy, and—”

“I want to.”

The realisation settles slowly into your features. And then, quietly—naively—he lets himself ask, “Don’t you want me to?”

Silence.

Oh.

Somewhere deep inside him the ivy shrivels and the purple wildflowers wither. It appears that spring has come to a close.

“Spencer,” you say gravely, “I thought we talked about this—” He doesn’t hear the rest. It all dissolves into static, white noise humming in his skull. He hates that tone on you—the way it sounds so careful, so deliberate. Its how you talk to Hotch, to unsubs, to people that need to be managed. Never how you talk to him. Not how you talk to him when you share sly jokes and interlock pinkies at the back of the van, thighs touching when you share a blanket in the jet. Not how you talk when you whisper baby, stop, someones gonna see us when he insists on a chaste kiss to your nose and another to your forehead—Because how could he ever stop at one?

He blinks back into focus when you reach for his hand, thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles.

He should brace for the inevitable. He knows what’s coming, but he’s too far gone for it to matter, too far off the deep end for it to hurt now. What’s a stab to the heart when you make up for it with cotton-soft kisses and a feather light touch? I’m sorry, baby. Please don’t be sad. I wish I could stay too. Don’t be mad, okay? I don’t want you to be mad at me. As if he ever could be. Not when you’re kissing him the way that you are. Still, Spencer tries to tell himself that the wildflowers that bloom into rosettes beneath your touch are fragile things. He tries to carve it into his bones to remind himself that they won’t survive the winter of your absence.

It starts with the smallest frost, like soft snowflakes clinging to his lashes, signs he might have missed if he wasn’t already looking out for them. “Baby, you shouldn’t have,” you say when he comes home with a restock of your makeup remover. Spencer only shrugs, wordless. He knows you mean it. Not out of politeness, not out of gratitude, but because there won’t be any use for it soon.

Winter calls for shorter days, for less sunlight. It brings more cases, more exhaustion, more time spent apart. Nights where Spencer wakes up to an empty bed because you’d insisted on packing your suitcase, and insisted on doing it alone. As it turns out, the cold really does bite.

It all couldn’t happen fast enough.

Nobody bats an eye when Spencer insists on tagging along to drop you off at the airport. It’s practical, really—an extra set of hands. Even Morgan doesn’t say a word, doesn’t call him lover boy with that knowing smirk. Maybe he would’ve if Spencer didn’t already look like he was on the brink of death. Hotch keeps his goodbye brief, a quiet nod, a quick squeeze of your shoulder after he helps unload your suitcase from the van. He mumbles something about keeping in touch, about how the door’s always open.

Spencer is the one who walks you to your terminal. You walk briskly ahead of him, fingers curled loosely around the handle of your suitcase. You’d brushed off his offer to help—All the better because he has to shove his hands into the pockets of his coat just to keep them steady. He tries to count the steps between the check-in counter and security. All in all, both literally and ironically, too little too late.

This is finality, signed, sealed, delivered. The clock has run out. Spencer Reid is out of time. And, for once, Spencer Reid is out of words.

So, it’s you who takes his hand, pulling him closer. Drop me a call if you ever come visit okay? I will, I will. You’ll love it there. Take care. Call me whenever. This was amazing. You’re amazing. You’re so good. Too good. It’s you who tilts his chin and kisses him with such force he wants call it love. He would call it love. If you asked, he’d rip the wildflowers from his ribs and place them at your feet as proof disguised as an offering. You’re kissing like you’re trying to make him forget—where you both are, where you’re going, where he’s staying. You pull away, breathless, fingertips ghosting along his jaw when the intercom blares above you. He lets the last shreds of sunlight slip from his grasp when you walk through the gate. Spencer doesn’t stay to see if you turn back or not. He’s felt like an afterthought enough.

The van is quiet when he climbs in.

Spencer ignores Hotch’s glances, keeps his head down, busies himself with the air conditioning. Granted, he rarely sits shotgun, but still, today, it feels colder than usual.

“She’s a great agent.”

“She is. She… worked great in the team.” Spencer’s fingers tighten around the vent. He nods, swallows around the lump in his throat. “You should’ve offered her a spot.”

Hotch’s eyes stay set on the road. “I did. JJ and I drafted a two-year contract for her.”

Spencer scoffs bitterly, “yeah? I’m sure Strauss took that well.”

“Strauss had no issue with it.”

That makes Spencer pause. His head turns, brows pulling together. “Then?”

A beat of silence before Hotch exhales, “she rejected it.”

The world stops. His stomach drops first, then his chest. Fragile stems and violet petals turn brittle, cracking as the frost works its way through him. Tiny pieces of petals and frost splinter his being. A brief attachment, no doubt. He should’ve known better. He should’ve noticed the subtlest change in the winds, distractions cloaked in tender touches as wandering hands made their way beneath clothes, apologies in a baby, I wish I could stay too. He really should’ve remembered to forget you.

He feels the wildflowers inside him freeze over and with the gentlest shift of breath—They shatter.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader angst #lovers1kevent #criminal minds fanfiction

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capquinn · 3 months ago

Note

Hey I love your Dad!Quinn writings so much! They’re so cute and fluffy! Maybe you can do one about mom’s bump popping up one morning and Quinn is like mesmerized, realizes that a baby is coming and his life is going to change. But he’s so happy. Only if you want to write this. Have fun in NYC!

The hoodie slipped from his hands, forgotten, as Quinn froze in the doorway, caught in the quiet spell of the moment. His breath stilled, his gaze fixed on you — on the reflection of you in the mirror, framed by the soft morning light that filtered through the curtains. You were standing there, one hand resting on the curve of your belly, your fingers brushing over it in a way that was both casual and deliberate.

But it wasn’t the same curve he’d kissed goodnight the evening before. This was new, different.

His eyes traced the line of your profile, lingering on the now unmistakable swell of your stomach. It wasn’t just a gentle hint anymore, not the subtle softness he’d grown accustomed to seeing. It was undeniable, defined. A bump.

His bump. His baby.

Quinn’s arms hung at his sides, his hoodie now pooled in the chair behind him as his brain worked to catch up with his eyes. For a long beat, he just stared, unmoving, as the weight of it hit him all at once. His chest tightened, his heart thrumming in a rhythm he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t panic, not fear, but bigger — something that was overwhelming in its tenderness. Awe, maybe. Or reverence. A sense of this is real that felt too massive for his chest to hold.

He tilted his head slightly, as if looking from a different angle might somehow soften the impact, but it didn’t. If anything, it deepened it.

His gaze dropped to your hand, the way your palm smoothed over the firm swell like it was second nature now. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been holding his breath until he let it out, slow and shaky, his hands flexing at his sides. There was no mistaking it anymore — this was real. Tangible. The tiny life that had been nothing but whispers and plans and grainy black-and-white ultrasound images was suddenly here, making its presence known.

You glanced up in the mirror, your eyes catching his reflection, and Quinn’s heart twisted. You looked at him like you always did — a soft affection that grounded him — but now there was something else. Something unspoken, something shared. Something that said, can you believe this?

He stepped closer without even realising, the movement automatic, like gravity was pulling him to you. His hand reached out instinctively, tentative at first, brushing against the curve of your belly before settling there fully. His palm was warm, steady, fingers spreading slightly as if to take it all in. The bump was firm, more defined than he’d expected, and the simple touch made everything feel sharper, clearer.

“This is new,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion, almost as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile intimacy of the moment.

“It wasn’t like this yesterday,” you replied softly, your voice carrying the same quiet awe that was written all over your face.

“No,” he agreed, his thumb sweeping in a slow arc along the edge of your belly. “It wasn’t.”

For the first time, it wasn’t just an abstract thought in the back of his mind. It wasn’t just appointments or plans or future names whispered in the dark. It was right here, under his hand. The tiny, growing life you’d made together, tucked safely between the two of you.

His gaze flicked back up to yours, his eyes soft and bright with something unspoken. Pride, maybe, and then his lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile.

“That’s… really our baby,” he said, the words tumbling out like a confession, as though saying them aloud might help him fully believe it.

“Really our baby,” you echoed, and the way you said it, so soft but so certain, nearly unraveled him.

Quinn’s thumb brushed over your skin again, slower this time, more deliberate, as if tethering himself in the moment. He didn’t let go, didn’t even think about moving. His fingers flexed gently against you, holding on as though the world might tip if he didn’t anchor himself to this — to you.

He exhaled quietly, his voice dropping even lower as his gaze flicked back to your bump.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” he murmurs. “To you. To seeing you like this.” His voice caught slightly, and his eyes softened even further as they roamed the swell of your stomach, his hands cradling it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you — off the way your body had changed, the way it was carrying something that was a part of both of you. It hit him all at once, an overwhelming wave of awe that nearly stole his breath. The guys had joked about this, their faces lighting up in a way that always seemed a little exaggerated when they said there was nothing more attractive than seeing your partner pregnant with your child. He’d brushed it off at the time, but standing here now, he finally understood. You were stunning, and it wasn’t just how you looked — it was what it meant. What you were doing.

He kept those thoughts to himself, too raw and vulnerable to say aloud, but they lingered, stirring in the quiet space between you.

“You’re just so beautiful,” he said instead, the words escaping before he could stop them. He didn’t need to elaborate — everything he felt was in the way he looked at you, his eyes soft, his expression completely open.

The sincerity in his words made your throat tighten, a warmth rising in your chest that had nothing to do with hormones. He saw it immediately — the way your eyes glossed just slightly, your lips pressing together as if to hold back an overflow of emotion. You stared down at the curve of your belly, your hand resting over his, grounding yourself in the moment.

Quinn’s heart clenched at the sight. He hadn’t meant to make you cry, but the way your reaction softened your entire expression made his chest ache in the best way. His fingers flexed gently against your stomach again, his thumb brushing over your skin in a slow, steady rhythm, his way of silently telling you that he was right here.

Your lips parted slightly, like you wanted to say something but weren’t quite ready, and he stayed quiet, giving you the space to find the words.

“It doesn’t feel real, does it?” you whispered finally, your voice carrying a quiet awe that made his breath catch.

He paused for just a moment, watching the way your gaze lingered on your belly, before answering.

“It’s real,” he said, almost to himself, as if to convince the last part of him that still couldn’t quite believe it. His fingers pressed a little more firmly, cradling the swell of your stomach with the same care he might handle something sacred. “It’s us. Right here.”

He could see the ripple of emotion in your expression, the way your chest rose in a deep, steadying breath. The way your hand tightened over his for just a second, like you needed him to hold you in the moment.

When your eyes finally met his, the look you gave him stopped him in his tracks. It was full of wonder, gratitude, and a love so profound it stole the breath from his lungs. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words, couldn’t do anything but hope that you saw everything reflected back in his gaze: the wonder, the love, the quiet, unshakable resolve that whatever came next, he’d be there — every step, every breath. For you. For the tiny life between you. For all of it.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

requests are open - let’s daydream!

#i’m so soft for a man who is head over heels in love and obsessed with his partner :(#dad!quinn #sort of? let’s just roll with it ok #also i had the best time in nyc sweet anon tysm!!!! <3 #capquinn's writing #capquinn’s requests #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader

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probablyasocialecologist · 2 years ago

Text

Degrowth basics

"The word degrowth stands for a family of political-economic approaches that, in the face of today’s accelerating planetary ecological crisis, reject unlimited, exponential economic growth as the definition of human progress."

What is Degrowth? | Caracol DSA

Why degrowth is the only responsible way forward | OpenDemocracy

Degrowth and MMT: A thought experiment

We Need A Fair Way To End Infinite Growth | Current Affairs

Degrowth: A Call for Radical Abundance | Common Dreams

Can degrowth save us and the planet? | Nottingham Trent

Defending limits is not Malthusian | Undisciplined Environments

Can We Have Prosperity Without Growth? | New Yorker

The Urgent Case for Shrinking the Economy | The New Republic

Giving Up on Economic Growth Could Make Us Cooler and Happier | The New Republic

A guide to degrowth: The movement prioritizing wellbeing in a bid to avoid climate cataclysm | CNBC

What is ‘degrowth’ and how can it fight climate change? | Popular Science

Enough for Everyone | Yes! Magazine

Toward a Post-Capitalist Future: On the Growth of “Degrowth” | Lit Hub

All we are saying is give degrowth a chance | The RSA

A pathway out of environmental collapse | newsroom

On Technology and Degrowth | Monthly Review

What is degrowth (and more importantly, what is it not)? | META

Green growth

"There is no empirical evidence that absolute decoupling from resource use can be achieved on a global scale against a background of continued economic growth."

Is Green Growth Possible? | Jason Hickel & Giorgos Kallis

The Myth of America’s Green Growth | Foreign Policy

The decoupling delusion: rethinking growth and sustainability | The Conversation

Is green growth happening? | Uneven Earth

Green Growth | Uneven Earth

The Delusion of Infinite Economic Growth | Scientific American

Degrowth is not austerity – it is actually just the opposite | Al Jazeera

A response to Paul Krugman: Growth is not as green as you might think | Timothée Parrique

Deceitful Decoupling: Misconceptions of a Persistent Myth | Alevgul H. Sorman

Degrowth isn’t the same as a recession – it’s an alternative to growing the economy forever | The Conversation

Degrowth and the left

"In the middle of an ecological emergency, should we be producing sport utility vehicles and mansions? Should we be diverting energy to support the obscene consumption and accumulation of the ruling class?"

The Left should embrace degrowth | New Internationalist

Ecosocialism is the Horizon, Degrowth is the Way | The Trouble

Degrowth: Socialism without Growth | Brave New Europe

Toward an Ecosocialist Degrowth: From the Materially Inevitable to the Socially Desirable | Monthly Review

For an Ecosocialist Degrowth | Monthly Review

Degrowth and Revolutionary Organizing | Rosa Luxemburg NYC

The necessity of ecosocialist degrowth | Rupture

Degrowth is Anti-Capitalist | Protean Mag

Degrowth Communism | PPPR (Part one | Part two | Part three)

Economic Planning and Degrowth: How Socialism Survives the 21st Century | New Socialist

Degrowth and the South

"Southern countries should be free to organize their resources and labor around meeting human needs rather than around servicing Northern growth."

Who is afraid of degrowth? A Global South economic perspective | IBON Foundation

The anti-colonial politics of degrowth | Jason Hickel

Unlearning: From Degrowth to Decolonization | Rosa Luxemburg NYC

Degrowth requires the Global South to default on its foreign debts | Resilience

Journals/Reports

Degrowth: a theory of radical abundance | Jason Hickel

A systematic review of the evidence on decoupling of GDP, resource use and GHG emissions, part II: synthesizing the insights

What does degrowth mean? A few points of clarification | Jason Hickel

Providing decent living with minimum energy: A global scenario | Global Environmental Change

Urgent need for post-growth climate mitigation scenarios | Nature Energy

Degrowth and critical agrarian studies | Julien-François Gerber

Decoupling debunked – Evidence and arguments against green growth as a sole strategy for sustainability | European Environmental Bureau

Incrementum ad Absurdum: Global Growth, Inequality and Poverty Eradication in a Carbon-Constrained World | David Woodward

Degrowth can work — here’s how science can help | Nature

A New Political Economy for a Healthy Planet | Jason Hickel

Planning beyond growth. The case for economic democracy within limits

Millionaire spending incompatible with 1.5 °C ambitions | Cleaner Production Letters

Is green growth happening? An empirical analysis of achieved versus Paris-compliant CO2–GDP decoupling in high-income countries | The Lancet

Books

Exploring Degrowth: A Critical Guide | Pluto Press

A People's Green New Deal | Max Ajl

Less is More: How Degrowth Will Save the World | Jason Hickel

Breaking Things at Work: The Luddites Are Right About Why You Hate Your Job | Verso Books

The Future is Degrowth: A Guide to a World Beyond Capitalism | Verso Books

The Imperial Mode of Living: Everyday Life and the Ecological Crisis of Capitalism | Verso Books

Marx in the Anthropocene: Towards the Idea of Degrowth Communism | Kohei Saito

Degrowth & Strategy: how to bring about social-ecological transformation

27 Essays and Thoughts on Degrowth | Giorgos Kallis

Videos

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pickingupmymercedes · 10 months ago

Text

Not now, not ever - Lewis Hamilton

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

summary: Having her pressed to him brought back how important she's been to keep him grounded.

warnings: Angst, Mercedes 2024, Monza 21'.

wordcount: +1K

a/n: Hello everyone, I felt like angsty was in order. Sorry to bring that accident 😶, but yeah, hope you guys enjoy it!

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

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Defeated and exhausted, that was Lewis scotched in his airplane seat with you tangled in his arms, asleep beside him. The flight back to the UK after a disastrous Japanese Grand Prix held all the weight of the race, the frustration of the poor performance, and the uncertainty of his future with Mercedes weighing heavily on him.

Gently cradling you in his arms, Lewis pressed his face into your hair, breathing in your scent, finding solace in the familiarity and warmth of your presence. His fingers lightly traced the contours of your back, feeling the steady rhythm of your heartbeat against his chest. Holding you like this; he felt a fleeting moment of peace amidst the storm of emotions and uncertainties that surrounded him. He whispered softly, barely audible above the hum of the airplane engine, " Thank you for always being there for me, even when I'm at my lowest”

He held you close, drawing comfort from your presence, knowing that whatever happened, you had been through much worse and had always stood strong together. As he looked down to your sleeping figure, the scene brought back a nagging memory on repeat, a night back in 2021, when you had comforted him after a nightmare. Now, as much as back then, you were his anchor, his safe haven amidst the chaos and uncertainty.

You were jolted awake when his entire body lurched, causing him to drop you abruptly onto the mattress. His breathing was rapid, coming out in sharp puffs as he hid his face in his hands, his shoulders tense under your arms as you held him from behind. You waited patiently, holding him until his breathing began to even out. Eventually, he turned to you, fear evident in his eyes. Without a word, you pulled him into your embrace, running your fingers through his braids and soothing the tension in his arms.

You had never seen that happen to him – that nightmarish episode that left a haunting impression. It had been two days from the crash with Verstappen in Monza. You'd traveled with him to NYC under the pretense of having an important. No one knew about the two of you yet. A few stolen moments here and there, and nights tangled in each other were all you had. He returned to his penthouse almost at dawn after the Met Gala, quietly ushering you from the bedroom you were occupying to his own bed. His friends, drunk from the after party, were oblivious to the fact that your supposed meeting was just a cover-up. The real reason you were there was that you couldn't bear to be apart from him after that crash.

Hours seemed to pass without either of you uttering a single word. The mere press of each other’s bodies was enough to ground you both. By the time Daniel knocked on the door to let him know they were headed out and assumed you hadn’t spent the night, it was well past noon. Little did he know, you had been there the whole time and would continue to be there for the rest of the day.

Lewis had witnessed similar episodes with you, most often triggered by situations related to Ayrton. Sometimes it manifested as restlessness, with you tossing and turning in bed. But on other occasions, it was far more severe. You'd wake up cold, tears streaming down your face, a scream caught in your throat, and a deafening ringing in your ears.

When these episodes occurred, Lewis knew exactly what to do. He would hold you tightly, his fingers lightly tracing your skin and scalp, while he repeated reassuring words over and over. And when you finally became aware of your surroundings, he'd listen attentively as you spoke about whatever had triggered the nightmare, comforting you until you fell back asleep in his arms.

As the sun began to set, casting a hauntingly beautiful golden hue through the penthouse windows, you went to find some food, Lewis hot on your feet, taking any opportunity to find himself wrapped in your arms. His arms securely around you, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back as you leaned into him even while you waited for the stove to warm up the takeout from the previous night. The events of the day had left both of you emotionally drained, the scars of the past resurfacing with a vengeance.

The weight of the nightmare and fear of the unknown had taken its toll on both of you. The emotional strain was palpable, the shadows of past traumas lingering in the corners of your minds, waiting to strike when least expected. "You don't have to go through this alone, you know," you whispered, your voice filled with genuine concern. "I'm always here for you, no matter what."

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude, love, and pain. "And I'm here for you" his voice softly reassuring you “Always."

Lewis smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He pulled you closer to him, cherishing the moment of fragile peace and understanding between you. The bond you shared was unique, built on trust, understanding, and unconditional love. Despite the challenges and nightmares that sometimes haunted your nights, the love and support you provided each other were unwavering.

As night fell, Lewis led you back to the bedroom, ensuring you were comfortable and safe before joining you in bed. He held you close, his presence a constant source of comfort and reassurance. You drifted off to sleep, protected and loved in the arms that secured you so tightly.

Lewis remained awake; his gaze fixed on your peaceful sleeping face. The haunting memories of the accident with Verstappen in Monza played in his mind, and a shiver ran down his spine as he thought about how close it had come to being his end.

His thoughts were consumed by the accident, the fear of losing you, and the nightmares that had been haunting both of you. The emotional strain was palpable, and tears welled up in his eyes as he continued to watch you sleep, his mind tormented by the events of the past and the shadows of the traumas you both had endured.

The room was silent except for the soft, rhythmic sound of your breathing. Lewis leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead, his heart aching with love and fear. He whispered words of love and reassurance, hoping that somehow, you could feel his presence and know that he would always be there for you.

He tightened his grip around you, pulling you closer as if trying to protect you from the world and the nightmares. His mind was filled with what-ifs and worst-case scenarios, the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future pressing down on him.

"We almost lost it all," he whispered to himself, his voice choked with emotion. "Gosh, I can't lose you, not now, not ever."

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natsgrave · 4 months ago

Text

MEAN IT | scarlett johansson

on your lips just leave it, if you don't mean it. i do not give permission for my work to be copied or translated on other sites. plagiarism is a crime!! main m.list whispers of heartache m.list

Y/N and Scarlett had always been the couple that everyone admired. Their relationship was often described by friends and acquaintances as "perfect." Living in a cozy apartment in NYC, they had spent two wonderful years together. Their relationship was marked by sweet gestures, tender moments, and an unwavering bond. Scarlett, who was known for her strong and assertive personality, was always soft and gentle when it comes to Y/N. Every day, without fail, Scarlett would make Y/N feel special, telling her how much she loves her.

Every morning, Scarlett would wake up before Y/N, slipping out of bed quietly to prepare breakfast. She knew Y/N loved pancakes, so she made them from scratch, humming softly to herself as she worked. By the time Y/N woke up, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm pancakes filled the apartment.

"Morning, sleepyhead." Scarlett would say, a smile lighting up her face as Y/N shuffled into the kitchen.

Y/N would smile back, eyes still heavy with sleep. "Morning, love."

Scarlett would set a plate of pancakes in front of her, sitting down across the table. "Eat up. You've got a big day ahead."

Y/N would take a bite and sigh contentedly. "You always know how to make my mornings better."

One day, while Y/N was at work, Scarlett decided to surprise her with lunch. She knew Y/N had a hectic schedule, so she packed a homemade meal and headed to her office.

When she arrived, Y/N's eyes lit up with surprise and delight. "Scarlett! What are you doing here?"

"I brought you lunch," Scarlett said, holding up the bag. "Thought you could use a break."

They sat together in the small break room, sharing stories and laughter. Y/N couldn't stop smiling. "You always know how to brighten my day."

On Sundays, they had a tradition of spending the day in their pajamas, doing nothing but lounging around the apartment. Scarlett loved these moments, where they could just be themselves without any distractions.

They would cuddle on the couch, watching movies or reading books. Scarlett would often glance over at Y/N, who would be engrossed in her book, and feel a surge of love and gratitude.

"I love you, you know that?" Scarlett would say, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N's face.

Y/N would look up, her eyes sparkling. "I love you too, Scarlett. More than anything."

In the evenings, they enjoyed taking walks around their neighborhood. The city was always bustling, but in those moments, it felt like it was just the two of them.

Hand in hand, they would walk and talk about their dreams and future plans. Scarlett loved these conversations, where they could dream together.

"Do you think we'll always be this happy?" Y/N would ask, looking up at the stars.

Scarlett would squeeze her hand. "I know we will. I'll make sure of it."

On their anniversaries, Scarlett always went all out. One year, she surprised Y/N with a rooftop dinner. She had decorated the space with fairy lights and candles, creating a magical ambiance.

Y/N's eyes widened as they stepped onto the rooftop. "Scarlett, this is amazing!"

Scarlett pulled her into a gentle embrace. "Only the best for you, my love."

They danced under the stars, holding each other close. Scarlett whispered sweet nothings into Y/N's ear, making her giggle and blush.

"I can't believe how lucky I am to have you." Y/N said softly.

Scarlett smiled, kissing her forehead. "I'm the lucky one."

Some of their best moments were the quiet nights in, where they would simply sit together and enjoy each other's company. Scarlett loved to play with Y/N's hair, weaving it into intricate braids.

"You're so good at this." Y/N would murmur, her eyes half-closed in contentment.

Scarlett would chuckle softly. "I just like playing with your hair. It's so beautiful, just like you."

Y/N would blush and lean into her touch. "You're too sweet, Scarlett."

Scarlett had a habit of leaving little notes for Y/N around the apartment. Whether it was a simple "I love you" or a longer message expressing her feelings, these notes never failed to make Y/N smile.

One day, Y/N found a note tucked into her bag that read, "Thank you for being the light of my life. I can't wait to see you tonight."

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest. Scarlett always knew how to make her feel cherished and loved.

Sometimes, they would stay up late into the night, talking about everything and nothing. Scarlett loved these moments of vulnerability and openness.

"Do you ever think about the future?" Y/N would ask, her voice soft in the darkness.

"All the time," Scarlett would reply, taking Y/N's hand in hers. "And every time, I see you in it."

Y/N would smile, her heart swelling with love. "I can't imagine my future without you."

Whenever Y/N felt insecure or anxious, Scarlett was always there to reassure her. She would hold her close, whispering words of comfort and love.

"You're amazing, Y/N," Scarlett would say, her voice firm and sincere. "Don't ever doubt that. I love you more than anything in this world."

Y/N would nod, feeling a sense of calm wash over her. "Thank you, Scarlett. I don't know what I would do without you."

Every day, Scarlett made it a point to remind Y/N of her love. Whether it was a kiss on the cheek before heading out or a sweet text message during the day, she never let Y/N forget how much she meant to her.

One morning, as Y/N was getting ready for work, Scarlett wrapped her arms around her from behind.

"I love you," Scarlett whispered, kissing the back of her neck. "Don't ever forget that."

Y/N smiled, turning around to face her. "I love you too, Scarlett. More than words can say."

Despite all these sweet moments, Y/N noticed a change. Scarlett became distant, preoccupied, and often seemed lost in thought. Her usual warmth replaced by an unfamiliar coldness. It started with missed calls and shorter texts, and Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The final straw came when Y/N stumbled upon a message on Scarlett's phone from Addison, Scarlett's ex of ten years.

Y/N's heart sank as she read the messages. They were friendly, but there was an undeniable familiarity and intimacy that made Y/N's blood run cold. She decided she couldn't stay silent any longer. That evening, as Scarlett walked through the door, Y/N confronted her.

"Scarlett, we need to talk." Y/N said, her voice trembling.

Scarlett looked up, her expression guarded. "What's wrong, baby?"

"I found messages from Addison on your phone," Y/N began, trying to keep her voice steady. "Why didn't you tell me she was back in your life?"

Scarlett's face paled, and she took a deep breath. "I didn't think it was a big deal. We're just friends now."

"Just friends?" Y/N's voice rose. "Why have you been so distant then? Why didn't you tell me about her?"

Scarlett sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I didn't want to worry you. Addison came back into my life suddenly, and it's been... complicated."

"Complicated how?" Y/N pressed, tears welling up in her eyes.

Scarlett hesitated before finally speaking. "Addison reached out to me. She wanted to meet up, and... I didn't hesitate to go. We've been seeing each other as friends, trying to be civil." Scarlett admitted, avoiding Y/N's gaze.

Y/N felt a sinking feeling in her chest. "Civil?" Y/N repeated, her voice breaking. "It doesn't seem like just civility, Scarlett. You've been distant, you've changed! What's going on?"

Scarlett looked at Y/N, pain etched on her face. "Seeing Addison again brought back a lot of memories, Y/N. Feelings I thought I had buried. We talked, and it was like we never lost communication. All the old feelings came rushing back."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest. "What are you saying, Scarlett?"

"I... I still love Addison," Scarlett said quietly, the words hanging heavily in the air. "Seeing her again brought everything back."

Y/N felt like the ground had been pulled from under her. Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes. "So, in the two years we've been together, she was always in your heart? Then where was I, Scarlett? Did I ever mean anything to you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Scarlett closed her eyes, a single tear escaping. "You were never there, Y/N. I thought I could move on, that I could love you the way you deserve. But it was never fully you. It never became you."

The room fell silent as Y/N absorbed the painful truth. Her heart shattered into pieces. She had given everything to Scarlett, only to find out she was living in someone else's shadow.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Y/N whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Why did you let me believe we had a future together?"

"I thought I could make it work," Scarlett replied, her own voice breaking. "I didn't want to hurt you. I thought if I just tried hard enough, I could let go of Addison."

"But you couldn't," Y/N said, her voice hollow. "And now I'm the one who's left broken."

"I'm so sorry, Y/N." Scarlett apologize.

"It's like, last night we were more than fine." Y/N said, letting out a teary laugh, "You only let me hold you because she can't."

"Forgive me, Y/N." Scarlett said, reaching out to touch Y/N's hand, but Y/N pulled away, her eyes filled with hurt and confusion.

"Don't mess with my head," Y/N shook her head, anger and hurt mingling in her voice. "You shouldn't have told me you're falling if your feet is still on the ledge."

Scarlett stepped closer, her eyes pleading. "I need you, Y/N. I need you in my life."

"Don't tell me that you need me," Y/N shook her head, stepping back further. "You can't keep doing this to me. You can't keep saying you need me when you still have one foot in the past."

Scarlett tried to approach Y/N again, leaning in to kiss her forehead, but Y/N stepped back, holding up her hand to stop her. "Don't kiss me, no, don't kiss me right now."

Scarlett's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I tried to move on, I tried to be the person you deserve, but I couldn't. Addison's presence brought back so many memories, so many feelings."

Scarlett's tears fell freely now. "I never meant to hurt you, Y/N. I thought I could love you and let go of Addison. But I failed. It was like old times, like no time had passed. We talked, and the spark was still there. I fell in love with her all over again. I'm so sorry. "

Y/N's heart shattered even more at Scarlett's words. She turned away, unable to bear the sight of the woman she loved admitting she loved someone else. "How could you do this to me? To us?"

Scarlett's voice was barely a whisper. "I'm sorry. I wish I could change how I feel, but I can't."

Y/N wiped her tears, her voice cracking. "I thought we had something special. I thought you loved me."

Scarlett stepped closer, desperate to make Y/N understand. "I do love you. But my love for Addison never went away. I thought it had, but I was wrong. I never meant to hurt you."

Y/N's voice was filled with resignation. "But you did. You hurt me more than I ever thought possible." Y/N took a deep breath, wiping away her own tears. "Scarlett, I loved you with everything I had. I gave you my heart, my soul, and you couldn't even see me. You were always looking back, never fully here with me."

"I know. And that's my biggest regret."

Y/N nodded, her resolve firming up. "I can't do this anymore. I can't keep pretending that everything's okay when it's not. You need to figure out what you really want, Scarlett. Because I can't be in a relationship where I'm second best."

Scarlett's heart broke as she realized the finality in Y/N's words. "I love you, Y/N. I do."

Y/N looked at her, pain etched across her face. "On your lips just leave it, if you don't mean it." she said softly, her voice breaking.

With that, Y/N walked out of the apartment, she felt a mix of anger, sadness, and confusion. The place that had once been a sanctuary now felt like a prison. She didn't know where she was going, but she knew she needed to get away from the pain, from the memories, from Scarlett.

Scarlett was left standing alone, the weight of her choices heavy on her shoulders. Scarlett watched Y/N leave, her own heart heavy with regret. She knew she had made a mistake, one that had cost her the most beautiful thing she had ever had. But it was too late. The damage was done, and she was left to face the consequences of her actions alone. As Y/N disappeared into the night, Scarlett knew that she had lost something irreplaceable, and she had no one to blame but herself.

As Y/N walked through the bustling streets of New York, the city lights blurred by her tears, she knew that she would have to find a way to heal from this heartbreak. She had loved Scarlett deeply, but in the end, it wasn't enough. Now, she had to learn to love herself again, to find her own way in a world that had suddenly become so much darker. She needed to figure out her own feelings and decide what to do next. All she knew right now was that her heart had been shattered, and it would take time to heal.

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