#his head is gone but he mentions seeing through it from time to time to freak ppl out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trashytracktales · 1 day ago

Note

Hey! Please do a lando x ex!reader. They break up after a lot of arguments due to being away from each other so much and then they meet a few months later and hook up. Like angst in the beginning then lots of smut.

If it's meant to fall apart | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── I was actually planning to write something similar for so long. Thank you for the request and I hope you like it 🤍

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𐙚 summary ──── Surprisingly, months apart haven’t dulled the connection between them. After a night of passion and honesty on both sides, maybe there is a future where they can make all the right decisions, after all.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x ex!reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, lots of angst & back-and-forth, fluff & smut, teasing, praising, explicit language, unprotected sex, mention of alcohol and drinking, swearing, not the healthiest relationship I've ever written tbh (the toxicity is implicit tho), overstimulation, pussy-drunk Lando, Max F. & Ethan aka FEEFA cameo.

𐙚 word count ──── 10.6k (Thank you to everyone who voted on this poll I posted the other day, I didn’t expect to see so many 🥺).

𐙚 date ──── Nov. 27, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── Guys, look. I know it's A LOT 🥴 I kinda let myself run with this one because I haven't posted anything in like a week or so. I still have 2 requests I'm working on, so don't give up on me yet 🤞🏻

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SHE'S NOT ENTIRELY sure how long they’ve been dancing, but she hasn't finished her drink yet. Time feels like an illusion, blurring the edges of her vision with every new rhythm of the night. For the first time in months, she feels a little lighter, her friends’ energy pulling her out of her own head — and apartment, where she locked herself in after the break-up.

The club is packed tonight, bodies pressed together in a sea of drunken, sweaty chaos. Neon lights bounce off every surface, painting the room in vivid purples, blues, and pinks. It's not usually her style — not anymore — but she figured it won't hurt to let lose for a couple of hours.

It’s only when she steps away from the dance floor, her feet hurting and her head buzzing, that she spots him.

Why tonight, of all nights?

Why here, of all places?

Why him, of all people?

He’s leaning casually against the bar, a glass in hand, chatting with a few familiar faces. Faces that she can't help but miss.

She stopped talking to Max — well, Max stopped talking to her after ending things with Lando, too upset that she toyed with his best friend's heart for ‘no apparent reason’. Their friendship dissolved under pressure, fragile as a cheap plastic cup in the grip of sulfuric acid. But Max wasn't the only one who took it personally. That's why she needed to cut ties with everyone from her past. She needed new friends — her own friends —, she needed a new place and new clothes, and to rebrand herself from scratch. Which she did.

She thought she had made it through, but the past has its twisted ways of coming back when you least expect it.

Now, the sight of him, so vivid and real, makes her chest tighten.

She stops in place, hoping he doesn’t notice her, but then his eyes flick in her direction and, for a brief moment, neither of them blinks, the noise around them fading into a dull murmur.

He straightens slightly, his relaxed posture gone as his brows knit together. There’s something unreadable in his body language — surprise? Excitement? Confusion? Pain? She doesn’t know, but it mirrors the knot twisting in her stomach.

Her friends call out to her, pulling her attention briefly, and when she looks back, he’s still staring. Except now, he’s moving, weaving his way through the crowd toward her.

Oh, hell no.

Her heart starts to race, a mix of adrenaline and something far more complicated than fear, as she rushes to walk away; she's fought for far too long, and now her instinct is to fly as soon as she senses danger.

Unfortunately, she's not quick enough.

“Hey,” says Lando when he gets closer, his voice low but audible over the music.

Hearing him gives her goosebumps, hating the way her body is betraying her. It’s been months since she’s heard his voice, but it still hits her the same way: sharp and unrelenting.

She turns around, forcing a smile, “Hi, Lando,” she manages, her voice steadier than she feels, thinking she should try acting if she makes it out alive from this encounter.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, his tone careful, yet extremely suggestive.

It makes her stomach twist again.

He used that line the very first night they met, his boyish grin lit by the dim, flickering lights of another club, in another city. Potentially another life, she's not sure. She remembers the way he had leaned in, so full of confidence and asked the same exact question with a mischievous glint in his eye.

It feels too deliberate now, too heavy with the weight of their past for her to ignore.

“All set,” she finally says, her voice quieter than she intended, as she raises her half-full glass in her hand. “Thanks.”

For a moment, it feels like they’re strangers meeting for the first time. Except they’re not, and their history is hanging heavily in the air between them.

Lando nods, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, “How about this, let me join you for that drink?”

She takes a look to where her friends are dancing, then she turns back to him, “I'm here with my friends.”

It's a pathetic excuse, she knows that. But she has no time to think of something else. Not when her brain is suddenly all scrambled and can't form a single coherent thought.

Lando frowns, disappointed, but not willing to give up that easy. “Come on, just a quick catch-up and then you can go back to your friends. Mine won't mind,” he shrugs, pointing at the bar, where the others are following their every move like a bunch of curious minions.

She catches Max lifting his glass in her direction, and Ethan, waving frantically.

Against her better judgment, she nods.

“Okay,” she murmurs, “Let's catch up,” she spits the words, sounding a bit too sarcastic. Still, it makes Lando smile.

His shoulders relax slightly, relief softening the tension in his body. He gestures toward a quieter corner of the club, away from the pounding bass and the sea of bodies. His first instinct was to take her hand in his, but since that's over the line, Lando keeps looking back, making sure she follows him. And she does. Like a naive, lost puppy that hasn't learned a single thing in the past five months, apparently.

The crowd surges around them, chaotic and loud, and before she can react, someone stumbles into her, their elbow catching her arm. As a result, she's thrown off balance, her feet slipping on the slick floor. Gasping, she's bracing for the inevitable fall that… never comes.

Lando’s hand shoots out, catching her waist and pulling her upright. His grip is firm, grounding, and suddenly she’s pressed against him, her chest brushing his.

“Careful,” says Lando, his lips close enough to her ear for the voice to cut through the noise.

The spot where he's touching her is burning her skin. She looks up, speaking with a hesitant smile, “Thanks, I'm good.”

The club around them fades away, and all she can feel is the warmth of his hand on her waist and the familiar scent of his cologne — a smell she used to know so well. It is almost intoxicating, and it makes her mouth water. She realizes that's what she was missing the most.

Lando smiles faintly, his hand slipping away as if he’s reluctant to let go. “Always got you.”

She doesn’t know how to respond to that, sensing the double meaning behind his affirmation. So, she nods and lets him guide her the rest of the way.

They find a small, semi-private booth near the exit, far enough from the main dance floor that the music dulls to a manageable volume. He gestures for her to sit first, then slides in across from her.

She fiddles with the edge of her glass, feeling his eyes on her.

“So,” she starts, leaning back against the booth, “You're here.”

Here, as in back home.

“For a week or so, yeah. Got a bit of a break between Brazil and Vegas.”

She nods, emptying the rest of her drink in one go, “How’ve you been?”

Lando shrugs slowly, “Alright. Busy with work and everything,” he trails off, his gaze dropping to her lips for a brief moment. “It’s not the same,” he continues, his smile fading away. “What about you, what have you been up to?”

She needs superhuman powers to stop herself from scoffing in his pretty face. It’s such a simple question, yet it feels loaded, heavy with all the things they haven’t said to each other in almost half a year.

“It's been… peaceful. I moved to another neighborhood. Kept busy, distracted.”

Lando hums, his expression unreadable for some reason. “Yeah, I get that. You look great, by the way,” he states it as a fact, his voice soft but unwavering.

She hesitates, then looks up at him, really looks at him. His face is the same and yet… not really. The boyishness is still there, but there’s a weariness in his eyes that's somehow new. Plus some facial hair she always begged him to try out. It tugs at something inside her, something she’s not sure she’s ready to face. Because it hurts. Because it annoys her. Because, after everything, she's still not over it.

“Cheers,” she replies, hoping he won't catch the blush in her cheeks. “I kind of hoped you would look like shit when I saw you again,” she admits. “You know, I'm talking no front teeth and severely balding. But, oh well. You too.”

Lando's smile widens, making everything infinitely worse for her.

He wears a black shirt that clings to his frame in a way that highlights the muscles in his arms. His black cap is pulled low, worn backwards in that signature way he always did, giving him that effortlessly cool vibe. His eyes are still the same, though. Dark, piercing, the same ones that could make her heart beat faster even after everything that’s happened.

“I thought about you a lot over these months, you know,” Lando finds himself saying, chewing on his lower lip.

She shoots him a surprised look.

As if, she thinks. His Instagram feed would say otherwise.

“You did?” she ends up asking, curiosity getting the best of her.

A hint of vulnerability creeps into his voice, “Of course. I've missed you.”

She laughs dryly, “But it's been good for us, right? We just established we both look great, no constant fighting, no slamming doors, no smashed phones…” she says, looking at him intently.

He can't sustain that for long, so he looks down at his shoes, slightly ashamed, remembering how bad it used to get when the distance between them felt too much to handle. He remembers the frustration, and the helplessness he felt when he couldn’t reach her, because he couldn’t make things right. He did smash his phone once, in a fit of anger, because he couldn’t get ahold of her for hours — not his proudest moment, that's for sure.

Lando swallows hard, “Yeah, it has been nice to have some distance. I guess it makes the heart grow fonder, right?”

“Hmm,” she hums, letting her eyes travel across the room, scanning random faces and wondering how life would be if she were someone else, “I don't know about that.”

She knows, in fact. But the words pause in her throat, too tangled up in memories. When he finally looks up, she's holding his gaze for just a beat longer than she should, and she wonders if he can feel it too — that familiar pull, like gravity, drawing them back together once again.

“I know—” Lando begins, not sure from which angle to approach. “I know it was the right choice at the time, but I can't help but wonder what things could have been if I'd fought harder for you.”

“Come on, Lando,” she laughs, unamused, giving her head a shake, “We would've ended up in another vicious circle, no matter what. It's always like that with us, isn't it?”

A part of him knows she's right. Still, “We'll never know.”

“Well, maybe it's better that way,” she manages, her voice lacking conviction.

“Or maybe it’s not,” he contradicts her, his words carrying a weight that presses on both of them. “You never think about us?”

Another sharp, dry laugh — it's either this, or she'll start crying. “I am actively trying not to,” she admits, her tone tinged with exasperation. “What’s the point, Lan? Thinking about what could’ve been won’t change what happened. You were always gone, and I couldn't spend my life following you around like a headless chicken. We had a good time, but it was never going to last,” she says the last part mostly as a reminder for herself. “Not in those circumstances.”

His jaw tightens. “You think it was easy for me? That it didn’t tear me up knowing I couldn’t be there for you the way you wanted me to?”

“I didn't say that,” her eyes snap to his, “We simply weren't working. We were too good at breaking each other.”

Lando leans back in his chair, frustration visible on his face. He hates that she's right, but it doesn’t stop the ache in his chest.

His jaw clenches, “I just… I don’t want to believe that’s all we were. Breaking each other.”

Her expression softens a little at his words, “Not all. But enough to make us miserable.”

For a while, the air between them feels heavier, the noise fading into the background. He wants to say something, anything, to counter her point, but all he can do is look at her and ask himself if they were, indeed, playing a losing game back then.

“Did you meet someone?” his question flies out of nowhere.

Lando looks at her with anticipation, sensing the hesitation.

“I did,” she replies, nodding slowly.

“And?”

She meets his eyes for a split second before looking away again, fixing her gaze somewhere on the table. “And we're happily married with twins on the way. What do you think? I just. Couldn’t.”

Lando's stomach drops, trying his best to remain calm, his hands clenching into fists. “You couldn’t what? Be with them?”

She shakes her head, her movements slow and deliberate, as if choosing her words carefully. “It was too soon.”

Her answer only leaves him with more questions. “So, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know what it means,” she rushes to say, her tone tinged with irritation. It’s clear she’s as unsure as he is, but that only makes it harder for Lando to process her reaction.

He runs a hand over his face, his exasperation bubbling to the surface. “I’m just trying to understand,” he says, his voice quieter but no less intense. “Because I've also tried.”

She looks directly at him now, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And?” she challenges in the same manner, her tone carrying just a hint of defiance.

“They weren't you,” says Lando, the truth of his statement hanging between them like a heavy anchor.

They remain silent after that.

She wants to ask him why — why he still cares, and why it hurts so much to be in the same space again after all they’ve been through. Nothing comes out, though; she already has the answer to that. They didn't break up because they stopped loving each other. They had both been too caught up in their own worlds to find any kind of balance. That broke them up.

He wants her to speak. He needs to hear her speak. To react. But when she says nothing in return, there is a brief second when he feels like giving up for good; he can't do anything if she's already made a decision. He knows how stubborn she is.

Lando nods to himself while getting up and start walking toward the exit, his thoughts all over the place.

The night air greets them with a quiet, cooling embrace as they step out of the club. Of course she follows, and she hates herself for that. But she can't help it — it's instinct. Like a magnetic force he's always had over her.

On the other hand, it's how they always communicated, through gestures and actions rather than words.

The soft click of her heels against the pavement gives Lando hope. He slows down so she can catch up, and then they walk side by side, without talking. The background noise of the city keeps them company, and by the time she decides to break the silence, he stops abruptly.

His voice sounds so small now, like a child asking his parents why can't he eat his chocolate bar before dinner.

“I know it feels so silly looking back,” says Lando, as though afraid to shatter the superficial peace between them. “We did so many things wrong, but I think we also did a lot of things right.”

She hesitates, her eyes dropping to the ground where a patch of light from a distant street light catches the edge of her shoe. Her arms fold tightly across her chest, while trying to look anywhere but at him.

“Yeah, breaking up was one of the right things,” she says thoughtfully, though her voice has a trace of bitterness behind it. “Before that, we tried so hard to make it work that we ended up burning each other alive.”

It's crazy how simple words can cause physical pain so quickly.

“Yet we're still here,” he reminds her. “Knowing what we know now, maybe we wouldn’t burn so fast this time. And isn’t it worth it, even if it only lasts for a little while? We were so happy at the start.”

That’s what he clings to. The laughter, the stolen moments, the way they fit together so effortlessly — she can’t argue with that. Their beginning was a beautiful dream, but it’s the nightmare that followed that keeps her guarded now, even though all she wants is to crack his ribcage open and slip inside him so they will never be apart again.

Her voice shakes as she tries her best to make him see her side, the memories spilling out like water breaking through a dam. “I had to put myself back together, Lando. Piece by piece. And I was all alone.” She forces herself to meet his gaze, finally, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Turns out, our friends were actually your friends, and I had to go through the worst breakup of my life with no one by my side. I had to move, I had to build an entire life from pretty much nothing. And I had to do everything alone, because I didn’t just lose you. I lost everything the moment I made you the center of my universe.”

Her words knock the air out of his lungs, guilt clawing at his insides. “Look, I know I should have been there,” says Lando, his voice barely steady. “Fuck me. I wasn’t supposed to let you go in the first place, alright? I should’ve been a better boyfriend, and I should’ve fought harder to make it work, using what we had then. But you did fuck with my head, and I thought being away would help.”

The first tear spills down her cheek, and she wipes it away hastily, as if she could erase the vulnerability altogether.

“It did help,” she agrees. “I know I can live without it now.”

Lando freezes for a split second, then stepping dangerously closer to her. “So, you’ll be fine if we stay broken up?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

She nods, but it’s shaky. And when she takes a step back, trying to put distance between them, Lando decides he gave her enough space. Fuck that. He's not thinking anymore, not with his brain, at least. He closes the distance again, his hands finding her waist and pulling her close in one swift motion.

It’s impulsive, desperate even. But he doesn’t care. The moment he feels her presence in his personal space, the fire he’s tried to smother for months, roars back to life, more powerful than ever. And just like that, everything it's right again. The way her body fits against his, the familiarity of it all, makes his heart race in his chest.

“Stop being so fucking stubborn, baby,” he murmurs into her hair, his voice cracking under the weight of his own desperation. “Why can’t we at least try, hm? You told me it was too soon for someone else. Maybe it’s because it’s supposed to be me.”

Her breath catches at the sudden closeness, at the rawness of his voice. She's unsure of what to do with her hands, until they hover awkwardly by his shoulders.

“You're not fair,” she whispers, her voice slightly trembling. “You can’t just accidentally waltz back into my life and say things like that.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about being fair,” he says, his voice firm. “I just want us back. Simple as that.”

Her tears blur the edges of Lando's face when she tries to push him away, but his grip won't let her. Not this time.

“It's not that simple, and you know it,” she says. “We’ll only end up hurting each other again.”

“Then we hurt, so what?” he counters, his voice soft but sure. “At least we’ll know we tried until there wasn't anything worth fighting for. I'm not done with you, baby. Are you?”

Her hands finally move, trembling as they brush against his cheeks. They're not as soft as they use to be, his little facial hair scratching slightly at the pads of her fingers. The connection sends a jolt through them both as her touch lingers, trailing up to his hair. She pulls at his cap with both hands, placing it on her own head with a weak smile.

“It’s longer than you used to wear it,” she notices, her tears catching the street lights.

Lando’s heart clenches, managing to shoot a small smile in return, “I thought maybe I’d try growing it out. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she admits as she tries to messily style his hair with her fingers. “It suits you.”

For a little while, they’re trapped in their own bubble. Her touch feels like home, and all Lando can think of is that he can't lose it again.

“I’m not asking you to decide now,” he finally says, his thumbs tracing soft circles on her waist. “I just need to know I’m not the only one still holding on.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they're stumbling into her apartment. She knows it's reckless, and she's basically throwing away five months of progress, but it wasn't going to last, anyway.

Addictions are very hard to keep under control, especially when they have curly, dark hair and give you bed eyes.

“This way,” she says, her lips swollen from kissing all the way to her door.

Lando doesn’t have time to adjust, his head already spinning with hundreds of scenarios that fly tirelessly through his mind. However, the only thing that captivates him at the moment is her, and the way her fingers curl into the waistband of his jeans. She tugs him closer, her lips crashing onto his once again, their breaths blending in a frantic exchange of need and uncertainty.

He watches her fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, her movements clumsy but determined. His heart reaches his throat, swallowing hard, as his hands move from her waist to his belt, blindly unbuckling it before tossing it carelessly aside. The sound of leather hitting the floor barely registers over the erratic, overlapping rhythm of them kissing.

Then, he sees it. The spark in her eyes she used to have when she looked at him — it catches him off guard, giving him hope. He follows her as she moves slowly, her back toward the bed, her movements precise, like a cat's. She lies down, propping herself up on her elbows, while he takes cautious steps closer, his shirt hanging open to reveal his chest and toned abs.

But just as he leans forward, her high heel presses lightly against his chest, stopping him.

Lando freezes, his hands bracing on either side of her foot, tracing his palm up and down her leg, as his eyes dart up to meet hers.

“You can look,” she says, catching a glimpse of confusion in his eyes. “But for now, no touching.”

He frowns, clenching his jaw at her request. It would make sense for her to bring him to her place only to torture him, but she can't be that heartless. Right? The sight of her, stretched out on the bed with her foot holding him at bay, is almost too much to handle already.

“You're not fair,” he mutters under his breath, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I don't give a flying fuck about being fair,” she repeats his words from earlier, her foot staying firm against his chest.

The power is in her hands, and she's planning on using them properly tonight.

“No touching,” she repeats, determined.

Lando's hands fall at his sides.

Slowly, she slides her foot down, letting it drag across his chest, making a quick stop on his lower abdomen before settling on the bed. Her gaze locks onto his, a daring glint in her eyes as she spreads her legs, revealing the black lace panties. The dress she's wearing lifts up her thighs of its own accord, leaving Lando chocking on air for a brief moment. His lips part as she trails her fingers down her own body, teasing herself the way she’s done countless nights before.

Nights when he wasn’t there.

Nights when she was alone, chasing a high only his touch could give her.

“Wanna see how I got through five months without you?” she asks, her hands traveling way down, hooking her fingers to pull at the soft material.

His breath hitches, the sight of her undressing before him so painfully slowly making his chest ache with longing and guilt.

“I thought of you,” she continues, letting a small whimper out when the soft lace peels off with a little resistance from her already soaked pussy. “Your hands, your mouth… the way you sound when you're turned on,” she discards the panties at the foot of the bed, her breath catching in her throat as she glances at him through her lashes. “Such a delicious combination between your sleepy voice and that low octave you hit when you're drunk.”

Lando’s mouth goes dry, his hands twitching at his sides, itching to lean over and collect the material off the floor to stuff it into his pocket as a souvenir. He’s never felt so powerless and yet so utterly consumed by someone before.

“Will you let me?” she asks, her lips curving into a smile that’s equally wicked and vulnerable, “Show you?”

Her name leaves Lando’s lips in a protest while he takes an instinctive step forward, but she stops him with her foot once again. It’s a punishment, and he knows it. She’s showing him exactly what he missed, and exactly how she wanted him for so long.

Lando's breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling as he watches her. Helpless. His every nerve is tuned to her, eyes following how her fingers slide so easily between her folds, spreading the wetness as she teases her hole. Of course she’s taking her time with it, only to make sure he registers every tiny detail, just in case he forgot.

Her head tilts to the side with a quiet gasp when she pushes slowly inside. The sound of her wet entrance is enough to make his knees weak, still, his body turns to stone.

On the other hand, his heart is a mess of pride and frustration — pride that she still feels comfortable to be this vulnerable and open in front of him, frustration that he has to see her like this, untouchable. That's why he's not even blinking, too afraid he'll miss a thing.

She starts to gently rock her hips against the bed, fucking her fingers in and out, her body trembling as her whimpers fill the room. It's too much for Lando, but luckily, she didn't say anything about moving. His legs finally give out, and he falls to his knees, the sound of his breath ragged and uneven as he gets closer to her.

Yes, she's in charge — for now, at least — but he can't stop his words slipping out. Quiet, yet demanding.

“Slower,” he says, fixing his eyes on the way her fingers slide over her clit. “Don't rush it, please. I want to see all of you.”

Her gaze meets his, and for a moment, neither of them says anything else. She sees the vulnerability etched into his features, the way his body betrays him, shaking with restraint, completely at her mercy.

He looks like a man unmoored, defeated. So beautiful.

“Lando…” she breaths heavily, her back arching against her own hand, that flattered slightly at his words, a blush creeping up her neck and cheeks.

She hates how much he still affects her, obeying him without questioning his ways. Like no time has passed whatsoever.

When they make eye contact again, it's like they silently agree to go with it; whatever tonight will bring.

“That's is,” says Lando with satisfaction as she resumes her movements. “You gorgeous little thing. So beautiful when you listen, yeah?”

She nods, feeling him leaning forward just slightly, close enough that she can feel his warmth on her skin, without him touching her in any way. The air feels electric, her breath stuttering as she keeps fucking up her fingers under Lando's careful guidance. He watches every motion, his jaw tightening, ignoring the ache in his boxers the moment she finds her sweet spot, crying at how good it feels. She tries to muffle the moan, but Lando catches the hesitation, his eyes narrowing in her direction.

“No, let me hear you. Please, let me hear you,” he implores, exhaling sharply. “God, you're perfect. I could watch you forever.”

Lando can't help but notice how receptive she becomes at his words, her body tightening at the way he's praising her. As a result, she presses her fingers harder onto her clit, feeling the pressure building inside.

“Mhm, Lan…”

“I'm with you, baby. Keep going,” he encourages her, his gaze fixating on the slickness dripping between her legs. “Fucking hell. You're already so close, aren't you?”

It's like every word gets caught in her throat, and the only way she can reply to him is with a pathetic, desperate whimper.

In hindsight, she's never came from her fingers so quickly before, but the wave that’s hitting her from every direction right now is too intense to process right away.

It happens too fast, and the next thing she's aware of is Lando's voice, bringing her back.

“Please,” she hears him beg, managing to give him a slight nod of her head in return.

In that moment, the lights go out. Even so, Lando wants to be patient, as his index finger lightly brushes against her warmth. She exhales, giving up control, her gaze locked on him as if he is the only one that ever knew her. Meticulous, Lando traces his long, rough finger through her wetness, causing a shock to run through her whole body as it moves up and down her clit.

She thought she already crossed her limit, but then he leans down to press his mouth on her — deliberately, unapologetically, thirsty.

Lando lets out a deep, guttural groan that reverberates against her, causing her hips to twitch slightly. His tongue is wet and warm on her pulsating clit, leaving her breathless while he tastes her like it's the last time.

“My sweet, sweet baby,” he whispers, his voice intimate and personal, the words enveloping her in layers and layers of honey.

Feeling his warm breath on her center causes a surge of tension within her, making her walls tighten as his tongue explores within. He can't help but smile just as she leans into him, her body responding naturally, and he grips her thighs, closing the remaining gap between them. At that, she instantly buries her fingers in his curls, her hips mimicking his head movements.

“Oh, fuck,” she exhales abruptly.

The rest is pure bliss — his tongue licking in deep strokes, his muffled moans between her thighs, and the way he can’t seem to let go of her, gripping her tightly because he’s been deprived of her taste for so long.

Just for a brief second, Lando raises his head and, as his gaze remains fixed on her eyes, his mouth sucks gently at her clit. She's never seen him so desperate before, the sight of him owning her like that covering her entire body in chills.

Gradually, his kisses become way too powerful, which forces her to quickly grab his messy curls and pull him closer, unable to control herself anymore.

Without any warning, she screams his name as her climax hits her like a tidal wave for the second time in a row.

His growling makes her thighs quiver in his grasp, the vibrations intensifying her pleasure as her body convulses with each new sensation, while Lando’s tongue continues licking her during every heartbeat and shiver.

Next time she looks at him, his lips shine, his cheeks are red, and his gaze so intense that it causes her heart to skip a beat, creating a connection that seems more profound than any physical sensation she's just experienced.

He didn’t try to give her the best she’s ever had, but attempt to remind her how well he knows her body — to show her she still belongs to him.

“You’re so pretty,” says Lando, keeping his eyes on her, while he presses one finger back inside her cunt to test how thight she is after her second orgasm.

“Lando,” she spits his name at the unexpected touch, still too sensitive, “What… are you doing?” she gasps softly, a mixture between a sigh and a moan, when Lando's finger pulls out and glides across her wet, delicate clit once again.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Lando murmurs against her thigh, his voice low and reverent.

He grins in her direction, while his thumb circles her clit with precise intention, like a wheel gripping the perfect racing line. Sure of himself, Lando continues his movements, realizing how overstimulated she is, as he gets up to hover above her. Her hips buck instinctively into his hand, a jolt of reaction she can’t control.

Seeing Lando on top makes her react on instinct, wrapping one arm around his neck, while the other hand travels down his chest. The heat pooling in her stomach rises fast, an apex she didn’t expect to reach so soon. It’s intoxicating, her body spiraling as her mind blanks out the world beyond him.

“Lan—” she gasps, her back arching as if trying to escape, though every fiber of her betrays that she wants more.

“Come on, baby,” he says, increasing the pace. “You can give me one more. You're doing so well, I know you can,” his voice is a blend of dominance and desire, while his fingers press into her, knowing exactly where to go and how to bend, “Like that, see? So easy for me to read you. I could fuck my fingers into your pretty hole all night long and you'd still come for me every single time, wouldn't you, baby?”

Shaking, she clings to his neck, crying out his name in spasms. He loops his free arm around her, gently kissing her cheek — a gesture so tender and innocent that makes her heart grow ten times in size.

She grips his shoulder with one hand, her eyes closing in pleasure. “I can’t—” she chokes, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths.

In an attempt to get her power back, she tries to push at his wrist, but his arm steadies her, determined.

“Of course you can, love,” says Lando, his voice a gentle command, the firmness in his tone like a driver refusing to lift his foot off the pedal, curious to see how far he can take it.

Her hand clenches around his arm as his thumb presses against her clit with ruthless precision. She reacts on instinct, muscles coiling tight as she bucks against his hand, not sure what controls her body anymore, since her brain got disconnected long ago. The slik rhythm of Lando's fingers becomes too much, and she knows she's close when he starts curling them inside at the perfect angle.

“La— Fuck, baby, that feels so good,” her voice is a high-pitched cry now, laced with desperation. “I’m going—”

“I know, baby. So pretty. Look at you, making such a mess for me,” he urges, leaning in to kiss her neck.

Her body tightens as pleasure explodes within her, blinding and all-consumming — a full-throttle sensation, unrelenting in its intensity. She sobs his name as liquid warmth spills from her pussy, coating Lando’s fingers. He doesn’t stop there, though, his hand continuing its pace, coaxing every last wave of her climax as his arm holds her securely against him.

“God, I've missed you.”

When her breathing slows down, he falls down on top of her, burying his head in the crook of her neck. Her legs shake slightly, and her fingers curl weakly into his bare chest as he cradles her close.

Lando presses a tender kisses against her temple, his voice filling the quiet. “It wasn’t acciedntal,” he confesses.

She blinks rapidly, tilting her head to look at him, confused, “What?”

“Earlier,” Lando clarifies, “You said I was accidentally waltzing back into your life — it wasn’t accidental,” he repeats.

“What do you mean?”

Lando places a few more kisses on the heated skin of her neck, sucking in a couple of bruises, the gesture meant to buy himself more time for the storm raging in his head to stop.

“Lando,” she pulls him out of it.

“Been trying to figure out how to do this for a while. I just… couldn’t stay away from you anymore,” he admits, looking up at her, his eyes pleading. “I had Max playing detective while I was away.”

She pushes him off her to sit up on the bed, pulling at the edges of her dress. “Seriously, what?” her tone is not defensive — at least not yet — but there’s a sharpness to it that cuts into him.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he rushes to explain, “Look, I didn’t stalk you or anything. Nor Max,” he continues, getting up to stand next to her. “I didn’t even know where you lived until you brought me here. I swear.”

She wraps her arms around her own body, needing something to ground herself, “What did you do, Lando?” the girl asks, her voice quieter now.

He swallows, “I just asked him to check in on you. To see if you were okay.”

“And how did he do that?”

“He saw you tagged in a pic on this girl's account, and then did some research on the people you were with, paid some dudes to find out if their records were clean—” he starts chuckling when her fist hits his shoulder, playfully, but still with intent.

“Don’t be a dick,” she warns, her smile giving away the fact that she’s still amused by his immature sense of humor.

“I just… didn’t want to simply appear out of nowhere if you were happy. If you’d moved on,” Lando continues, his tone more serious now. “But when he told me you seemed like you hadn’t, I couldn’t keep pretending like I was fine. I'm really not.”

His honesty was always a breath of fresh air, but now it's suffocating. Hearing him admitting he's not okay, implying that she's the reason why, is simply heartbreaking.

Her arms drop slowly to her sides, her fingers gripping the edge of the bed, “Why now, Lando? And why not text or call?”

He scoffs, “Can you look me in the eye and tell me honestly that you would have picked up if I called? Especially given how we left things?”

She cups Lando’s chin in the palm of her hand, forcing him to look at her, “I'll always pick up if it's you.”

The admission makes his chest tighten.

Lando shakes his head, “I promise I’ve tried,” he says, “God, I’ve fucking tried. I threw myself into everything, and nothing worked. Racing, training, sim sessions, going out with the guys — no matter what I did, I was constantly thinking of you. Every night out felt wrong because I wasn’t coming home to you. And I know home is such a vague word for me, because I’m mostly away, but you made every single place feel like home, and that's why it didn't matter where I was at the time. I just needed… need you in ways I can't nor want to explain.”

His confession makes her head spin. The breakup had been difficult for her, but she hadn’t considered how Lando had handled the past five months. All along, she had assumed he wouldn’t miss her — that his life, always on the road and consumed by his own pursuits, was too busy to notice the absence of one small, insignificant detail: her.

She's now realizing how wrong she had been to think that way.

“So…?” she finally asks. “Do you think a few orgasms later can mend what was broken five months ago?”

“What? No, of course not,” he says firmly, leaning forward, his elbows digging into his thighs. “I swear, all I wanted to do tonight was talking to you. I didn’t plan on getting to this point, but I can’t say I’m mad about it,” says Lando, taking her hand in his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “You still want me,” she shoots Lando a rapid look, studying his face, “Just like I want you. I see it, I feel it. Baby, I know it.”

Her heart pounds in her chest, the sincerity in his voice cutting through her defenses like a hot knife through butter. She wants to be angry, to accuse him of being selfish, but the truth is, she isn’t. Maybe it’s foolish to believe him, but one thing Lando never did was lie to her. He did worse, yes, but he never lied.

“Lando...” she starts, but her voice trails off, wishing her head would stop spinning so she could think.

“I know I hurt you,” he continues, his voice softer now, “You hurt me. We hurt each other. But we're too good together not to find a way to make it work .”

She doesn’t respond immediately, her mind racing with memories of their past — the good, especially the bad, and everything else in between. Her fingers toy with the fabric of her dress, her eyes flickering between his face and the floor. The room is heavy with silence and, just for a moment, she lets herself believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find each other again.

Otherwise, if it's meant to fall apart, then let it happen with them gasping for air, tangled together, connected in every way imaginable.

THE MORNING SUN filters shyly through the curtains, soft and golden, spilling across the bed where Lando stirs awake. He’s all alone, the sheets around him rumpled from where she had slept. He blinks up at the ceiling, a little disoriented. Then, he hears the faint sound of running water and realizes she’s in the shower. It makes him feel like everything went back to normal, but he can't be sure of what's going to happen next. He can only speculate and hope, but nothing more than that.

The quiet is interrupted by the persistent buzz of his phone on the nightstand. He reaches for it, still groggy from sleep, scrolling through a handful of texts from last night — banter in the group chat, some Instagram notifications, a few missed calls; nothing too important to catch his eye. He places the phone back on the smooth surface carelessly, and his hand knocks over something solid in the process.

Frowning, he sits up to put it back in its place, and that’s when he sees it — a framed picture of them, taken during a rare quiet weekend in Monaco over a year ago, right at the beginning of their relationship. She looked so happy back then, caught mid-laugh as Lando was gazing at her with an expression so tender that it makes his chest ache now. The weight of the memory hits him harder than he expects, pulling him fully awake.

The sound of the bathroom door opening makes him turn, and he puts the frame back quickly. However, it's enough for her to catch his sudden movement, her eyes flicking to the photo and back to him.

Her cheeks flush a deep pink. “I meant to put that away,” she rushes to say, pulling the towel tighter around her body like it might shield her from the embarrassment.

“Carlos took this one,” his voice is soft, as his eyes shift back to the frame. He picks it up again, turning it in his hands. “You asked me why didn't I call, but… why didn't you call?”

She laughs dryly, crossing the space to take the frame from his and and placing it face down on the nightstand. She sits down next to him, shrugging.

“And tell you what, Lando? That I couldn’t stop thinking about you even though you broke my heart?” she asks, shaking her head, the embarrassment turning into something closer to frustration. “It’s just a stupid picture, anyway. We barely knew each other when it was taken.”

“It’s not stupid,” he contradicts her vehemently. His hand reaches out tentatively, brushing against her soft forearm. “It's nice to know I wasn’t completely crazy for hoping you felt the same.”

Her lips part like she wants to say something, but no words come out. The towel slips slightly, and she clutches it tighter, her defenses crumbling under the weight of his hungry eyes.

“Lando…”

“Leave it there, yeah?” he says, pointing at the picture. “Facing your side of the bed, preferably.”

Seeing her suddenly deep in thought, Lando grabs her wrist and gently pulls her onto his lap, his thumb lightly brushing against her silky skin.

She looks at him, her emotions warring on her face. “If it makes me look less pathetic, it was face down most of the time.”

Lando laughs, his hands finding her waist, then her hips, steadying her on his lap, “I love you,” he says it casually, but it still freezing the blood in her veins.

Her fingers fly towards his mouth to cover his lips, “Don't,” she warns.

“You know I do. I was serious last night. You don't have to decide anything right now, but I'm not going anywhere. It sucks we needed to hurt for a while, we're both at fault, but I never stopped loving you,” he repeats.

“You're so unfair.”

“Don't care, say it back,” he teases, digging his fingers into her skin to tickle her sides.

She starts giggling, “Don't you dare.”

His grin widens, “Or what?” he asks playfully as her hands fly to his, trying to fend him off.

“Lando, I'm serious. Stop it,” her laughter blends with his while he leans in closer, his lips brushing her ear.

“I need to hear it, baby. Please. Just say it back.”

“It back,” she chuckles, feeling his fingers tickling her so mercilessly that tears form in her eyes. Their laughter bubbles over, loud and uninhibited, until she collapses against him. “Okay, fine. Fine,” her breathy voice stops him in place, catching his attention. “I love you, Lando.”

A simple confession; he asked for it. But none of them expected it to hang that heavily between them. It's not a lie — not in the slightest — and Lando knows it.

“Enough to give us a second chance?” he asks.

Her breath catches at the sudden shift in his tone, and before she can reply, his thumb traces her cheek gently.

“I'm so scared,” she admits, leaning into his touch.

Lando sighs, understanding too well where she's coming from, “I know, baby. But I'm even more afraid of losing us again. Losing this…”

His hand slides down her chest, tracing the curve of her breasts. With a gentle movement, he tugs at the corner of her towel, letting it drip smoothly down her body. Patiently, he runs his hands down her waist, moving back up to her chest as they leave goosebumps in their wake. Hungry, his hands rest on her breasts, squeezing them lightly until he feels her nipples in his palms, and she drops her head on his shoulder, whimpering softly.

Memories of last night make her body shudder, feeling the heat between her legs intensifying. Following his lead, her fingers start tugging at the waistband of his boxers, until they slip low on his hips.

Lando moves one hand around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. He groans against her mouth, his breath hot and ragged, before breaking their connection long enough to kick the boxers aside.

Skin on skin, their bodies align like two puzzle pieces.

She hovers over him, his hands on either side of her, “I wanna take care of you,” he speaks softly, closing his eyes when her forehead rests against his. “Please, let me take care of you.”

There’s a vulnerability in his tone that twists something deep inside her. She's just learned how to be independent again. She can't throw all of it away. She can't let herself slip.

She can't.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her.

Her answer is all that Lando needs to hear. His lips crash back onto hers as he swaps their positions, lowering her onto the bed, his body pressing against hers, warm and solid. And so very real. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word feels like a promise, a vow that he won’t let her slip through his fingers again.

And then, Lando takes control — not the type of dominance he's used to when he steers his car. It's more like devotion; his hands map her body all over again, like a driver learning every twist and turn of a new circuit, his lips following the trail his fingers blaze.

She arches into his touch, responding to him in ways she thought she’d forgotten.

But the body remembers.

And the remembering is, oh, so good.

Last night was just the warm-up, she reckons — an act meant to remind both of them how well they fit together. Lando was gentle, kind, and patient. But now, she sees the shift in him.

His eyes are darker, filled with lust, his touch greedier. She can't help but smile when she realizes that the Lando she knows all too well — the one who’s needy, insatiable, and unrelenting in his desire for her — is still there, and so ready to show off.

Her skin tingles in anticipation as she watches him, knowing exactly what he wants. And for once, she wants it just as much. Maybe even more, considering how her body is acting independently from her brain.

She wants him to give her everything, to burn through her until she’s left gasping and wet and ruined, and she’s ready to meet his hunger with her own.

But before that, “We're not done talking,” she tells him, breathing heavily against his mouth.

“Yeah, we'll talk. Stay with me and we'll talk all you want, baby.”

She wants to protest, but her air gets knocked out of her lungs and her fingernails sink into his shoulders when Lando nudges the head of his cock up and down her slit to collect the wetness. With a gentle kiss on her jaw, she closes her eyes, tracing her fingers down his arms as he pushes inside.

They both exhale, relieved that they're back where they belong.

Talking can wait.

Lando's hands grip her waist just as he pulls out, only to push back in, all the way to the hilt in one slow, but hard thrust. The feeling is almost too much for her, which is ridiculous since he just started moving. But she feels so full, and the sounds he lets out only make her open up for him even more.

“Wait, wait,” she can barely recognize her own voice, stopping Lando when their hips touch together.

She can't explain it, but she needs it.

“What's wrong?”

She looks down between their bodies, confusing Lando even more. “I…,” she begins, but she's not sure how she's supposed to voice her need.

“It's okay, you can tell me,” he assures her, bringing his hand to cup her face in his palm, tracing his thumb over her cheek.

“I—need a second to feel you,” she explains, pushing his hand away only to trace her palms over her face.

Lando chuckles, “Baby, don't hide from me. You're driving me fucking mad when you're blushing.”

“I'm not blushing,” she contradicts him, raising her hips against his, her walls hugging him tighter with every move.

“No?” whispers Lando roughly as if he lost his voice. “God, you're perfect. So good, so fucking sweet and perfect around me, baby.”

Her legs tighten around his waist, keeping him inside, while one hand moves to his lower back to push him against her even more. There is no physical space left between them, but she still wants more. It only makes Lando's cock throb inside her pussy, giving her a few more seconds to adjust to his length before he pulls all the way out and slides back, searching for the perfect pace.

“Fuck, Lando,” she whines, burying her fingers into his hair, tugging at the roots.

“Yes, I know,” agrees Lando, his eyes flicking over her face. His insides tighten at the sight of her parting her lips in pleasure, her breathing hot and irregular. “You're so beautiful from this angle.”

“Shut up,” she cuts him off, which makes Lando chuckle again.

“Why would I?” he asks, leaning closer to her ear, while thrusting a couple more times before pausing. “You look like a fucking goddess taking my cock so well.”

She squeezes her eyes shut at the sound of his voice, low and raspy, rocking her hips to find that sweet friction against her walls again.

“Keep,” she whines, “Keep going, then. Let me have it.”

Lando presses his lips on hers at the same time he resumes his movements, his hands roaming all over her body.

“You can have my cock, baby,” he groans into her hair. “All yours.”

She nods, wrapping her fingers around his biceps, “Yeah?”

“Promise you,” says Lando.

After that, he picks up pace, both falling into an agonizing rhythm. All this time, she had thought that familiarity might dull the edge of being with Lando, that knowing his moves would make it predictable and boring, maybe even ordinary.

Somehow, it’s the exact opposite.

It’s because she knows him, and he knows her so well, that every touch feels ecstatic, every kiss charged with meaning. He doesn’t need to guess what she likes; he already knows how to unravel her, how to leave her trembling and breathless. And she knows exactly what will make his breath hitch, how to draw out that low, desperate groan that ignites her own fire.

In a way, every time feels like the first, but it's always much better, because they know how to make each other fall apart like no one else can.

“Please,” she gasps, breathing wetly in his shoulder. “Harder.”

One thing about Lando, he's always been good at listening. Without thinking twice, he tightens his grip on her hips, fucking his cock inside her harder and faster than before. In an instant, her ears are blessed with the way his moans sound.

“God, I've missed fucking my pretty girl like this,” says Lando, his hands moving on her thighs to spread her more so he can slide in faster. “It's never like this, baby, fuck.”

Being with Lando is chaos, the kind of beautiful, consuming chaos that leaves everything around them in shambles. They are loud and messy, and everything is sweaty and wet and sticky. He kisses her like he’s starving, touches her like he’s desperate to memorize every inch of her skin, and she matches his fervor, meeting him with the same wild energy that pulls them under. Together.

“Lando,” she spits his name out of her mouth in short spasms. “Lando, Lan… Lando.”

It's almost like a cry for help, but she doesn't need saving. Not when he's fucking her so good, slamming against her over and over again, until the outside world fades away and all she remembers is his name.

“Lando,” she whimpers again.

“Keep me in, love. Like that,” she can barely hear him over the sound of skin slapping on skin. “Fuck. You're taking me so well, I won't stop fucking you, baby. I won't—”

She sucks in a breath of air, her body buzzing with pleasure. Wrapping her arms around his torso, she can feel how hot and sweaty his chest is. She moves with him for a couple more thrusts before she lets go, the sound of Lando fucking in and out of her while she comes so obscene that it makes her eyes roll.

“I'll never get tired of seeing you coming like that,” says Lando, pinning her to the bed, his cock feeling so fucking good inside of her that it makes him see stars. “So fucking hot, baby.”

Her nails scratch the skin of his back as her pussy clenches around his length, forcing another hiss out of Lando's mouth.

“Don't stop,” she manages to say, even though she feels her throat raw.

“Ah, look at you, now. Being so good for me,” says Lando with a smirk, tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Letting me fuck you when you're sore and spent. And so wet, baby, you're dripping all around my cock. Fucking hell.”

Lando's jaw clenches, a visible battle playing out in his face as his breath hitches. She feels him moving deeper, hitting the sweet spot inside her, sending ripples of pleasure through her body with every thrust.

“Yes��fuck. Don't stop,” she repeats.

His eyes widen as he tries to hold on for as long as he can, but it's hard when he flashes his eyes in her direction and catches her already looking. It doesn't take long for him to realize there's a replica to her first orgasm. He nods, without saying anything else, bringing his hand up to her neck. She places hers on top of his, not to push it away, but to let it rest there as a sign that it's fine to claim her if that's what Lando needs.

And that's enough for him to lose it.

“Baby,” he breaths out, fucking her slopply, any sense of order dissolving under the weight of their eye contact.

She arches into him, her fingers trembling as they rise to cup his face.

“Keep your eyes on me,” she demands, her voice a desperate need.

She pictured that face thousands of times in the past months, but nothing compares to this. Lando groans at the command, his hooded gaze staying on hers. The intensity of his expression nearly undoes her again — his pupils blown wide, lips parted as he lets out s string of cuss words.

“That's it, pretty boy,” she whispers, her thumb brushing over his cheek as he moves inside her, his pace faltering for just a moment before he snaps back into thay sloppy rhythm, chasing his release. “Want to see you when you let go.”

She barely finishes her sentence when his orgasm crashes over him like a tsunami; no one would be able to even tell where she begins and where he ends.

Lando looks so beautiful and wrecked, and she drinks in every second of his surrender.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

When his features soften, she sees how vulnerable he is, and it leaves her breathless.

Satisfied and content, her fingers still trace his face, wanting to remember the exact way he looks in this moment, when he is completely hers.

Unable to support his weight, Lando collapses on top of her, feeling his body as light as a feather, which is so far from the truth. But she doesn't mind; she loves the feeling, actually. She loves the heaviness, and the way he keeps his cock tucked deep inside her, wet and softening slowly, not allowing his cum to leak out of her.

Descending back down from their high, the only sounds in the room are their slowing breaths and the soft rustle of the sheets. It's hard not to notice the weight of reality when it begins to creep in around the edges.

She lies beneath him, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his back, but her mind is miles away.

“When are you leaving?” she finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando tenses for a moment, then shifts to lie beside her, propping his head on his hand to look at her. The vulnerability in her eyes twists something deep inside him.

She swallows hard, suddenly flooded by all the reasons they had fought, all the late nights filled with misunderstandings and misaligned priorities. She remembers all the reasons why they broke up, and thinking how bad of an idea this has been. Because, how can she let go of him again, without feeling like she'll be losing both her head and heart in the process.

“On Tuesday,” says Lando softly. “But not how you think.”

Her brow furrows in confusion as she turns to face him. “What do you mean?”

Lando leans over, his hand caressing her cheek as he gathers his thoughts.

“I’ve been thinking about us for months. Since you left, actually,” he begins, his voice low and deliberate. “I had a lot of time, and I managed to figure out why it didn’t work before, why I couldn’t give you what you deserved. So… I’ve talked to the team.”

She almost stops breathing, her eyes widening in his direction while she waits for him to continue. Months ago, she would've die to have this conversation, and now that it happens, she doesn't know how to behave.

“I'm working on a schedule. To have more time for us,” Lando explains.

Her heart skips a beat. “You’d do that?”

“For us,” he repeats, his voice firm. “I can’t keep pretending I’m okay without you. I don't want to be okay without you, it's stupid. And I don’t want to keep coming back here, hoping for a second chance, only to mess it up again. I want to get it right this time.”

She stares at him, not knowing what to do with that information. This is not the Lando she knows. The recklessness and impulsivity got replaced by caution and planning the steps ahead. It's new, and exciting, and it makes her tear up.

“And what if it still doesn’t work?” she asks, her voice small.

He leans closer, his forehead touching hers. “It will.”

His tone is so definitive that she can't say anything else, letting the silence stretch between them as she searches Lando's face for any sign of hesitation.

There’s none.

“How... did you actually know where to find me last night?”

Lando smirks, studying her face with half-closed eyes, bringing his hand to her jaw. “That friend of yours posted on her story. Honestly, I didn’t know you were going to be there. But I hoped.”

She shakes her head, scoffing, “Stalker behavior.”

Lando shrugs nonchallantly, “I just happened to be nearby,” he chuckles.

“Lucky me,” she says, tracing the contour of his nose with her finger, stopping on his jaw.

“Lucky us,” he corrects, pulling her in for another kiss.

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

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world-of-aus · 20 hours ago

Text

Hot Shot

Pairing: NHL!Photographer!Reader x Hockey Player!Bucky

Warnings: Bucky being a heartthrob.

A/N: I've been reading one to many hockey romances and well here we are scratching an itch. I know I would like to eventually come out with a bigger story for these two but for now this is just the start a taste if you will. I'd like to leave this open to suggestion of what y'all would like to see or know about these two if anything.. Hope you enjoy the first taste.

You barely had a chance to unlock your screen to reply to her message before her caller ID

was taking up your screen, a recent photo of her and Steve that she had made as her contact picture pulling a smile onto your lips.

“Tasha.” you answer.

“Y/n, listen I know you were just planning on watching the game from the comfort of your living room but I mean talk about an upgrade! From a television screen to being at the actual game on the floor behind the safety of the glass getting some wicked shots, and no one captures action shots like you do - I promise I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.” she tacks on her voice pleading.

You chuckle, you know had the circumstances been different she’d be one of the first ones at the arena, she hadn’t missed one of Steve’s games yet, not since you had been signed on. “Natasha relax, you know you don’t have to pull out the stops on me, I'll go - do you want me to send you the photos?”

The redhead turned blonde breathes a heavy sigh of relief, “oh god thank you! and if you don’t mind, but take your time, I’m sure a certain bruin's player is going to be demanding your attention after the game especially if they bag a win.” she teases seemingly mentioning the man in your DM’s.

Your cheeks warm, the unread notification from the player she speaks of appearing in your mind, “please Tasha,” you deflect, “it’s the game of the season he’ll have plenty of attention with all the puck bunnies sporting his name on their jersey throwing themselves at him for an inkling of his attention.” you murmur picking at an invisible speck of lint on your sweater as you stand from the couch, intent on getting your things packed to head out.

“And yet he only seems to want yours,” she sings, “you should totally wear the jersey I got you for your birthday.”

You roll your eyes smile pulling at your lips, “is your flight really delayed, do I have to text Steve?”

Your friend laughs, “unfortunately it is and hey thank you again for this, I owe you, love you, oh and send me a picture of Steve, one of you and Bucky too!”

You shake your head as your friend rushes out her farewell your screen now gone black as you look down at it “looks like pjs are out of the question for tonight” you murmur continuing on through your apartment to grab your things Bucky’s text still sitting in your messages unanswered.

He’d have his answer soon enough.

🏒🖤

The cool of the arena’s backstage floor seeps through your jeans, your tripod sitting off to the side, your camera nestled in your hands as you wait for the first few players of the bruins to make their arrival.

Your camera goes up; the first of the team to come through the backdoors is the Bruins coach Fury, he spots you smile on his face his hand coming up in a greeting as you get your first arrival shot of the day. Slowly players begin to trickle in, most of them spot you posing for you as they stride by, others walk by with a simple wave their heads already in the game.

Speaking of head in the game center Steve Rogers makes his way in, his suit pressed, duffle thrown over his shoulder as he owns the floor. “Looking good Rogers, say you wouldn’t have Natasha tucked away in that duffle by chance?” you tease grinning behind your camera. You laugh at the grin that breaks his lips, a shake of his head as he directs his gaze at you, “can assure you Natasha wouldn’t be packed in my bag, she’d be hanging on my arm.” You coo at the bearded blonde, “you think you can say that again I didn’t have my phone out.”

The two of you laugh as you capture a few more shots, “Come on Rogers leave some love for the rest of us, you already have your face glued on billboards!”

Left defenseman Sam Wilson is striding in next million dollar smile painted on his lips like the suit he wears on his skin. “But no one has their face printed on as many shirts like you do Wilson, now give me something new to look out for will ya, want to make sure these etsy sellers get only the best!” Wilson eats your words up, feeding the fans through your film. He comes closer kneeling to your level to pull you in for a hug, “it’s good to see you hot shot, thought you weren’t coming out tonight with how Barnes was moping.”

Your heart beats like a wild drum in your chest, “Tasha’s flight got delayed, cashed in her IOU, so here I am and surely your version of Barnes moping is different from mine.”

“Oh man you should of seen him, had to smack the phone out of his hands with how often he was checking it, you’re gonna join us tonight after the win right?”

“You Bruins are so sure about that win,” you laugh.

“That’s because it’s in the bag, hot shot.” It takes everything in you not to snap your eyes to the broad shoulder right defenseman sauntering into the building. “Here comes your boy.” Sam chuckles patting your shoulder as you find said man with your camera lens. You wanted to eat him up like he was eating at your film.

Like Sam Bucky strolls till he’s standing above you, grin pulling at his pink lips as he offers you his hand. You set your camera down gently against your chest before taking his offer, warmth seeping though you at your hand wrapped in his. “Thought you weren’t gonna show.” He murmurs watching you.

“Well as enticing as staying in my pjs on my couch with a glass of wine watching the game tonight sounded IOUs are a serious thing to cash in.” you say struggling to keep his gaze, you were certain you’d turn into a puddle of goo soon.

“More enticing then upgrading your lock screen?”

You let out a groan reaching out to smack his chest, but his hand captures yours instead keeping it there a teasing smile playing at his lips. “You’re never going to let that go are you?” you question recalling the night at the bar that he discovered himself as your lock screen. To be fair it was one of your favorite shots you had captured at the beginning of the seasons. It didn’t hurt that he was your favorite Bruin player to follow on and off the ice.

“Never, though I’m hoping by the end of the night ill see a photo of me after the win.” He chuckles thumb running over your hand.

“You’d have to secure a win first Barnes.”

Your breath catches in your chest as he closes the distance between the two of you, “I’ve already won though.”

Your reply is caught on your tongue, Fury voice breaking through the haze, “Barnes you’ll have time to catch up with y/n later get your ass in the lockers now!”

Bucky let’s your hand falling, chuckle brewing in his chest as he steps back, “hope you’re not watching Wilson or Rogers to closely tonight hotshot because this wins for you, and I’m going to be the one bringing it home.”

You watch him walk away, his gaze lingering on you till he disappears through the locker room.

And God how you hoped he would.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au

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itneverendshere · 1 day ago

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INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (eight)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: mentions of domestic violence; unhealthy relationships;

It takes another week for your bruises to disappear entirely and for you to get comfortable enough to join Rafe downstairs while he’s working away with Jerry.

He didn’t mind though, he liked watching you heal, loved seeing you devour whatever he cooked for you. It was almost like he was healing himself too.

Rafe glances up from under the hood of the Chevy, the clang of metal on metal breaking the heat of the afternoon.

He isn’t sure what draws his attention, but there you are, sitting on the porch steps with sunlight catching in your hair, watching him and Jerry work like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

It devastates him—how much happier you look. A week ago, you'd barely let him leave your side without that haunted look creeping back into your eyes.

You sit there comfortably, legs stretched out, looking eerily like the girl he remembered from so long ago. Almost.

He wipes his hands on the rag tucked into his pocket, taking a moment to breathe you in. Seeing you there, in his space, still feels unreal.

Somehow, the universe had given him a second chance when he’d never thought he’d get one, hee wants to keep you that way, safe, comfortable, smiling.

“Rafe,” Jerry’s voice pulls him back to work, and he tears his gaze from you reluctantly, not before he catches the way your lips quirk just a little more when you realize he’s been watching.

He ducks his head back under the hood, focusing on the busted engine. At least, that’s what he tells himself, but the truth is, he’s already planning what to make you for dinner. Maybe spaghetti?

You’d eaten three helpings of it the other night like you couldn’t get enough. He’ll make extra.

He grins to himself, a small, private thing, as he tightens the bolt on the alternator. He isn’t usually one for kitchen work but he’d been experimenting ever since you got here, he'd been cooking more than ever.

Figured out how to make pancakes the way you liked them, even if it meant burning the first couple batches, learned the trick to getting mashed potatoes just right, and spaghetti? He can make that blindfolded by now, if it means seeing you sitting, all full and satisfied, looking at him like he’s doing something right for once.

He peeks your way again, can’t help it.

God, he could write poetry about you if he had the words, if he was smart enough for that shit. Something about how your skin soaks up the sun like it’s meant just for you, or how you make the whole world quiet just by sitting there, looking at him.

You stretch, raising your arms over your head and his chest hurts so good. You don’t know what you’re doing to him, do you? You have no idea how much he wants to drop this wrench, cross the yard, and pull you into his arms, just to feel you against him, like the good old days.

“Rafe,” Jerry calls again, this time a little more assertive.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” He mutters, running a hand through his hair, smearing grease. The old man shoots him a look but says nothing.

He blames you, how is a guy supposed to focus with you sitting there like that? Looking all pretty and sweet, like you belong nowhere else but on his porch, waiting on him to finish up.

He wonders if you’d blush if he told you.

Maybe later, at dinner, he’ll get you talking about something—something that makes your eyes light up and your hands move like they always do when you got excited. Not the whole thing, of course, not the part about how he wants to keep you here forever, how he spent the last week falling asleep next to you, scared out of his mind to wake up and you’d be gone.

He can’t say that, not yet.

He still doesn’t feel deserving, the years haven’t dimmed you a bit—if anything, you’re brighter, and stronger, especially after what had happened, after you showed up on his doorstep with bruises and trembling hands, you’re still here, looking at him like he’s someone worth trusting.

He can’t stop thinking about what your parents said, all those years ago. How they’d made him feel like the scum on their shoes, but he isn’t that same kid anymore, is he? He built a life here, fixed cars, learned to cook, stayed out of trouble. You came back to him.

The sound of pawsteps across gravel draws his attention before he even realizes he’s been listening for it. A familiar shadow pads around the corner of the garage—a big mutt with a patchy brown coat, floppy ears, and a wagging tail that never quits.

Rafe chuckles under his breath. “Look who finally decided to wake up,” he drawls, wiping his hands on his jeans as the dog, Ace, makes his way toward you, bypassing him completely.

Traitor.

You sit up straighter on the steps, blinking at the unexpected visitor, “Who’s this?”

“That’s Ace, the one I told you about,” He explains, leaning against the Chevy, arms crossed. “Sleeps in the garage most nights. Jerry feeds him scraps when he thinks I ain’t lookin’.”

“Bull,” Jerry mutters from under the hood, but Rafe just grins.

Ace stops a few feet away from you, his tail still wagging but slower now, careful, he sniffles the air, head tilting as if he’s sizing you up.

You extend a hand tentatively, and Rafe’s heart damn near fucking stops when Ace leans forward, his big nose brushing your fingers like he’s been waiting all his life to meet you.

“Oh,” you breath, your lips curving into a blinding smile as you tenderly scratch behind his ears. Ace practically melts, pressing his head into your palm like you’re the best thing that had ever happened to him and Rafe feels like someone punched him, at least a hundred times, square in the chest.

Even the fucking dog is in love with you.

“He’s sweet,” you coo as you stroke Ace’s scruffy coat. “Aren’t you, boy?”

The dog lets out a contented huff, flopping onto the ground at your feet like he’s ready to stay there forever, Rafe can’t blame him.

“He doesn’t warm up to folks like that,” He finds himself admitting, “Usually takes him a while to trust people. Guess he’s got good taste.”

You look up at him, and there it is—that little spark in your eyes that makes his knees weak. “He must take after his owner, then.”

He lets out a noise, between a laugh and a swallow, scratching the back of his neck, looking down at the ground because he knows if he looks at you too long, he’ll probably do something stupid, maybe kiss you right there in front of Jerry and the whole damn yard.

“Nah,” he concedes finally, “Dog’s got way more sense than me.”

You laugh, that sound was always better than any song he ever heard, even if you haven’t laughed like that in a long time.

“You’ve got your moments.” You tease, still scratching the mutt behind his ears.

“Moments, huh?” He smirks, slow and lazy, the way that always makes you blush.

Your cheeks are still flushed, just like he hoped they would, and you shake your head, but he doesn’t miss the way your grin only grows.

God, you’re so beautiful it hurts. He wants to bottle this moment up and keep it forever—the sun on your skin, Ace curled up at your feet, and that look in your eyes.

Jerry clears his throat loudly, and Rafe drags his attention away, turning back to the engine with a muttered, “Don’t you got somethin’ better to do, old man?”

Jerry snorts. “Not when you’re makin’ moon eyes at her like that, might as well sell tickets.”

He shoots him a glare, his ears turning pink, and you cackle again, a little louder this time. It’s worth the ribbing, worth all of it, just to hear that sound. Rafe sighs, long and dramatic. "Don’t you have a crossword or somethin' to keep your mouth busy?"

The old man sniggers, his laugh scratchy and full of life as you look between the two of them, enjoying the show.

“So,” you pipe up, resting your chin on your hand, comfortable enough around Jerry to finally ask, “How did you two meet? Officially, I mean.”

“Cameron didn’t tell you?”

He groans, already regretting everything. “Oh, come on—don’t—”

“Shut up, kid,” Jerry clicks his tongue, waving him off, turning turned to you, his eyes already sparkling with mischief in the late afternoon sun. “It was, what, five years ago? Somethin’ like that. I was in the middle of the hardware store, cussin’ out a kid who bagged up the wrong screws for me.”

Rafe ducks his head, mumbling, “It wasn’t that bad.”

Jerry ignores him, his hands moving as he speaks. “And here comes this scrappy little punk, all long limbs and attitude. He’s hanging around the counter, lookin’ like he’s ready to swipe somethin’. I figured, well, either he’s desperate or he’s an idiot, so I hollered at him.”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing at Rafe. “Scrappy little punk? I remember that.”

He sends a faux glare your way, “Don’t gloat him on.”

“Could’ve called the cops on him,” Jerry goes on, enjoying himself. “But I didn’t. Somethin’ about him looked...he just needed a break. I handed him a sandwich instead. Figured, worst-case scenario, he’d run off and I’d be down a couple bucks.

“But he didn’t.”

Jerry beams, “He sat right there on the curb and ate the whole damn thing like he hadn’t had a meal in days. Then, after he was done, he asked me if I had any work for him.”

You try to keep your expression even, but your throat tightens a little as you take a peek at Rafe’s reaction. He isn’t looking at you, his hands are busy wiping grease from a bolt that needs no more attention.

Your mind paints a picture you don’t want to see: him, still just a teenager, sitting alone on a curb in a strange town, starving, with no one to turn to. You remember the boy you’d known back then—the one who laughed loudly, talked too big, and held your hand like you were the only thing he had in the world.

The thought of him losing all of that, of losing you and ending up so desperate, breaks something inside you.

Jerry isn’t oblivious; he sees the flinch when he mentions Rafe’s first meal here. He catches how your shoulders tense, how Rafe avoids looking at you, the old man has a knack for reading people, so, still with a knowing smile, he pivots.

“Speakin’ of this kid’s early days,” Jerry claps his hands, “Y’know, I had half a mind to send him back to whatever dock he washed up from.”

His free hand dragged down his face. “C’mon, Jerry—”

“No, no, she’s gotta hear this,” Jerry insists, grinning again now. “You ever heard the phrase, ‘bull in a china shop’? That was this one.” He jerks his thumb toward him. “I handed him a wrench, told him to take off the oil pan on an old Ford. Figured, simple job, even he couldn’t screw it up.”

You tilt your head, curious despite yourself. “And?”

“The next thing I know, I hear this god-awful bang—like a car had fallen off the lift. I run over, and there’s Rafe, sittin’ on the ground, oil pan in one hand, half the damn exhaust in the other.”

You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle, your eyes widening. “No!”

“I was new!” he defends, albeit childishly, his neck turning a faint shade of pink. “I didn’t know cars back then, alrigh’? Boats are different.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jerry chaffs, “Different enough that I had to spend half my day puttin’ that exhaust back together.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but there’s a sheepish tilt on his lips. “You’re lucky I didn’t quit after that.”

“You?” Jerry cackles, slapping his knee. “You were lucky I didn’t fire you!”

“Alright, that’s enough outta you,” Rafe grumbles, though his tone is more affectionate than annoyed. “She doesn’t need to hear every stupid thing I did.”

Jerry winks at you, “Stick around long enough, and I’ve got plenty more stories where that came from.”

Rafe sighs dramatically, shaking his head, he turns back to the car, he doesn’t mind being the butt of the joke if it makes you laugh.

You’re still petting Ace, murmuring something that he can’t hear, but it doesn’t matter. The way your lips move, the gentle tilt of your head—it’s enough to send his heart hammering.

He doesn’t know what he did to get you back in his life, but he’s sure as hell not going to mess it up. Not this time.

Ace moves at your feet, rolling onto his back, his tail thumping against the ground and you laugh again, that heart-wrenching melodic sound.

He doesn’t even care that Jerry caught him “makin’ moon eyes” earlier—because this is what love looks like, he’ll gladly wear the fool.

“Everything okay over there?” you call, a teasing tilt in your voice.

He clears his throat, coming up with something to say, “Yeah, just—uh, makin’ sure Jerry doesn’t mess up the alternator.”

Jerry barks a laugh from behind the car. “Kid, I’ve been doin’ this since before you could walk. Go ahead, tell her about the time you tried to put windshield wiper fluid in the oil tank.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rafe mutters as your snort spills out, unrestrained and perfect. He wants to record that sound, keep it for the nights when his demons get too loud.

Jerry pops back up, smirking as he wipes his hands on a rag. “She oughta know what she’s dealin’ with.”

He shakes his head, the faintest grin on his lips. “She knows enough. Don’t you, darlin’?”

The nickname slips out without him meaning to, but it feels right.

“Yeah, I do.”

Jerry slaps him on the back, pulling him out of his head. “Alright, kid. Let’s fire her up, see if she’ll run.”

He nods, tossing the wrench onto the workbench. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”

He steps around to the driver’s side, sliding into the worn seat, the key turns in the ignition, and the old Chevy grumbles to life, sputtering a little before settling into a steady rumble.

Jerry whoops, giving the hood an affectionate pat.

You’re clapping, beaming brighter than the sun dipping low on the horizon, the pride in your eyes, you’re looking at him like he just moved mountains instead of fixing an old truck—it’s overwhelming.

He kills the engine, stepping out of the car, wiping his hands on his jeans as he crosses the yard, Jerry mutters something about grabbing a beer and heads inside, leaving the two of you alone with the fading light and the lazy wag of Ace’s tail.

Rafe stops, suddenly nervous, scratching the back of his neck, his attention flickering between you and the ground.

“I like watching you work. You look happy.”

Happy, such a simple word, but hearing it from you feels monumental, you’re giving him something he didn’t even know he was missing.

“Yeah, guess I’m not used to having an audience,” he murmurs, his lips twitching into a small, sheepish grin.

You tilt your head, studying him and he feels completely exposed, knowing you remembre all the cracks, every scar, every damn thing about him, but instead of turning away, you lean forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand.

“You’re good at it, y’know.”

“At what?”

“Everything.”

He looks away, swallowing hard, “Already promised I’d make you that pasta again, don’t need to butter me up, princess.”

You roll your eyes, as you wave him off. “Don’t let it go to your head, country boy.”

He chuckles, the sound wrapping around you. “Too late for that.”

Ace stirs at your feet, letting out a happy huff as your hand absentmindedly scratches his belly. Rafe watches the way you’re with the dog, so effortless and full of love, and his heart swells.

“Y’know,” he says, his voice more serious, “it’s nice, havin’ you here. Feels... right.”

You brush a strand of hair out of your face, glancing down at Ace before looking back up at him. “It feels right to me too,” you admit.

Rafe’s breath catches, his hand twitching at his side like he wants to touch but doesn’t know how. Instead, he clears his throat, tilting his head toward the garage.

“Guess I should, uh, finish cleanin’ up.”

You nod, smiling a little. “Don’t let me stop you, grease monkey.”

He gives you a tongue-in-cheek smirk, the side of his cheek puffing out slightly, shaking his head as he stands, but not before he leans down, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, and whispers, “Keep callin’ me that, and I might start likin’ it.”

He knows exactly what he's doing when your lips part in a gasp as he leans in, how your eyes widen before you try act unaffected—it’s like you’re both teens again. He didn’t mean to flirt, not at first, but the way you look at him, it’s impossible not to.

He pulls back, letting his smirk settle into place, giving you that lazy, self-assured grin you always pretended to hate when you were younger.

By the time you think of a comeback, he’s already halfway to the workbench, his smug grin unmistakable even from a distance.

Jerry returns with a beer in hand, catching the tail end of your flustered expression. “What’d he say this time?”

“Nothing,” you reply quickly as you scratch Ace behind the ears again.

“Uh-huh,” Jerry says knowingly, settling into his chair and shaking his head with a chuckle.

Dinner comes slow but is worth the wait.

The sun's long since tucked itself away, and by now, the house smells like garlic and tomatoes, the scent that makes you feel like you’re right where you belong.

Rafe stands in the kitchen, his back to you as he plates up the spaghetti he promised. He’s in a worn t-shirt and jeans, the grease scrubbed from his hands but still faintly streaked along his forearm.

He’d gone all out—spaghetti with his homemade sauce, garlic bread, and even a side salad, though he figured that would mostly be for show.

“Hope you’re hungry,” he calls, leaning on the doorframe as you appear from the hallway, fresh-faced and relaxed after cleaning up from earlier. You smile at him, and his heart stutters like it always does when you stare at him like that, turning with two plates balanced in his hands, “One gourmet pasta dish, comin’ up.”

You laugh, sitting cross-legged at the table. “Big words for a guy who learned how to boil water when he was seventeen.”

“Now, that’s just mean.” He sets the plates down with mock offense, but there’s a light in his eyes, the kind that only shows up when you’re here.

The first bite is heaven—simple, hearty, comforting.

You can’t help the little sigh that escapes as you twirl more noodles around your fork. He watches from across the table, leaning back in his chair, one hand loosely gripping his beer. He’s not subtle about it either, letting his eyes wander over you like he’s cataloging every detail.

“This is amazing,” you say after swallowing. “Seriously. You’ve been holding out on me.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes a bite of his own. “Nah, just figured if I burned a few meals first, you’d lower your expectations. Keep the bar manageable.”

“If this is you being ‘manageable,’ I’m almost scared to see what happens when you’re trying.”

“Careful, princess,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair. “Might start thinkin’ you’re tryna keep me in the kitchen.”

“Well, you do look good in an apron,” you bite back a shit-eating grin as his face warms ever so slightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes, stabbing a piece of garlic bread and pointing it at you playfully. “Keep it up, see what happens.”

He takes a sip of his drink, watching the way your shoulders relax, and how you reach for another piece of bread without hesitation. It’s everything he wanted when he planned this—just to see you like this, comfortable, at home.

“You’ve gotten good at this,” you say after a moment, gesturing toward the food. “It’s kind of... surprising.”

Rafe shrugs, his lips twitching into a crooked smirk. “Figured it was time I learned somethin’ useful. Can’t live off fast food forever, y’know?”

You tilt your head, studying him. “You’ve changed.”

He doesn’t look at you right away, focusing instead on twirling his fork through his pasta. “Time does that, I guess. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it ain’t.”

“I think it’s good,” you say, and the sincerity in your voice makes him glance up. Your eyes meet, and there’s something there—something that makes his chest feel all empty and full at once.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, “I like this version of you. Feels like you’re where you’re supposed to be.”

You talk about the past like as if it’s something distant, like it doesn’t still linger in the cracks of who you’ve become. He hates it—hates the way your voice wavers. Hates that, for five years, you’d been fighting to survive while he wasn’t there to stop it.

He should be grateful for the words, for the way you look at him like he’s the version of himself you can believe in. But all he can think about is how wrong you are. How he was supposed to be there—not here. If he says it out loud, the mood will drop, and the hope in your voice will disappear. He can’t take that from you—not when you’ve fought so hard to get here.

So instead, he swallows the words.

You’re still smiling and he lets himself pretend that this is how it’s always been—that you’ve never known anything but moments like this, safe and warm. The corner of his mouth twitches upward as he watches you, but that tightness in his chest refuses to ease.

“You’ve got something...” He gestures vaguely, and when you blink at him in confusion, he reaches for his napkin. “On your lip.”

You laugh, startled, and quickly swipe at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Did I get it?”

“Nah,” he says, smirking as he leans forward slightly. “Other side.”

You try again, this time swiping with your thumb, but it’s no use.

He chuckles low, shaking his head, his heart squeezing as he watches your eyes crinkle at the edges. He’d give anything to go back and rewrite the past, so you’d never know the pain you went through.

“C’mere,” he says softly, his voice warm like the honey he used to sneak into your tea.

Before you can whine in protest, he’s reaching across the table, thumb brushing gently against the corner of your lips. His touch stays a second longer than it should, his eyes locked on yours and he doesn’t pull back.

Instead, his hand moves to cup your jaw, his thumb tracing the edge of your cheekbone.

You don’t pull away, and that quiets the voice in his head screaming at him to back off, to give you space. The last thing he wants is to upset you. Your breathing hitches slightly, your attention flickering to his lips, and that’s all it takes to shake whatever restraint he has left.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, feeling a desperate need for your permission. “I’ll stop.”

You shake your head, just barely, the motion subtle but enough, “You don’t have to.”

Five years. Five years of silence, of distance, of trying to live in a world that didn’t feel like home without the other. He leans in slowly, giving you every chance to turn away. But you don’t—you couldn’t if you tried, not with the warmth of his palm against your skin, the way his breath ghosts over your lips.

And then, finally, his mouth meets yours.

The kiss is not as gentle as he expected.

It’s desperate like the years apart have snapped every ounce of longing into something unbearable. His lips move against yours with a reckless abandon, the kind that whispers I’m sorry I missed you and I never stopped loving you all at once. It’s messy and clumsy in the best way—you’re both trying to relearn the map of each other, chasing something you thought you’d lost forever.

The kiss deepens, the world falling away until all you can feel is him, and you wonder how you ever survived without this.

But as suddenly as it began, he pulls back.

Rafe’s breathing is uneven, his forehead resting against yours, his thumb still brushing over your cheek as if to soothe, his eyes searching yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for everything. For not being there. For—”

You cut him off with another kiss, softer this time but no less meaningful. It’s your way of telling him there’s nothing to forgive, that every broken piece led you back here, to this moment.

“You’re awful quiet,” he says, “That’s never a good sign.”

You glance back at the remnants of dinner. “Just thinking,” you reply, deliberately neutral, but it doesn’t fool him.

“About what?”

You hesitate, “About the first time we met.”

That catches him off guard. His eyebrows knit together, and he straightens slightly, “What about it?”

You huff out a chuckle, “I was just remembering how much of an ass you were. You were so mean.”

“You make it sound like I wasn’t justified.”

“You were so angry that day. You had this scowl—like you wanted to scare me off.”

“I did,” he admits, his hand dropping to the table, fingers brushing yours, “Didn’t work, though. You figured me out pretty quick.”

You're studying him like you’re reading the pages of an old, familiar book. Your fingers curl around his, “It’s easy when you find your soulmate.”

Rafe’s breath catches, his eyes searching yours like he’s looking for a sign that this is another one of your teasing remarks. But when he sees the sincerity in your face, the way your lips curve into a gentle, knowing smile, he feels a warmth spreading through his body.

“Yeah?”

You nod slowly, your fingers gently brushing his. “Yeah, don’t think I ever really had to figure you out. I just had to see you.”

He’s quiet, a little stunned, he knows you’re not just talking about the past, about that first meeting when he was all bitterness. You’re talking about the now, about who he’s trying to be, who he’s becoming. He presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes for a second, just soaking in the feel of you—real and here and his.

He swallows hard, unsure how to express himself.

“You’re… you’re the love of my life,” he admits. It’s not a grand confession, there’s no dramatic buildup, no orchestrated speech, it’s just a simple truth, spilling from his heart like it’s always belonged there. His heart races under the look you’re giving him, “I know I screwed up. I know I’ve been a fuckin’ mess, but I never stopped loving you, don’t think I ever could.”

Your lips tremble eyes shining with something tender, as you reach out, your hand brushing against his clothed chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart beneath your palm.

“I’ve always known,” you say, your voice carrying every ounce of emotion you’ve kept buried. “I’ve always known, Rafe, even when we were apart. You’ve always been it for me.”

The words, the honesty in them, he’s suddenly overcome with a flood of emotions so intense, it’s almost overwhelming. He leans in, his lips pecking yours gently, over and over again, until you’re grinning from ear to ear again.

“You’re it for me, too,” he murmurs against your skin, “Always.”

Rafe doesn’t let you move far after dinner, you’re not even halfway to the sink with the plates before he takes them out of your hands, his skin brushing yours, lingering just long enough to make you shiver all over again.

“Don’t,” he scolds.

“You cooked,” you protest.

“I always cook,” he retorts lightheartedly as he sets the plates on the counter. “Doesn’t mean I’m letting you clean up. Sit.”

You fold your arms, leaning back against the counter instead, the stubborn tilt of your chin making him laugh. It’s not mocking—but he still shakes his head, muttering something about “always gotta have the last word”, you still let your elbow bump his every so often.

The simple domesticity of it catches you off guard, you never had it before, so it’s not something you would’ve associated with him back then—but here he is, sleeves pushed up, completely at ease. Five minutes later, he pushes off the counter and takes a step closer,

“C’mere,” he’s guiding you toward the couch with a hand at the small of your back.

Ace follows, tail wagging lazily as he flops onto the rug near Rafe’s feet. He usually doesn’t let him come up here, but you’d begged to prettily earlier, and he couldn’t say no to that face. You settle in first, tucking your legs beneath you, and he sits beside you, his arm draping over the back of the couch.

The night winds down slowly, and by the time you’re both settled, Ace is already sprawled across Rafe’s legs, you’re warm with spaghetti, affection, and a sense of belonging. He moves, his arm slipping around your shoulders as he tugs you closer, his cheek resting against your temple.

“This feels right, doesn’t it?”

You nod, leaning into him, “Yeah, it does.”

223 notes · View notes

aquaticmercy · 2 days ago

Text

Waste a Moment / Part 16

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by : @remoony

Word count : 4.5k

Note : Only two chapters after this!! Honestly these last three chapter will be like an extended epilogue. Small flashbacks are indented! Please let me know if I miss anyone on the tags! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

"Take Your Shape"

Rebuilding with Yelena had been almost as difficult as rebuilding with Bucky—but for entirely different reasons. With Bucky, the wounds revolved around love. Despite everything, at least he was familiar— at least he still felt like home.

With Yelena, the fracture was messier, harder to untangle. She was a friend, sure, but she wasn’t nearly as close to you now as she’d been before the memory loss. Everyone kept insisting you two were like sisters, and it drove you mad—not knowing what that actually felt like.

You’d seen glimpses of it, in the video Happy showed you. You saw the two of you laughing, hanging out at the compound, but it wasn't the same. Watching those moments felt like peering into someone else’s life, someone else’s memories with no idea how you got here.

How had you gotten so close, and yet so… distant?

The pang of betrayal still swirled in your chest; she hadn’t warned you, hadn’t given you the truth when you needed it, even after knowing how much it would shatter you. You had craved human connection in the hospital room— maybe that's why you let her stay. But now, with all that anger simmering beneath the surface, you needed much more time to process this alone, and as it turned out, it took much longer than you had expected.

For the next couple of days, you couldn’t get past the fact that the woman who had allegedly been like a sister to you had chosen to keep you unaware of the mountain of lies your boyfriend had built.

Friday.

The first step came one evening, when she showed up at your apartment unannounced. She was standing there, hands shoved into her pockets. A fire of emotion swirled within you— Sadness. Resentment. Hope.

But above all, you found yourself missing her.

“Can we talk?” she asked, her voice quieter than usual.

You hesitated for a moment before stepping aside to let her in. Back in the hospital, when the truth had first come out, you hadn’t had the energy to argue. But here, in the privacy of your apartment, you did. What followed was a long conversation full of starts and stops, accusations and justifications.

“It wasn’t my decision to make,” Yelena said at one point, frustrated. You couldn’t tell if it was aimed at herself or at the situation.

Her words weren't an instant fix, but they planted a seed. Over the next few days, there were more conversations over training. You didn’t hold back your feelings, and to her credit, Yelena didn’t shut down, she didn’t deflect. She didn’t change the topic like she used to. Slowly, you began to see her choices not as malicious but as a misguided form of love manifesting from someone who had gone through so much. It’s poetic, really— how she was a platonic mirror of Bucky.

In the end, she just held back because she didn’t want to be the reason you were hurt.

And now, knowing all you knew, you couldn’t hold it against her—just as you couldn’t hold a permanent grudge against Bucky.

Friday, the next week.

The real turning point came when you introduced her to Alex. It hadn’t been part of any grand plan, just a chance encounter.

You’d been out for coffee with Alex— catching up after the museum closed— when you spotted Yelena heading toward you on the street. There was a flicker of hesitation—a moment when you weren’t sure whether she’d stop or walk on by. But Alex, ever vigilant, recognised her from the photos you showed her and sensed your tension. So Alex, ever the diplomat, had stepped in with a warm smile, bridging the gap before it could grow too wide.

“Why don’t you join us?” Alex had offered.

Yelena hesitated, glancing at you, “I guess I could spare a minute,” she nodded.

A minute stretched into an hour.

At first, Yelena sat stiffly, her words overly careful. But Alex had a way of breaking down walls without anyone realizing it was happening. She leaned into Yelena’s stories, genuinely interested. Alex laughed in all the right places, continued to moderate the conversation just when you thought it was ending.

Both you and Yelena began sharing training mishaps, laughing like old times again. In return, Alex shared stories of things that happened in the museum after you left, like the time she accidentally dropped a fossilized dinosaur tooth during a museum tour and had to convince the students it was a fake (she had broken it, of course).

After a while, you found yourself sitting back, sipping your coffee, watching them as though you were an outsider. There was something so gratifying about seeing Yelena, usually so guarded, taking a liking to a civilian friend of yours.

Later, as you and Alex walked back, she turned to face you.

“I can see why you keep Yelena around, after everything,” Alex said, “Though she’s a little... intense.”

“She’s the kind that grows on you,” you replied. For the first time in a while, you felt a sisterly warmth grow in your heart for the Russian.

This must be how it felt like the first time— when you joined the avengers and got close to her.

Alex nudged your shoulder playfully. “I like her.”

Thursday, the next week.

Much to your surprise, Yelena and Alex only grew closer from then on.

Their friendship seemed effortless, almost as though they’d known each other for years. It reminded you of why you’d been drawn to Yelena in the first place: it was her wit, her stubborn charm that kept you both on edge.

Seeing Alex bring out that side of her so easily felt like watching two puzzle pieces click into place.

The weekly lunches at the diner soon became a ritual. The first time, Yelena had scrutinized the laminated menu with a dramatic sigh before declaring, “This place better not kill me.” Predictably, she’d found something to complain about. “The eggs are overcooked, the toast is cold, and the coffee tastes like dishwater.” She’d said it with such exaggerated disdain (in a thick Russian accent) that even Alex had giggled.

“I think it's charming” Alex had replied, which earned her one of Yelena’s rare, unguarded smiles.

After that, every Thursday, like clockwork, the three of you crammed into the same corner booth, under the same faded mural of a desert highway. Over time, those lunches became a refuge from whatever was going on that week— whether it was a mission gone wrong or some exhibition that needed long hours to set up. These days were always filled with teasing banter, long-winded stories, and the occasional vulnerable heart-to-heart conversation.

Slowly but surely, you could feel the cracks between you and Yelena mending, the tension that had once boiled over dissipating like sea foam. Forgiveness, you realised, wasn’t a singular event, but a collection of moments— of these moments.

Thursday, the next week.

One Thursday, as the three of you stayed long after the plates had been cleared, Yelena leaned back in her seat, one arm draped over the backrest, suspiciously close to Alex’s shoulders. “You know,” she said, twirling her coffee spoon, “if I’d known Alex was this entertaining, I would’ve stolen her from you a long time ago.”

Alex tilted her head to look at her playfully. “I don’t think you could handle me full-time.”

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “You’re probably right.”

You rolled your eyes, a laugh slipping out.

That day, before going your separate ways, Yelena raised her coffee cup. “Here’s to second chances.”

You hesitated, a flicker of pride behind your eyes, before lifting your own cup. “To second chances,” you echoed, the clink of ceramic against ceramic feeling like a momentous occasion.

Thursday, two months later.

The chatter of the diner hummed around the three of you, a comforting backdrop of clinking plates, shuffling waitstaff, and the faint melody of Motown playing through the speakers

The tension that had once defined your interactions with Yelena, born from everything that had happened with Bucky, now seemed faded. In a way, it had been completely repaired by these weekly lunches.

Across the table, Alex was mid-story, her fork waving through the air as she recounted her new kitten’s latest reign of terror.

“And then she destroyed the blinds,” Alex said with a dramatic flourish she used in museum tours.

Yelena chuckled, her chin propped on her hand as she watched Alex with a mix of amusement and intrigue. Maybe even affection.

But sure enough, the lull in Alex’s story gave her the opening she needed. She turned to face you, tilting her head.

“So,” Yelena began, “what’s going on with you and Bucky?”

The shift in conversation was sudden, but you weren’t surprised. Yelena was nothing if not direct, and she had a way to steer the conversation in whichever way she pleased.

Alex’s eyebrows shot up, her fork freezing mid-air, curious. “Oh, good question,” she said eagerly. “You haven’t really talked about him much lately. Are you two… okay?”

You hesitated, your fingers absently picking at the corner of your napkin as you considered how you should answer. “We’re… figuring it out,” you said finally.

Yelena raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “That’s vague,” she said, skeptical. “Try again.”

Surprising even yourself, you laughed, setting the napkin aside as you leaned back in your seat. “It’s just… complicated,” you insisted, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Now that’s more interesting,” Yelena smiled softly. “Go on.”

Alex leaned in too, her elbows on the table. “Start from the beginning,” she said, grinning.

You sighed, but there was no malice in it. “Fine,” you relented as your thoughts drifted to the past few months.

“I told you about the dinner, right? The day I came home?”— they both nodded— “Well, the next day, he asked if he could come over for coffee. I almost said no—But… I agreed.”

Yelena made a soft, approving sound, “And?”

“And,” you continued, smiling faintly, “he showed up with two cups from that little café down my street. You know, the one with the crawling plants? We sat across the kitchen table, and it was like we were strangers on a first date. It was… weird, but not bad. We just talked. About music, about books, about how he wanted to start swimming more. It felt…” You trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Normal?” Alex offered, her tone gentle.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Normal.”

The knock at the door was soft, almost hesitant, like Bucky was giving you time to change your mind, to pretend you weren’t home anymore. For a moment, you just stared at the door. You needed this. No, you wanted this. You wanted him. When you opened the door, you saw Bucky leaning on his heels with two coffee cups in his hands, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. His hair was tied back, and his leather jacket looked just a little too warm for the season. “Hey,” he said, offering a small, nervous smile as he held up the cups like a peace offering. “I, uh, I know you ran out of ground coffee at home so I got your favorite. Unless you don’t want your favourite. In which case—” “I want it,” you interrupted, an exhausted smile on your face, “Thank you, Bucky.” His shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Good. That’s good.” You stepped aside to let him in, closing the door behind him. The air felt heavier inside, the awkwardness wrapping around you both like a scarf wrapped too tightly around your neck. Bucky followed you into the kitchen, setting the cups down on the table and pulling out a chair before glancing at yo. You sat down, gesturing for him to do the same. He slid into the chair across from you, his metal fingers tapping lightly on the edges of the table. For a moment, it was painfully quiet, the silence stretching long enough for the faint hum of the fridge to fill the room. You stared at the coffee cups, fiddling with the coasters. “Thank you,” he started, running a hand over his face. “For giving me a second chance.” You sipped your coffee, watching him over the rim of the cup. He was trying. You could see it in the way his fingers fidgeted, the way his eyes flickered up to meet yours and then darted away again— he was bracing for rejection. “You did ask nicely,” you said finally with a teasing chuckle, as if saying ‘you’re okay. You’re not crossing a line.’ The tension wasn’t gone, but you both had eased it last night. He winced, unsure of what to make of your dry humour. “You brought coffee.” you offered a shy smile. “That’s something,” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Baby steps,” he said softly. As you settled back into your chair, the conversation began to flow. It was hesitant at first, but soon enough, you were talking about music, about the book you started reading when he left last night, about how he was thinking of taking up swimming again because, "it might be nice to feel weightless for a bit.” It felt… strange, but also familiar. It was the kind of moment you didn’t realize you needed until it was happening. And even all the awkwardness and the lingering edges of frustration, it felt normal. As you finished your coffee, you caught him glancing at you, the tiniest hint of a smile still playing on his lips. “What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Nothing,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “Just… thanks for letting me come over.”

Yelena leaned back. “So, he’s trying to win you back with caffeine and small talk?”

Your laugh came easier this time, the tension in your chest easing. “Something like that.”

Encouraged by their attention, you went on.

“There are still nights when he texts me late, confessing that he’s been pacing for hours, anxious about me— about us. At first, it scared me. I didn’t know how to help, didn’t know if I even could. But now…” You paused, gathering your thoughts. “Now I call him. I stay on the line. I let him talk, let him share pieces of himself he wouldn’t've told me otherwise. It’s hard to hear sometimes but it feels important. Like he’s finally trusting me.”

“And do you talk to him about… your stuff too?” Alex asked.

You nodded, the memory of those late-night conversations blooming a warmth in your chest. “For the first time in a long time, I feel like I can. Vulnerability isn’t just a one-way street, and we’ve….we’re both still learning.”

One night, you were jolted awake by a string of text notifications. You checked— it was all from Bucky. I can’t sleep. Been pacing for hours. Thinking too much. About you. About us. You’d stared at the screen, unsure what to say or do. With a deep breath, you decided to call him. The phone rang once, then twice, before he picked up. His voice was rough, like he hadn’t used it in hours. “Hey.” “Hi,” you’d say softly, leaning back against your pillow. “Anxious again?” A small, self-deprecating chuckle would follow. “Yeah. Sorry. Did I wake you?” You lied. “No.” Then you let him talk. At first, it was fragmented—confessions spilling out in pieces. He’d talk about the nightmares, the way he sometimes felt like he didn’t deserve to be loved. “It’s like…” he’d say one night, voice cracking just enough to make your chest ache, “I keep waiting for the day you’re gonna wake up and realise I’m not worth it. That this—” a pause, a sharp inhale “—that I’m too much.” Your heart broke, but you didn’t interrupt. You’d learned not to. Instead, you stayed on the line, letting him speak until the silence between his words grew longer, like the storm in his head was finally passing. “Bucky,” you said when the quiet stretched too long. “I’m not going anywhere. You know that, right? I gave you a second chance because you’re worth it.” His voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. “I’m trying to believe that.” And slowly, he was. Somewhere along the way, you started sharing your struggles too. One night, you admitted, “I still feel guilty for not being able to remember. I— I feel like I’m never going to live up to the expectations that people have of me. Like I’m never going to be enough ever again.” Bucky had gone quiet, and for a moment you worried that you’d said too much. But then his voice came through, “You’re more than enough. I don’t know I’ve told you that recently, but you are.” That night, you cried after hanging up—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming joy of being heard. Your relationship wasn’t perfect. You both still stumbled, still had moments where the walls crept back up. But those late-night calls had become a lifeline, a place where both of you could be messy and imperfect and still… safe.

Alex’s eyes were thoughtful, Yelena’s lips pressing into a contemplative line.

You cleared your throat, “But it’s not all heavy, I promise. We’ve been going on more dates again— like walking through the city or grabbing dinner at places we used to love. He’s even started leaving little notes around my apartment. Cute stuff, like reminding me to take care of myself when he’s not there.”

This time around, dating Bucky was like rediscovering a book you used to love—familiar, comforting, but still filled with moments that could surprise you. The casual dates were your favourite. As you walked down the streets together, the bustling noise always felt muted. He always made a show of remembering little things—pointing out the bookstore where you’d once spent hours, or stopping by a food truck where you’d apparently eaten a ridiculous number of tacos one summer. You didn’t remember, of course, but you trusted him. Dinner dates were no less charming. Bucky had a knack for choosing the right place—not too fancy, just enough character. “You deserve something better than just takeout,” he’d said once. You could see the effort in every small gesture: how he’d pick up your favourite dessert on the way back home, or how he made sure you had no training drills the next morning when he planned a late night. And then there were the notes. It came after the first month, when you gave him the spare key to your apartment again. The first one caught you off guard, a scribbled “Hey, don’t forget to eat lunch today” stuck to the fridge. You’d smiled, shaking your head, and tucked it into a drawer. But they kept coming. Little scraps of paper, each one carrying a piece of him—gentle reminders, sweet compliments, even terrible doodles that made you laugh until your sides hurt. One morning, after a particularly late mission, you’d found one stuck to your door: “Proud of you. Rest—you earned it.”

Yelena’s brow arched, intrigued.

“One morning,” you continued, the smile on your face growing, “I forgot my jacket, and he showed up at the training ground with it. Didn’t say much, just handed it over. He bought like four of my favourite chocolate bars and stuffed them in my pocket.”

It had been a long, cold morning at the training ground. You’d left in a rush, forgetting your coat. You mentioned it to Bucky when you ran into him in the kitchen that morning, beating yourself up mentally for being forgetful— a particularly touchy subject for you. It was just your luck that Clint had prepared to do outdoor training. You spent the first hour of drills shivering in the cold. You weren’t expecting him to show up—Bucky had been busy with his own schedule—but there he was, standing by the edge of the field with your jacket draped over his arm. He didn’t say much, just walked over, handed it to you, and nodded. But when you slipped it on, your hands brushed against something bulky in the pockets. Curious, you reached in and pulled out not one, but four of your favourite chocolate bars, the wrappers crinkling as you stared at him. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up,” he said casually, knowing how much forgetting had upset you. “Bucky…” you began, but he just shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets, as if to downplay the gesture. “Don't make a big deal out of it,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched in a small smile. But it was a big deal. Not because of the chocolates, not even the jacket, but because of the way you realised he truly cared. That night, when you found another note tucked into the chest pocket—“you’re enough, even when you forget”— you couldn’t stop smiling.

“That’s sweet,” Alex let out a small chuckle. “He’s really trying, isn’t he?”

“So am I,” you nodded, though your voice was quieter now.

Yelena hummed, finally breaking her silence. “Sounds like progress,” she said in approval, “Though I’m still surprised you haven’t kissed him yet,” Yelena remarked, leaning back in the booth, arms crossed like she owned the place.

“We’re taking our time,” you rolled your eyes. “I don’t want to rush into something just because it’s familiar.”

Yelena hummed, playfully scrutinizing. “Must be hard,” she said, her voice wrapped with faux sympathy. “Especially because he follows you around the compound with those big, stupid puppy dog eyes.”

Alex, who’d been happily munching on her toast, choked on a laugh. “Really?”

You scoffed, but your cheeks warmed ever so slightly. “We’re still rebuilding,” you replied, brushing off the teasing, pretending it didn’t hit closer to home than you wanted to admit.

Yelena’s eyebrows softened at your words, her sharp wit momentarily dulled by concern.“Speaking of your little ‘rebuilding phase’... let’s talk about this mission you’re going on with him tomorrow.”

Alex perked up immediately. “Mission? Oh, is this classified?” she teased, holding up her hands like she’d been caught eavesdropping. “Should I, like, cover my ears or something?”

“Relax, Alex,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Just a standard recon mission. Nothing exciting.”

Yelena stirred her coffee as if it had committed a crime. “What was Sam thinking? Pairing you two up now of all times? While you’re still… patching things up. He should’ve sent you with Torres instead. That guy’s boring enough—gets the job done, no drama.”

“Torres isn’t boring,” you protested, half-defensive, half-amused, knowing Sam would smack her upside in the head for talking about his friend that way. “He’s just… new, still a little shy. Give him a break.”

“Whatever,” Yelena waved her spoon dismissively. “He’d still be less of a potential disaster than you and Bucky.”

“We’re not a ‘disaster,’ Yelena,” you leaned forward, narrowing your eyes at her. “Besides, I think this mission is going to be good for us. Working together again… it’s what we need, it’s like testing a boundary together, y’know?”

Yelena raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue further, though you could tell from her expression she wasn’t entirely convinced.

But you didn’t need her to be. You were genuinely excited for this mission. It wasn’t just a test of trust—it was a step forward, a small chance to rediscover yourselves together.

“Fine.” Yelena sighed, finally relenting. “But if you two screw it up, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so.’”

Alex shook her head at this mission talk. She wasn’t in this world, but she appreciated it. In time, she might even grow to understand it. But for now, she raised her coffee cup with a grin. “Here’s to testing boundaries!”

You clinked your cup against hers with a small laugh, stealing a glance at Yelena, whose smile had now returned.

“To testing boundaries,” you said, more to yourself than anyone else.

The bell above the diner’s door chimed as Bucky stepped inside. You spotted him immediately, his broad shoulders framed by the doorway, his hair slightly tousled from the wind outside.

“Speak of the devil,” Yelena muttered under her breath, sipping her coffee. She had not even bothered lowering her voice.

Alex, ever the peacemaker, nudged Yelena with her elbow. “Play nice,” she whispered. Then, she turned toward Bucky with an exaggerated wave. “Hi, Bucky!”

You rolled your eyes at Alex’s enthusiasm, but you couldn’t help smiling as Bucky made his way over.

“Hey,” he greeted the table, his voice low and warm, his eyes affectionately landing on you.

“Hey you,” you greeted softly.

Yelena leaned back in her seat, arms crossed. “Tin Man finally decided to grace us with his presence.”

Bucky smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he slid his hands out of his jacket pockets. “Nice to see you too, Yelena,” he replied evenly, his tone carrying just the right amount of dry humour.

Alex, clearly enjoying herself, leaned forward. “You know, for people who fought about what’s best for her for months, you two are surprisingly civil.”

Bucky gave Alex a polite smile, while Yelena groaned and gestured playfully. “Oh, please. I was always civil. He’s the one who—”

“Not here,” you cut in quickly, “We’re not doing this here.”

Yelena held up her hands in surrender.

“Alright, alright. I’ll behave, besides,” she said with a knowing shrug, “I think Bucky’s here to steal you away from us.”

At that, Bucky finally looked into your eyes. “If that’s alright,” he said, his voice quiet but hopeful.

Before you could respond, Yelena waved her hand dismissively. “Fine. Borrow her. But bring her back in one piece, Barnes.”

You stood, smoothing the front of your shirt, trying to ignore the warmth spreading across your chest as you slid out of the booth. “I’ll see both of you soon,” you said.

After waving a goodbye, Bucky held the door open for you, the chill of the wind pricking on your skin.

He glanced at you hesitantly, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do next.

“Hot chocolate?” You asked.

“Hot chocolate,” he confirmed, holding out a hand. It was a simple gesture, but something about it felt significant. His flesh hand—not the metal one—hovered in the space between you, waiting patiently. For a moment, you caught the faintest hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

Then you reached for him.

His hand was warm, his palm slightly rough against yours. When your fingers intertwined, it felt… solid. Right. Like the two of you were anchoring each other in the moment. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand. It wasn’t the first time you’d held hands with him, but it felt like the first time since everything— since the fractures, the distance.

“Is this okay?” Bucky’s eyes softened, his lips curving into a small, private smile, one meant just for you.

“It’s perfect.”

-to be continued...

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birdaquarius · 2 days ago

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Nightmares — Ekko (Arcane/League Of Legends)

Summary: Ekko struggles to cope with the relentless nightmares and guilt that haunt him after Powder/Jinx’s death, burdened by the belief that he failed her. As his new girlfriend, you offer him unwavering support, becoming the comforting presence he needs and the shoulder he can lean on when the weight of his grief becomes too much.

SPOILERS FOR ARCANE SEASON 2 FINALE!

Currently taking requests!

Word Count: 3k.

Pairings: Ekko/Female Reader, mentions of Powder/Jinx.

Warnings: Panic attacks, night terrors and mentions of death.

The first time it happened, you thought Ekko was simply restless. A day spent dodging Enforcer patrols, patching up the Firelight base, and leading his people was enough to wear anyone down. Yet, even in exhaustion, Ekko had a knack for staying light on his feet. Sleep should have been his only solace.

But it wasn’t.

That night, you were jolted awake by a muffled sound. It wasn’t loud—just a low groan, followed by a sharp intake of breath. The air felt thicker, charged with tension. Turning your head, you saw him. Ekko, curled up on his mat, chest rising and falling erratically. His fingers twitched as if reaching for something—or someone.

“No... not again,” he muttered, voice raw and broken.

You moved closer instinctively.

“Ekko?” you whispered, brushing a hand lightly over his shoulder. He didn’t respond. Instead, his body stiffened, and his breath quickened.

His voice came again, low and frantic. “Powder, wait! Please, I can’t—”

You froze. Powder. Not Jinx. Not the wild-haired, chaotic force that she had become. No, this was the echo of a name from long ago—a name of innocence and regret, of everything that haunted Ekko.

It broke your heart.

“Ekko, wake up,” you said gently, shaking him now.

It took several moments, but his eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing, panic etched into his features. He sat up abruptly, his breaths shallow, chest heaving as though he’d just run miles.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said softly, trying to ground him. “It’s just a nightmare.”

But it wasn’t just a nightmare. You knew it. Ekko knew it.

The nightmares came in waves after that, crashing into your shared nights like unwelcome visitors. Sometimes, he would wake silently, his body trembling as he stared at the ceiling. Other times, he thrashed and yelled, desperate pleas spilling from his lips—begging to save her, cursing himself for failing.

You learned to sit beside him, even when he couldn’t speak, offering silent comfort in the dark. You never pressed, never demanded explanations. When he wanted to talk, you would be ready.

One night, he did.

“It’s always her,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the ambient hum of Zaun outside your window. The two of you sat on the edge of the bed, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of a neon lamp. He hadn’t slept since the nightmare.

“Jinx?” you asked, hesitant.

He flinched at the name, his fingers tightening into fists. “Powder,” he corrected, his tone softer now. “Before she... before everything.”

Your heart ached for him. You had seen the fire in his eyes when he talked about the war with Silco, about what Jinx had become. But this — this was the boy beneath the armor, the leader who carried guilt like a second skin.

“I keep seeing her,” he continued. “The way she looked when we were kids. Her laugh, her smile... and then, everything falls apart. The explosion. I try to reach her, but I’m always too late.”

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “It doesn’t matter. She’s gone because I couldn’t save her. I... I failed her.”

His voice cracked, and you saw the tears he tried so hard to hide.

“Ekko,” you said, your tone firmer now. “You didn’t fail her. You did everything you could. And what happened—it wasn’t on you. You were a kid too.”

“I was supposed to protect her,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “She was all I had left.”

Your grip on his hand tightened. “You still have people, Ekko. The Firelights. Me. We’re here, and we need you. Powder—Jinx—she made her choices. You can’t carry that weight forever.”

He looked at you then, his gaze searching, desperate. “I don’t know how to let it go.”

Over time, the nightmares didn’t stop, but they softened. Ekko let you in, little by little, until his pain became something you shared, a burden you helped carry together.

When the dreams were too vivid, when the memories of explosions and ash threatened to swallow him, you were there. You would pull him into your arms, your fingers running soothing patterns along his back, whispering reminders of where he was and who he had become.

“It’s okay,” you would say, your voice steady and reassuring. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

Sometimes, he would cry, his tears soaking into your shirt as the weight of the past broke over him. Other times, he just sat quietly, his head resting against your shoulder, his breathing evening out as your presence anchored him.

And when words failed, you stayed silent, letting the rhythm of your heartbeats fill the space between you.

One night, as the two of you sat beneath the stars on the rooftop of the Firelight base, Ekko spoke again, his voice softer, more reflective.

“Do you think she’d forgive me?” he asked, staring at the distant glow of Piltover’s towers.

You hesitated. “I think... if she were here, she’d want you to forgive yourself.”

He frowned, his fingers idly tracing the patterns on the rooftop’s metal surface. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” you said, turning to face him. “It’ll take time, but you can. And I’ll be here for all of it.”

He looked at you then, his eyes filled with something unspoken — a mix of gratitude, affection, and hope. Slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “For everything.”

You smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Always.”

In time, the nightmares became less frequent. They still came, but Ekko learned to face them — not alone, but with you by his side. Together, you built a future that honored the past without being bound by it. The echoes of pain remained, but they were quieter now, softened by the love and strength you shared.

And for the first time in a long time, Ekko allowed himself to dream — not of what was lost, but of what could be.

#arcane #arcane fanfic #ekko arcane #ekko x reader #*writing

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bambisspeckles · 1 day ago

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Trapped ✿ Poly Pirate!141 x Reader -- Part Two

A continuation of Stowaway...

*pics for aesthetics only!

Summary: Your first day aboard the 141 CW: Inaccurate depiction of pirates, poly!141, fem!reader, ghost and price are kinda assholes (for right now), soap is well soap, gaz is an angel sent from heaven, reader is held captive (ish), stockholm syndrome core but like in the way beauty and the beast is, no romance w reader yet (sorry, but don't worry it won't really be a slowburn), implied ghoap (its such a small implication I'm sorry) self-edited! WC: 1.9k

Sleep escapes you through the night. The cellar is small and uncomfortable, at times the ship gets rocked so hard you get tossed around, and the wooden floorboards are hard and splintered. You lay there, curled up into a ball, tears threatening to spill from your waterline. It's cold and you're so hungry you can almost hear your stomach growling over the sound of waves crashing against the ships hull. You feel pathetic and weak, and you only have yourself to blame for the predicament you're in. At the very least you should have been offered some food or a spare blanket, a thought that in retrospect is foolish. These aren't gentlemen, they're pirates. They take and pillage until they can take and pillage no more.

You lay there for hours, staring into the darkness with only the sound of the ocean to keep you company. Your eyes are heavy but you can only sleep for a few minutes before you are, quite literally, jolted into consciousness. You go through this back and forth battle for hours until the door opens and morning light shines through the frame. Gaz steps through, his eyes widening in panic when he sees you on the floor.

"Jesus fuckin'- Are you alright? Are you sick? God n' you're shivering…" He rushes to your side, giving you a once over before attempting to place the back of his hand on your forehead. You flinch away from his touch and he awkwardly scrunches his before moving his hand away.

"I'm… I'm fine." You say, you lie. You know he doesn't believe you but you're not sure you care.

"M' sure you're famished, I can bring you somethin' to eat." At the thought of food your stomach growls and Gaz chuckles, shaking his head at you softly. "I'll bring you something love."

As he stands from the ground and turns back towards the entrance, you reach out to grip his wrist, pulling his attention towards you once more. He tilts his head at you curiously, brows slightly furrowed as he waits for you to speak.

"I… Can I leave here, please? It's not like I can run off anywhere and it's stuffy in here." Gaz bites his bottom lip, chewing on it thoughtfully for a moment.

"I'm not sure, Captain hasn't really been clear on what exactly he wants to do with you. Honestly I think it's best you stay here till we dock tomorrow. That way at least you'll be out Price's line of fire… And out of Soap's paws, and it's definitely in your best interest that we keep you away from Ghost." You wince at the mention of Ghost, you swear you can see his dark hooded eyes everytime your eyes close.

There's a part of you that wants to fight back against Gaz, but you know that he's honestly working in your best interest, which you're both suspicious of and grateful for. Instead you decide to back down, sucking your bottom lip in and nodding obediently.

"Okay… Okay, I'll stay."

Gaz smiles at you pitifully, something you wish he'd stop doing. His sympathetic smiles don't free you from this cellar, or from this ship you've foolishly trapped yourself on.

"I'll bring you something to eat," He pauses, noting the curled up position you're in. "And some blankets. We should have done that last night, sorry." He gives you one last sheepish look before turning on his heels, once again leaving you alone.

You're getting antsy.

Gaz has been gone for, well you're not sure exactly how long, but it feels like it's been quite awhile since he promised you food and blankets. You're getting light headed, and pairing that with the cold just isn't helping. Anxiously, you look back and forth between the cellar door and the splintered wooden floor, the idea of just going above deck and looking for Gaz yourself rolling around like a marble in your head. It's a bad idea, you know it is, but your stomach is so painfully empty that you feel ill, and you don't think there are anymore goosebumps to be raised on your skin. You mull over the options in your head.

One, stay in the cellar and hope Gaz hasn't forgotten about you. Or two, leave the cellar and possibly run into the Captain, or worse, Ghost.

Bumping into Johnny wouldn't be so bad. I mean sure, his stares linger too long and that toothy grin of his is less than inviting, but at least he won't throw you overboard when he sees you. At least you think he won't. After a few more minutes of waiting and suffering, you decide to head up to the deck and look for Gaz. You don't know how much longer you can wait for him to come back before you pass out. So, on very wobbly legs, you push yourself off the ground and make your way to the cellar door.

The sun blinds you as the door opens, the smell of the sea smacking you in the face. Truthfully, the bite of the chilly air is refreshing after be locked in that stuffy cellar, despite how cold you are. You climb the steps all the way to the main deck, quickly taking in your surroundings. No one seems to be out on the deck which is both good and bad news for you. As much as you'd like to find Gaz, you're not too sure how the Captain would feel about you aimlessly wandering about the ship, especially when you're sure he doesn't want you on it to begin with. Your stomach growls and you slowly walk towards the ships railing, gently draping your upper half over it, the mist from the waves hitting your face. You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent of the ocean. You take a moment to breathe, to process. Your stomach growls in protest at your lack of movement, but you can't bring yourself to care much when this is the first time in hours you've been able to breath the fresh sea air. You're fighting the urge to drift off when suddenly you're yanked backwards by the waist.

You let out a squeal, you're body flailing as you attempt to loosen the grasp of whichever crew member grabbed you.

"Stop bloody movin'." The voice practically barks out.

"Oh." You think wryly, your body going still.

Once again Ghost had been the one to catch you. How cruel, he was the last person you were wanting to run into.

Ghost flips you to face towards him, his body somewhat pining you against the railing. It vaguely crosses your mind that if he wanted to throw you off the ship, now is this most opportune time for him to do so.

"Wha' are ya doin' out your cage." You furrow your brows at the word 'cage'. Sure, there may be a part of you that does agree it feels like a cage, but it's not. Pets go in cages and you're no pet.

"It's not a cage…" You mumble, lip pouted and brows still furrowed. "And I didn't- I was going to stay in the cellar but Gaz never came back."

Ghost cocks his head slightly, the movement voicing his obvious confusion.

"Gaz never came back for wha'?" The way he asks sends shivers down your spine and you have no idea how he can make such a simple question sound so dark and sinister. You swallow thickly, eyes darting away from his.

"He was going to bring me food and some blankets." Your voice is quiet, timid as you speak to him.

Ghost only grunts in response before grabbing your wrist, rather tightly you may add, and dragging you god knows where. He drags you down a short hallway before stopping in front of a door. Behind it, you think you hear voices, and your suspicions are confirmed when Ghost swings the door open and you're greeted by the faces of the three other men.

"Aye, well would ye look at tha'!" Soap is the first to speak, a nasty grin plastered on his face. "Was just wonderin' what ye were up to kitten." You grimace at the pet name, something you know he finds amusing when he chuckles under his breath.

Before you have a chance to speak, Ghost pushes you further into the room before shutting the door behind him. Price gives Ghost an expectant look, before his eyes dart towards you. He takes that as his queue to speak, his grip still tight on your wrist.

"Found er' sniffin' round' on the deck." Ghost states simply, his voice rough and gravelly.

"I was not "sniffing' around anywhere! I told you, I was simply-" Before you have a chance to finish speaking, the Captain interrupts you.

"Stowaways don't speak out of turn." Price's words are laced with something dark and dominating, the aura of them shutting you up with a quiet whimper.

His eyes scan your face, jaw ticking thoughtfully before he sighs, leaning forward on his desk and putting his weight on his elbows.

"Why were you on the deck?" In the short time you've been here, and with the very limited interactions you have had with Captain Price, you have some understanding that when he asks a question, he wants an answer, and he wants it quickly.

"I- I was looking for Gaz." You mumble curtly, your eyes darting around the room to avoid eye contact with Price.

All eyes turn to Gaz, his head cocked to the side in confusion.

"Me? Did you need somethin' love?" You chew on your bottom lip, nodding softly at him.

"I'm hungry, and rather cold… You said you'd be back but you never came." Gaz looks even more confused than before, his brows dipping further down his face.

"Soap didn't bring you some food and blankets?" He asked.

You shake your head at him again.

"Um, no? Was he supposed to?" Gaz rolls his eyes, turning his head towards Soap who's rubbing his neck sheepishly.

"I told you to bring her the stuff I gave you," His voice raised slightly. "You've left the poor girl starving and cold."

Soap chuckles awkwardly, his eyes darting towards Ghost.

"I ken! I ken… Jus' got a bit distracted." Gaz groans at the implication. "Dinnae hate me too much for it." Soap then turns towards you, crowding you against a wall.

"M' sorry kitten, didnae mean tae forget about ye… Can ye forgive me?" And something about the way he asks makes you fidget.

You squirm against him in an attempt to break free from his grasp, but all he does is smirk and press harder. After a moment of your struggle, the Captain clears his throat.

"Alrigh' nough' of that Soap." The scotsman chuckles softly before finally moving away from you. Price stands from his desk, prompting the whole room to look at him, including you. "Dinner is soon. S' Ghost's night for cookin' so you, stowaway, you'll join us for supper."

His eyes scan the room quickly before nodding towards the door.

"Everyone out of my room."

As fast as he gave the order, everyone was out, standing outside his room like lost cattle. You feel a hand on the small of your back, and when you look behind you, you see Gaz.

"Dinner will be ready soon, just hold out a bit longer. I'll grab ya some blankets to keep ya cozy while waiting." He smiles softly at you and to your surprise, you smile back, an involuntary movement that has him giving your waist a gentle squeeze.

He leads you back to the cellar and once you're alone again you have only one thought.

"I hope Ghost doesn't poison my food."

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magical-reid · 1 day ago

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Forever and Always

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Setting: Modern MCU timeline

Perspective: Third Person Limited (Reader’s perspective).

Work Count: 1.2K

Prompt 13: “I promised to love you forever, and that is a promise I intend to keep.”

______________________________________________________________

The night air in Brooklyn was cool, the city buzzing around you as you walked down the familiar streets. You had lived here once, in another time—another life. Back then, it was simpler. You were young, full of dreams and love. Bucky was by your side, his smile lighting up every corner of the world. That smile hadn’t faded from your memory, not even after all these years. And yet, seeing it now… seeing him now… It was different.

Bucky was different.

You rounded the corner and stopped. There he was, standing by the old bench where you had shared your first kiss. He looked much the same, but the pain in his eyes was unmistakable. His hair was a little longer, a little grayer at the temples, and his jacket a little more worn than you remembered. But it was the same Bucky—the Bucky you had known and loved in the 1940s.

The man who had promised you forever.

You hadn’t aged a day. The same as you had back then, still in your twenties, a quiet enchantment hanging over you like a veil. You could feel it, the weight of your powers that kept you locked in the past, preserved in time. You had lived through decades, watching loved ones come and go, but Bucky had always been the one who lingered. The one you couldn’t forget.

He turned when he heard your footsteps, and for a moment, his breath caught. His eyes scanned you, taking in every detail—every curve, every line, every piece of you that he had once known. It was like nothing had changed… except everything had.

“Y/N…” His voice was low, strained, like the name itself pained him.

You stepped forward, heart in your throat, but a smile tugged at your lips. "Hey, Buck."

He shook his head, as if trying to clear the fog of confusion from his mind. "How... how is this even possible?" His voice cracked slightly. "You look... you look the same. You’re still—" He gestured at you, unable to find the right words.

You nodded slowly, the weight of centuries pressing down on you. "I know. It’s complicated."

His jaw tightened. "I don’t get it. How is this even possible? I saw you… I saw you die. I thought you were gone." His voice broke on the word 'gone.'

You reached out, gently placing your hand on his arm, grounding him. "I never died, Bucky. I—I couldn’t. Not like that. Not when I made you a promise."

He recoiled slightly, stepping back. "A promise?" He laughed bitterly, but there was no humor in it. "Do you have any idea how much time has passed? How much has changed? You don’t owe me anything, Y/N. Not after everything I’ve done. After what Hydra made me do."

You flinched at the mention of Hydra, the dark memories that haunted both of you. You knew that pain all too well, the scars they had left on his soul. But you weren’t going to let him hide behind that.

“Bucky, look at me.” You stepped closer, your eyes meeting his. “You’re not what Hydra made you. You never were. I know who you are. You’re the same man who held me close under the stars, promised me forever. The man who laughed and danced and loved with his whole heart.” You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your words. “And I promised to love you forever, Bucky. And that is a promise I intend to keep.”

His face twisted in anguish, and he looked away, the guilt written all over him. "You don’t understand, Y/N. You don’t know what I’ve done. What I can’t forget. The lives I’ve taken. The pain I caused. I’m a different person now. You shouldn’t have to carry that. You deserve someone who hasn’t—" He choked on the words, his fists clenching.

“Stop.” Your voice was firm, cutting through the self-loathing and regret that seemed to choke him. "You are not the monster they turned you into. You are not the Winter Soldier anymore, Bucky. You are him. The man I fell in love with."

Tears burned in your eyes, though you refused to let them fall. You had spent so many years without him, so many years wondering if you would ever get another chance. You couldn’t lose him again.

“Bucky, look at me.” You cupped his face gently, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “I never gave up on you. I never stopped loving you, not once. You don’t get to decide if I move on. I made a promise, and I’m not going to let you push me away.”

He took a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. For a moment, he didn’t speak. His blue eyes were searching yours, like he was looking for something—something to hold onto, something to believe in again.

“I’m not the same man I was back then,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’ve seen too much. Done too much.”

“And I’ve been waiting for you, Bucky. For all this time.” You stroked his cheek softly, and he leaned into the touch, his breath hitching. “You’ve suffered. I know that. But you don’t have to suffer alone. You never did.”

His eyes softened, a flicker of hope rekindling in the depths of them, and for a brief second, he was the man you remembered—the man you had loved. The man who had kissed you under the stars, whispered promises into your hair, and told you he’d love you forever.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” you whispered, your voice filled with emotion. “You don’t have to carry all of it alone anymore. You don’t have to do this by yourself.”

Bucky closed his eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath, his shoulders sagging with the weight of everything he had carried for so long. “I don’t know if I can… if I deserve to be loved again. After everything.”

“You deserve it more than anyone.” Your voice was steady now, filled with the conviction of a promise you had made so long ago. "You are still the man I fell in love with, Bucky. And I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever."

When he finally looked at you again, his expression was softer, vulnerable, the hardness in his eyes giving way to something more fragile. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

“I’ve missed you too.” You pressed your forehead to his, a tear finally slipping down your cheek, but it was a tear of relief, not sorrow. “I never stopped loving you, Bucky. And I never will.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Bucky didn’t pull away. He didn’t hide behind the walls of guilt and regret. Instead, he let himself be vulnerable with you—truly vulnerable. And as he leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours, you knew, without a doubt, that forever didn’t need to be a distant promise anymore.

It was now.

And this time, you would keep it. Forever and always.

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itstheval · 2 days ago

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Memory of Dreary Days / Siffrin Gets An Earring

A @livesworthlivingau Side Story

It was a lovely autumn day, and Siffrin was miserable.

This wasn't anything new, they'd come to realize. The events of Dormont had changed - and possibly Changed - them, but that was months ago, a little over a year now. No, this frustration was newer, possibly the last few months, but they'd managed to identify it over time.

They watched Mirabelle and Isabeau, in front of them, chatting about what Changes they might want to make in the future. Isabeau had a whole list of ideas, but Mirabelle was being more cautious, as usual. Odile was watching and writing, and Bonbon, they were sitting on Nille's shoulders as both of them added their two coins when they had an idea. Leaving you, Siffrin the Traveler, as an outsider. Again.

It wasn't their fault, you knew it. You were empty inside, and this entire adventure you were on was to fill you. That was something the doctor had mentioned, that you seemed to agree with…You didn't have a past, so they were making you one, because they wanted you to. So why were you being talked over, and around? Why were they treating you like a pet, not someone with their own ideas?

The only thing worse than knowing it was it being known, unfortunately. It seemed like they came to a pause in conversation, and Isabeau looked back as though remembering you existed after so long ignoring you.

"What about you, Sif? Got any ideas for big Changes?"

You could laugh. You could sob. You remembered being as large as the sky, and just as filled with stars. You pictured yourself, star-headed and lightless-skinned.

"I don't think so! That's a Vaugardian thing, isn't it?"

The words were more bitter than you imagined them to be, and the second they left your lips you knew that they were wrong. A second after, you told yourself otherwise. "Words can't be wrong", the doctor had said, "If you mean them. You're trying to express yourself, not win a game." Well, from the way everyone else's faces fell, that was good, because you'd have just lost hard.

"That doesn't mean you can't Change! There's Houses everywhere that will take you in and help you, too."

"Yes," Odile continued. "I've thought of using them myself, during my time here, but I never had time to stay in one place, what with…everything."

"Really, madame? You're so pretty! What would you even change?"

And the conversation was off again…Odile explaining her heritage yet again, too-thick hair and too-wide eyes for ka bue, too-thin eyes and too-thin hair for Vaugarde. You wondered, sometimes, if Ka Buans had thought she was as pretty as Vaugardians do. You wonder, in the moment, if they'd bother talking to you again.

They hadn't.

You'd caught Isabeau looking over at you, with something more thoughtful than pity, but you could see the pity in it. Whatever he had in his mind, it wasn't enough to make him ask about anywhere else, or change the subject. Quietly, you thought about how much nicer it would've been if you'd just gone for a comfortable lie instead.

▬▬▬

It was a rainy, autumnal day, and Siffrin was bored.

It wasn't anyone's fault, everyone knew that was just what happened in Autumn. You found somewhere to stay until the rains ended, or you trudged through the worst mud that you could imagine. Bored or miserable, and to the family the choice was obvious. Siffrin had been…letting themself think of them that way for a while, even without telling them. Their little secret. Maybe not their family, but they were the family, and nobody could blame him for that, right? Watching Mira read to Bonbon, watching Isa and Nille talking about, of all things, carpentry, and Madame writing in those inscrutable books of hers.

You hated it. You hated listening to it, you hated being part of it, and you hated being trapped in it. It was nothing like the loops, you knew, but it was almost worse in its way. Watching everyone else with a role, with something to do, and you off to the side like some pet. You'd already napped yourself dry, and nobody had begrudged you sleeping through breakfast, even if it meant you were likely to stay up well after the candles were out at night. But the rest of your day…

You sighed. Sitting there wasn't going to make you any happier, and you'd already looked at all of the books Mira had brought with her. You'd read through the horror stories until they started showing up in your dreams, when Mirabelle had banned you from reading any more of them because of how you'd been whimpering in your sleep. Isa had tried to defend your right to read, but the looks Odile had given him had made him blush in a peculiar way and stop trying, and that had been the end of it. The less said about the romances, the better. You understood that Vaugarde was an open place, but the things they dreamt up to keep two people from each other felt so cliched, so unreal, so impossible that you couldn't get into them.

So, you laid there, in a bed, in a wooden room, staring at the ceiling until the morning came.

How familiar.

That thought sent a shudder down your spine that you knew everyone noticed, but you got out of bed before any of them could comment on it. No, you were dealing with this. You weren't being dealt with, not this time. You hopped up, and walked over to Odile, who closed her book as you approached.

"What could you be writing down now?" you found it in you to ask. "Vaugardian rainy-day games? I thought you were a master at those." The joking tone managed to reach your voice, you thought, and you were glad for it.

"Oh, I wasn't writing at all. Believe it or not, I'm designing something."

"Designing?" The surprise in your voice was clear.

"Well yes. You have your woodcarving…Or had it, when we were near forested areas enough to find scrapwood. Mirabelle has her writing. I thought I should perhaps try my hands at something creative."

"Oh, can I see?" This was WAY more interesting than laying in bed!

"If you can guess what it is, then yes. It wasn't fair that I didn't get to see your face when my research was revealed, after all." Her smile was coy and knowing, but she did, ultimately, have a point.

"Oh, is it…" You looked around, trying to think of what could be in the room that she could draw inspiration from.

"Clothesmaking? Like Isa plans to?"

"Nice try, young one. But that's your one try for the day." Odile's eyes turned up as she thought about the idea. "Besides, do you think I'd compete with Isabeau? In something he's planned for that long?"

You had to concede the point.

▬▬▬

"Carpentry?"

"Can you imagine me swinging a hammer, Siffrin? I know my limits, and they stop well before there."

▬▬▬

"Bookbinding!" You thought for sure you had her on that one. Something to do with her precious books, and something she could study from Mira's colleciton and her own?

"Sadly, no. But, now that you mention it, maybe I should."

▬▬▬

So the days had passed, until things were clear again. The world was colder now, and you could feel it around your cloak, but everyone was well prepared for it. You'd all gotten your own instructions on what to purchase, and been sent off to pick up supplies, which had taken the whole day between bartering and transporting. Thakfully, without Mira there you managed to get a Savior of Vaugarde Discount, and used the extra coin to pick up a pain au chocolat. Some things, it seemed, were eternal, and this one you didn't mind.

So it was that you returned to the inn, one hand with a canvas bag full of smaller bags, spices and flour and other things for Bonbon, the other letting you munch away happily, but you found yourself pausing outside the door. Something was wrong, you could feel it. You finished your treat quickly, and opened the door with a hand on your dagger. A pre-feeling, something that you couldn't put words to, told you that there was something going on beyond the door

You were right.

But not how you thought.

Instead, the family had been standing around in a half-circle, seemingly waiting for you to get back! You barely had time to rescue the groceries as a Bonbon-shaped missile impacted your legs and held you, Mira following after on the other side and Nille even stepping in to ruffle your hair, as Odile looked on fondly, and Isa…Hid something.

As lovely as the feeling was, your suspicions were raised far too high.

You managed a laugh, and to pull yourself free of the hug after enough time that it had started to loosen, before staring down Isa. Watching his cheeks darken was almost worth he price of admission, even as the others spoke around you. Again.

"I told you he'd notice!"

"You hardly had a better idea, Mirabelle."

"Uh-uh! We shoulda done it at dinner! Make sure he's comf-ta-bul."

"Comfortable, Boniface."

"That's what I said!"

It all flowed around you, as you stepped closer to Isa, and sighed. "I know what bonding earrings are, Isa." You allowed, holding out a hand, making him stutter even worse - and sending a roil of laughter around the room from everyone else.

That wasn't it? Then what was he hiding?"

"You're half right, I'm afraid. This is actually something we'd all been thinking about for a while…The past week just proved how important it was. It's not bonding earrings, but…"

As Odile spoke, Isabeau brought a black jewelry box around, holding it out to you. His words were trembling and small, in the way he always seemed to do only for you. You wished he wouldn't…his big booming voice was always so nice.

"We noticed you don't have any earrings yourself, Sif! And…I mean, you're as Vaugardian as any of us, if you want to be. Not that you should feel like you have to give anything up for us! But! I thought this might…make it easier to remember?"

What…were they saying?

Isabeau opened the box, and instead of one of his black i-earrings like you'd expected, a pair of star-shaped earrings rested inside. They were a light shade, just dark enough to notice around your hair, and obviously handcrafted. The edges were imprecise, the designs weren't symmetrical, and you could feel the love in every angle.

You stared. You didn't know what else to do.

Isa was saying more things, and it sounded like other people were responding, but you lifted up a hand to the box. A shaking hand, you realized when it was halfway there. Trembling, uncertain, but you didn't dare stop now. Not when they'd put so much effort in.

"-know what I was working on, the past few days. It's something of a rush job and it shows, but it's even more Vaugardian to have it made by your family, isn't it?" Odile was speaking.

Made…by your family.

Made by them.

You cried. You wrapped your arms around the giant body of Isabeau and you cried and you sobbed and you bawled and for once in your life, you weren't ashamed of a single sound you made. There wasn't any room for it in your heart. Not with everything else you were feeling.

Everyone else was holding you in moments. You turned, as best you could in the group hug, to include all of them. You knew you were getting tears and snot all over them and you didn't care. They were there. They were your family. They…You were one of them.

In that moment, of all moments, you were loved.

#isat fanfic #lwlau #lives worth living au #lwl nille #lwl isabeau #isat #isat au #isat siffrin #isat mirabelle #isat isabeau #isat odile #lwl odile #isat bonnie #lwl bonnie

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sparks-chaotic-cove · 2 days ago

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SO that lore yesterday, huh? ("≡╔═╻╝═▁" / "Mending" streamed on ggabraxas's, ArtfulRenegade's, and Heyhay13's twitch channels on 11/25/24)

Specifically going to talk about Armor/Atlas and his reactions to everything/the way he acts throughout the stream (also touching back on the end of the last stream-)

When the void monsters attacked in the previous stream- it's like a switch was flipped. His house was burning but that didn't matter- he had to scoop up the lizards and most importantly, the phoenix egg, before diving straight into battle He paused only a moment to stand beside Rune once most if not all of the creatures were gone. Then he stood by when Vast and Rune talked before Rune fled to the testing room.

And he sat with Vast. Almost none of his words were aimed towards himself. He stayed quiet, or he comforted. He didn't even react badly when Vast mentioned the human experimentation him and Rune had been doing.

For almost the entire Mending stream, she is always a step away from Rune and Vast. They stay a bit away, because Rune and Vast need each other- and right now, Atlas doesn't see how much they need him too. The only time that Atlas is closer to Rune than Vast is when he's fixing Rune's arm. And even then, he's so focused on the task that no blush warms his face as the inventor rests his head on Atlas's shoulder. When Vast runs up to Rune to embrace him after they had locked themselves in a room for so long, the first thing Atlas does is look away. Rummage through his pockets, glace around. Eventually he looks back, but to him- while he wants to be here, being around the two when they're all lovey-dovey almost feels like an intrusion. He doesn't belong between them two. Vast is happy. Rune is happy. So he steps away, glances off, fidgets, and waits. Waits until he can do something useful again.

Armor's main focus through these two streams is almost singular: to protect the ones he cares about. He admits this himself when Vast questions if he's okay- he says "Yeah [...] I don't know if 'okay' is the right word, but I will be okay." She's lost her house, but Rune and Vast and the rest of Brightstep are far more her home than that copper building is. He then says that he's more concerned about Rune and Vast right now than himself.

And they go through the stream. Vast and Rune obviously care for Atlas- Vast stuttering through how they could rebuild the house, Rune not wanting to bother Atlas with tending to his arm, etc. Armor (at least from what I remember) never replies when the other two thank him- at least it's never a "you're welcome". sometimes it's a 'yeah', but that's the most. This is what Armor does. This is what she wants to do. She wants to help them. So these actions don't feel worthy of thanking. It's just him helping out. Thats what he does. And as long as Rune, Vast, and the rest of Brightstep are okay, that's far more thanks than he would ever need. Sometimes just seeing the fruit of your work is a better thanks than being highlighted for it ever would. Atlas almost doesn't accept Rune and Vast's offers to give him a room, and refuses to change the room he's given because it's not his. He doesn't need accommodation- he's gotten used to making due with what he's got when it gets cold. He insists that Rune and Vast being alive matters far more than his burnt down house.

Atlas is so focused on helping those two he forgets himself. He insists that if they're going to do Rune's hair, then they need to fix up Vast too. Never does he comment on his own hair, wings, or anything. Although I'm sure the other two got to that in their self care endeavors. He doesn't even mention his birthday until the end, and Rune panics a bit- because Rune cares. But to Armor, it's... another day. One that's been bad in the past. At least today he got to spend it caring for others, being there for the people he loves.

#sparkrambles #so do you all know how much I love Armor/Atlas?#puts her in a jar and shakes her around #abababbaa #rusty stars #boundsmp #skyboundsmp #bound smp #atlas abernathy #armor abernathy #Vast cadere #Rune Ventura #vast boundsmp #rune boundsmp #Armor boundsmp

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thepossummoldypasta · 2 days ago

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I Lost Myself to Find You

Tw! a character thinks he's been drugged, strong depictions of someone feeling ill

Steve knew, he knew, it was a bad idea to come to school today. He had thought (ignorantly, stupidly,) that the effects of having his face beaten in and the horrors of almost dying to a fucked up paper-fortune-teller-monster would have faded away over the weekend. Apparently not. Of course not.

Stupid.

Now everything aches. It hurts more than Steve thinks it should. It hurts like he’s a walking livewire bruise. Like every muscle has torn apart and hurled itself back together with no care. He doesn't remember being so absolutely fucked yesterday.

It's pretty obvious that he’s in a bad way. Steve’s shuffling down the hallway like a zombie, arms curled around a suffering stomach that he doesn't even remember Johnathan socking. Not to mention the smell. Steve’s set to present as a beta and even he can smell how absolutely pathetic he is right now.

It's only second period and he longs to be back home with the covers pulled over his head.

Fuck it.

Steve turns around. O’Donnell can fuck herself; Steve’s insides are falling out and he's got priorities. His internal organs trying to eat each other has got to be more important than English class.

It's a long trek to his car parked at the far, desolate, corner of the lot. What stupid mountain was Nancy’s little brother going on about the last time he saw him? Card-something? Steve feels like that. Like he’s crawling lamb-like across some epic snowy mountain, about to collapse.

Where's his car?

Steve knows where he parked his car, but he doesn't see it in the lot. Or he thinks he doesn't; Steve can't see much of anything through the spots dancing in his vision. Maybe the swirling is making it harder to see than the spots are? Either way Steve’s got no idea how far away he is from the bimmer, lost amongst a swimming sea of metal.

He needs to sit down; to yell at his thoughts until they regroup.

Is he even in the parking lot anymore? fuck is he even in the parking lot? The swirling feeling is worse, now it's like he’s swaying on a giant seesaw crossed with a carrousel. Steve’s head feels heavy, like there is cotton and sand thumping around in there instead of brains and rational thoughts.

At least the spots in his vision are gone. If Steve focuses enough--despite his eyes mimicking a fuzzy camera lens zooming in and out—he can see boldly colored evergreen leaves and icy moss. Yep, not in the parking lot.

Probably not a good idea to wander around in the snow blanketed woods with no jacket. The weather is cold enough that Steve could freeze!

Well…

He could freeze if it didn't feel like a fire had been lit in his stomach and across his shoulders.

It's almost near dark, Hawkins is firmly in that time of year when the sun disappears early, but the sky remains dully lit. The shade cast by the trees Steve is trudging between dims the earth even further but everything seems so vivid to him that it almost doesn't matter.

It shouldn't still be this easy to see. It's almost like the preternatural senses that he’s heard come after presentation. Even Betas gain heightened senses, but Steve hasn't presented as one yet, so why is it so bright?

Suddenly it occurs to Steve that he might have been drugged.

Tommy did say he would get back at Steve for abandoning him; The really sad thing is that Steve can picture his used-to-be best friend slipping him something as payback. What would this even be? God, he hopes its not acid.

Steve knows what he has to do now, where he has to go.

Eddie can help

When you think about it, at first the idea seems utterly absurd, but Steve knows Eddie. Sure, the alpha is a major freak, but he’s also Hawkins High’s most prominent (only) drug dealer. He’s bought from Eddie. Every time Steve picked up the “party favors” his friends pressured him into getting, Eddie would get this look on his face and tell Steve that he was always there if he had a bad trip.

And that’s what this is right? It's just a bad trip—even if it was potentially caused by the one guy he used to trust more than anybody else in the world—but now Steve actually has a plan! He just has to make it to Eddie!

Shockingly that might be easier to do than one might think. Very luckily Steve knows these woods and knows them well. In abrupt clarity Steve realizes the route he must have taken to get here and therefore the route he needs to take to get to Eddie.

If he’s in the woods he must have wandered south out of the Highschool parking lot, weaved between houses and the thin tree line, and eventually got himself into the woods proper. He doesn't think he took any turns, so if he just heads west, he’ll either head straight to Forest Hills or pop back out on a road he can follow to get there.

After a small setback—because he can’t follow the sun to find west—Steve is on his way.

The hike through the frost and snow is still oddly easier than it should be. Steve feels like his body is running on fever and instinct. As he walks Steve absentmindedly starts to hum “Over the River and Through the Woods” under his breath, hoping familiar music will speed up the flow of time.

He can still see fairly well; well enough to see (and attempt to ignore) what seems like a little girl following him from close behind. Steve knows it’s probably just the ghosts of his foggy mind coming to haunt him but the idea of a young pup all alone in the woods makes something in him, ache.

Soon enough, she slips back into the shrouds of trees. The pup won’t answer when Steve calls for her; and though it hurts—oh how it hurts—Steve reasons he cannot stop and weep over the spirits conjured by his drug addled brain. He’s almost there.

It should be startling how direct the path Steve took is but he doesn't care about that. He’s almost there. Lights shimmer in the distance, if he listens closely, it's almost like he can hear the soft thrum of distant music permeating the forest floor.

Metallica.

Eddie.

The Munson trailer seems to rise from the freezing mist, welcoming and safe. Steve sees Eddie’s window aglow in the evening and a sigh of relief breaks free from his troubled chest. Steve knows Eddie’s trailer, his window (Eddie refused to sell anything worse than weed anywhere but at home), the certainty is a comfort.

Eddie promised he would help him, here Steve will be safe. Quickly but clumsily Steve flies like a moth to the soft window-light. All sense has left him now; Steve claws and whimpers at the window pathetically until it opens.

“Harrington?” Eddie sticks his head out to greet him, “What are you doing?” Steve whines at the harshness of the whisper. He knows it wasn't meant to be mean but it still feels upsetting somehow.

“Eddie, I need help” the plea is pitchy and sad even to his own ears but still Steve presses on. “Eddie, you promised!”

The poor alpha startles, sucks in a breath and leaps to settle the boy crying at his window.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Eddie flounders. “Steve, calm down, we can sort this out.” no matter how Eddie tries to sooth him Steve does not get a hold of himself. It takes several, long, anxious, moments before Eddie retreats back from the window.

Steve wails.

Why would Eddie leave? why when he said Steve could always come to him?

Steve has never felt so fragile before, He doesn't remember feeling this heartbreaking lonesomeness since maybe before high school. It could be just a culmination of every emotion he's felt and locked away because of the hell he was pulled into. it could be that this was just the last straw. Either way for some stupid reason he feels a small twinge of abandonment in his bruised heart.

All of a sudden arms envelop him in warmth and care.

"Hey, lets get you inside, okay Steve?" Eddie murmurs by his ear. "Jesus man, what are ya a space heater or something? You have your own vapor cloud." Steve doesn't think he was actually supposed to hear that part, but when he turns around, sure enough, a fine mist rises from his shoulders and trails after him like a sorrowful miasma.

how did that happen? When did that happen?

The Munson trailer is warmer and more comforting the anywhere else Steve has been in his entire life. Something rumbles deep contentedly in his chest; its so nice.

Eddie leads him over to a small couch covered in more through pillows on it than a couch thrice its size would need and Steve is glad to rest there.

"Okay man, what do you need?" Eddie questions when the other boy is settled in, "What can I do?"

Steve can't muster actual words but somehow the alpha understands. Swiftly Steve finds himself under a bundle of blankets to situate any way he wants while Eddie steps away once more. This time it isn't so bad; Steve still feels unhappy that Eddie isn't with him, however unlike last time Eddie had told Steve where he was going and was still in his line of sight as the Alpha goes to call his uncle.

"Hey Wayne" Steve hears Eddie greet his uncle. There is a brief back and forth about why Eddie is calling, and how "yes it is suspicious for you to call this late", before Eddie admits defeat. "look, You really cant get mad about this okay?" Eddie stresses into the phone. "I picked up another stray."

Another? but could that mean--

"I-I know Wayne," Eddie interrupts Steve's train of thought, "but I really gotta help my friend out okay? He's in heat."

The conversation continues at a steady murmur, but Steve can barely hear it, let alone make sense of the yeses and i-knows being passed back and forth.

Steve can't stay. He should have known taking advantage of someone's hospitality would have consequences. Here he is, a pathetic lump, on Eddies couch when he should be focusing on his omega! His omega in heat no less!

Steve struggles to free himself from the blankets and pillows he hadn't realized were completely surrounding him. Distantly he hears Eddie frantically tell his uncle he has to go and slam the handset back into the cradle as Steve almost tumbles to the floor.

"Hey! Hey! Steve what's wrong man?" Eddie manages to catch Steve by the shoulders holding him in place.

"No! Let me go!" Steve cries, thrashing in Eddies hold "You should be taking care of your omega!"

Steve nearly breaks free but Eddie wraps around him. now he's trapped in a hold more like a hug than a trap pushing him back into place.

"Well I don't know if we're quite there yet big boy, but that is what I'm trying to do!" The Alpha huffs.

"No you should be with him! He's the one in heat!" the cry pierces into the night, Its so sharp Steve is almost shocked it cam from his own mouth. Eddie makes a confused noise--that might have been a word if Steve was paying attention--he shifts his hold once more, putting Steve at arms length so he can look in his eyes.

"Steve!"

"What!" he shouts in return, Eddie looks deep in his eyes despite Steve's best efforts to look away.

"You're in heat." Eddie says it with such conviction it's startling. In fact Steve is so caught off guard that he goes limp enough to be laid back against the couch.

What--

Eddie coos at him softly, Tucking the blankets back around Steve, even going so far as to fluff a few of the pillows.

"oh honey," Eddie says sweetly as he brushes a hand along Steve's hair in a way he would normally despise, "You really didn't know? is this your first one?"

Steve nods against the alphas careful hand, taking it to nuzzle. Literally three hours ago--heck five minutes ago--if anyone had asked Steve if he was in heat he would have laughed in their face. Now the low, thrumming, ache has settled back in his gut and inclines him to think differently.

What else could this be really? well, he thought drugs, but hindsight and a safe place to rest vanishes the thought. looking back on the day all the cramps, the post-presentation senses, the fire that's settled within him, it all seems to make sense.

(a distant part of his brain--the one that will be embarrassed in a couple days time--tells him that the emotional sensitivity was also probably the result of his surprise presentation. That it was the natural, sudden shift, in hormones and pheromones effecting his already slightly addled brain)

"I don't want to leave, Eddie." Steve eventually sniffles against the warmth of the alpha. He reaches up to hold him gently and Eddie sinks into the hug.

"You don't have to go anywhere sweetheart. I'll look after you, I promise."

Later, after many cuddles and complaints from the new omega about how he "thought heats were supposed to be sexy", Steve will reflect on this week as probably the best one of his entire life. Up until that point of course. After all he has the rest of his life with the most caring alpha he's ever known ahead of him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------Yay It's Done! Feel free to come check this out on Ao3 as well because I've decided to cross post as many of my works as I can =]

#alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #steddie #fanfic #omegaverse #ao3 #misunderstandings #fluff and angst #mostly fluff #i think #post season 1

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starlost-mochi-x · 3 days ago

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lonely st. ✧ chapter viii : the breaking point

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader (y/n)

warnings: y/n has a bad panic attack, mentions of ed, y/n has trouble eating, felix and his mom, mentions of throwing up, medication, and racing thoughts

a/n: this chapter is really long i can't lie. i got carried away *laughs in obsessed, traumatized writer*

series masterlist | skz masterlist

"Oh, it's so warm in here," Hyunjin groaned, flopping into a chair. Y/n took a seat next to him cautiously, settling down warily and glancing around the store.

Bbokari's was exactly as Felix had said; a convenience store lined with rows and rows of snacks, household items, hygiene products, and even pet food. Not that it was uncommon, but sometimes it still threw Y/n to realise that people actually owned pets. Since she'd never had one of her own, she found herself wondering what owning an animal really entailed.

It can't be much different from taking care of Jisung, she reasoned idly.

The store lights overhead were golden, casting a warm glow over the four teens. The store was bigger than it had initially looked from the outside, with the main part of it being taken up by the shop items. A wall fridge ran along the left side of the store, filled with frozen products and treats, as well as a small, separated section for antibiotics and over-the-counter medications.

There was a small staircase up the back, lining the wall and leading up to what Y/n assumed to be Felix's house on the upper level. A countertop sat in front of it, where there were several automatic checkouts and a manual cashier box. Currently, no one was manning the cashier station.

She looked around from where she was currently sitting; this part of the store was set out like a little cafe; mismatched chairs and tables sat upon the polished, recently-cleaned wooden floors, sectioned off from the shiny linoleum of the convenience aisles.

There was a high bench with tall stools and a large window that ran the length of the wall, giving Y/n a view out into the street beyond. She could see little flowers and plants bobbing their heads and leaves against the glass, moving in the cold, post-storm wind.

On the opposite side from the window, there was another wall and a long wooden countertop, on which sat several microwaves, a kettle, a coffee maker, and a small cupboard containing tea and coffee additions. Y/n noticed there was also a large biscuit jar with a little scribbled drawing of a chicken on the glass, with 'FELIX' written underneath it.

She settled back in her chair; Felix had gone upstairs to fetch something, and had told them to wait downstairs. Jisung and Hyunjin were busy fighting over the last chip from the bag they'd nicked from Felix's lunchbox, and Y/n sat quietly and observed them, not having much else to do apart from survey her surroundings.

She turned just as Felix came down the staircase, weaving amongst the shelves before standing in front of them, breathless.

"Sorry, I had to go check where my mom was. She's out the back but she'll be in soon, so we can go upstairs."

The boys moved to get up, Jisung snatching the chip from between Hyunjin's lips, and followed Felix. Y/n did the same, weaving through the shelves and standing beside him in the middle of the snack aisle. Felix turned back to her as Jisung and Hyunjin began taking food from the shelves, clearly comfortable with their surroundings.

"Take whatever you want," he smiled at her kindly. "You don't have to pay because it's your first time here."

Y/n waved her hands, stuttering. "N-no, it's okay, I'll pay."

Felix opened his mouth to protest before a gentle, warm hand found its way onto her shoulder. Turning, she locked eyes with a taller, older woman with kindly eyes and dark hair tied up in a loose, messy knot. She smiled down at Y/n and it was immediately reminiscent of Felix's easygoing, casual grin, albeit tinged with a motherly kindness.

"Please, feel free to take whatever you like. No need to pay," she said, her voice soft and hospitable. "I insist."

Y/n's head buzzed. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting when Felix had said his mom, but it hadn't been this. She was so nice, and- normal.

"H-hi," she stuttered up at the woman, feeling like a small, lost child in the presence of this motherly figure.

Felix stepped up beside her, placing a gentle hand on Y/n's upper back. "Mom, this is Y/n. She's my new friend."

The woman nodded kindly at Y/n, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a warm smile. "Nice to meet you, Y/n. Please, call me Auntie. Everyone does."

"Okay," Y/n whispered, feeling suddenly warm at Felix's choice of phrasing. New friend.

The older woman smiled, nodding. She glanced behind the two of them to Hyunjin and Jisung, who were busy fighting yet again, this time over a packet of ramen buldak noodles.

Someone called out something from a door in the corner near the fridges, which Y/n assumed led out to the back supply area.

"Auntie, someone's calling for you," Jisung shouted cheerfully, his hands still tangled around Hyunjin's as they fought for the ramen packet.

She laughed, ruffling Felix's hair. "Thank you, Jisung. I need to go now, but have fun, Y/n. You're welcome to stay as long as you like."

She leaned down to Y/n and patted her shoulder, giving her a conspiratorial wink. "Maybe you can teach my son some manners while you're here."

"Mom," Felix protested, fighting a laugh. His mother brushed past him with a laugh even softer and went out the door, shutting it behind herself.

Felix took Y/n's shoulders and turned her towards the shelves, stocked with a variety of tasty snacks and colourful packets.

"Go on," he said encouragingly, before turning to wrestle the ramen packet out of Jisung and Hyunjin's hands.

With Felix's attention off of her, Y/n gulped, frozen in the middle of the aisle. The packaged foods seemed to taunt her with their cutesy cartoon characters and colourful patterns, and their shiny plastic coverings and packages made her eyes hurt as they shone against the golden lights hanging overhead.

She began to feel a bit sick.

Felix and his mother had insisted she take something without the need to pay for it, which meant she had to eat something. In front of Felix and his friends. And he would certainly pinpoint that something was off if she insisted she wasn't hungry. Not for the first time did she half-heartedly curse his unusually perceptive nature.

She swallowed a thick wad of saliva, trying to quell the growing grumbling in her stomach. Sucking her stomach in a little, she exhaled with some difficulty, feeling like she'd been punched hard in the gut all of a sudden.

Trying to suck air into her lungs, but feeling winded, she looked around, eyes darting increasingly quickly around the room. She looked everywhere but she couldn't see at all, unable to focus on anything but the growing buzzing sensation spreading up her neck, settling into the crevices of her hands and ankles.

She suddenly felt wobbly on her feet and her hand moved to fidget frantically with the strap of her bag, unfocused and shaky.

Hyunjin and Jisung were still whining and arguing loud enough that Y/n's frantic, uneven breathing couldn't be heard over the din. She stood, mouth parted, unable to do anything but stare at the shelf and hyperventilate, feeling absolutely stupid and pathetic.

Felix finally managed to disengage the now-crushed ramen packet from the boys' laser-tight grip and shoved them both down the aisle, scolding them lightly. Both of them disappeared around the corner to the fridges, bickering lightly about some nonsense.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Felix deposited the colourful packet back onto its rightful place on the shelf before turning around. His eyes widened at the sight of his friend. He gazed at her in mild confusion, not understanding.

"Y/n?" He asked hesitantly. "Are you okay?"

Felix's panic grew as Y/n shook her head shakily, unable to speak. He looked around for something that might help her calm down, finding nothing but wanting nothing more than to help his friend.

Jisung's had panic attacks before, he told himself firmly, composing himself. He always said that anything cold helps to ground him. Or physical contact... But I might scare her if I touch her suddenly. Should I go get Mom? Or would that make it worse?

Hyunjin, who had come round the corner again, presumably to complain about Jisung, noticed Felix standing motionless next to a hyperventilating Y/n, his hands out, unsure and worried.

"Y/n," he whispered, his mind going blank. Dropping his bag onto the floor, Hyunjin rushed down the aisle, moving to stand next to Felix. He placed a gentle hand on Y/n's arm, her body turning slightly to seek out his touch like a drawing magnetic force.

He enveloped her in a firm, warm hug, letting his chin rest on the top of his head, him having always been taller than her. Felix touched Hyunjin's shoulder and padded down the aisle, his mind set on distracting Jisung so Hyunjin and Y/n could have some privacy.

"It's okay," Hyunjin whispered to her, feeling her hands ball in the fabric of his blazer. "Don't worry."

"I'm sorry," she gasped into him, her voice faraway and timid, broken through with heaving pants.

Hyunjin shook his head, eyes closing as he stroked her hair in a reassuring, constant pattern. "Don't be sorry. It's okay. Can you take a deep breath?"

Y/n leaned back slightly and took in a shaking, hesitant draw-in of breath, Hyunjin encouragingly patting her back.

"There you go," he cooed at her, fighting the urge to kiss the top of her head.

'I'm sorry," she whispered again.

"Don't be. What happened, hmm?"

Y/n bit her lip, face still buried in Hyunjin's chest. He was so warm, and he smelled good. In the quietest voice, so small she was sure he wouldn't hear, she spoke.

"I can't eat," she said helplessly. "It's so difficult and my mind won't stop-"

Hyunjin peered down at her, glancing over his shoulder as Jisung and Felix went up the stairs. Felix shot him a subtle wink and Hyunjin nodded, turning his attention back to Y/n.

"That's okay. Have you eaten today?"

Silence.

Hyunjin sighed. "Let's get you something small to eat, okay?"

"No," Y/n protested fearfully, stomach churning.

"Just a little bit, hmm? Maybe you should rest first. Should I walk you home?"

"No," Y/n repeated instantly. She clutched tighter at him, her face burying further into his chest. "No, no, I can't go, I-"

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he quieted her gently. "Let's go upstairs to the others and you can just rest, okay? They won't say anything, I promise."

Y/n's voice was sad and subdued as she replied. "I ruin everything, Hyunjinnie."

Hyunjin's heart constricted and he tilted her chin up at him, feeling affection course through his veins at her vulnerable expression. "You don't ruin anything, Y/n. I need you to know that. And I'm proud of you."

She sniffed. "But I didn't do anything."

"I'm still proud."

"Okay," she said quietly.

"Can you walk?" He asked her gently. She shook her head, taking an experimental step.

She could walk, but she felt that any sort of effort-draining movement like walking or going up the stairs would probably make her disintegrate into little Y/n-shaped pieces on the linoleum. And if she was being honest, she didn't really feel like letting go of Hyunjin. She expected him to step back and tell her that she would be fine, and that she could walk up the stairs herself. Either that, or if he was feeling kind, he would take her arm and guide her up the stairs.

What she hadn't expected was Hyunjin looping an arm around the backs of her knees and putting the other around her shoulders before lifting her bridal-style from the ground with little to no effort at all.

"Hyunjin," she squeaked, clutching his shoulder, deathly afraid of falling.

He just chuckled and began walking up the stairs, holding her close to his torso. Y/n looked up at him, feeling the buzzing in her hands and feet subside as it was replaced with Hyunjin's warmth, bleeding into her body and caressing her skin through her uniform.

She leant her head cautiously on his shoulder, and Hyunjin was glad her head was laid on the right side of his torso, so she wouldn't be able to feel his heart practically beating out of his chest.

He set her down at the top of the stairs, pushing her gently into the large, open-plan living room. There was a small countertop sectioning off a kitchenette in the far corner, and two doors led into what Y/n assumed to be Felix's and his mother's separate rooms. There was a door on the opposite side that presumably led to a bathroom.

Ahead of them, Jisung and Felix sat on a plush couch facing a TV on a long, low cabinet, and sunlight spilled in great amounts through the mid-to-ceiling length window next to it.

There was a smaller, low table in front of the couch and Jisung was eagerly leaning on it as he pressed the buttons on his controller, apparently playing some sort of game with Felix on the TV. There was a fluffy, creamy, well-worn rug under the coffee table, matching the colour of the walls.

All of the furniture was cream, beige, or a light shade of brown, save for the mismatched cushions on the couch, making the room seem as bright, comforting, and cheery as Felix's warm smile.

Jisung groaned as his character took damage, sagging back onto the foot of the couch. He looked across and gestured Hyunjin and Y/n over.

"Wanna play?" He asked, offering the controller to Y/n.

She shook her head, suddenly exhausted, and Jisung nodded understandingly, turning back to the TV. Felix smiled empathetically at her over his shoulder, nodding his head at her in a silent question.

Y/n nodded back and a grateful smile ghosted her features as Felix moved to turn the video game's volume down. Hyunjin took a snack from the haphazard assortment on the coffee table and passed a little packet of sweets to Y/n, collapsing comfortably onto the couch.

She took the packet and sank down onto the cushions next to him. letting out a soft groan as it enveloped her body. Closing her eyes, and glancing across at Hyunjin, who was apparently busy watching Jisung play on his controller, she hesitantly took a sweet and put it in her mouth, letting the tangy flavour burst on her tongue.

A momentary surge of energy filled her and she moved to take her blazer off, leaning into the cushions. Her shoulder brushed Hyunjin's and he turned to her, his voice low and reassuring so only she could hear.

"You okay?"

She nodded, unable to stop her eyes from drooping. Hyunjin let out a soft chuckle and pulled her gently closer, guiding her head to rest on his shoulder. His heart jolted in his chest, though he'd been the one to initiate the contact.

The butterflies in Y/n's stomach slowly settled down to rest as her eyes sank shut with exhaustion.

Hyunjin sleepily opened his eyes.

The sunlight filtering into the room had dimmed slightly, taking on a warm, rosy glow, the kind that came with a late, slightly cloudy afternoon. He relished its warmth for a few moments before looking around the room.

He was alone; where Jisung had been sitting with Felix, playing a video game on the TV, there was only a small patch of ruffled, creamy rug to show that he'd ever sat there. Felix himself was nowhere to be seen; he was most likely downstairs, helping out his mom with the store.

Hyunjin moved to stretch an arm over his head, suddenly feeling a great weight on his chest. He was draped over the plush, comfortable couch, long legs bent as he slouched against the arm. His head was cushioned against a pillow which he recognised to be Felix's. He must have put it there after he'd fallen asleep.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking down to see why he felt so weighed down. His heart jolted suddenly and began to attempt to escape his ribcage altogether.

Y/n was fast asleep against his chest.

Hyunjin gulped before laying his head back against the pillow, shuffling slightly under her as he readjusted. He hoped she wouldn't be woken by the banging of his heart inside his chest.

Gathering his wilting courage, he looked down at her; Y/n's face was as serene as he'd ever seen it, untroubled and at peace, with the relaxed expression that came when one slept.

Her hand was resting against his lower torso, fingers tangled into the fabric of his sweater vest. He realised his blazer was draped over her; Felix must have put it there, or Jisung. He didn't remember taking it off himself.

He wondered for a second what she might look like wearing his blazer; would the sleeves be too long for her? Would it hang past down her hips, or would the scent of his cologne weaved into the fabric mix with her body spray?

Hyunjin shook his head, feeling a little dizzy. He considered attempting to move her off of him, but decided against it; she needed to rest. And he had no intention of ruining the quiet, serene moment he'd somehow found himself in.

His hand shook as he lightly traced the curve of her head, feeling the soft, fluffy strands of her hair brush against his fingertips. His heart thudded so loud he could hear it in the quietness of the room, and he brought his hand up to his face, rubbing it tiredly against his cheek. His elbow accidentally bumped her head in the process and he froze, wondering if he'd woken her. He hadn't.

Phew.

Hyunjin let his head fall back onto Felix's pillow, mind wandering. Was it weird that he liked having her close like this? Or was it crossing the line? They were friends, after all...

And besides, she'd just had a panic attack. It wasn't wrong of him to stay close to her and comfort her. That was what she needed; comfort, and affection. All he was doing was taking care of her.

He let his lips part, a soft exhale puffing out of them. Letting his hand rest gingerly on her back, he drew absentminded patterns on the fabric of his blazer. Y/n shifted a little and Hyunjin's head snapped up to look at her, before settling back down with a sigh of relief.

Was it wrong to be this comfortable around her? Surely, as friends, it was fine. He wasn't doing anything wrong. It was normal.

This is normal, he told himself firmly. It's like if Jisung fell asleep on top of me. Which he has. But just because she's a girl, it doesn't mean it has to be any different.

He jumped a little as his phone buzzed. Checking quickly to see if he'd jostled Y/n, he pulled it out from the pocket of his blazer. It was a notification from one of the sports websites he followed.

Noticing a message alert, he distractedly checked his texts, forgetting about the sports site. There was one new message, which had been sent over half an hour ago.

He clicked on it.

sung 🎧: did you get home good? i did

That's right, he remembered. Jisung left early, and alongside Felix, the boys had made it their tradition to check if the others had got home safe. Suddenly, Hyunjin felt bad for not replying. He typed quickly, hoping he was still online.

hyun 🤡: sorry, i fell asleep. i'm still at felix's.

Jisung replied characteristically quickly; a knowing smile graced Hyunjin's elegant features. Jisung was always quick to respond to texts.

sung 🎧: ahh i see sung 🎧: i thought you got murdered sung 🎧: i was hoping to get your inheritance 😔

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, typing back.

hyun 🤡: how kind of you hyun 🤡: also, change my damn contact hyun 🤡: you're the clown here, not me *'sung 🎧' changed 'hyun 🤡' to 'hyun bun 🍑'* hyun bun 🍑: jisung, ew! sung 🎧: i can't lie man sung 🎧: all those squats at basketball practice did you good

Hyunjin groaned, cheeks scarlet, and turned his phone off, tossing it onto the creamy rug below the couch, where it fell face-down, unharmed.

Resting his hand behind his head, he tilted slightly so he was looking up at the ceiling, and closed his eyes. He could rest for a little longer. Not that he was able to get up; Y/n was still fast asleep, and he was losing feeling in his legs, which felt all staticky, but he didn't mind.

His mind wandered back to his previous train of thought; was it wrong for him to be holding her like this? She needed the comfort, and Hyunjin didn't realise it until he stopped and really thought about it, but he needed the comfort too.

When was the last time he'd been held for this long?

Rather, when was the last time he'd felt so loved? So seen?

Sure, he loved Jisung and Felix, and his family and everyone else who held a shred of meaning to him, but with Y/n, it felt different. Like his whole life, he'd been standing behind a steamed-up mirror, where people had only been able to see him distantly, and now Y/n had wiped away the condensation and seen him for who he was. Who he really was. And it scared him.

What if she didn't like him for who he really was? She'd been quieter around him lately; maybe it was a sign that she wished to pull away, that she didn't want to be friends with him anymore... Just the thought made his heart constrict. He couldn't lose her. She meant so much to him now, with her quiet but interesting nature, her amazing sketches and creative talents, her cool collection of keychains and pins and badges...

And he felt safe around her, like he could tell her anything and she would just listen. Without judging or making fun of him. He was sure, if she extended a hand, he'd take it without a singular shred of doubt in his mind. Even if he didn't know where she was leading him, he knew it would be somewhere warm, somewhere safe, somewhere where he was totally, unequivocally loved.

And it wasn't just that, either; Y/n understood him. More than he had initially realised, she'd been picking up on his body language, on his little habits.

Just the other day he'd seen her in the gym, tossing a basketball around the court by herself. And he'd wanted to join her so badly, but a part of him feared that if he got too close, Y/n would walk away. She would leave the same way she feared he would do to her.

Like a tug of war, you could never win until the other person gave in. And Hyunjin wanted it so badly. He wanted to tug on the rope and pull her closer and closer, and he wanted her to want it.

He wanted her to feel loved by him, but if he pulled too harshly, she would fall. And Hyunjin knew that if she fell, everything he'd worked so hard to build would all come crashing down on him like a colossal tidal wave, washing away any evidence of what was and what could have been.

Was it possible to become closer than they already were? Or was he already pushing it? It was the last thing he wanted, after he'd toiled so hard to bring her close, was to be the reason to push her away. He was grateful for the fact that she wasn't as wary around him as she had been, but he wanted more.

Was it wrong to want more?

Or was it too risky? He didn't know how much longer he could stay in this stalemate, torn between pulling back and pushing further. What if he became the reason she went over the edge? What did he want so badly, anyway? Was it her attention? Her affection?

No, he reasoned. She's given me both of those things before and I never wanted more of it like I do now. It's something else.

But what? What did he want so badly? Did he want her all to himself? Or was that just him being jealous? But why would he be jealous in the first place? Surely, if you loved someone, it wasn't possible to be jealous of them in the first place, since they were already yours-

Wait, loved?

Hyunjin's heart dropped out of his ribcage and plummeted until it reached somewhere around his knees.

He didn't love her, right? Surely not. He hadn't even known her for a long time. Usually you were supposed to be close friends with someone for a long, long time before you liked them... That was the only way it worked.

Love, Hyunjin concluded to himself, was only something that could be achieved through years of close friendship. And then the famed symptoms would kick in; feeling nervous around the person, increased heartrate in their presence, dreaming about them, not being able to think straight when they did something like brush your shoulder or walk home with you or fall asleep in your arms-

Hyunjin ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling a lot hotter than he had a minute before. The realisation slapped him in the face, as if someone had slapped him hard across both his cheekbones and punched him in the gut for good measure.

He was in love.

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paingoes · 2 days ago

Text

Crash Out - Sabina

hi. this one is pretty dark. heres some backstory on paris’s parents. it’s about forced marriage and offscreen/implied forced pregnancy and rape. nothing sexually explicit is depicted, just implied. heavy overtones of domestic violence as well.

(Content: abduction, lady whump, forced marriage, physical abuse, familial whump, royal whump, intimate whumper, defiant whumpee, domestic violence, starvation, referenced child endangerment, implied noncon, suicide, poisoning, death, unhappy ending)

“Oh shit,” Paris sat up in the passenger seat, pushing the sunglasses up off his eyes. “I’ve been here before.”

The city below glowed in the early morning light, pale and crystalline. The glass spires jutted out from the soft grass. It looked cold, somehow. Twinkling. Lorelai had never seen a town look so fragile. She’d have never thought to describe one that way if she had not seen it herself.

“What?” she asked. “On conquest?”

“No,” he answered huffily, as if this were an unreasonable assumption to make.

“With my mom,” he explained, looking off into the middle distance. “Her family’s from here.”

Lorelai slid out of the car, slamming the door shut behind her. He followed her out, down the smooth stones that made up the pathway into the city center.

It was a pleasantly cool day, but the architecture made the whole scene feel wintery. She imagined that she was entering into a kingdom of ice. She remembered Thales, how cold it had been on the night of the ball. As she slipped her hand into Paris’s own — the non-dominant, the less injured one — she felt the same chill. It wasn’t all unpleasant. There was a beauty to it.

All it had to be was a supply run. The imperial currency was standardized, good enough for all the planets in its territory. The further out they got, the more open the locals became to haggling. She leaned forward against the counter of the fruit stand. The vendors liked her. Everyone always liked her.

After a while of staring off into the hillside, Paris propped one arm against the barrel.

“You know where I can find a Selene Lucia?” he asked them.

They were nice enough to draw up a map, the pencil carving a path up into the hills. No exact address, but Paris swore he’d know it when he saw it. By her estimate, if he’d come with his mother, he hadn’t been here since he was seven years old.

The pale buildings petered out on the climb, the houses became sparser, more residential. In time, he really did abandon the map, working purely off the distant memory.

The trees shaded the sidewalk. She traced her fingers along the black fence that divided the path from the lawns, listening to the pleasant vibration it made in her fingers. The leaf canopy cleared for a split second as they passed another gate.

“This is it,” Paris said abruptly. He stared at it dumbfounded.

“You think she still lives here?” Lorelai asked, frowning.

“Don’t see why not.”

Neither of them moved.

“Are you coming?” he asked. It seemed like he already knew the answer.

“…If you want,” she offered. He shook his head. The one and only time she had met his father, it hadn’t gone well. She didn’t want much to do with his family.

“Call me if you need help,” he said as he pushed the gate open.

“You too.” She nodded, heading back down the hill. The sun was higher in the sky now. The city reflected it straight into her eyes, nearly blinding her.

“Oh, god,” Selene Lucia said as soon as she opened the door.

“Hi,” Paris said, pleasantly surprised to even be recognized.

She pulled him into the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Are you being followed?” she asked.

“Uh, no, ma’am. Don’t think so. Not now.” Paris ran one hand through his hair.

“What are you doing here?” She narrowed her eyes. Her face had creased from years of that same, skeptical motion.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “I was in the area. I just wanted to stop by.”

He needed to do laundry, too. He decided not to mention that now.

Selene sighed. There was some relief there, he could tell. Maybe she thought he’d come asking for more.

He looked around at the house. It was smaller than he remembered, but still nice. Light filtered in through the sheer curtains.

She led him into the violet-colored kitchen, the dark sharpness of him clashing against the scene. She’d been working when he knocked — and this she resumed. He leaned back against the counter, rocking gently against it, watching the knife cut thin lines through the stalks.

“Do you need me to do anything?” he offered. She shook her head. He shrugged, looking back down at the linoleum.

“You’re wanted in five hundred different territories,” she said.

Five hundred sixty one.

“Yeah,” he said, not looking up. For some reason, he hadn’t thought that’d be her first reaction.

“It’s your father’s fault, you know. Leaving everything in the air like that. It wouldn’t have happened if he-“

“-if he believed he could die?” Paris finished. He’d had the same thought, a million times over.

She made a soft and exasperated sound — and said nothing else.

“You didn’t…call or anything. After he died,” he said tentatively.

“We had no contact,” Selene said.

“My phone number is public record,” Paris said, not hiding the hurt in his voice. He leaned forward, his arms crossed over his midsection. She didn’t turn to look at him.

“I don’t know why you’d expect that from me,” she said.

“I didn’t.” He shrugged. “I just…I don’t know. It would’ve been nice.”

“Would it?” She asked, turning now.

He frowned. What was he supposed to say to that? He hadn’t even realized he wanted it until he entered the house. It hadn’t occurred to him at all.

“I don’t know why you didn’t,” he said. “You didn’t call me when she died, either. You didn’t reach out at all.”

She seemed to lose her resolve then. She signed, nodding her head in the direction of the kitchen table. He sat down where indicated. The whorls of wood grain stared back up at him. Their shapes had mesmerized him when he was little.

“Is ginger tea fine?” She asked as she lit the last of the stove’s burners.

“Yes, ma’am.” He agreed, though he knew he wouldn’t drink it. He tried not to drink from any open containers — and he watched her hands carefully as she prepared it, wary of pills, wary of poison.

She placed two pale yellow teacups down on the table. Powder blue chinoiserie decorated the edges of the saucers. Steam floated delicately off the golden surface of the water.

“Do you know how your parents met, Paris?”

On a morning wet with dewdrops, Selene and Sabina tread happily through the underbrush. The sky was pale and overcast, but the sweaters their mother had knit for them kept them warm and comfortable. Sabina picked at the roses and the sweet briar that bloomed out of the damp earth. Twin blonde braids fell down her back. They were stained with mud at the edges when she’d bent down to touch the grass.

Selene watched the skies with a kind of dormant worry. There was something she was always waiting for, but never really expected. But it had come anyway. It had landed last month.

There was a place the land crested, the point at which the forest gave way to the clear valley. When they were little, they had dragged their sleds out to it on snowy days and laughed as they flew down the hill.

With the easy familiarity of someone who had walked this path since birth, Sabina moved to the top of the ridge. She was startled to find that in the valley below, a large ship was parked. It was more expensive than anything she’d ever laid her eyes on.

All dressed in scarlet against the verdant grass, a man stood tall and impervious. For a split second, his eyes fell on her. And that was all he needed.

The Emperor arrived in fine robes, in the middle of town, all his footmen swarming in droves about him. His color was pale, in a way that is supernatural. Not at all sickly. He was in good health.

In the market, Selene crowded closer to the exit, while all Sabina seemed to want to do was stand her ground. The Emperor fixed his eyes on her, matching her boldness. His hands didn’t shake the way hers did, but the length of her was all resistance.

He liked it.

“Briar Rose,” he said, sing-song, “Was that you in the canyon the other day?”

Unbelievably, his hand moved to trace her braids. She smacked it away, teeth bared, furious.

“Go fuck yourself,” Sabina hissed.

All she got in return was a chuckle. It was the sound birds made when the bullet missed their heart.

The knock came in the middle of the night, with only Selene up to answer it. She peeked through the curtain, and immediately drew far back, down onto the carpet.

“Daddy,” she cried, in a pitch she had not reached since childhood.

He came instantly and sent her back to her room, far from the thin door that separated their house from nightfall. But her room was right by the entrance. She pressed her ear to the ground to listen.

“Would you accept a dowry?” came the low drawl of the Emperor. “For the youngest. The blonde one.”

“She is my daughter,” Father’s voice came out wrathful in return. “You can take the rest of the world - god knows you already have - but you will not touch her.”

“I would take good care of all of you,” he promised. “I don’t mean to distress her. I think it’d be best if we were all on the same page about this.”

Milky, sick. Selene cried until she couldn’t breathe, then cried more. Sabina slept in the next room, fast asleep, unknowing.

Roses. There were thousands of them, clogging up the yard, on each surface of the porch. Roses, roses, roses. The scent was overpowering. It was like something out of a nightmare. When she moved to open the door that morning, Sabina met a stiff resistance. That was thick the petals were stacked.

They came with a note. Father snatched it away before Selene could read, but Sabina had seen it.

She heard her sister crying down the hall. She watched it through a crack in the door.

“I don’t wanna go,” Sabina sobbed, “Mama, I don’t wanna go, please.”

She hid her face in the fabric of their mother’s dress, bent over on the floor, inconsolable. Already flinching away from any touch.

“You will come quietly,” the Emperor said, “Or you will come in chains. It makes no difference to me.”

Sabina swung at him as if she could knock his head straight off. It took five men to drag her off in those glistening, golden chains. She was soaked with sweat and tears, an awful slickness, a thrashing.

Castle Thales was dark in wintertime — and to her starved body, each room was freezing. Each door had a lock — and she had no keys.

He left her in her own bedroom the first nights. Locked up there, hands bound, until she was ready to *calm down*. He’d thought it would take days. It ended up taking months. It was only when the food stopped that she became handleable.

Sabina glared daggers at him. Her hands shook too much to hold utensils. He thought it was from fear, but it was all just fury.

She dreamt of killing him nightly.

“It won’t be as bad as you think,” Constantine promised her as he lifted the veil. “It does not have to be this hard. You make it this way.”

She glared and glared and glared and flinched as his hand traced her bare arm. She was too pale now. She’d been locked away from the sun for too long. Now her skin was as white as the ripped wedding dress.

“You’re a queen now,�� he said, like it comes as an assurance. She wanted nothing more than to beat him until he stopped breathing.

“You could have all you ever dreamed of,” he said. He doesn’t know her at all. Tears formed in her eyes before she could stop them. He moved to wipe them away for her. She bit into his hand as hard as she could and grinned when she drew blood. It was the first time she’d smiled in months.

She was slapped violently for that, which surprised her, because up to this point he had seemed so hesitant to hit her in the face. He threatened to yank all her teeth out, replace them with dentures, and take them out whenever he decided she’d lost the privilege.

This seemed unattractive, which gave her reason to doubt the threat. But she could not call his bluff, so she stopped biting.

One of his men whipped her back until it was bloody. She hated it. She reveled in it. She was making him so mad.

She cried as the maids worked to cover the bruises, the skin still tender even at the soft touch of the brushes. The crying wet her face. They had to keep restarting.

There was no need to cover up the whip marks. The corset did it all on its own — coarse, scratching, irritating the unhealed skin. The maids undid her long braids. Her hair reached all the way to her waist now.

She reached out for the scissors on the vanity and cut it all off.

He was mad he couldn’t pull her hair anymore. He could bunch it up by her scalp, but it wasn’t the same. His was a cold anger. He probably liked to think of it as controlled. He loved to think of himself as controlled.

“It looks good on you, darling,” Nezu said over dinner, just to piss them both off. Sabina made a gagging sound in the back of her throat. She reached for the unused knife by her right napkin and wields it menacingly. As menacingly as she could manage, which turned out to be a lot.

Nezu looked excited at the prospect of getting stabbed by her. In disgust, she put the knife back down.

“Picked a good one,” he said approvingly, just as soon as the Emperor rejoined them.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” Sabina held the saber in both hands. It was decorative, plucked straight off the wall, but it still held an edge. It could still kill. She meant to. She really meant to.

“You are unwell,” Constantine said. “You don’t know what’s good for you. You don’t know when to quit.”

She lunged at him. He gasped and darted away. She’d only missed him by an inch. She howled in frustration.

If they’d trained her, she’d have been a brilliant fighter. But they hadn’t. And she wasn’t. She left all of herself exposed for the next lunge — and he downed her.

“I’ll kill you,” she swore, with his hands wrapped tight around her throat. “If it’s the last thing I do, I swear, I’ll kill you”

“Sabina,” he cooed sadly. “Rose. All I want is for you to be happy.”

“I want you to fucking die,” she sobbed.

It was a final hurrah, one last gift to herself. When the sobbing died down, there was nothing else left.

The baby came a year later. He’d stopped hitting her while she was pregnant. She did not know if this was temperance, or if it was merely because she’d stopped fighting. They’d both been reluctant to resume the old routine. The baby changed things. It was soft, pliant. So easy to break. Sabina cried when she held it for the first time, cried every day after that. It had kneaded at her chest, half-blind, sleepy. It didn’t know anything.

“Constantine?” She said softly as he swapped out the bandages. The Emperor up in surprise. She so rarely used his name.

But when he did look, she didn’t know what else to say. The terror must have shown through her. She felt all her body was wretched, torn apart, aching. She couldn’t take anymore.

He seemed to recognize this. He never hit her again.

Years passed before she saw her family again. When her son is five years old, she brought him back to that porcelain city, back to her parent’s old house. Both of them dead now, the million wars ravaging even when she cannot see them. She didn’t get to go to the funeral.

She’s stopped crying so much at this point. There’s a dignity to her, one she’s managed to scrape up off the floor of the palace. She was the tough one. She always had been.

She sat up in her sister’s kitchen, drinking ginger tea, manicured nails tapping softly at the porcelain cup. Selene sat across from her, pale, as if she’d seen a ghost.

They wrote letters after that. Constantine had agreed to it, perhaps sensing that his wife had no bone for conspiracy left within her. She was locked into it now, more than she ever had been before.

There’s a desperation to her script. God, she was so unhappy. Selene wrote back just as soon as the mail was delivered, sent it out the same day. It was all she could do. It never seemed to amount to much.

Sabina hinted at it. Selene swore she knew the end.

There’s a flower that grows in the garden of Castle Thales. It is indistinguishable from the heritage rose, but a single blossom could kill when ingested.

When they did the autopsy, they found fifteen of them in her stomach.

Paris stared back at her from across the table, totally frozen. The teacup sat in front of him cold and untouched.

“She died of sepsis,” he said slowly, emphasizing each word.

Selene looked at him with such pity that he thought he might be sick.

“She died of sepsis,” he repeated, “Slowly. In the hospital. She didn’t commit suicide.”

“Paris,” she said softly, “It took a week, didn’t it? Did you see her before the end?”

He propped one elbow up on the table and hid his face in his hand.

“I was at school,” he muttered. “She was already comatose when I got there. She died the next day.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

And of course she said it now, thirteen years later. She wasn’t there when it happened. Nobody was. There was absolutely nothing.

“You understand, surely,” Selene said, “why I was not so devastated to hear of your father’s death.”

There was still something so haunted in her look. He couldn’t bring himself to look up from the wood whorls. He didn’t even hear her standing up. He flinched at the sudden brush at his hand, gentle as it was. She tilted his face up as if to study him.

“God, you look just like her.”

The doorbell rang. Selene startled.

“I thought you said you were alone.”

“She’s my friend.” He stood up quickly. “She’s the only one.”

He opened the door. Lorelai stood cheerily on the step.

“Look what I got.” She grinned. She held up her hand at his eye level and let the necklace dangle from its chain. At its end, the rose charm shined in the dying light.

On an air mattress in the cleared out living room, they laid in a tangle of limbs. Lorelai’s breath was shallow, light, pleasantly exhausted. Paris traced the flesh of her breastbone, intent, almost like he was trying to find something. He had told her the whole story, in hushed tones, in the dark.

“I don’t want to get married,” he said quietly, at the end.

Lorelai laughed under her breath.

“Paris, we were never gonna get married.”

“Yeah, I know. I just…” he trailed off. “l don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

Oh, what a question. He shrugged.

“…I took you away from your family,” he said it hushed, as if it was confessional.

“Is that how you remember it?” She laughed again. “That’s not what it was. I wanted to go. I asked you first.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you,” he said, finishing the thought. What either of them thought when they first started out hardly mattered anymore. It seemed so far away now.

“Then don’t,” she said.

They left before the sun rose, trudging the long way, past all the grave sites.

“I guess it’s weird for me to keep this now,” Lorelai said as she studied the pendant.

“It’s just a necklace,” Paris shrugged. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

But they both knew it would always hold that weight.

The grass was frosty as if it had snowed. There was so much mist in the air. It was cool and refreshing. It was the perfect morning for it.

They passed by another memorial site. Victims of the war that Empire was waged. An orator could list them all day and never run out of names. Paris paused to watch as Lorelai moved up the knoll and placed the pendant by the base of the stone. Not for Empire. Not for Rose. For Sabina.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @whump-queen

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storiesaplenty · 2 days ago

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Jelly Bracelets (12) (18+)

Eddie Munson x f/Reader

Jelly Bracelets Masterlist

This has not been proofread. Please enjoy, though.

Warnings: swearing. Mentions nudity. Lap dancing. Grinding.

Gifs & photos do not belong to me: 1st gif: @munsuneddie

WC: 1123

Red - wearer is willing to perform a lap dance

Eddie Munson may be the freak of Hawkins, but he is your best friend. Who is always willing to teach you new things, even when you get new bracelets from your cousin. Eddie will even go as far as teaching & showing you what each one means.

"Oh get out of here Eddie. I don't feel like doing anything today." I pulled the covers over my head, trying to ignore him as he tried to hank the covers away from my bed.

"The is shining. The birds are singing." I snorted at him, loudly.

"You must be high Eddie. It is raining out, and there are no birds singing."

"I am not that high, and you know it. Come on. I rented some movies, got pizza on the way. Lets get you out of bed and into that living room to watch some movies.

I didn't move.

I heard him sigh. "I even rented Flashdance."

I pushed the covers down, and looked at Eddie's handsome face to see if he was lying.

"Show me." I demanded.

Him, knowing me so well, pulled it out of his inner coat pocket, and I couldn't help but squeal as I saw that he wasn't lying.

"Now will you get out of bed, and watch the movies?" He asked one last time, and I was already getting out of the bed, rushing past him to get my favourite spot on the couch.

The movie was almost over, half of the candy was gone and there were still a slice of pizza.

I knew Eddie was bored, but I know he is watching this for me.

His arm is on the back of the couch behind me as I am leaning against his side, just like we have always done.

"You know if you stuck with dancing, you probably would have gotten out of this shit hole town." Eddie said, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

"Please. I stopped just before high-school, and I am glad I did. The teacher was creepy." And she really was.

Her husband was also creepy as well.

"You still remember any moves?" Eddie questioned me, which I responded by nodding my head yes as I took a sip of Pepsi.

"Enough to do a lap dance?"

"I didn't do that type of dancing Munson." I pointed out.

"Well, now you know what I am asking for." He snapped the red one

Wearer is willing to perform a lap dance.

"When do you want this?"

"I think now may be a good time. I even got a song picked out." He said smugly, as I pushed off the couch.

"Fine. Get in my room." He hopped up, and ran to my room.

I went to the laundry room and grabbed a pair of clean, lacy red panties, along with it's matching bra and put it on and fixed my hair just a bit.

As I am walking through the living room, I grabbed his discarded jacket and drapped it over my shoulders, knowing this would drive him wild.

"Start the music Eddie." I called out, and the moment I heard the music playing, and of course it is AC/DC. None the less, I opened the door, and Eddie was sitting in my vanity chair, almost looking a bit too relaxed, but he looked good.

His legs were spread and his hands were on his lap.

He saw me and his mouth dropped open as I took a few steps in my room, closing the door behind me.

His eyes trailed up and down my body.

He gave me the confidence to get me through this.

My hands trailed up and down my body, my hips moving back and forth to the beat.

I turned around, bending over slightly for him to get a good look at my ass, and as I looked over my shoulder, biting my lip I could see him adjust himself in his jeans.

I reached up and took the bra off, and putting his coat on fully now.

I turned around and his eyes were drawn to the bra in my hand, and it dawned on him that his favourite jacket is touching my breasts.

I flung the bra at his face, and he instantly grabbed the bra and put it around his neck as I moved towards him.

I smiled at Eddie as I circled around him, my arms rubbing his shoulders and touching his chest.

He reached up to touch me, but I slapped his hands away, making him pout.

"No touching, Eddie."

I placed my hands at the back of his neck as I lowered my body so we are making eye contact.

Eddie licked his lips nervously, and I watched nothing more than kiss him, but I held off.

The music faded as I turned my body to face away from Eddie, leaning forward as I sat down his lap.

I moaned softly at hard he is.

I reached behind me as I leaned back, my fingers playing with his hair as I moved back and forth, then rolling my hips in a circle motion.

"Fuck." I heard him say behind me.

I grinded my ass against him, my hands now gripping his thighs.

I needed to see him, so I got up and turned around to sit back in his lap once more, continuing gyrating my hips once more.

I grabbed Eddie's hands and moved them up and down my body, listening to soft moans fall from his lips.

Our faces were close and he leaned in to kiss me, and I pretended to lean in to kiss him as well, until I pulled away and stood up, knowing the song is about to end soon.

I ran my hands up and down my body as I closed my eyes, wishing it was Eddie.

I turned my body, bending down to touch the floor as I stand between his spread legs, my ass against his cock as I grinded my ass against him.

I felt him wrap his arms around me and I was about to say no touching once more, as he turned me around and slammed his mouth against mine, moaning into the kiss as he was muttering against my lips.

"Need you. Please let me have you." Eddie as he grinding his cock against me, making me gasp.

"Yes, please Eddie." Was all I needed to say before he was walking me backwards towards my bed, and gently pushing me back to lay on it.

I looked at him, and he looked at me as he was just about to undress when there was a loud knock on my bedroom door.

"You two want some tacos? I made tacos." Robin excitedly called out, instantly killing the mood.

"Be out there in a second." Eddie called back, through clenched teeth.

"My place. Tonight. Wayne is working and no one will bother us." He kissed me one last time as he opened the door and shut it behind him.

♣︎

Green (18+) ♥︎ Glittery Green (18+)

#stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x fem!reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you #stranger things smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x female reader smut #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #Spotify

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darlingshane · 1 day ago

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new chapter

Joe Teague x F!Reader

Summary: On his wedding night, before he gets to spend some time alone with you, Joe listens to the conversation you're having with your daughter as you tuck her in. The little girl has some interesting questions regarding him and his new role in her life that you're happy to answer to put her at ease.

CW: +18, explicit, smut, oral sex (f. recieving), p in v sex, fluff, wedding night, pregnancy, dancing, established relationship, mention of past abuse, mention of divorce, set in the late 40s.

Word Count: 2,3k

— Links: AO3 // Joe Masterlist

Joe takes one final look around the first floor to make sure all doors and windows are locked before heading upstairs. The kitchen is a cluttered mess of dirty dishes piling in the sink from the casual reception you hosted right at the brand-new house. Dishes can wait till tomorrow. It's been a big day worthy of celebration and while it's sad to see it come to an end, he can't wait to see what this new chapter in his life with you brings him.

He's excited to see what the future holds, what these walls would tell ten or twenty years from now. This is where he's putting his roots, and he's betting everything on it that there won't be no bail this time. You are it for him. There's no doubt in his heart.

Though it’s neither his nor your first marriage, it feels just like it. The experience is completely different, given that both of you come with your own baggage; and kids in your case from your first marriage. You chose to have a simple ceremony at the courthouse, followed by a small reception at the house, and it couldn't have gone better. He can't get over how beautiful everything was. He knew you were special from the moment he met you, but the sense of pride and love he's felt today comes second to none. Not only did you look stunning in the custom dress you made yourself, but the way you've handled every little detail is something to admire.

He still has part of his uniform on when he steps into the hallway of the second floor to see you tuck Grace, your six-year-old, into bed. He leans on the door frame, listening to your voices through the cracked door.

“Mama, you look like a princess today,” she says as you pull the sheet over her body, folding it carefully at the hem as the little girl gets comfortable on her pillow. Just like Joe, you're still wearing your wedding dress with no shoes on.

“Thanks, baby. Did you have fun today?”

“Yeah, I wish you’d marry every day.”

“Every day? That’d be a lot of work with that many husbands.” She breaks into laughter along with you. “What was your favorite part?”

“The cake.”

“It was a great cake.” You agree, pushing a strand of hair off her face.

“Will you make me a dress like yours for my wedding day?”

“Sure, but first I need to know who you're marrying.”

“Hm, I don't know yet.” The little girl shrugs, holding a stuffed teddy bear in her embrace. “Someone like Joe, I guess.”

“Yeah? You like Joe?”

“He's pretty funny.”

“Pretty funny looking, I'd say.” Joe watches you glance over your shoulder, smiling at him.

“Is he my dad now? Should I call him daddy?”

“Only if you want to.” You sweetly caress her face. “Do you want Joe to be your daddy?”

She nods. “What if he doesn't want to? Is he going to be mean to us like my other daddy was?”

It breaks your heart hearing her express it like that at such a short age. As much as you tried to protect her, she was still aware of how awful her father was to you both. You thought she had forgotten about him after he died a few years ago, cause she was still a toddler. It was hard to explain to her that he didn't come back from war, but somehow your little girl understood that your lives turned for the better the moment he was gone. And surprisingly, she’s never mentioned him until now.

“Baby, I promise you, Joe is a good man. He’d never hurt us like that. We wouldn’t be here otherwise. You might see us sometimes argue, but I give you my word that no matter what, Joe loves us more than your daddy ever did. He’s going to take care of us, and we’re going to take care of him, okay? We’re family now. It doesn’t matter if you call him daddy or not, he’s gonna love you the same.”

Grace hugs her teddy bear tight as you watch her pondering for a moment in silence.

“Do you wanna ask him or do you want me to do it?”

“You do it.” She sticks out her finger and boops your nose.

“Alright, I'll do it.” You turn your head again to nod at Joe, beckoning him to come closer.

He steps into the room and bends down by the bed, propping a knee on the floor and holding his forearm on your lap.

“Hey, Gracie Jo.”

“Hi,” she says shyly, even though she's usually pretty chatty around him. But this is a big ask, you're aware, and a big step for all of you. “Mommy wants to ask you something.”

“Oh?” he gazes at you with a smile on his face, very aware of what you’re going to ask. It’s something you’ve talked about before, but you didn’t want to force Grace into accepting Joe as her father before she was ready.

“Gracie and I were wondering if you’d like to be her daddy.”

He fondly looks at you and then turns to her to assure her there's nothing he'd love more.

“It'd be an honor to be your dad, sweetheart,” he promises, placing a kiss on her forehead.

It melts your heart to see them both beaming in delight. You have no doubts that Joe would be up for the task to fill that role in her life better than anyone. You and Grace would've been fine with or without him in your life, but you're glad you got the opportunity to meet him and fall in love with him like this.

You curl up with Grace until she falls asleep and then retire to your new room.

You've got the house for a week now, but with all the arrangements for the wedding and the hassle of moving, you haven't had a minute to stop to look at it as your new home until now. There's still work to do, but you're proud of what you've accomplished to make it feel safe and comfortable for your daughter. That's all you needed. You're exhausted, but it was all worth it at the end. Hopefully, you'll be able to slow down in the next few days while everything settles.

When you step out of Grace’s room, you leave the door slightly ajar. Next to it, by the staircase there's your workspace, and a bathroom on the other side. There’s an empty bedroom in front of hers that would soon be filled with baby furniture for the little guy growing in your belly. You haven't told Grace yet, she would have babbled to everyone at the party that she was having a baby brother or sister, which is something she's been asking for years. In a couple of days, you and Joe will tell her and you know already she'll be over the moon.

At the end of the hallway is yours and Joe's bedroom. There's only a light coming from a night lamp when you go inside. There's music playing on the radio while he waits for you, sitting on the chair by the window. He still looks as handsome as this morning, when you first saw him fully dressed in his uniform. Now, his shirt is half unbuttoned, his pants are creased, and the shoes are off.

“Thought you’d be in bed by now, Mr. Teague,” you say as he stands up to meet you in the middle.

“I was waiting for you, Mrs. Teague.” He picks up your hand and brings it up to his lips to print a kiss on your knuckles. “I didn’t get a chance to dance with my bride today, I was hoping we could do it now. Would you like that, sweetheart?”

“I’d love that.” Your lips form a smile as he spins you around in the middle of the room before securing an arm around your waist.

You place your palms on his chest, smoothing the fabric of his shirt across the breadth of his chest, locking eyes with him for a moment before pillowing your head on his shoulder.

Closely tucked in his embrace, you both start moving your feet to the slow cadence of the song playing on the radio.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to dance today. I wanted to do something small, I didn’t think that you’d—” you say softly before he cuts you off.

“Sweetheart, don’t apologize. It was perfect. I wanted something small, too. I told you I didn’t care for fanfare. I like it like this, just you and me.”

You lift your head to look at him. “You’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met. How did I get so lucky?”

“All it took was a robber. I’d like to thank him personally for bringing us together,” he quips.

That’s exactly how you met. The tailoring shop you work at got robbed about a year ago, and Joe was the lead detective on the case. It was a terrifying experience, but it gave you Joe, so you have to look at it as a blessing. After a couple of follow-up interviews, he started showing up casually around the neighborhood to check in the place here and there until the robber was caught red-handed again, trying to rob a jewelry shop a couple of blocks away. By that time, Joe didn’t have any more excuses to show up, so he started bringing some of his personal pieces of clothing to fix. First a jacket, then a couple of shirts, a pair of pants… Until one day he built up the courage to ask you out for a coffee. Before you realized it, you were falling madly in love with him. It was never in your cards to marry again, but Joe was the odds that changed your luck. He wasn’t only great to you as a boyfriend, but the way he treated your daughter played a major factor on that decision.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart? Is our little buddy behaving today?” He glances down at your still seemingly inconspicuous four-month bump hidden under the loose fitting of your dress.

“Hm, he’s been an angel. I haven’t been sick all day. Just a little tired.”

“Yeah? You’re ready to go to bed?”

“No. Not yet. When the song ends.”

You lock your arms tight around his neck as he lets his forehead touch yours before letting his lips crash with yours in a firm kiss that almost makes your legs crumble down to the floor. His arms anchor you in place as the sweet undoing of his kiss sends you somewhere closer to heaven.

As the melody fades, your bodies come alive against the other. The magnetic pull of your unwavering love guides your lips to fuse together in a hot frenzy of desire. It hurts so good, you can't help but moan in his mouth. When you grow breathless, you pull back and turn around so he can unzip your dress. You quickly shed every piece of clothing and undergarment to consummate your marriage for the first time as husband and wife. It helps that you've had sex many times before, otherwise you'd be ridden with anxiety. But everything has always been so easy with Joe, and this night is no different. He makes you feel desired in ways you've never experienced before. He evokes something so powerful inside, you can't speak coherently without tripping over your words. So you suffocate him with kisses and hold him for as long as you can.

As your lungs lose the ability to breathe properly, he places you down on the mattress. Your body buzzes with anticipation when he kneels at the foot of the bed. He climbs his way between your legs that he spreads open as far as they can stretch. He kisses the inside of your thigh from you knew up to your groin, making your skin rise into pimples all over. His lips make an urgent stop at your center to bury his tongue between your folds. The eagerness to taste you causes your legs to shake like an earthquake. His tongue collects the essence of your arousal as if he was a starving man. Your core wounds up in an impossible knot made of fire that is almost unbearable to contain. You have to cover your mouth to muffle the sinful sounds that come out of your lips.

“Joe, honey,” you pant, extending your hand to grip at his hair so he would climb on top of you. “I want you inside me.”

Following your request, he slithers up your body, nestling between your legs, letting you feel his hardness against your sex. He deliciously rubs himself on your folds before guiding his cock between your soaked lips.

One of his hands holds your jaw, while his forehead leans against yours. His hips slowly push inside you, capturing the warmness of your walls that contract gently around him every time your hips slant against his moves.

“God, I love you so much, sweetheart,” his voice comes out ragged as he ups the pace of his thrusting.

“Not as much as I love you.” You use your hands to press harder on his ass, so you can feel every inch of him filling you up to the hilt.

Joe presses his mouth open against yours, seizing your breath as he takes you to the final line where your orgasm comes crashing against his own. They merge together for a second, surrounding both of you in a cloud of elation that rushes through the tangled mess of your bodies like thunder. Your legs tremble as the flutter of your opening squeezes every drop out of his seed.

— Credits: beautiful divider by @cafekitsune

#bernthirst tv tribute #joe teague x reader #joe teague #mob city #jon bernthal #jon bernthal fanfiction #fanfiction #fluff #smut #darlingwrites

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