#i can only move her through world edit

[queer-crusader]

EA I'm begging you to stop releasing new Sims DLC and fix your fucking game

[wwooyology]

Vipers Touch | L.HS

「pairing」 : heeseung x fem!reader 「word count」 : 5.4k

「synopsis」 : being a princess was tiring, and you hated it. you wanted out—to become just a normal person, to be free. but there was only one person who could help you, the dark warlock that no one bothered because of his practices. you had no other choice but to go visit him; however, were you willing to take him up on his offer to gain your freedom, even if it meant losing a bit of your self-worth?

「genre」 : DARK THEMES!!!, nasty smut, dark warlock!heeseung, princess!reader

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, unprotected sex, usage of aphrodisiacs, dub-con, manipulation, petnames (princess, bunny...), dom!heeseung x sub!reader, choking, finger choking, degradation, derogatory names (slut...), oral (f. receiving), cum eating, usage of magic, bondage, overstimulation, dacryphilia, teasing, biting/marking, bludge kink, slight manhandling, breeding, dumbification, power play, fingering, slight clit biting, clit play, squirting, spanking, passing out, lmk if I missed anything!

「notes」 : this is for my favorite girasole rae!! I wish you the happiest birthday in the world bc god only knows that you need it!! I may or may not have gone a little stir crazy with this... but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!! also, I started growing delirious towards the end and while editing, so I apologize if the ending is trash and if there are any mistakes!! besides all of that, happy reading, sweets!!!

“M’lady, I sincerely do not think this is a good idea,” Your royal advisor, who just so happened to be your childhood best friend, Vernon spoke as he slowly walked behind you. “What if your father finds out? Worst yet, what happens if it doesn’t work?”

“Vernon, you worry too much; my father will not find out.” You looked over your shoulder, a smirk playing on your lips. “It’ll work, I’m sure. People aren’t scared of him for no reason.”

Vernon let out a defeated sigh, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to talk you out of this. So he just handed you the clock in his arms before watching you tie it over your shoulders and pull the hood over your head. You then slipped out of the secret door that was hidden in the furthest wall of the kitchen, leading right out to the stables.

Slipping out under the cover of the night to go see a dark warlock probably wasn’t the best idea, but you didn’t have any other choice. Your father was adamant about finding you a suitor before the end of the month, meaning you didn’t have much time left to find a way out.

Walking into the stables you were welcomed by the huffs and whines of the few horses that were in their stalls.

“Hi, guys.” You greeted the creatures before walking over to your personal horse, Starlight. She was a beautiful, sleek black horse with white streaks in her mane and tail. Reaching out, you patted her snout a few times before grabbing her saddle, “C’mon girl, we’ve got a rough ride ahead of us.”

After saddling her up you walked her out of the stable, closing the door behind you. Grabbing the reins you put your foot in the stirrup before pulling yourself up to sit up on Starlight’s saddle. Glad that you had opted for not wearing a dress but rather a blouse and a pair of slacks.

Sighing deeply, you patted the horse’s neck before grabbing the reins once more, “Alright, girl… let’s get a move on.”

And just like that, the two of you set off into the night on the hunt for this dark warlock that you believed was the key to solving all of your problems.

“Haven’t we been here already?” Your eyebrows furrow as you take a look at your surroundings. However, you can hardly tell because all of the trees look the same. Pulling on the reins, you stopped Starlight, who let out a soft huff. 

Something about this place felt off like something was missing. The only sounds were those of the insects and wildlife around you, as well as the soft breeze that blew through the trees. Yet you couldn’t help but feel uneasy, something in your gut telling you to turn around.

Swallowing thickly you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to center yourself. You had to do this; you had no other choice, especially if you wanted to get out of this life you’re living right now. So, giving yourself a curt nod, you nudge Starlight forward, keeping a keen eye out.

It took you almost five hours before you were able to even find any kind of sign as to where this warlock was hiding. However, after walking into the opening where the hut was sitting, you couldn’t help but notice that something was off.

It was quiet. Far too quiet.

All of the sounds of insects and animals were suddenly gone, leaving behind an eerie silence. Stopping at the end of the pathway, you patted Starlight’s neck as she whined in protest, the hairs on her back standing tall. Slipping off of her back, you took another look around, trying to find any sign of life. However, there was none.

Taking a deep breath, you shook your hands out, trying to calm your nerves and racing heart. You walked forward with hesitant steps, keeping an eye on your surroundings just in case something or someone were to pop out.

Something about this whole area gave you a bad vibe. It felt as if you were in a different place entirely—not in the middle of the forest.

You started to wonder if this warlock even existed and, if he did, if this was some kind of trap that he had set up for any unwanted visitors. The same gut feeling returned, screaming at you to turn around and run home.

Despite this feeling, you continued to push forward. You’ve come this far; why would you turn around now? Letting out a huff, you reached towards the door handle, wrapping your fingers around the cool metal.

“Does being a princess mean that you lose all sense of common decency?” His voice broke the eerie silence, scaring you half to death and causing you to turn around with wide eyes. There stood a tall male, his red hair messy, his outfit completely black save for the white top under what looked to be a corset vest. “I let my vail down for you, and all I get in return are you barging into my home?” His tone was stark, eyes narrowed into slits, and hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers.

“N-No! I was just-” You started stumbling over your words, watching as he stepped closer to you. However, he was quick to cut you off, his tone sarcastic.

“Oh, so you weren’t about to just let yourself in?” He stepped even closer, and with each step he took towards you, more power you could feel radiating off of him. The energy caused the hairs on your arms to stand tall, goosebumps littering your skin.

You knew he was dangerous, but it wasn’t until now that it fully sank in. He could easily kill you if he saw fit, not giving a care to the world if you were a princess or not. Your breath hitched as he stood before you, bending down until he was at eye level with you.

“Cat got your tongue, princess?” He smirked, the feeling was sinister leaving your heart raging under your ribcage, mouth suddenly dry. Your wide eyes search his, flinching when he brings his hand up. “Well, you wanted to talk, right? Let’s talk.” With a snap of his fingers, the door behind you flung open, allowing a cold gust of air to wash over your body, intensifying your goosebumps. Looking over your shoulder a sense of dread filled your veins as you took in the dark entrance, the only lighting were the candles lit along the walls.

Looking back over at the tall male, you took in the wide smirk that was still plastered on his lips, a dark gleam in his eye. There was really no running away now. You had no other choice but to comply and talk to the warlock. So, with a shaky breath, you turn and take a hesitant step toward the door.

--

You stood before the red-haired male, hands interlocked in front of your body as you looked everywhere but him. He, however, kept his eyes on you, a smirk tugging on his lips at your visible fear and unease. Something that he loved seeing on those who came to visit him, although most would have run with their tails tucked between their legs by now. So, to say he was intrigued would be an understatement.

Leaning back on the desk behind him, Heeseung tilted his head slightly, arms crossed over his chest. The movement caught your eye, causing you to look over, your breath catching in your throat as you met his eyes.

“So what is it that you’re wanting princess?” His tone was cocky as if he already had an idea as to what it was you wanted. Your mouth suddenly goes dry, suddenly wary of telling him what you were wanting.

“I-” You cursed yourself internally when your voice cracked, missing the cocky look that flashed across the warlock’s face. Clearing your throat, you met his eyes once more, “I want a way out of the royal life.”

Your words only made the redhead chuckle, amused by them. The sound made your stomach churn, sure that he was mocking you. Eyebrows furrowing, you opened your mouth to speak once more, but he cut you off.

“What did daddy say no to getting you another pony?” He laughed, the action causing his lips to pull up, showcasing his pearly white teeth. However, his words left a sour taste in your mouth; who was he to mock you? Taking a breath, he met your eyes once more, that same cocky smirk lying on his lips, “You do know that you're asking for your title to be taken away, the fame, the riches, the fancy lifestyle you live, everything. Is that something you really want?”

Swallowing thickly, you nodded your head; you knew what you were asking for. Hell, you had thought about any other solution, but this was the only thing that you could think of that would actually work. Even if it meant that you lost your title and all of your wealth. You’d still take it.

“It is. I want out; I want to start anew.” Despite the shakiness in your voice, your words held truth, which only further amused Heeseung.

He had met many, many people who had asked him for the same thing. They never took his deal, though, because it would mean losing a piece of who they were. Though he had a small inkling that you would be different, and boy, was he going to have fun with you.

“Alright.” He nodded his head, pushing himself off of the wooden desk before walking towards a shelf that held countless vials and containers of liquids and unknown items. Your eyes trailed after him, the unease growing in the pit of your stomach. “I’ll give you what you want, but in exchange, I want your help.”

You already knew that it wasn’t going to be easy; you couldn't just walk in, ask and he’ll give it to you. No. He would obviously want something in return. Watching him closely, you saw him grab a beaker filled with a purple liquid and pour it into a smaller glass.

“I need help testing out this elixir and…” He turned around after capping the beaker once more. Your heart started racing as he took a few steps closer to you, only stopping when he was an arm's distance away. “You just happen to show up at the perfect time,” Your eyes fell on the glass in his hand, filled about a quarter of the way with that purple liquid. 

You then glanced up at him wearily, not entirely sure you could trust his word. How could you be sure he wasn’t trying to kill you? Or turn you into some weird creature? Monster even?

“Take this and let me record the results, then I’ll give you what you want.” His voice was smooth, with no indication of a lie. However, you still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, but you once again pushed it away as he held the glass out to you.

“What does it do?” You asked, shaky fingers reaching out to take the glass from him, your fingers brushing his. An electric shock jolted through your entire body, making the hairs on your arms stand tall. Noticing your reaction, Heeseung had to bite back the shit-eating grin that was threatening to pull onto his lips.

“It’s a sensory enhancer.” He started explaining as you examined the dark, glittery liquid. Confused, you looked up at him, wondering why he couldn’t just test it on himself. “It’s much better to record results from a third party.” He shrugged, the words falling from his lips as if he had just read your mind.

Turning your attention back to the elixir in your hand you contemplated the pros and cons, wondering what the worst was that could happen if you did drink it. Sighing, you pulled the glass away from your face, meeting his chocolate irises once more.

“So I take this, tell you how I feel then you give me my freedom?” You questioned, eyes narrowing slightly as his lips curled inward, a hum of agreement reverberating from his throat. “And that’s it? Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He repeated your words, holding his hands up in a mock surrender.

Looking at him with a skeptical eye, you tried to find any sign that he was lying to you, but there wasn’t one to be found. Sighing, you nodded your head, agreeing to his deal, and looked down into the glass once more. Missing the sinister gleam that had appeared in the male’s eyes.

Inhaling deeply, you tried to will your heart to calm down, repeating to yourself that it would only take a few minutes, and then you’d be on your merry way with your freedom.

Oh, but how wrong you were…

Heeseung watched as you brought the glass up to your lips, a sense of excitement coursing through his veins. It has been far too long since he’s had a new plaything, especially one as pretty as you.

As soon as the bitter liquid touched your tongue, you had to stop yourself from gagging. Your eyes started to water. Trying to ignore the taste, you downed the rest of the liquid before pulling the glass away from your lips, a gasp following.

The room was silent as you waited for something to happen, your eyes moving over to meet the redheads. A smug, sinister grin decorated his face, filling your body with a sense of dread. However, after a few moments of absolutely nothing happening, you started to believe that you had gotten the easy way out and the elixir was a dud.

A gasp fell from your lips as the glass slipped from your fingers, shattering on the floor as a sudden overwhelming heat erupted throughout your body. Your skin feeling far too warm for it being late fall, your mouth filling with excess saliva and worst of all? Your core was throbbing, yearning to be filled causing you to clench your thighs together.

“Aw, you poor naive little bunny…” Heeseung smirked as he took a step towards you, waving his hand and making the glass shards dissipate into the floor. Your breathing became ragged as you tried to step back, only to stumble. However, Heeseung was quicker. He grabbed your wrist, yanking your body towards his, hand finding the small of your back, keeping your body pressed against his. “You shouldn’t ever trust a warlock’s word.”

His scent engulfed your senses, causing your brain to turn into mush, no matter how hard you tried to fight against it. Whatever he had given you was way too strong to resist.

“W-What did you give me?” You huffed out, fingers balling the fabric of his jacket into your fists. Your brain felt like it was trying to shut down, something trying to overtake your mind and body. All of the thoughts that you had were slowly fading away, replaced by the insatiable need to be touched.

Heeseung smirked as he took in your teary eyes, watching the internal conflict happen behind your dilated pupils. His grip grew tighter on your body, loving the way your body was already reacting to him.

“I wasn’t lying; it is a sensory enhancer.” He chuckled as he watched the shock morph on your features, “just not the one you thought it was.”

That’s when it clicked in your brain, he had given you an aphrodisiac. A sex drug. It was no wonder that it felt like you were in heat. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to suppress the drug, pushing at Heeseung’s chest. 

This wasn’t how you wanted this to go. You wanted to gain your freedom. You knew that there would be some price to pay, but not this… this was–

Your brain started to go foggy, and you forgot what you were trying to say. The heat spreading throughout your body becomes so overwhelming that you just want it to stop. Your panties were soaked, some of it leaking onto your trousers. The clothes on your body feel so comfortable, wanting nothing more than to strip out of them.

Noticing the glaze over your eyes, Heeseung smiled sinisterly, knowing he had you right where he wanted you now. Reaching down, he took your chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilting your head so you were looking up at him. Your breath hitched in your throat as you met his heated gaze, acutely aware of how close he was to you.

“Help me. Please,” you plead, rubbing your thighs tightly together. A shiver coursed through your body as you felt his fingers slip under the fabric of your blouse. You felt like you were going insane, like a wild animal completely lost in primal instinct. Your fingers started to claw at the fabric of his vest, the tears that were once sitting on your waterline now overflowing down your flushed cheeks.

“Hmm, you want my help? Aren’t you a needy little thing?” Heeseung smirked, drawing your face closer to his. The warmth of his breath only added to your need. A needy whine fell from your lips as you tried to lean more into him. The sound only riled the male up more, wanting to hear more.

“Heeseu–” Your words caught in your throat as his hand moved down to cup your weeping heat, feeling your slick soak through the fabric even more, coating his digits in a thin layer. A choked moan tore through your lungs as he applied more pressure, your whole body trembling in his hold. Chuckling darkly, he moved even closer to you until his lips were right next to your ear, soaking in all of your little whines and mewls as he continued to toy with you. “Don’t worry, princess, I'll take great care of you.”

A series of choked moans and cries fell from your swollen lips as Heeseung continued to fuck his fingers deep into your drenched cunt. His lips trailed the line of your jugular, leaving hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as your mind was sent reeling, the smallest touch making you feel like you could cum then and there.

“Gonna cum already?” Heeseung asked, a cocky smirk on his lips as he pulled away from your neck, taking in your pleasure-twisted face. 

You couldn’t even reply to him as your orgasm washed over your body, eyes rolling back. It was so intense that your vision turned white for just a moment, legs trembling on either side of Heeseung’s hips as he had you perched on his desk.

“Such a desperate little slut aren’t you?” He berated you, picking up the pace of his fingers despite your whines of it being too much. Your shaking hands moved to try and pry his hand away from your sensitive cunt, but he was quick to slap your hands away, teeth nipping into the juncture of your shoulder. “Don’t be a brat, bunny.” 

You mewled at his words, already feeling another orgasm building up in the pit of your stomach. The heat of his body on yours offered no relief, only adding to the delirious feeling that was clouding your mind. 

Your pussy was leaking so much that a pool had started to form on the wooden surface beneath you, the sight only making Heeseung’s mouth water. Groaning softly against your skin, he pushed your body back roughly, making you lay flat on your back, body completely exposed to his predatory gaze.

“Hee–”

“Shhh, my little bunny, I need to appreciate my meal before I dive in.” His eyes continued to travel down the length of your nude skin, taking in all the little details that littered your skin. Then his eyes fell down to your spread thighs, your dripping cunt on full display as his fingers continued to fuck into you slowly.

You bit your lip to try and muffle some of your sounds, watching as he kneels down, coming face-to-face with your pussy. However, all of those sounds broke loose as his lips wrapped around your puffy clit, sucking harshly. Your hands then fly down to grab his hair, fingers threading through the red locks.

“Fuck!” A cry tore from your lips as he nipped at the little button, his free hand moving up to pull your hands away from his head. Then, your hands were pinned to the desk above you by some unknown force.

Looking up, you tried to tug your hands out of whatever was holding them, but it was futile. Whatever it was was far stronger than you, keeping your hands firmly in place.

Your attention was then brought back to the man between your legs as he wrapped his lips around your clit once more. Tears spilled from your eyes as his pace picked up tenfold, leaving your legs trembling next to his head, held by the same invisible force as your wrist.

“Heeseung!” You cried out as his fingers brushed over a peculiar spot along your gummy walls, back arching off of the desk, shoving your cunt further into his face. You cry out once more as he bites at your clit, causing your whole body to tense as you come once again.

Pulling away from your cunt Heeseung moved over to your thighs, sinking his teeth into the plush fat. Pain erupted in the same spot, a pitiful squeak falling from your lips as you lifted your head to meet Heeseung’s smug gaze.

“Well, aren’t you a little pain slut?” He licked over the raised skin, eyes still on you, relishing in the tears that stained your cheeks.

Running his tongue over his teeth, Heeseung pulled his drenched digits out of your spasming cunt. A whine rolled off of your tongue at the emptiness that it left behind, eyes watching all of the redhead's movements.

He brought his hand to your mouth, tapping on your bottom lip. " Go ahead and clean up your mess, princess.”

Blinking away some of the tears that were blocking your vision, you parted your lips, allowing him to stick his fingers into your wet cavern. Your eyes rolled at the taste of yourself on his fingers, tongue running all along his digits. A moan vibrated from your chest when he pressed down on your tongue, saliva spilling from the corner of your lips, blending with your tears.

“See how sweet you are, bunny? I could have you on my tongue for centuries and never get tired of your taste.” His voice was hoarse as he slipped his fingers from your swollen lips. Your eyes went wide as you watched him stick those very same fingers in his mouth.

You could feel your pussy clench around nothing as Heeseung put on a show of lapping up the leftover cum and saliva off of his fingers, groaning at the taste. Pulling his fingers from his lips, he wiped his mouth before grabbing your hips.

The restraints on your body were suddenly gone, but you weren’t able to move much before Heeseung pulled your body off of the desk, hands maneuvering your frail body until you were bent over, chest pressed against the wooden surface.

A choked moan fell from your lips when Heeseung sent a sharp slap to the fat of your ass, watching the skin jiggle. Repeating the action a few more times, loving the sounds that would leave your lips every time his hand made contact with your skin.

“Look at you trembling. Are you gonna cum just from me spanking you?” He mocked you, grabbing your asscheeks and pulling them apart so he could see your needy hole that was throbbing with need.

“S-Seungie.” You whined out, pushing your hips back into him, wanting, no, needing him to do something.

Heeseung felt his cock grow even harder as the nickname rolled off of your tongue, teary eyes pleading with him to do something. Clenching his jaw, he released your ass, grabbing your hip and pulling you flush against his bulge. A sharp cry fell from your lips as you felt the rough fabric of his trousers rub along your exposed cunt.

“Is this what you want? My dick?” He leaned over your back, lips right next to your ear. “Want me to stuff you full, maybe even enough to get you pregnant?”

You mewled at his words, pushing your hips back into his. Heeseung hissed at the pressure, the fabric of his trousers soaking in all of your slick. Pulling away from your body, the redhead made quick work of his clothes, adding to the pile of haphazardly thrown clothing on the ground.

Trying to move your body to face him, you realized that you were once again stuck in place. Heeseung chuckled, grabbing the base of his cock, watching the way you struggled to try and move your body. Pumping himself a few times, he moved towards you, hand finding your hip, stilling all of your movements.

You let out a choked whine when he teased your entrance with the tip of his dick. Tears streamed down your face as you let your head fall to the surface of the desk when he started to push in.

“Hee–” Your words fall short when he pulls out again, a cry of protest falls from your lips. Heeseung continues to tease your entrance until you’re begging him to finally fuck you, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks.

Then he finally pushes his entire length into your weeping cunt, a choked moan slipping from your lips at the sudden stretch. Your eyes squeezed shut as he left you little to no time for you to adjust, pistoning his hips into yours.

“Fuck you’re still so tight.” He groaned, his grip on your hips tightening until his knuckles turned white. 

Your body felt like it was on fire, your mind clouding with so much pleasure that words were no longer forming. All that left your pretty swollen lips were chants of Heeseung’s name and babbled nonsense. The pleasure was so overwhelming that your legs were trembling despite the support of the desk, the coil in your stomach growing tighter and tighter at an alarming rate.

Reaching behind you, you made a grab for Heeseung’s wrist, hoping to get him to slow down. However, Heeseung just chuckled darkly before taking your wrist in his hand, pulling your body back to meet his thrusts.

“Give me your other hand.” He growled, reaching for your other hand, giving you no other choice but to hold your hand back to him. “Such an obedient little bunny,” He hummed, taking both of your wrists in one hand, using them as leverage to pull you back onto him as he continued to fuck into your needy cunt.

“Heeseung!” You screamed his name when the tip of his dick brushed over your sweet spot before hitting your cervix. The combination of the hits had your body spazzing, another orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“Shit.” He cursed as he felt your walls squeeze his dick almost painfully tight, but he kept his pace, never slowing.

Your moans seemed to rise in pitch as his tip kissed your cervix with each thrust, stars dancing across your vision. Heeseung smirked smugly, watching you completely lose yourself as he fucked into you.

He then released your hands and leaned over your body, pushing himself deeper. The feeling had your eyes rolling back, mouth gaping open. Taking the chance, Heeseung grabbed your chin, shoving his middle and ring fingers into your mouth until you gaged.

“You’re so fucking noisy.” He groaned as you squeezed around him once again; he then pulled your body up. The new position had your vision turning hazy as another orgasm conjured in the pit of your stomach. “Am I fucking you so good that you have to let anything and everything within a ten-mile radius know?” He mocked you, burning his face in your neck to lick and suck at the skin, making sure that marks were left behind.

You whined around his fingers when his other hand snaked around your waist, pressing on the small bulge at the bottom of your tummy. Your eyes almost crossed entirely as he added even more pressure, making sure that you felt everything. 

“Feel how deep I am, bunny?” He licked up the side of your neck until he reached your ear, “I could breed you so well.” He bit the shell of your ear, making your whole body shiver, more tears spilling from your eyes flowing down to join the spit and saliva that spilled out of your mouth around Heeseung’s fingers.

Pulling his fingers from your mouth, he moved his hand down to your throat. Encasing the soft flesh in his palm, loving how small your neck was in his hand. 

“Hee!” You choked out his name when he moved his hand from your tummy to play with your swollen clit, sending shocks of electricity all throughout your body.

Heeseung could tell you were close once again as your nails started to dig into the skin of his forearm, and your cunt was squeezing him with a vice-like grip. Picking up his pace, he made sure to hit all the spots that made you scream, and that’s exactly what you did.

“Cum for me bunny. Make a mess all over my cock like the desperate slut that you are.” He berated you, teeth nipping at the shell of your ear once more.

It only took a few moments for the coil in your stomach to grow tight, but this time, it felt different, like there was more pressure than normal.

“Heeseun–” Your words caught in your throat as his hold tightened, limiting your oxygen. Then your whole body convulsed as you squirted all over his cock and hand, the warm liquid running down your legs.

“Holy shit.” Heeseung groaned at the sigh as your walls fluttered around his cock. The choked mewls falling from your lips were like music to his ears, loving how fucked out you sounded.

“Seung–” His name spilled from your lips as he continued to pound into you at an almost animalistic pace, chasing his own high. The sensitivity had your body burning, almost as if you were on fire, completely overwhelming your senses.

Heeseung’s cock twitched in your cunt, begging for release after he had been holding out for a while. A breathy groan was pulled from his lips as he felt his high on the tip of his tongue. Tilting his head down, he whispered the nastiest things in your ear, making your body tremble even more.

“‘M gonna cum and make you a mommy,” He whispered lowly, lips brushing the skin of your tear-streaked cheek, “make you my cumdrop.” You whined at his words, shaking your head in protest, but he just disregarded it. “Isn’t that what you are, my little bunny? My desperate slut just waiting for me to fill you with my cum, hmm?” He chuckled as your body shivered, the sensitivity causing another high to build up rapidly.

“Fuck!” You cried out, head falling back on his shoulder when his fingers continued to toy with your puffy clit, sending your body right over the edge.

Black spots clouded your vision, threatening to black out entirely as your orgasm racked over your body. Your orgasm triggered Heeseung’s. He spilled deep in your womb just like he said he would. The warmth made your brain short-circuit, eyes rolling back before your vision went completely black.

Holding your body close to his, Heeseung laughed darkly as your lax form, body drained of energy entirely. Kissing up your shoulder, he moved his hand to continue leaving kisses until he got to your ear once more.

“Don’t worry, princess, you’ll get exactly what you want.” His words held a more profound, sinister meaning as he moved away from your skin. Just then, a small mark appeared on your skin right behind your ear, a sign that you were his.

You wanted to get away from being a princess, to start anew. So that’s what he would give you. A new start with him.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Not So Grumpy

Requested Here!

Edit: Read Part 2 Here >

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!pregnant!reader

Summary: Tim is grumpier than usual, and when you decide to visit him at the station, the rookies get an idea of why.

Warnings: pregnant reader. fluff!

Word Count: 1.8k+ words

A/N: Softie Tim? Softie (and clingy) Tim. This takes place sometime during seasons 1-2.

“Don’t start,” Tim says, sitting beside Angela.

“Whoa, okay,” she replies with a laugh. “Glad to see you’re in such a good mood.”

“That sounds like starting.”

Angela puts her hands up, smiling as she turns away from Tim. “Chen, good luck.”

Tim rolls his eyes, wishing his mornings could go differently. It’s been several weeks of his persistent bad mood, and everyone who has to deal with him is curious about what’s causing it.

“Bradford, can I- could I maybe get you something?” Lucy offers softly.

“No.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You wake up curled against Tim’s side, his arm extended over your waist. His alarm is going off, and he’s smacking the nightstand beside him in a poor attempt to turn it off.

“You have to go to work,” you remind him, kissing his cheek as you move farther up in the bed.

“I’m good,” he replies, sighing as he finds his phone and turns the sound off. “Right here.”

He rolls closer to you, his hand sweeping over your stomach as he looks into your eyes. Tim can be persuasive, but you’ve gotten used to this routine over the last few weeks.

“I’d love for you to stay, I really would, but I don’t think your boss would appreciate it,” you say.

Tim groans, pressing his face against your neck as his arm tightens around you.

“You got clingy,” you tease, running your fingers through his hair and gently scratching his scalp.

“And you won’t let me stay,” Tim mumbles.

“It’s not my fault you wanted to be a cop.”

“You would-“ Tim pauses, sitting up so you can hear him. “You would deprive me of staying at your side during a time like this?”

Chuckling at his dramatics, you push your hand against Tim’s shoulder in a pointless attempt to move him away from you.

“Tim, baby, you see me all the time.”

“Not enough. I’m going to come home one day, and there will be a toddler running around, but I won’t remember any of this.”

You close your eyes and lean back against your pillow. “You have to go to work today so you can come to the doctor with me on Friday, right? Just think about that.”

“I can’t. I can only think of you.”

“You start a family and suddenly you’re the most romantic, clingy guy in the world. Where’d the grump go?”

Tim doesn’t reply as he tries to pull you closer. Rolling away from him, you leave him no choice but to get up and go to work. His disappointed sigh makes you frown; you know he’s being dramatic to cover up how he feels.

“Tim,” you call, sitting up as he walks to you. “I’m sorry. I love you, and I really do want you here as much as possible.”

“I know. It’s just harder than I thought it would be.”

You nod, tilting your chin up in a silent request for a kiss. Tim smiles, shaking his head as he bends to meet you. You pull back before he risks getting distracted.

“The grump is back now,” Tim mumbles.

“Hey! Be nice today,” you call after him.

Tim doesn’t reply, and you know he’ll deny ever hearing you say such a thing.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim slams the door as he exits the shop. Standing with his hands on his hips, he looks at the flat tire before glancing at Lucy.

“I didn’t see it,” she begins, her voice rushed and apologetic.

“Because you weren’t paying attention,” Tim snaps.

“But I-“

“How do you expect to graduate to short sleeves if you can’t even drive, boot?”

“It wasn’t my fault; there was something in the road!”

“Call dispatch,” Tim demands.

“What’s the protocol for this?”

Tim remains silent, leaning against the side of the shop as Lucy racks her brain for the proper procedure. As she radios dispatch and explains the situation, Tim grows grumpier. He’s stranded in a subdivision of Los Angeles with a flat tire that could have been avoided instead of home with you. His conviction about being a cop wanes each moment he’s away from you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Even without seeing the worst of it, you can tell Tim’s attitude has changed lately. His fellow officers and the rookies have been dealing with the grumpiest version of Tim they’ve ever experienced, but you see the clingy, emotional, loving side of whatever is making him act so differently.

After doing a few small chores, which Tim will tell you not to do again, you get ready and decide to pay him a visit at the station. You want to see how he is doing.. mostly, you miss him and want an excuse to see him and hug him.

As you get in your car, you consider calling Tim to ensure he’s at the station and has time for a visitor. He has been protective of you since you met, but it has changed and increased since getting married and throughout the early months of your pregnancy. You shrug, putting your phone away after electing to surprise him instead. 

✯✯✯✯✯

“It would be great if one of you could remember that you’re a police officer!” Tim yells, looking between Nolan, Lucy, and Jackson. “Now you’ve got nothing to say? No excuses? Well maybe you should review those rook books before going out on patrol again.”

He turns quickly, prepared to storm away and find a private place to calm down. When he freezes, the rookies look at one another in confusion. Nolan prepares to speak, and Lucy shakes her head to stop him, unwilling to get yelled at again so soon.

“What are you doing here?” Tim asks.

You step into the bullpen with a smile as Tim rushes to your side.

“Missed you,” you whisper.

“Is that- is she-“ Nolan stutters.

“Pregnant? Yeah. And Tim is… smiling?” Jackson adds.

Lucy gasps, moving in front of Nolan to see better. It’s true: Tim is standing as close as he can, with one hand laid protectively over your stomach while he smiles down at you. His grumpiness, which has made being a rookie nearly unbearable recently, is completely gone, vanished at the sight of you.

“You shouldn’t be up walking around,” Tim frets.

“Then I probably shouldn’t tell you I cleaned the kitchen, huh?” you reply.

Tim shakes his head, his thumb brushing over the swell of your baby bump as he leans forward to kiss your forehead.

“Are you feeling okay?” Tim asks softly.

You smile, moving your chin to gesture to your left. Tim’s brows pinch as he turns, glaring at the rookies until they look away, turning to one another in a fake conversation.

“I’m not going to survive this afternoon,” Tim tells you.

“You’ve been grumpy and mean,” you accuse.

“Look, they’re going to annoy me all afternoon. Stay with me? You can do a ride along. Oh! Or you could go into labor so I can stay home with you for a few days.”

“As great as that sounds, I’m going to pass. I’d like to have a healthy baby when the time is right, not on your schedule, grumpy.”

Tim frowns, his hands on either side of your bump.

“But, I promise to be waiting for you the moment you get home,” you add. “And, maybe, if you just tell them the truth, it won’t be so bad.”

“You’ve never dealt with a boot. Or Angela Lopez.”

“Just because you won’t introduce me.”

“For good reason.”

You smile, raising your chin again before Tim kisses you quickly.

“Be careful going home. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Tim watches you leave, waiting until you’re out of sight to turn back toward the rookies. He jerks back slightly when he sees Lucy standing right beside him.

“She’s so cute! You’re so cute together! Why haven’t you mentioned her, Tim?” Lucy gushes. “And where do you hide that guy that was with her? I’ve never met that Tim.”

“And you won’t,” he promises.

“I think he leaves that side of Tim with her,” Nolan adds.

Tim’s jaw clenches. It’s true, he knows, but he doesn’t want details of his personal life to become an accepted topic for the rookies. He raises his hand, and they silence.

“Just- leave it alone for now, and I will introduce you the next time she visits,” he offers. 

As he says it, he makes a mental note to ask you not to visit without warning so he doesn’t have to follow through. The lie is the only way to have peace while in the vicinity of the rookies.

“I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad,” Jackson muses.

“You’re having a kid?” Angela yells, running down the stairs and grabbing Tim’s arm.

Tim grumbles something unintelligible under his breath before saying, “Yes.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“If it’s a girl, Angela is a great name.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve got a long list of names that are an absolute no-go,” Tim replies, looking between the rookies and Angela.

“How did you figure this out?” Angela asks Lucy.

“She – who is she?” Lucy begins before realizing that she never heard who you are to Tim.

“My wife,” Tim mutters.

“You’re married?!” Angela and Nolan ask together.

Angela slaps Tim's shoulder, frowning when he looks at her with his eyebrows raised.

“I thought we were friends.”

“What gave you that impression?”

Angela gasps, covering her heart with her hand.

“Uh, Tim?” you ask, standing behind him.

He turns toward you quickly, and Angela’s eyes widen as she looks at you.

“Yeah?” he asks kindly, yet another surprise.

“Can you come with me for a second?” You notice the small crowd behind him, officers who seem more interested in you than anything else. “Hi,” you say, waving at them.

“It is so nice to meet you,” Angela begins, stepping toward you before Tim blocks her way with his arm.

“We’ll do introductions later,” Tim says, putting his arm around you and leading you away.

“I’m holding you to that!” Lucy yells.

Tim leads you into an empty interview room, his eyes searching yours. You take his hand, laying it on your stomach. Something happened when you heard his voice earlier, and you want to share it.

“Say something,” you request. “Anything.”

“I love you,” Tim answers.

His eyes widen as he feels the movement of a kick against his hand. He squats before you, moving his hand under your shirt.

“You know who I am, don’t you?” he asks.

You feel another kick, laughing at how your baby already has Tim wrapped around its finger. 

“You promised to make introductions,” you say, interrupting Tim’s conversation with your stomach.

Tim stands, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you. Breathless, you push against his chest as you break away.

“You were right,” you admit. “It would be nice to have you home more.”

“We did it,” Tim whispers, his eyes dropping to your bump.

“I feel like I’m interrupting something,” you mumble.

Tim chuckles, rubbing your back as he leads you to the door.

“Introductions, and then we’re going home,” Tim explains. “Names and nothing more.”

“I would expect no less, Officer Bradford.”

[aquaticmercy]

Match

Summary : You finally found your intellectual match in Bucky Barnes.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x rare book dealer!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : You and Bucky are nerds (affectionate), mentions of his past. Sexual tension-filled philosophical debate. DC comics exist in the MCU as literature as per the guardians Christmas special lol. Cursing? Steamy not smut. Fluff!!!!

Word count : 5.7k

Note : This fic was inspired by that one scene in FATWS where Bucky said he read the hobbit. I just really like the idea that Bucky really really likes to read. Enjoy!

Rare books were not just a job to you, but a vocation. You spent your days seeking out treasures, preserving them, and connecting them with people who could truly appreciate their worth. Your little shop was a haven of creaking wooden floors and shelves brimming with the worn spines of countless literary works, sunlight streaming through the tall windows.

It was your home.

On a quiet Tuesday, the bell over the door jingled.

At first, you assumed the man who walked in was lost or killing time— maybe a tourist who thought your shop was an antique or souvenir shop (you’ve gotten a lot of those over the years). 

He didn’t fit your usual profile of a customer—no tweed jackets or scholarly glasses. No suit and tie, no clean white blouse. This one was confident, albeit rough on the edges. His leather jacket and heavy boots belonged in a biker gang, his long hair brushing beautifully against his shoulders. But it was his left arm that drew your gaze—a sleek, black metal hand peeking out of his sleeve, rippling slightly when he moved.  

You recognized him instantly: James Buchanan Barnes. 

The former Winter Soldier. 

A man who belonged to history books and legends. Seeing him in person was... surreal. No article had prepared you for the magnetism he carried, no photo did him justice.

Still, you weren’t one to swoon. And you definitely weren’t about to let him see you staring a little too long into his steely blue eyes. 

“Can I help you?” you asked, keeping your voice calm and professional.

For a second, he seemed to weigh whether or not to answer. “I’m looking for a first edition of The Hobbit.”

You blinked.

That wasn’t what you’d expected. 

“It’s in the case over here,” you replied, recovering quickly. You led him to the glass display where one of your most cherished possessions lay nestled, secure and pristine.  

He muttered something like ‘just like I remember’ as he gazed at the book, his voice close to reverence.  

“Big fan?” you ventured, curious.

His lips curved up, into a faint smile. He nodded. “Always admired how he built entire worlds. The languages, the histories.” He hesitated, his voice growing quieter. “He lived through hell in the trenches, too. And from that, he wrote something… hopeful.”

You hadn’t expected that depth of understanding, and your surprise must have been obvious. “What?” he asked, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Didn’t think I’d be the type?”

This was going to be fun, you thought.

You shrugged, trying to suppress a grin, “you’re not exactly my usual Tolkien collector.”

That earned you a sweet, gentle chuckle. “I didn’t think I’d be either, but I’ve always loved books,” he admitted, “They were one of the only constants after...” His voice faltered, remnants of his past briefly flashing behind his eyes.

You didn’t press. Instead, you followed his lead, steering the conversation back to Tolkien. “You're right about the worldbuilding. He wrote a full mythology— linguistic and cultural foundations and all. It’s like he created an alternate history.”

“Exactly.” Bucky’s smile returned, brighter this time. It had been ages since Bucky had an engaging, meaningful conversation that wasn’t about mission planning, let alone about a book. The heated, faceless debates with internet strangers—each convinced they were ultimately correct—definitely didn’t count. “It’s that attention to detail— You don’t see that much anymore.”

After that, the two of you fell into a rhythm, talking easily for nearly an hour. About Tolkien’s works, his love for language, and the way war had shaped his narratives. You even mentioned how Tolkien’s own experiences in World War I echoed the camaraderie and loss found in his stories. Bucky nodded along, sharing personal observations that surprised you—not just because of their insight, but because of how much he genuinely cared.

Back in the day, everyone saw Bucky as the classic jock, and to be fair, he was. But beneath the effortless charm, he was a nerd at heart—fascinated by books, obsessed with science, and captivated by innovation. It was Bucky who had dragged Steve along to the World Exposition of Tomorrow, it was Bucky who was eager to see Howard Stark’s presentation on flying cars. Back then, the future had been his fixation. It had been out of reach— a world of endless possibilities. 

Now, he was drawn to the past. 

He’d fallen in love with reading again. After all, he had a century of literature to catch up on. And with the internet at his fingertips, he had access to more knowledge and stories than he could have dreamed of. 

40s Bucky would’ve had a heart attack from the sheer volume of information he could consume. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just chasing a vision of what might be—he was immersing himself in what already was.

Eventually, the conversation drifted to The Lord of the Rings. 

“Did you read the trilogy?” you asked.

He nodded. “Only a couple of years ago. I didn’t even realize it was published after… everything.” He paused, frowning slightly, as if reaching into the murky depths of his memory. 

Right. You did a quick mental tally based on the books you’ve read about him. The Hobbit was published in 1937, and The Fellowship of the Ring in 1954. Bucky was presumed killed in action in 1945 and captured by a terrorist organization. So, yeah—he’d missed it.

“Hydra,” you said the thought allowed before you could stop yourself.

You winced, bracing for impact. Oh no, you thought, have I crossed a line?

“You read about me?” he asked to your surprise, likely catching you deep in thought. 

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, though your heart still beat out your chest. “Superheroes are a popular topic for peer-reviewed journals and doctoral theses. There’s a whole academic subfield about the Winter Soldier— a lot about your role in the war, too.”

His expression was unreadable, but you thought you saw a flicker of something— amusement? Whatever it was, it eased the tension you had accidentally created, and the conversation resumed.

You’ve read plenty about Bucky Barnes—the sharpshooter of the Howling Commandos, Captain America’s trusted sniper. You’ve probably read more about him in the modern age: scholars debating the pardon of the Winter Soldier, professors discussing the Sokovia Accords— a conflict in which he’d been a major player in. You’d disagreed with the Accords, of course, but that’s a story for another time. 

Right now, your focus was on the man in front of you, talking about Tolkien and his wonderful languages. See, the peer-reviewed articles about him had painted a stark picture: a kind soul turned into a cold, unfeeling weapon. But they neglected to mention that even after everything, he was still a kind soul. In person, it was hard to reconcile the man before you with the image of a killer. 

The paper also failed to mention a pleasant surprise: his mind. You realised now that Bucky Barnes wasn’t just a soldier; he was sharp, curious, a man who loved literature and sought out conversations that challenged him. It was something the world overlooked.

Yet it was there, just beneath the surface.

“Have you read the Silmarillion?” you ventured.

“I tried,” He grimaced. “Felt like reading a textbook. Not sure I even made it halfway.”

“That’s fair,” you admitted with a laugh. “It’s not the easiest read. But it’s worth it, I promise.”

Bucky didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t shut the idea down, either.  

You made a snap decision. Reaching behind the counter, you pulled out your personal copy of The Silmarillion. It wasn’t a rare edition, but it was filled with your notes in the margins, a map you’d sketched for reference, and little Post-its marking key passages. “Take this,” you offered, holding it out to him.

He hesitated, not used to kindness from beautiful strangers. “You sure?”

“Absolutely. Hopefully the notes will make it easier. And don’t even worry about returning it,” you nodded, “It’s probably for the best. I obsess over it too much.”

He took the book, his metal fingers brushing against yours as he did, making your stomach flutter. “Thanks.”

“And if you’re curious about all those papers written about you...” You looked through bookmarks on your laptop, typing ‘James Barnes’ into the search bar. You jotted down a list of academic articles you’d read— some about his time in WWII, others about his unique role as a postwar icon. “Here. If you want to see what people are saying.”

He smiled that kind smile again, folding the paper carefully and tucked it into his jacket. “I appreciate it.”

When he left with the first edition of The Hobbit, your annotated Silmarillion, and your list of articles about him, you found yourself staring at the door long after it had closed, hoping it wasn’t the last time he’d visit your shop. 

—

Bucky started coming in more frequently, always buying another rare book— Hemingway, Orwell, Lovecraft. The pretense was paper-thin, though, and you both knew it. 

Sure, he enjoyed books, but by that point he knew he could’ve gotten cheaper copies on a bid online (rent in a big city was expensive)— and the books he bought weren't even that rare. 

Each visit turned into a lengthy discussion that carried you through the night, far past the shop’s usual closing time.  

One afternoon, he returned something unexpected: your well-worn copy of The Silmarillion. Admittedly, you’d  missed it—  its once-pristine pages now brimming with additional notations—his handwriting mixing with yours.  

“I had to,” he said, an almost sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Your notes made me see it differently. It felt like a conversation.” 

You opened it, thumbing through the pages, your eyes catching his commentary. He had sharp, incisive thoughts: challenging some of your interpretations, expanding on others, and sometimes adding playful jabs in the margins when he disagreed with your analysis.

“This is dangerous,” you said, glancing up at him with a teasing smile. “Do you really want a debate about Tolkienian theology?”  

“I’ve got time, doll,” he said with a grin, settling onto the stool by the counter. Your cheeks flushed at the nickname, hearts doing backflips in your ribcage.

And so, that evening, you indulged in the mind of James Buchanan Barnes, exploring his thoughts and musings about Middle-earth. For the next two hours, the two of you argued about the nature of Ilúvatar’s creation, the Fëanor tragic story, and whether or not Morgoth represented a failure of divine providence.  

“I’ll admit,” he said at one point, leaning back and crossing his arms, “I wasn’t expecting it to feel so... biblical.”  

“It’s a way to think about creation through the lens of fantasy,” you replied, your voice softening as you traced your fingers over the book’s cover. “There’s a reason people get lost in it.”  

He watched you for a moment, his gaze lingering, his smile fading into something softer. 

It wasn’t the only time your conversations would take a turn like this. A week later, gothic monsters were your battlefield.

Bucky leaned against the counter, an old edition of Dracula he had just purchased in his hands, the worn leather squeaking as he shifted. His brow furrowed in that way that always made you wonder what he was thinking— though you had a feeling he was about to pick a fight, again.

“You’re out of your mind if you think Frankenstein beats Dracula,” he said, glancing up, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief.

“I’m not saying they’re even comparable,” you countered, crossing your arms as you leaned against the opposite side of the counter. “They’re completely different genres. It’s not a fair fight. But if it were... Frankenstein wins. Hands down.”

Bucky chuckled, a low, warm sound that made it impossible not to smile. “You think that because you’re obsessed with sci-fi. If it’s got a fake scientist and a lot of regret, you’re sold.”

“And you think Dracula is better because it’s all dark and broody,” you shot back, arching an eyebrow, “sound familiar?” You smirked, mirroring his stance against the opposite side of the counter. “Besides, Frankenstein is a masterpiece—philosophy, morality, hubris—it’s got layers. What’s Dracula got? Melodrama?”

“Hey! Dracula has layers!” Bucky chuckled low in his throat, setting the book down. “It’s about primal fear, wrapped in ancient powers, wrapped again in the clash between tradition and modernity.”

“It is enjoyable, I must admit, but it’s just a glorified soap opera.” You groaned, though your lips twitched in spite of yourself. “Shelley’s work makes you think, you know? It’s art.”

“Art?!” he repeated, stepping closer, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse skip. “It’s a guy making bad decisions and spending the rest of the book dodging the consequences.”

You straightened, eyes narrowing. “It’s about responsibility! The monster is a reflection of Victor’s failure. He’s abandoned and searching for connection—”

“And whining about it,” Bucky interrupted with a smirk, folding his arms. “Dracula doesn’t whine.”

The playful sparring faded when it hit you.

Frankenstein’s monster was created without consent, shaped into something he never chose to be. He was cast out, left to navigate a world that saw him as a mistake. The monster was isolated— burdened by guilt—the question of whether he was defined by the harm he’d done.

“Does he…” you started, gulping, unsure of how he’d react to an outright observation. “Does Frankenstein’s monster make you uncomfortable?”

As you stepped closer, his expression faltered, his eyes dropping to the book in his hands. Slowly, he set it aside, the movement deliberate. You reached out, your fingers brushing against the cold surface of his metal arm before resting there gently. “Does it hit too close to home?” you asked.

He didn’t deny it. A quiet laugh escaped him instead. He shook his head. “You’re too damn perceptive for your own good,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a longing for something you couldn’t quite place.  

Your fingers moved in slow circles against his metal hand, and when it twitched beneath your touch, you knew he felt it—knew he felt you.  

“The monster was never the villain,” you said, a fragile offering meant to soothe him. “He just needed someone to see him. He can be kind, too.”  

His gaze lifted, locking onto yours, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes stole the air from your lungs. For a heartbeat, the world stilled. 

Then Bucky’s smirk returned, smaller this time, as he leaned into your touch as if he craved it. “Nice try,” he said, voice lighter but still soft. “You’re not winning this one. Dracula’s better.”

You laughed, the tension breaking just enough to let you breathe again. “You’re impossible, Barnes.”

—

You were afraid you had scared him off after that, but to your surprise, he returned a week later, albeit a bit bruised from a mission.  

You’d been reshelving old graphic novels that day (First Edition Hergé that you were quite excited by), the quiet hum of the shop wrapping you in comfortable silence, when you caught sight of him out of the corner of your eye. His dark leather jacket hung slightly open, revealing a plain gray shirt that stretched just enough across his chest to draw your eyes. There was a faint cut near his jaw, still healing.  

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft as he approached. His eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary. “You look beautiful today. Is that a new dress?”

Your breath caught, and a warmth crept up your neck as you glanced down at the simple, flowy dress you’d chosen that morning. “It is,” you admitted, looking back up at him with a shy smile. “Thanks for noticing.”

“Hard not to,” he murmured, his lips curving into a small, almost teasing smile before he turned toward the shelves.

You busied yourself with reshelving more books behind the counter, but you couldn’t help watching him out of the corner of your eye. His human hand traced idly along the spines, careful not to inflict damage. When he stopped, he plucked a rare-ish pocket 6th edition of Thus Spake Zarathustra from the shelf, his metal fingers glinting faintly in the light of the shop.

“You actually like this guy?” he asked quietly, lifting the book like he was sharing a secret.  

“Like is a strong word,” you said, stepping out from behind the ladder. His gaze caught yours, and there was a flicker of something playful in those blue eyes. Your pulse quickened, beckoning him to the counter. “He was no saint, but hardly anyone is. I… appreciate his contribution. It’s not his fault people misuse his work.” 

Bucky had witnessed it firsthand: fascists distorting Nietzsche's philosophy, disregarding its complexities, and twisting his ideas into a justification for genocide.

His lips turned upward, a lopsided grin that softened the sharpness of his jaw. His stance shifted, leaning against the counter with a practiced ease. His eyes flickered, taking you in, and when you crossed your arms, his gaze lingered briefly, enough to spark a bubbling heat beneath your skin.  

“You don’t think Nietzsche was a proto-fascist, do you?” you asked, tilting your head.  

“God, no,” he said quickly, amusement softening his voice. His grin spread, revealing the faintest cute dimple in his cheek. “I’ve read enough to know better. But I don’t exactly buy the Übermensch thing either. It’s too... self-centered for my taste. The whole idea of being ‘beyond good and evil’ feels dangerous.”  

“That’s fair,” you said, closing the distance between you as you reached for the book in his hand. Your fingers brushed his as you slipped it from his grasp, his touch warm, steady, almost deliberate. His eyes flickered down to where your hands had met. “There are many flaws in his thinking, but I don’t think the concept is inherently bad,” you continued, the air between you charged with tension. You tilted the book toward him, as though showing him something, though you both knew you weren’t really focused on the pages. “It’s about striving for a better version of yourself. I think he wanted people to create their own meaning, not follow blindly.”  

“Maybe,” Bucky murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He shifted closer, his fingers tapping lightly against the counter, the sound echoing in the quiet room. His metal hand rested at his side, the vibranium gleaming faintly as his other hand inched forward, almost brushing yours.  

His breath fanned your cheek as he leaned in, close enough now that you could see the stubble along his jaw, the way his lashes framed those blue eyes. “But there’s something so… wrong about thinking you’re the one who gets to decide what’s right,” he whispered, his voice like a secret meant only for you.  

He was close, dangerously so— that you could feel his breath on your nose.

The bell above the door chimed suddenly, breaking the moment like shattered glass. Dr. Hart, a lecturer from the local university, stepped inside, a bundle of papers tucked under her arm, and smiled in greeting.  

She was a returning customer, here to pick up a special edition of Conversation on Botany that you had tracked down for her.

“That’s $40, Mr. Barnes,” You took a small, steadying breath and waved at Hart with a thumbs up that said I’ve got your book.

His lips twitched into a knowing smile. Hr reached for his wallet, pulling out a few bills. As he handed them to you, his fingers brushed yours again.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promised, his voice soft, almost teasing.

—

The tipping point came late one evening.  

You’d spent the last few hours catalouging a shipment of rare books, the shop’s air thick with the comforting scent of old leather, yellowing paper, and the faint hint of dust that always seemed to cling to ancient texts. The shop was silent save for the scratch of your pen against paper as you logged the latest arrival.  

The peace shattered with the familiar jingle of the bell above the door.  

“Shop’s closed,” you said without looking up, your voice automatic, your focus still on the fragile spine of a sixteenth-century text.  

“Good thing I’m not here to shop,” came the deep, unmistakable voice of Bucky Barnes.  

Your hand froze, an involuntary smile tugging at your lips. You looked up, finding him leaning against the doorframe with that trademark blend of casual confidence and smoldering intensity. His black Henley stretched across his chest, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms—a sight you tried not to dwell on for too long.  

“What are you here for, then?” you asked, arching an eyebrow as you tried to sound indifferent.  

“Conversation,” he said simply, stepping further inside.  

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you returned to your work. “You came all the way here just to talk?”  

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he teased, his lips turning into a sly smile as he perched on the edge of your desk. “I was in the neighborhood.”  

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother responding. Bucky always had a way of pulling your attention, and tonight was no different. You tried to focus on the delicate bindings in front of you, but his overwhelming presence was impossible to ignore.  

When he reached for a book from the nearby stack—a copy of Meditations by Marcus Aurelius—you finally gave in.  

“Stoicism?” you asked, your tone light with playful mockery. 

He flipped the book open, his fingers grazing the thin pages. “You’re really surprised? I thought you’d figure that about me,” he said, glancing up at you with a hint of a challenge in his eyes. “Marcus Aurelius had a lot to say about self-control.”  

“And yet here you are…” you replied, gesturing to where he was leaning across your workspace, a soft furrow of amusement on your eyebrows. You decided you could be flirty— eyeing the undone button of his Henley, showing a hint of his skin underneath. “...testing mine.”  

The corners of his mouth curved. “Guess I’m doing my part to help you practice.”  

You shook your head, half-smiling. “It’s not just about self-control, now is it? It’s about accepting what you can’t change.”  

He tilted his head, agreeing with you. “Or a way to stop drowning in things you can’t fix.”  

From there, the conversation unfurled like a thread you couldn’t stop pulling. Philosophy, morality, the nature of good and evil—it didn’t take long before you were fully engrossed, debating with a ferocity that surprised even you. Bucky was sharp, quick-witted, and maddeningly good at challenging your points. Every time you thought you had the upper hand, he’d counter with something so precise, so well-argued, that you couldn’t help but admire his mind.  

As the debate shifted, you sat on your desk, its surface cluttered with books that were hard to find, but not rare enough to be put in a glass case. Your focus was solely on Bucky, who was pacing the room with measured steps, his hands brushing against the edges of shelves every so often as though grounding himself.

“Alright,” you said, leaning forward, crossing your legs. “Here’s a question for you: Should Batman kill the Joker?” 

Slowly, he turned and walked closer to you, his shoes thudding softly against the floor. He stopped just short of your legs, leaning forward slightly, his gaze locking onto yours, making your pulse quicken.

Oh, that piqued his interest.

“I should’ve known you’d bring up Batman.” Bucky’s lips curved into a smirk, eyeing up the first print of 90s DC comics in the corner of the room that hadn’t been there two days ago— a fresh delivery, perhaps? You were always very topical, and the recent restocks somehow always made their way into conversation.

“It’s a valid moral dilemma,” you said, straightening, your chin lifting slightly. 

He tilted his head, his expression a blend of amusement and challenge. “Why don’t you tell me?”  

“Of course he should,” You didn’t hesitate, the answer rolling off your tongue with absolute conviction. “The Joker is a mass murderer. Every time Batman spares him, more people die. His refusal to act is just as bad as pulling the trigger himself.”  

Bucky’s smile lingered, but his gaze grew darker, ever so slightly. “So you’re saying Batman’s refusal to kill makes him complicit?”  

“Yes,” you said firmly, leaning in slightly, the heat of the argument pulling you closer. “Batman’s morality is Kantian—rigid rules and all. But if he were more… utilitarian, he’d save more lives. The greatest good for the greatest number. One life to save countless others.”  

“That kind of math doesn’t scare you?” Bucky asked, leaning back as though to put some distance between you, though his eyes stayed locked on yours. “Once you start deciding whose lives matter more, where do you stop?”  

“It’s not about worth,” you argued, the intensity rippling from him unnerving but impossible to look away from. “It’s about outcomes. If you can prevent suffering, don’t you have a responsibility to do it?”  

The silence that followed felt heavier than it should’ve. His jaw clicked a bit, tightening as he considered your words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, shyer.

“If that’s your stance, then maybe someone should’ve killed the Winter Soldier years ago.”  

His words hit you like a punch in the gut, your breath catching. The implication of his statement filled the room, coiling tight around your chest.  

“Bucky,” you said quickly, panic creeping into your voice, your fingers twitching toward him but freezing halfway. “That’s not—”  

The corner of his mouth curved into a small, fragile smile. “Relax,” he said, holding up a hand, his voice dipping into something gentler. “I’m not offended. This is just a debate, right?”  

“It’s not the same,” you insisted, your voice gentler, almost pleading. You stood from your desk, hesitation in your chest as you reached out— you were scared he might pull away, “you were brainwashed.” Slowly, you pressed your hand to his cheek, his stubble rough beneath your palm. It was a wordless apology—a pathetic attempt to comfort, to reach him where words had failed. 

To your surprise, he didn’t stop you. Instead, he leaned into your touch. 

Bucky, slid his arm around your waist, testing the waters. His eyes flicked to yours, searching for any sign of rejection, any hint that he’d crossed a line. But there were none. Instead, the subtle hitch in your breath and the way you leaned into him told him everything he needed to know.

He shook his head, rubbing soft circles on your hip as if to say you’re okay. This conversation is more than okay. “But in the grand scheme of utilitarianism, it shouldn’t matter, right? My life was a liability. More people would’ve been saved if I hadn’t been around to hurt them.”  

His words settled over you like a storm cloud. The silence stretched, your carefully crafted argument unraveling in the face of his lived experience.  

He leaned forward then, bridging the space between you, his arm pinning you in place. “Maybe I understand Batman better than most,” he said, his voice quiet but intense. “Killing someone doesn’t always fix what’s broken. It just leaves you with blood on your hands.”  

Your throat tightened, the words sticking. He was too close now, the tension between you buzzing like a static current.  

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but he heard it.  

“Don’t be.” His words were soft as he pulled you closer. There was always a hint of warmth in his eyes, an unspoken kindness you admired.

The room felt smaller now, more heated. You opened your mouth to respond, but his words had stolen all the air from your lungs.  

He leaned in, his voice dropping. “It’s easy to talk about morality in the abstract. But when you’re staring someone in the face—when it’s a real person, and not just an idea—it gets a lot harder to play God.”  

Shit.

He was right.  

Maybe utilitarianism wasn’t a steadfast rule. Maybe it couldn’t be, not when you factored in the messy, unpredictable depths of human existence. Lives weren’t just numbers to balance on a scale—they were stories, choices, pain, hope. And Bucky… Bucky was proof of that.  

Your thoughts churned as you looked at him.

You felt your conviction unravel. It wasn’t just that his argument was sound—though it was (infuriatingly so)—it was the way he’d delivered it, the personal truth lending it undeniable power. And that’s when it hit you. That’s why you found him so damn attractive.  

Sure, he was gorgeous. The sharp lines of his jawline, the piercing blue of his eyes, the way his Henley stretched over his shoulders like it had been designed with him in mind. But that wasn’t it. Not entirely.  

It was him. His humanity. His thoughtfulness. The kindness that softened the edges, the depth that came from wrestling with his own darkness and coming out better on the other side.  

And he was brilliant. For the first time, you felt like you’d met your match. Someone who met you on your turf and stood his ground, someone who didn’t just nod along or agree to avoid conflict. Someone who could challenge you, who could look you in the eye and make you see the world differently.  

You thought you’d built your worldview on unshakable foundations, but he’d cracked it wide open, and now all you could do was stare at him with the dawning realisation that this wasn’t just attraction. It was something deeper, something that terrified and thrilled you in equal measure.  

He wasn’t just a match for you physically; he was your intellectual equal—a rare kind of connection that made your pulse race and left your thoughts spinning.

Before you could stop yourself, before you could think it through, you leaned forward and kissed him.  

It was impulsive—a collision of lips born from the fiery tension that had simmered between you for weeks. It was everything unsaid, every glance, every near touch that had lingered just a fraction too long, all boiling over in one moment. He froze for the briefest heartbeat, but then something in him snapped. His hands found you, pulling you closer, his grip possessive, almost desperate. Your hands made their way through the soft strands of his hair, landing comfortably around his neck.

The kiss, slow at first, quickly became frantic. Neither of you could get enough. The only thing that mattered was him—his lips on yours, his touch, the way his body pressed against you like a promise. 

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, his forehead rested against yours, his lips curled into a breathless smile. For a second, he could forget about everything that has happened to him. For a second, he was truly, utterly safe in your arms.

“I didn’t think you were the type to kiss someone in the middle of a moral argument about Batman,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his lips grazing yours with every word, sending shivers down your spine.

“And I didn’t think you’d let me,” you replied, your voice laced with a mischievous edge.

His eyes darkened, his smile widening just enough to make your heart race before he closed the distance again, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. This time, it wasn’t careful or calculated—it was raw, fervent, consuming. Your back hit the desk behind you, his hands sliding around your waist and around the curve of your bum, firm and deliberate, setting every nerve in your body on fire. 

“The books,” he mumbled against your lips, glancing at the teetering stack beside you, the volumes threatening to topple.

“I don’t care,” you said breathlessly, and to prove your point, you swiped the entire stack to the floor with a crash. The sound echoed, but you barely heard it over the roaring thump of your heartbeat in your ears. 

They weren’t too rare. You’ll just put them on the discount aisle tomorrow. 

His response was a low, guttural groan, his lips finding yours again, His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make your head tilt back, exposing the sensitive curve of your neck. He didn’t waste the opportunity, his lips and teeth trailing along your skin, finding the spot just below your ear that made you gasp. 

“Did I manage to change your mind this time?” he murmured against your ear, his voice rough and unsteady as his lips brushed against your jaw, then lower, tracing a heated path along your collarbone. 

You managed a breathless laugh, your fingers slipping under his shirt to trace the veins under his skin, his muscles tensing under your touch. “Okay, so maybe ‘the greatest good for the greatest number’ isn’t always the best approach when you’re the one holding the short end of the categorical imperative,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

His laugh was husky, his hands lower to grip your thighs, pushing himself flush against you. “God, you’re something else,” he said, his lips finding yours again, this time slower, deeper, as though savoring you. When he finally pulled back, his voice was hoarse. “Do you want to go on a date?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “You’re seriously asking me that now?” you asked, breathless. With your hands trailing over the planes of his chest, his breath mingling with yours, it seemed a bit out of order, but you weren’t about to complain.

“Yes,” he said, his words dead serious despite the way his hands clutched at your shirt, his lips finding the hollow of your throat. He kissed the spot slowly, firmly, making your legs feel numb. “I mean it,” he added, his voice softer, yet no less insistent.

You let out a breathless laugh, tugging him into another kiss, the kind that left no room for doubt about your answer. “Then yes,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing as you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “We’re going to have a lot to talk about.”

And boy, were you excited to talk to this man— a man who could turn the simplest circumstances into a philosophical debate, someone who wasn’t afraid to dispute your ideals. 

Someone who was your match.

“Later,” he rasped, his voice gravelly with need, his hands trailing up to tug his henley over his head in one fluid motion. The sight of him stole the breath from your lungs, but you didn’t have time to appreciate it before he was kissing you again, his bare skin pressed against you as he lifted your shirt off. “We can talk later.”

-end.

[strwbwrrybunny]

𝒮𝒜𝒯𝐼𝒱𝒜. 𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐣. 𝟗𝐤.

𝐜𝐰꣑ৎ spiritual! reader x skater! eren, smut with a plot, cannabis consumption, outside sex, facial, ass eating, fingering, oral, boob job, praise, creaming, use of the n word, explicit language, multiple orgasms, lots of flufffff . . . or in which you remind him of a fairy. mdni.

𝐥 𝐞 𝐱 𝐢’ 𝐬 𝐧 𝐨 𝐭 𝐞 𝐬꣑ৎ i hate this???? alsooooo ignore any errors, i did edit but there’s prob still errorssss. i wasn’t gonna post but i want it out of my drafts. as alwaysssss please reblog, like, or comment if you enjoy :)

the woods are a tranquil haven, bathed in the golden hues of summer. the air is crisp, with a gentle breeze that occasionally stirs the leaves, sending whispers through the trees. the soft voice of jhene aiko plays from a speaker perched against a sturdy oak, her melodies blending seamlessly with the sounds of nature.

you sit on the yoga mat, eyes closed in deep meditation, posture serene and composed. this moment, surrounded by the beauty and calm of the forest is exactly what you needed after a long stressful week.

the world outside fades away, leaving only the harmonious symphony of the woods and the soothing cadence of your breath. the forest is alive, yet peaceful, with birds singing their songs and the distant rustle of small creatures moving through the underbrush. sunlight filters through the canopy, creating a kaleidoscope of light and shadow on the forest floor, where wildflowers bloom in vibrant colors, adding splashes of pink, yellow, and purple to the green expanse.

the brook nearby gurgles softly, its clear waters reflecting the sky above. the air is filled with the rich scent of pine and earth, grounding you even more deeply in your practice. as you breathe in, you feel the coolness of the breeze on your skin, and as you exhale, you release the tension of the past week.

each moment here is a gift, a reminder of the simple, profound beauty of nature and the peace it brings to the soul. this is your sanctuary, a place where you can reconnect with yourself and find the balance you seek.

eren was just looking for a place to smoke; he hadn’t expected to see anyone out here this far in. so, you can imagine his shock when he laid eyes on you. he pauses, confused, wondering what you’re doing there. his presence disrupts the serenity, and you can feel his eyes on you, piercing through the quiet like an uninvited guest.

the soft rustling of leaves under his feet seems louder in the stillness, and the faint scent of weed mingles with the fresh air. he hesitates, torn between retreating to give you back your peace and staying to satisfy his curiosity.

“do you always spy on women like this?” a hint of annoyance and curiosity laces your voice.

he kisses his teeth and responds with a smirk, "only when they’re doing something as weird as this." his remark hangs in the air, a blend of sarcasm and intrigue.

you narrow your eyes at him, feeling the tension rise. "it’s called meditation," you quickly retort, trying to maintain your calm demeanor. "ever heard of it?"

eren shrugs, shaking his head. "yeah . . i’ve heard of it. just never seen anyone take it so seriously out here in the middle of nowhere."

you take a deep breath, trying to center yourself again. "well, it's my way of finding peace. what about you? what's your excuse for being out here?"

he shrugs again, pulling a joint from his pocket and lighting it up. "needed a place to chill. didn't expect to find anyone else out here." his piercing green eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the forest seems to hold its breath. despite the initial friction, there's an undeniable curiosity between you two.

you watch him take a drag, the smoke curling around his face, and wonders what stories he carries with him. he looks at you, seeing more than just a girl meditating in the woods, sensing a depth he hadn't expected to find.

"mind if i join you?" he asks, surprising even himself with the question. you hesitate, then nod slowly. “sure, just . . keep it quiet, okay?"

he grins, settling down a few feet away from you. "deal."

you have to admit, he’s a sight for sore eyes. he sits there, effortlessly cool in a plain black shirt layered over a long-sleeved white one, paired with baggy black cargo pants that seem to hang just right. his white air forces are scuffed, telling stories of countless adventures. his chocolate hair is pulled back by a dark blue bandana, though a few rebellious strands fall into his face, which he occasionally brushes away with a casual flick.

his face is a perfect blend of chiseled and soft, like a sculptor’s masterpiece given life. but the thing that pulls you in the most is his eyes. they look tired, with faint shadows beneath them hinting at sleepless nights or deep thoughts. yet, despite the weariness, they hold a captivating beauty, like a forest after the rain, fresh and full of secrets. it’s easy to get lost in them, and as your gaze travels, you notice his eyebrow piercing, the tiny piece of metal gleaming in the sun, adding a touch of edge to his already striking appearance.

“what’s your name?” he asks, blunt wrapped in between his fingers as he looks at you.

“ೀ?” your voice is soft as you speak, it makes him smile.

"i’m eren . . . or ren, guess it doesn’t really matter." he inhales another puff of the toxin, eyes watching as the smoke floats. "so, you come out here like a weirdo all the time?” he doesn’t look at you as he asks this, opting to swipe dirt with his thumb off the side of his shoe.

not like it would do anything; those shoes had come to the end of their life.

“nig-,” deep breaths. “ i come here to to find peace and clarity. the forest has a way of . . grounding me, i guess.” eren nods, he’s intrigued. “i get that. sometimes i come out here to escape too. different reason, but i guess we’re both looking for something. meditation though . . . wouldn’t mind trying it.”

your brown eyes study him for a moment, noticing the way his eyes soften as he talks. "you don’t seem like the type to meditate." an innocent, playful smile forms on your lips as you tease him.

you catch the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, almost like he’s fighting back a grin. his rough exterior seems to crack just a bit, revealing a glimpse of vulnerability. the way he shifts his weight tells you he’s not used to being scrutinized like this.

he laughs, “yeah, well, i might surprise you. maybe you could teach me sometime?”

fluffy eyebrows raise on your forehead, “you really want to learn how to meditate?”

“why not? could be fun,” he says, leaning back on his elbows. “plus, it means i get to hang out with you more.”

is he flirting? he is definitely flirting.

eren finds you extremely cute, especially now that he was so close to you, breathing in your perfume—sandalwood? he presumes. you remind him of a fairy. with your curly hair pulled back by a emerald green scarf, edges smoothed to perfection across your forehead, curls dancing wildly in the wind. a crotched strapless bikini top clings to your chest and he finds it hard not to stare at your boobs.

or the way your waist-beads cling to your curvy hips that adorn a long green skirt that matches your scarf. his eyes linger on you, taking in every detail, as if trying to memorize the moment. the soft glow of the setting sun casts a warm hue on your skin, making you look almost ethereal in the fading light.

he notices the way your smile reaches your eyes, creating a sparkle that makes his heart skip a beat. your presence exudes a calm yet vibrant energy that he can't quite put his finger on. the gentle sway of your skirt in the breeze, the way your voice mingles with the rustling leaves, and the subtle scent of your perfume—all these little details make it impossible for him to look away.

“alright . . . i guess i could show you, but you can’t get bored and back out, okay?”

“me back out? pft, never.” he once again kisses his teeth, raising the joint to his mouth. he wonders if you smoke, and before he knows it, he's extending the joint to you. you grab it, bringing it up to your lips and inhaling deeply. it's been so long since you last smoked; you were trying to stop. but who were you to decline such a generous offer from your new friend?

as the smoke fills your lungs, you feel a mix of nostalgia and slight guilt. you glance at him, noticing the way his eyes study you, curious and slightly amused.

you exhale slowly, watching the smoke swirl and dissipate into the air. the joint passes back to him, and he takes a drag, his eyes never leaving yours.

“alright. we’ll meet back here tomorrow at five.” you watch as he nods.

“so, what do you do when you’re not meditating?”

you shrug, pulling your knees into your chest and resting your head on them. “i’m a student, i also teach yoga classes at a wellness center in town. what about you?”

“well, i’m also a student. and when i’m not balls deep in essays, i skate. and if i’m not skating, i’m at work”

you lean in, “where do you work?”

“record store. it’s not much, but i love it.”

"music is powerful," you finally speak up after a few seconds. "it can be a form of meditation too, y’know?”

he looks at you, surprised. "really? never thought of it that way."

you nod. "it’s all about finding what brings you peace and helps you connect with yourself."

eren takes another drag from his joint, considering your words. "you know, you're pretty cool. different, but cool."

you can’t help but laugh softly. "i’m gonna take that as a compliment. you’re not so bad yourself, eren.”

time flew by as you sat there with eren in the woods, chatting about everything and nothing. the ambiance of the forest, the rustling leaves, and the distant call of birds created a serene backdrop that made the conversation flow effortlessly. you weren't sure if it was the weed, but you found him incredibly easy to talk to. his presence was comforting, and you felt a sense of ease that you hadn't experienced in a long time.

you even let him sit beside you on your mat, feeling your arms brush together occasionally. each touch sending a subtle, yet significant, wave of warmth through you, making you realize how much you enjoyed his company.

eventually, eren glanced at his watch and sighed. "i have to get to work," he said reluctantly, standing up and brushing off his pants.

"already?" you asked, unable to hide the disappointment in your voice.

"sadly, duty calls," he replies with a small smile. "but i really enjoyed this. i’ll see you tomorrow."

you nodded, feeling a mix of contentment and longing. "definitely. it was nice talking to you, eren." he gave you one last lingering look before turning to leave.

"take care, weirdo.”

you roll your eyes, fighting the smile on your lips as you watch him walk away.

౨ৎ

you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a bit bummed that he hadn’t shown up the next evening. you racked your brain for excuses on why he’d flaked out on you. had he been faking interest in you? maybe something urgent had come up, or perhaps he just wasn’t as intrigued by your shared passion as he had seemed. you didn’t even know why it bothered you so much; he was just a guy. a guy that you’d talked to for less than an hour.

so why was he plaguing your mind?

the summer sun glistened off your skin as you made your way to the record store, each step feeling heavier with the weight of your thoughts.

was it a bit stalkerish? yes. did you care? no.

curiosity was gnawing you alive, and no matter how much you meditated and tried to ease your mind, you couldn’t shake eren. the memory of his smile and the way his eyes lit up when he spoke lingered, making it impossible to forget.

you replayed every moment of your conversation, analyzing every word and gesture. was there something you missed? some sign that he wasn’t as interested as you thought? the more you thought about it, the more questions arose, each one more frustrating than the last.

the record store came into view, the only one in town. you took a deep breath and pushed open the door, the cool air inside a welcome relief from the summer heat.

you knew it was him. you could see that familiar chestnut hair pulled back by a bandana, this time a light pink one. his back was turned to you so he didn’t notice you gawking. a bored “welcome,” spilling from his lips. he was talking to a customer who you assumed was asking a question about something.

the record store had a cozy, nostalgic vibe. the walls were lined with wooden shelves, each packed with vinyl records of every genre imaginable. posters of classic rock bands and vintage album covers adorned the walls, giving the place a retro feel. the floor was a mix of worn hardwood and patterned rugs that added to the charm. small potted plants sat on the windowsills, basking in the sunlight that filtered through the large front windows. the light streaming in creating a warm inviting glow.

in one corner, a listening station was set up with old-school headphones and a turntable, inviting customers to sample the music before making a purchase. the air was filled with the faint scent of aged paper and vinyl, mixed with a hint of incense burning somewhere in the back. soft indie music playing in the background, creating a relaxed atmosphere that made you feel at ease.

“do you always spy on men like this?”

touché.

“only when they lie to me.” you turn around, eren’s hand is propped under his chin as he looks at you.

“well, i didn’t lie.”

you fold your arms over your chest, “so why the no show?”

he rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile playing on his lips.

“s’ kinda embarrassing but i couldn’t find the spot," he admitted, his eyes darting away for a moment before meeting yours again. "got turned around. i tried shouting your name, guess i was too far." he shrugs.

you immediately felt like an asshole for assuming he was a liar, and of course, stalking him. embarrassment washed over you, leaving you momentarily speechless. as if he could read your mind, he spoke up again, his voice soft and reassuring.

“for what it’s worth, i’m glad you decided to stalk me.” he said with a playful smirk. it was hard to fight the smile at his words.

"you’re so weird," you laugh.

god, he could get used to the sound of that. he doesn’t know how but you look even prettier since the last time he’d seen you. today you wore a green flare long-sleeved top that showed your midriff, and a white skirt that showcased your brown smooth strawberry legs. your hair frames your face in waves a single fish braid with jewelry shimmering brightly, scent of mango filling his nose as the fan breezes you.

“maybe. but you’re a little weird too," he teases. "my shift is almost over. let me walk you home? we can get ice cream or something on the way. my treat for flaking." the sincerity in his offer made your heart flutter, and you couldn’t help but nod, feeling a hint of excitement.

so you waited, and waited, and waited until eren’s replacement came. he looked a bit bummed when he’d pushed open the doors and didn’t see you, eyes lighting up as he saw you sitting outside on the bench.

"thought you ditched," he laughed, a hint of relief in his voice.

“i’m not like you."

“shut up," he said playfully, giving your shoulder a gentle push.

you stood up, and as you walked side by side, the tension from earlier seemed to dissolve. the evening air cool and refreshing, a stark contrast to the warmth of the day.

"so, where to?" he asks, glancing over at you with a curious expression.

"how about that ice-cream you promised?" you suggest, your grin widening.

"deal," he replies, his smile mirroring yours.

as you made your way to the ice cream shop, the conversation flowed easily once again. you talked about everything and nothing, sharing stories and laughing at each other's jokes. it was as if the time you spent waiting had never happened, replaced by the comfort of his presence.

"i thought you were weird, but you’re an actual freak.”eren’s face scrunches as he watches you eat the mint ice-cream. “what are you, a toothpaste enthusiast?"

you roll your eyes playfully. "oh please, mr.chocolate. you can't get more basic than that."

a smirk pulls on his lips. "what can i say? i like chocolate,” he takes a look at you before continuing his comment, “it’s rich and satisfying.”

you can feel your neck warm at his comment. "rich and satisfying? more like predictable," you shoot back, trying to hide your smile.

"predictable? i think you mean dependable," he says, leaning in a bit closer. "besides, chocolate has layers, just like me."

"layers, huh? are you saying you're deep and mysterious?" you ask, raising an eyebrow, your voice dripping with playful challenge.

"maybe i am," he grins, eyes locking onto yours. "but can you handle all these layers?" he took a slow, deliberate bite of his ice cream, his gaze never leaving your face.

you laugh, trying to shake off the butterflies in your stomach. "please, i can handle anything you throw at me."

"that a challenge?" his smirk widens, and you can see the mischief in his eyes.

"maybe it is," you whisper, leaning in just a little, your faces inches apart. "what are you gonna do about it?"

he pauses, his eyes flicking to your lips for just a second before meeting your gaze again. "i guess you'll have to wait and see," he murmurs, voice low and teasing.

you swallow hard, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. "well, don't keep me waiting too long," you hum, voice barely above a whisper.

he sucks his teeth, leaning back but never breaking eye contact. "wouldn’t dream of it. after all, good things come to those who wait."

"is that so?" you take a bite of your ice-cream with a raised brow.

"absolutely.”

the urge to press his lips against yours is strong, but he refrains. you’re so damn intoxicating. your laugh, your smile. he can't help but admire the way the beads around your waist gently clink with your every movement, adding a mesmerizing rhythm to your presence.

"you ready? i wanna show you something," eren’s voice is filled with excitement as he leans in closer. his eyes sparkling with anticipation, a clear sign that he had something special planned.

you raise an eyebrow at him, curiosity piqued. "show me what?" you try to read his expression and figure out what he could possibly have up his sleeve.

eren clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and nudges you with a elbow. "wouldn't be a surprise if i told you," a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"come on, just a hint?" you pout, poking your lip out, voice tinged with playful desperation, hoping he might give in and reveal a little bit more.

he shakes his head, his grin widening even further. "nope, not a chance. you'll just have to trust me," he says, his tone teasing yet sincere. he holds out his hand, waiting for you to take it.

you hesitate for a moment, placing your hand in his. his fingers wrap around yours, warm and reassuring. "alright, lead the way," you huff, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness as you follow him.

he led you through the park, the summer sun casting a golden glow on everything around you. the scent of blooming flowers filled the air, and the sound of birds chirping added a serene backdrop to your walk. you couldn't help but steal glances at him, wondering what he had planned and why he seemed so eager.

after a short walk, he stopped in front of a skate park. you looked around, confused as to how this could be the surprise. "a skate park?" you asked, a puzzled expression on your face.

he turned to you, his grin never fading. "yep, but that's not the surprise," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. he walked over to a nearby bench and picked up a skateboard, holding it out to you.

your confusion deepenes. "what's this for?" you asked, taking the skateboard from him and examining it.

he laughs, clearly enjoying your bewilderment.

"remember when you said, 'i can handle anything you throw at me'?" he asked, mimicking your earlier words with a playful tone.

you blink, the memory of your bold statement coming back to you. "wait, you want me to get on this?"

he nodded, his grin widening even more. "yep, it's time to see if you can really handle it," he said, voice filled with challenge and encouragement.

you looked at the skateboard, then back at him. a smile slowly spread across your face as you realized he was serious. "alright, let's do this," you said, feeling a surge of determination.

he helped you onto the skateboard, guiding you with patience and care. as you started to find your balance, you couldn't help but feel a sense of exhilaration.

with eren’s support and encouragement, you began to glide across the smooth surface, laughter and excitement filling the air.

he can’t help but smile as he watches you glide effortlessly on the skateboard, movements fluid and confident. you’re a natural, and it’s a sight that fills him with a mix of admiration and anxiety. he hasn’t felt this way in a long time, and the intensity of his emotions is both exhilarating and terrifying.

“look at you go, weirdo!” eren shouts, his voice carrying a note of pride and encouragement. you giggle, a sound that’s music to his ears, as you try to maintain your balance. skating wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be, probably because you’d spent so many of your younger years ice skating.

your continuous laughter rings out, blending with the sounds of the city around them, as you weave in and out of the path, occasionally glancing back to see him watching you with that same mesmerized expression.

time seems to blur as you skate, lost in the rhythm and joy of the moment. eventually, your legs begin to tire, and you decide to slow down, making your way back to where eren’s standing. you’re slightly out of breath, cheeks flushed with exertion and happiness, but the smile on your face is radiant. as you come to a stop in front of him, you can see the admiration in his eyes, a look that makes your heart skip a beat.

he thought you were interesting before, but now? god, he was entranced by you. every movement, every laugh, every glance – it all captivated him. you’re more than just a pretty face; you’re a whirlwind of energy and grace, and he finds himself drawn to you like never before.

he watches you intently, his eyes tracing the delicate lines of your face as you stand in front of him, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. your hair cascades in gentle waves, catching the light and creating a halo effect that makes you look almost ethereal.

"you know, you really were amazing out there. i couldn’t take my eyes off you."

"thank you, told you i could handle anything," you huff, voice tinged with a mix of shyness and pride.

“so i see,” eren hums.

the air between you is charged with an unspoken tension, a magnetic pull that seems to draw you together. he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your skin as he gently tucks a strand behind your ear. the touch is light, almost hesitant, but it sends a shiver down your spine.

"you’re making me nervous," you laugh softly.

“sorry . . you just look beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice filled with genuine admiration. the words hang in the air, carrying a weight of sincerity that makes your heart flutter. you looks up at him, doe eyes wide and vulnerable, and for a moment, everything else fades away. it’s just the two of you, standing on the precipice of something new and exciting.

"stop it," playfully you swat his arm, but you can’t hide your smile.

“you’re too much," you say, shaking your head.

"just the right amount, i think," he counters.

he leans in slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “i should get you back to your dorm,” he whispers, the intimacy of the moment making his words feel like a shared secret. you nod, teeth catching your bottom lip as you try to steady your racing heart.

“yeah,” you reply softly, voice barely above a whisper. the simplicity of the word belies the complexity of your emotions, a swirl of excitement, nervousness, and anticipation. you two start walking, the silence between you comfortable and filled with unspoken words.

౨ৎ

you and eren had been consistently hanging out for about a month now, and each hangout was a new adventure, filled with different activities that brought you closer together. sometimes, you’d find yourselves smoking in the woods, the thick canopy above creating a serene and private atmosphere where the world seemed to fade away. other times, you’d meditate together among the trees, the sounds of nature providing a calming backdrop as you both sought inner peace and clarity.

you both enjoyed skating, feeling the rush of wind as you glided down streets and paths, laughing and challenging each other to tricks and races. often, you’d sit and listen to eren passionately talk about his favorite music pieces, his eyes lighting up with every word as he explained the intricacies and emotions behind each note.

even though you weren’t officially dating, eren had brought up the topic, but you wanted to wait a bit longer. perhaps it was your commitment issues, but you needed to be sure he was the one before you took that step. it terrified you how fast you were falling for him. he was perfect—sweet, kind, considerate, and cute—everything you’d ever wanted in a partner.

yet, despite all his wonderful qualities, you found yourself second-guessing. the fear of getting hurt or making the wrong choice loomed over you, casting a shadow on your budding feelings.

you still hadn’t had sex, just shared the occasional kisses that left your heart racing. you appreciated how patient he was with you, never pushing your boundaries and always respecting your pace.

“am i doing this right?" eren sits perched on the blanket you’d brought along. usually, you’d just bring your mat, but he wanted to sit closer to the water today. the brook's gentle babbling and the sunlight dancing on the surface created a serene and calming atmosphere. you can’t but giggle at him, his legs awkwardly crossed over each other, his face scrunched up in concentration. you smile and place your hands on his back, gently guiding him.

“straighten up," you say, your touch soft but firm. he adjusts his posture, looking up at you with a grateful smile, and you can’t help but feel a surge of affection for him.

“have i told you how beautiful you are?” eren hums.

“yep. only everyday.”

“well it’s true, c’mere.”

giggling, you crawl over to him and press a kiss against his lips. the kiss starts off soft, a gentle brush that sends a shiver down your spine. slowly, it deepens, becoming more intense and passionate. you can feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, his hands gently cradling your face as he pulls you closer. he slides his hands down to your waist, pulling you firmly against him. in response, you straddle him, feeling the connection between you intensify.

“are you ready... because we don’t have to—” eren starts, his voice tinged with uncertainty. you cut him off, smiling down at him with a mix of admiration and tenderness. “i’m ready,” you whisper, your voice steady and reassuring. leaning in, you place a gentle kiss on the corner of his lips, a gentle promise of your commitment.

he nods, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. finding none, his fingers move to the hem of your dress, the fabric cool against his warm touch. with deliberate care, he pulls it over your head, the dress slipping away to reveal the trust and anticipation that lie between you.

“so f’kin pretty,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire as his hands knead your bare breast between his fingers. the sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and you groan, eyelids fluttering shut.

you feel the warm, wet touch of his tongue as it circles your sensitive nipples, each lick sending waves of pleasure through your body. his movements are slow and deliberate, heightening the intensity of every touch, and you can't help but arch into him, craving more.

“ren, touch me please.” your voice is strangled and needy as you speak.

“and i thought i was the impatient one,” eren kisses his teeth, gently placing you on your back. you hadn’t been wearing underwear nor a bra, and eren was twitching as he soaked you in, legs slightly parted.

“shut up,” you breathe out shakily, watching eren lower himself to you. there’s a dark glint in his eyes and you swallow thickly, your arousal leaking onto the blanket. he groans at the beautiful sight, his hands roaming possessively over your body, taking in every inch of you with a hunger that makes your heart race.

his fingers trace the curves of your hips, moving up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through you. his lips follow, trailing hot kisses down your neck, pausing to nip and suck at your sensitive skin, making you hiss.

his gentle pecks lead down to your pussy, his large hands kneading the soft flesh. the way you fill his hands drives him wild; he can't get enough of your thick ass.

“o-oh fuck,” a whiny sigh fumbles from your lips as you feel eren’s tongue on your slick cunt, hands still digging into your flesh as he slowly glides his tongue over you.

you’re the perfect blend of sweet and salty, a taste that leaves his mouth watering, hands desperately tugging you further onto his face. eren had barely started, yet here you were trembling underneath him. falling apart as he licked, kissed, and sucked on your bud.

"tsk, tsk, tsk. already trembling?" he murmurs, his voice dripping with tease. he takes advantage of your flexibility, pushing your legs until your knees almost touch your face. his eyes darken with desire as he watches your body bend to his will, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

here you were, in all your glory. your wet pussy quivering with need, asshole begging for him to stick a finger inside. every inch of your skin tingles with anticipation as you feel his intense gaze drinking in the sight of you.

“e-eren!” you mewl out as his tongue spazzes against your throbbing clit. his subtle deep hums sending vibrations through your body.

“love when you say my name like that,” he grunts, lips coated with your juices as he presses a tender kiss on your shaking inner thigh. the sensation of his warm breath against your skin only heightens your arousal, making you arch your back against the blanket.

his hands roam over your body, fingers tracing every curve and dip, igniting sparks of pleasure with each touch. he moves his mouth back to your trembling clit, tongue flicking and swirling, driving you wild with desire. your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as your moans fill the air, the tension building to an almost unbearable peak.

"f-feels s-so good!" you cry out, your voice trembling with pleasure as his tongue flutters against your aching pussy. his hands grip your thighs firmly, holding you in place as he licks and teases each movement sending waves of ecstasy through your body. your hips bucking involuntarily, seeking more of his touch, as you felt the heat pooling in your core, ready to overflow.

he eases your slick folds open and slurps at them, each stroke of his tongue sending shivers through your body, making you writhe in pleasure.

"mgnhn!" you cry out as his tongue flutters against your aching pussy quicker, the sensation overwhelming you. your hands gripping the blanket tightly, knuckles turning white as you tried to hold on.

“this shit so beautiful,” he groans out, his dick hardening in his gray sweatpants. his eyes are locked on your face, watching every expression of ecstasy that crossed it. he has to reach down to adjust himself, the sight of you driving him wild with desire.

you gulp back a sob as he slides two thick fingers inside you. your pussy holding his fingers firmly as you adjusted, the sensation both overwhelming and intoxicating.

his fingers began to move, slowly at first, teasing you as they explored every inch of your inner walls. soon, gentle moans escaped your open mouth, the squelching noises of eren playing in your pussy echoing throughout the forest, mixing with the sound of your heavy breathing.

“doing so well, pretty,” eren coos, voice dripping with lust. he pumps his fingers at a quicker speed, his thumb circling your clit in tandem. dark eyes watching your every reaction as his fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot.

“ughh’m fuck,” your back arches off the blanket as you feel the pleasure building, ready to explode. his free hand grips your thigh, holding you steady as he works you closer to the edge, the intensity of his touch making your whole body tremble.

“you’re so tight,” he murmurs, breath hot against your thigh. “do you like the way i’m making you feel?”

“yes, eren,” you whimper, voice filled with need. “don’t stop, please.”

“i won’t,” he grins, fingers kissing your cervix as they moved even faster. “i want to hear you scream my name when you come.”

eren’s fingers were so damn deep inside you it made you cry out.

it didn’t help that he’d attached his lips back to your swollen clit, teasing you with every flick of his tongue.

"o-oh gosh!" you moan in pleasure as your hips buck to meet his fingers. if you’d seen the way eren’s face was covered in your juices, you would’ve been embarrassed, but in the heat of the moment, all you could focus on was the intense pleasure.

eren slowed his pace, finger fucking you gently. your cries complemented by the squelching sounds from your wet heat. his eyes never leaving your face.

“you like when i fuck you with my fingers?” eren husks. you nod your head, unable to find your voice. a loud smack echoing through the air as his hand thunders across your thigh, sending a jolt of pleasure and pain through your body.

“use your words like a big girl.”

"y-yes, i like it when you use your fingers," you whimper, rocking your hips desperately against his hand. eren grins at the sweet quiver in your voice as he curves his fingers inside of you, hitting that perfect spot that made you see stars.

your moans were so fucking pretty.

shit, everything about you is pretty to eren. he loves the way your body responds to his touch, the way your eyes flutter shut in ecstasy.

“you so fuckin’ wet, you needed this, huh?”

"y-yes, mhgm," you cry out, his long fingers reaching every corner of your walls, driving you crazy. with his tongue playing over your clit and his fingers pumping into you, you felt that familiar sensation build in your stomach, a tight coil ready to snap. your body trembled, teetering on the edge of release, completely at his mercy.

eren’s pace increased, his fingers moving faster and his tongue swirling around your clit with renewed vigor. the pleasure was overwhelming, your vision blurred as you felt the coil in your stomach tighten even more. your breathing becoming ragged as you felt your climax approaching rapidly.

“clenching my fingers so good,” eren murmured against your clit, his voice sending vibrations through your core. that was all it took to push you over the edge. your body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through you, waves of pleasure crashing over you. you cried out eren’s name, hands gripping the sheets as you rode out the intense high.

eren moaned into your pussy, making sure he ate you through your climax, his tongue flicking and swirling with precision. the intense pleasure brought tears to your eyes, your vision blurring once again as you were overwhelmed by the sensation.

“fuck!” you gasp out as eren continues devouring you, his lips and tongue relentless on your sensitive clit, making it tingle and throb. you put your hands in front of your poor clit, trying to shield it from the overwhelming stimulation, prompting eren to deliver another hard smack on the side of your thigh.

“move it.” he demands, voice low and commanding.

shaking, you remove your hands.

eren didn’t stop, his fingers and tongue continuing their relentless assault, prolonging your orgasm until you were a trembling, panting mess. finally, he slows down, gently easing his fingers out of you and placing soft kisses on your inner thighs.

he looks up at you, his face glistening with your juices, a satisfied grin on his lips. “you’re so beautiful when you come,” his voice filled with adoration. he crawls up your body, wrapping his familiar inked arms around you and pulling you into a comforting embrace.

you huff tiredly, sitting up and pressing your lips against his, tasting yourself on his lips. eren groans as you slide your tongue against his, hands tugging his shirt over his head. eren was an avid fitness junkie, and his sculpted body told that story. his muscles well-defined, each one a testament to his dedication.

“stare any longer and i’ll charge,” eren teases, his voice laced with humor. you rolled your eyes playfully, unable to hide your admiration.

“lay back, i wanna try something,” you instruct, your voice filled with anticipation. eren eagerly nods, watching as you tug his pants off and toss them aside followed by his boxers. his eyes are filled with curiosity and desire, his body ready for whatever you had in mind.

you swallowed hard as you watch pre-cum glisten on his pink tip.

"someone's happy to see me," you laugh. eren flashes a smile. his muscles tensing slightly, the veins in his arms more pronounced as he leaned back on his elbows,giving you full access. your heart raced, the anticipation building as you moved closer, your breath hitching at the sight of him so ready and eager.

a soft mumble of your name falls from his lips as you glide his dick between your titties, pressing them together as you slide up him vertically. his breath hitches, his eyes fluttering shut momentarily as the warmth and softness of your breasts envelop him.

you can feel the heat radiating from his body, his muscles tensing further under your touch. each movement is slow and deliberate, creating a delicious friction that has him groaning in pleasure.

his hands grip the dirt, knuckles turning white as he tries to hold back, but the look of pure ecstasy on his face tells you he’s close to losing control.

his hips begin to move on their own, thrusting gently as you continue to slide up and down. you can see the desperation in his eyes, the way his jaw clenches as he fights to keep cool. his breathing grows ragged, each exhale a mix of a groan and your name.

"you feel amazing," he manages to gasp, his voice thick with need. his leaking tip coats your tits, making each glide smoother and more intense.

you pick up the pace, feeling the tension build in his body.

“does it make you wanna cum seeing me stroke your dick like this?” your voice dripping with seduction.

eren nods, face scrunching in pleasure when you focus on his tip.

“use your words, for me?”

“ugh fuck,” he drawls out deeply. “y-yes.”

each time you slide down him, his stomach clenches tightly, and the soft sound of skin against skin dulls his senses, driving him deeper into a haze of pleasure.

his breathing becomes more erratic, each breath a shallow gasp that escapes his lips. the sensation is overwhelming, each movement sending shivers down his spine.

you can feel his body trembling beneath you, his toes curling with every stroke. eren sits up now, his hands gripping your hair in a clenched first, as if trying to anchor himself in the moment.

“d-doing so good,” eren whines, watching your big tits envelop his dick, they’re covered in pre-cum and the sight makes him even harder.

how the fuck do you look so innocent?

your eyes, wide and seemingly naive, betray a hidden intensity as they lock onto his. each deliberate movement of your tits, slow and teasing, sends waves of pleasure through him, making it hard for him to think straight.

your lip, caught between your teeth, adds an edge of raw desire to your expression, making it clear that you know exactly what you're doing. the contrast between your innocent appearance and your skilled, confident actions creates a tantalizing tension that drives him wild.

the slick feel of your skin against his is almost too much to bear, and he can barely keep himself from losing control. the sensation is electric, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through his body.

his breathing becomes heavy, and he struggles to maintain his composure. every movement, every brush of your skin against his, pushes him closer to the edge. the intensity of the moment is overwhelming, making it nearly impossible for him to hold back.

“you wanna cum on my face?”

“yes—fuck, yes.”

eren's whole body is on fire, every nerve alive with sensation. his mind is a haze of pleasure, unable to focus on anything other than the exquisite torment you're putting him through.

he hates how quickly he's losing control, but at the same time, he craves more of it—more of you. the way you touch him, the way you know exactly how to push him to his limits, it's intoxicating. and as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, he knows there's no turning back.

his hands, once clutching the sheets in a desperate attempt to anchor himself, now hold your hair, pulling, a silent plea for more.

the intensity of his desire is palpable, a raw and unfiltered need that consumes him entirely. he can barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words, but his body speaks for him, responding to your every touch with an urgency that leaves no room for doubt.

as the crescendo of pleasure reaches its peak, eren's moans grow louder, more desperate. his body trembles, teetering on the edge of release.

every fiber of his being is focused on you, on the sensations you're eliciting from him. and then, with a final, shuddering gasp, he comes undone completely, his body convulsing in the throes of ecstasy.

ropes of him string your face as you continue stroking, determined to milk him dry.

"m-my tip is so sensitive... fuck," eren mewls, his thighs shaking uncontrollably.

the sight of him, so vulnerable and overwhelmed makes you throb. you finally pull your hands away and eren lets out a breathy shit.

“you’re amazing.” he grins, grabbing his shirt and cleaning your face off. you shrug, “i know.”

“don’t get cocky!”

“too late.” you giggle.

“mm, we’ll see about that when i’m fucking you.”

before you can react, eren has you in doggy-style, his hands spreading your cheeks as he eats your ass. his warm breath and skilled tongue send shivers down your spine, “s-shit!” you bury your face in your arms, arching into his face.

“oh god,” you hiss as eren swiftly rolls his hips into you, burying himself at your hilt. he can’t help but clench his jaw at how fucking tight you are, he wants nothing more than to fuck your sweet hole until you’re gushing with his cum but he refrains.

he’s so damn thick your pussy burns and throbs at the unfamiliar stretch, “you’re so big,” you whine.

“mhm, taking me so well,” eren praises, kneading your ass between his fingers. you began to loosen up around him and he takes that as his que, hands gripping your hips as he rolls his hips into you fluidly.

airy curses tumble from your lips as eren pounds into your pussy, the sound of your ass riveting against his stomach disrupting the serene atmosphere.

“fuckkk,” eren groans, watching as your greedy pussy suckles at his thick cock. you’re so fucking wet, the slight gush as eren continually rocks his hips a testament of that.

your soft moans are like music to his ears, each whine and grunt spurring him to fuck you deeper. “h-harder!” you demand, hands neededly gripping the fabric underneath you. a loud cry fumbles from your lips as eren cracks his hand against your ass.

“ask nicely princess.” he grunts, voice thick with desire.

“mm, please ren. fuck my pussy harder.”

“your wish is my command,” eren latches a hand around the back of your neck to brace himself, hips snapping into you with inhumane speeds.

"you like getting your pussy ravaged like this?" eren hums, his hand squeezing your throat harder, causing you to let out a soft moan. each powerful thrust and the grip on your neck overwhelms you with ecstasy, eyes clenching shut tightly as you jerk forward with each motion.

“y-yes,”

eren’s breath is hot against your ear as he leans down, latching his hand around the front of your neck. “you’re so beautiful like this." his words send shivers down your spine, heightening the sensation of every movement. you can barely think, lost in the overwhelming mix of pleasure and intensity. the air feels electric, every touch and sound magnified as you both move together, completely in sync.

“you hear her talking to me?” you shiver as you feel his cold silver chain against your back, lips pressing an array of kisses along your spine.

“look at you, getting so wet for me,” he whines, and you want to cum right then and there. you love his moans; a mixture of breathy and whininess that you can’t get enough of.

cream coats eren’s dick, building on his base and sticking to his pubes. his thumb rimming your asshole before he pushed it in.

“it’s okay, baby. relax,” his voice soft as you tense.

“oh eren,” you squeak, his hips jolting against your ass as he fucks you even faster, thumb stretching out your asshole.

both your holes being filled has your stomach flipping. eren fucking you wildly. he would pull himself out, leaving just his tip. then ram himself all the way back into you, a queef leaving your pussy each time.

his fingers dig into your skin as he thrusts deeper. the sound of skin slapping mingling with your moans and his grunts. every movement sends waves of pleasure through your body, making you feel like you’re on the edge of ecstasy.

“gonna fill you up soon,” eren mutters, voice strained. you can feel the tension building inside you, ready to snap at any moment. eren’s pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he chased his own release.

“i’m close,” you gasp, your body trembling with anticipation. eren responds with a deep, guttural moan, his movements growing even more intense. the pressure inside you reached its peak, and with a final, powerful thrust, you both tumbled over the edge together, lost in the overwhelming sensation of pleasure.

“cummin’ cummin’!” tears fall from your eyes as the hot sensation of eren’s cum fills your pussy, spilling out dripping onto the blanket.

“ughhhhh,” eren shudders, “m not done with you yet sweetheart.”

before you know it eren has you in missionary, you watch with half-lidded eyes as he lines himself up with your creampied pussy. hissing as he pushes into your wet entrance. your moans synchronized, and you arch your back in pleasure. his hands lock onto yours, holding them above your head. his thrust are slow yet deep. moaning softly you wrap your legs around him, driving him further.

eren wants to climax immediately, seeing your fucked out face. your eyebrows furrowed, swollen lips caught between your teeth, chest bouncing with each thrust of his hips.

“so pretty,” he mumbles, pressing sweet kisses onto your face. your stomach churns as he continues rolling his hips into you, tip prodding at your cervix.

“open your eyes and look at me while i fuck you like this,” he rasps, the sounds of your wetness filling his ears. your eyes flutter open to look at him. his lips are swollen from the shared kisses, jaw clenched in pleasure, a thin layer of sweat covering his skin. you yearn to release each time his chain swings across your face, but resist.

his eyes seem to glow as you locked gazes with him.

"you’re so gorgeous," he whispers, sending chills through your body. you can feel a knot tightening in your stomach again. “gna’ cum again baby,” you whine, eren gripping your thighs and them for better leverage.

“ah-fuck!” you sob out as the new angle, his length hitting directly into your g-spot.

he continues hitting that spot until the knot in your stomach finally releases. you sob in pleasure, squirting. he waste no time pulling out and smacking his length against your sensitive clit, urging you to let it out.

“mhm, love this shit.”

the two of you lay in a puddle of your fluids, but eren doesn’t care. he pushes back into you groaning as your walls convuls around him.

you sense he was near climax as his eyes shut tightly, you cup his face as his thrusts become more erratic.

“that’s it, cum for me handsome.”

and that was all it took.

with a loud moan, eren withdrew and rapidly pumped his shaft, releasing hot jets of cum onto your belly. his blissful cries echoing as his muscular frame tightened in release.

“fuckkkkk,” he whines, shaking.

the breeze is cool as you’re cuddled up beside eren, your naked legs intertwined. the world around you feels calm and serene, and you can't help but wish that life could always be this simple. eren's fingers gently dig into your frizzy curls, massaging your scalp with tenderness.

“you’re my girlfriend now,” he murmurs, his voice firm yet filled with affection. “i won’t take no for an answer.”

you look up at him, everything feels perfect, and you can't imagine being anywhere else but here, in his arms.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I know we're all focused on Satyr/Faun König but that bull comment... I'm quite partial to minotaur's and whats better than a darling who isn't from the area. Oh yes she's innocent of the crimes against König because she was not raised there.

Some foreign little creature just running blind in a maze trying to see where there might be a way out. It's been days after all and the screaming has gotten quieter and she wonders if she's the last one left alive. He takes his time eating his meals... this can be stretched out for such a long time as she hides herself in a dead end just a short rest... the darling is so tired unaware of the horrifyingly silent steps moving closer to her little haven. It's just her left now.

@kit-williams I've wanted to write for Minotaur!König for ages!

Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader Word count: 5 k oneshot Tags/warnings: Sexual tension, threats of violence and rape, implied cannibalism, power imbalance, moral ambiguity. Predator/prey dynamic, Beauty and the Beast elements, Ancient Greek religion & lore. 18+ MDNI A/N: The Minotaur in this story is not an actual hybrid. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Merry Christmas y'all! <3

EDIT: PART 2 HERE

The screams are the worst part.

They echo through the Labyrinth while you wait and wait and wait.

Even the very stones seem to cry and wail as you place your hope on Theseus who descended to this hell along with you and the human cattle. Seven young men and seven unwed women, meant to satisfy a beast...

And judging by the screams alone, it sounds like the monster is satisfied. It sounds like it's having a ball.

Fourteen lives have been lost, their blood swallowed by the earth as if Hades himself is drinking the crimson of Athenian youth in His feast. The flesh is the beast’s to devour: an underworld demon born of tainted lust.

Half bull, half man, you always thought the stories were only tales told by the fire to scare children. Turns out that the stories, for once, are true. There's something even worse in this maze, something cursed and foul... Hecate herself would shiver if She were here, in the womb of the earth, witnessing what you’re witnessing now.

You don’t actually see the Bull of Crete cut or hack or slash anyone, and you can only imagine what the monster does to the bloody, gutted corpses of the young. The only thing you see are the hollow, dark walls carved out of soil, sand, and clay, the intestine-like route dug deep into the earth. And you don't have to see the massacre: the screams tell you enough. The silence that follows betrays even more.

Your only light is flickering, waning: the candle will hardly last an hour. If the hero from Athens won’t arrive soon, you will have to leave this place. 

And oh, how you want to leave… You were a fool to follow him here. Blinded by love and hope, you thought Theseus of Athens would be your way out of Crete, but it’s clear that the only thing the young hero is capable of loving is fame. The only time his eyes turned to yours was when you said you might be able to help him with a small bundle of yarn.

Red as the setting sun or spilling blood, the thin woollen string is your only way out now. It’s ironic how a heap of twine is the only thing that can help you out of this hellhole, but the Fates always did possess a cruel sense of humour. Your silly daydreams might’ve cost your life, and even if you’re sworn to the dark goddess, you would rather die anywhere but here. In the darkness, all alone, with nothing but eyeless worms to keep company to your decaying bones.

The sudden draft from the outside world is warm but threatens to blow out your candle. It’s a sign from Apollo: if you don’t leave now, you’re dead. Theseus has to manage without you because you’re not dying in this underworld prison because of some man’s stupid lust for fame.

There's only deafening silence in the maze as you scurry up, taking support from the wall as your sight darkens for a moment. You rose too soon: you can’t even remember the last time you ate. And it appears that even the sun god has abandoned you because there's a faint echo of steps in the tunnel, and they don’t belong to a man. They’re too thick, unduly heavy, and it’s not a pair of sandals that are thumping against the soil.

So, Theseus is dead...

So much for the legend, the myth, the demigod.

Heart thumping in your chest and in the hollow of your throat, it threatens to drown the sound of approaching footsteps. They’re all dead, the people who descended here with you. The only thing you are right now is prey. You're being hunted; whether the Minotaur knows you're here or not, you know you're being hunted. You can feel it in your gut.

You cover the candle with one hand, hoping that the flickering light doesn’t reach around the bend. The falling thump of the footsteps stops, and you still your breath, hoping that the beast would turn around and search the other way.

You hear it sniffing behind the wall. It's trying to catch your scent in the air, the smell of dread and terror, sweat so thick it must reach his nostrils and make them flare with lust. Your heart is thundering in your chest, and the tunnel is so quiet that that you’re certain the creature will hear that, too. (Your heart always betrays you.)

And your luck is cursed.

The beast shifts. 

You can’t see him yet, but you can hear it: the scraping sound underneath his feet as he aligns himself anew, choosing the path that leads straight down to you.

“Hecate save me,” you whisper into the air that seems to grow denser as he approaches, loud thumps of feet now accompanied by metal grating against clay. 

“Hear me, flame-bearing guide... Darkness, protect me…”

He’s dragging bronze against the wall, announcing that he’s carrying a weapon with him, the strength of a bull apparently not satisfying enough if he wants to break your bones with metal.

Don’t blow out the candle... 

If you blow it out, you’ll die.

It’s a clear message, a knowing voice in your head that says it. It’s not young, it’s not old: just knowing. Alert. Wise beyond ages. 

So you still your breath and wait.

Shadows fill the curve of the tunnel just before he emerges: thick like thunder, a darkness so deep that even the name of the twilight goddess escapes your tongue. 

And he’s big. Bigger than the bulls you used to dance with, bigger than kings, or heroes, bigger than even Theseus, the man you thought was a myth walking. His head is enormous, bigger than the rest of him, awkward and rough like it’s not quite part of him even though he’s supposed to be half ox. 

The gigantic, horned figure stops when it sees you. Vast shoulders tense; the fat, double-edged sword falls to his side when he settles to loom between you and your only way to escape this place. You’re oddly thankful that the horrible screeching stopped, but then you notice that his blade is drenched in blood: actually, his torso, thighs, even the buckskin loincloth – the only garment this monster has chosen to wear – is spattered with red dots. 

The bronze tip drips with crimson, and the earth drinks it all. Hades is never satisfied: this beast is never full. Everyone who was sent down here is dead: everyone else has met their doom except you. You wonder if your mother would cry if she heard her only daughter died because she fell in love with a fool.

“I killed your hero,” the walls of hell boom. 

His voice is thick like tar, dark and foul like it’s the God of Earth himself speaking.

The flame in your hand quivers from fear, and you slowly remove your palm, the tiny candle illuminating the beast with warm homely yellow, making the prominent muscles of his chest even bigger. 

He’s carved like the statues in Athens, only, this giant is far hairier than the painted marble heroes of the city. The hair on his chest is thick and wild; it shoots down his abdomen and disappears underneath the loincloth, spreads over his inner thighs, even covers his shins in dark mats. He looks like a wild man, a beast indeed: sweaty, filthy and thick. But you never knew a beast like him could talk…

“A coward, that one,” he snarls, the voice reverberating oddly like it’s a human man speaking from under a wooden mask or inside a clay jug.

And you believe every word he says.

Theseus was strong and able-bodied, but he had built his strength just to show it off. This man’s body speaks of pure, ripe survival.

A hulking shadow with shoulders that barely fit the tunnels of the Labyrinth, with palms nearly twice the size of yours, he’s the myth walking instead of the hero whose blood now adorns that dull bronze blade. The Minotaur who survived his father’s wrath, his mother’s absence, these bleak surroundings, and all the heroes sent down to get his head… His weapon isn’t even sharp anymore, and still, he managed to cut through the sacrificial humans like butter. And what a horrific death it must’ve been to be hacked to pieces by a dull blade.

Is it evil of you to hope that the death of your “hero” wasn’t a quick one…?

Theseus was a fool and a coward, rotten to the core, but you saw all of that too late. He never cared about the human sacrifices or the king’s wrath; he never cared about digging into Pasiphae’s sorrow. He only cared about getting his face depicted on a pot or having his deeds played out in amphitheatres, his name uttered in song, accompanied by harp and flute.

“I know.”  

Your voice gets sucked into the earth: it doesn’t echo from the walls like his. It’s thin, damp, and frail, just like everything else meant to walk under the sun instead of stand buried under the earth.

But the beast before you tilts its head a little. It’s curious. 

Why would you say that? 

Why don’t you cry from hearing the news...? Why don’t you howl out your hero’s name and beg the gods to heed your grief? Why don’t you run away from a monster?

The candlelight is puny and weak, but it’s bright enough to bring out the eyes of an animal. You draw breath in the dampness of the earth when you finally see it: the bull’s head is devoid of eyes, and yet, the beast still has them. Blue as the summer sky, stern as the death grip of winter just before spring.

There’s nothing but ripped shreds of skin where the eyes should be, and instead of looking at you from the sides, they’re greeting you from the front. The horns are sturdy, but otherwise, the colossal head is a bit skewed... Thick patches of fur sticking out as if it was years and years old, and then – you realize it’s not his head; it’s only an illusion. 

There’s a man under there. A full, grown man who’s made himself a terrible helmet out of a bull’s carcass. 

“You’re a man,” you say out loud, earning yourself another shift of the colossal head.

“...What?”

The muffled echo confirms it: he’s speaking from inside the bull, moving only slightly to get a better look at you. 

“You’re not a monster. You’re just a man.”

His eyes are wild but intelligent; they pierce you from inside the inanimate shield. The large chest heaves, his ribs flare like sails as he draws air through what must be the foul stench of a long-dead animal.

He takes a step, and you shrink, almost dropping your candle and the roll of red yarn.

“You think talking will save you, female?”

He speaks like a man, walks like a man, but his moves are an animal’s. Shoulders slightly hunched like he’s a bull about to attack, you recognize the way his muscles quiver from the times when you used to do bull leaping. You don’t dance with Rhea’s oxen anymore: your tasks at Hecate’s temple are more suitable and less wild for a maiden your age. Back when you were younger and more agile, you used to jump from the back of one bull to the next, clouds of dust swirling around you as you showed your prowess to the priests.

But you can’t charm this ox by dancing. This one can’t be tricked or fooled: he will pierce you with those horns or his brazen sword if you take even a step.

“I can get you out of here,” you wet your lips, noticing that the blue eyes shoot straight to your mouth when you do that. “I know the way out.”

“What makes you think I want out,” he says, so tight and tense that you fear he’s either about to leap at your throat or plunge his sword into your chest.

And you should be concerned about your own safety, not about his sensibilities – if he even has such things – but hearing this beast man’s reply is like drinking bile. 

Why would anyone want to stay here?

You don’t know if he eats human flesh; you don’t know if he had to in order to survive. Everyone knows why his father threw him down here, but no one knows he’s not half the things the people above say he is. And if half of it isn’t true, what other lies have been told about the Minotaur? 

Even most prisoners see the sun, yet this man has been deprived of that, too. He’s been robbed of mother’s love, of father’s mercy, of friends and foes, of mentors and guides. He’s been robbed of life, of stars, of fires and summer skies, of women’s giggles, of fistfights with fellow men. Of songs and plays, of festivals and games, of bull dances, and maidens that leap…

“Have you ever been up there…? On the surface?”

You turn your voice into soft water on pebbles, a soothing pour of persuasion and goodwill. His pecs contract, strong abs under thin hair and body fat bunch like you’re about to hit him there. You take a step, and now it’s his turn to shun away. It’s only half an inch, but he actually moves away from you. 

“I can take you there,” you offer gently. “Have you ever seen the sun…?”

It’s like talking to a starved predator, trying to entice them to follow you with a fresh steak in hand, hoping that the fanged mouth won’t take more than was promised if it decides to accept the offering.

And the beast accepts. 

“As a boy,” he grunts, a tad more softly. 

Those eyes are fixed on you, reminding you of horses when they’re slightly afraid. The glint of white and blue behind the carcass is fiercely alive, quite unlike the hollow, disinterested stare of the Athenian hero who was only interested in himself.

But this beast is interested. Oh, the Bull Man of Crete is wildly, fiercely curious about you. 

“You’ll take me to the sun,” he repeats, an affirmation rather than a question.

“Yes. To the surface. I promise.”

He moves. Like an animal who learned long ago to drive others into the corner so that he wouldn’t get forced there himself, he’s primal, sensual in the way that oracles in a trance are sensual.

Approaching you in silence that’s almost eerie, the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end by the time he’s only an arm’s length away. Why announce his coming earlier if he can move so quietly?

“You’ll lead me to my father.” 

His gaze bores into you, and not even the warm draft from the tunnels can prevent you from shivering. He’s distrustful, and it’s no wonder. It must be odd that some girl with a candle and a bundle of yarn is suddenly waiting for him around the bend, and doesn’t even flee. He’s a behemoth, but he’s not stupid. A stupid man would not have been able to survive, let alone thrive in this place.

And why should he trust you? Who is he supposed to trust in this maze when every person he has seen has either run away from him or tried to kill him? His father will slaughter him if he ever escapes the Labyrinth, so what else is a priestess in his kingdom but a squealing mouse, trying to feed him lies and then guide him to the surface and into a forest of spears? 

“No,” you shake your head slowly. “No, I promise I know the way. There will be no soldiers–”

You shut your mouth just before a huge palm closes around your throat. 

Gods, but he moves fast when he wants to… 

The candle and the yarn drop the instant his hand seizes your neck, strong fingers nearly meeting at the back as he squeezes your windpipe ever so slowly.

And he’s so close now. The carcass reeks of death, but the man underneath stinks of plain human sweat. His musk is a peculiar mix of blood, earth and soil, something both stale and invigorating, the thin sheen of sweat and dirt covering his muscles making him look like a common builder. It’s strange that the bull’s head hasn’t yet decayed in this place, that the man doesn’t reek of bodies and bones that must be scattered around like debris further down the tunnels. 

Another thing that’s strange is that he doesn’t seem to want to simply silence you.

He also wants to touch you.

A wide thumb strokes the underside of your jaw as he studies you. It slides down the column of your throat, the blue eyes gleaming with fascination when you swallow against him.

He drinks in the sight of you: the lips that part with fear, the frail collarbones that breathe against the side of his palm. The promising crevice between your breasts, the enticing softness of your teats. 

You can hear his breath grow heavy under ox skin and bone, the rugged, vicious helmet he has chosen to wear. What lies under, you can only imagine, wherein he has little left to the imagination when taking in the curve of your breasts, your nipples rising to peaks under the thin white linen only temple virgins use. 

Seeing your reaction to his touch makes him growl -- he actually growls like an animal, a deep, low rumble of approval rising up his throat when he sees how different your body is from his. How supple and cushy it is, soft and plump like a peach, covered only barely as if to tease a best like him. You wonder if he ever took pleasure in the maidens sent here by the king… If he ever thrust the sword between his legs into their weak bodies before giving them the mercy of his actual blade. Would he even know what to do with a woman, having lived here for so long?

“Please,” you whisper, bringing his eyes back to yours, the ice in them now liquid sapphire of pure want. 

Gods… You need to bring his attention back to your offer of help before he sees it more compelling to just stay here and play with his new, plump little mouse. Virgin or not, you wouldn’t survive a mating with this man. 

“I swear on Hecate’s torch that it’s not a trap. You have my word: I’m a priestess soon to be.”

He’s entranced. Hypnotized by your lips. You lick them to confirm your fears true: the man grunts with pleasure, out of instinct, absentmindedly like an animal who reacts to the sight of a fat, meaty bone. 

Oh, he might not know what to do with a woman… But he would try his best to find out. 

“Priestess…?” He rasps.

“It’s a holy woman,” you explain. “I serve the Goddess of the Crossroads.”

He snorts, either because he’s not impressed or because he’s downright amused by your vocation. The eyes, warmer, more demanding now, are far from the eyes of a bewildered beast.

“Little female of the crossroads... You will take me to the king. And then, I will kill him.”

He puts weight into his words, tries to make you understand. 

He wants you to guide him to his father. 

To the King who claims his son is half bull, to the husband who claims his wife was adulterous with an ox. To the King who demands tribute as virgins so that he can send them down to hell. The dark goddess screams justice, but you're at a horrible stalemate.

The gods will curse you for this… They will smite you with a bolt of lightning or drown you next time you cross the great sea if they see you’ve helped this half-beast escape. If you guide him to Minos, you’re a participant in kingslaying, and the gods never forget things like that.

“He’s your father and the king of Crete,” you whisper in fear. “The gods will strike you down–”

“Gods?” He spits. “I piss on the gods. I fuck their corpses and leave them to rot.”

You almost choke on the blasphemy levelled at you. The shadows creep closer, the stare behind the black fur is dark and amused, burning with the crooked wrath of a thousand years. 

“Perhaps I’ll fuck you too.”

It’s unnerving that you don’t find the threat wholly unappealing.

If anything, your eyes drift down to the hairs of his chest, to the two big muscles that resemble the work of the best sculptors in Athens. 

“Are you a virgin, female of the crossroads?”

His eyes search for your response: they want to see your fear and disgust. You swallow again, arduously against his hand, both caressing and testing you. 

The beast leans forward, as if weighing if he could somehow insult the gods by pillaging you. The rough hair of his chest meets the white cloth, it brushes against your nipples as he bends down to have a good sniff of you.

“You smell like a virgin,” he growls.

The hand leaves your throat, only to travel down your sternum. He grabs your breast nonchalantly, a little too roughly, the hot palm closing around the teat and squeezing it like it’s a toy. When you don’t react, he squeezes it again, this time hard enough to coax a whimper out of you.

“Sound like a virgin…”

Without warning, the hand dives straight between your legs next, palm forcing its way through your thighs and curving to cup your sex, moulding around it with barbaric thirst.

“Feel like a virgin, too.”

It’s thick, hot, and heavy, how he simply tries you through your dress. Fingers testing your folds, he’s clearly enjoying the subtle wetness he finds down there. You can hear another hitched grunt pushing up his throat, rugged and whiny this time, a broken groan that dissipates because of how dry his throat is. 

No man has ever dared to lay his hands on you... Many have wanted, but none have tried. Even drunkards and fools respect women who belong to the dark goddess.

But he doesn’t care about the wrath of Hecate. He doesn’t give a shit about the gods. He simply takes what he wants, what falls into his lap. The fifteenth offering, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in devouring your flesh. 

How easily he could simply yank that loincloth aside and drag your dress up. Force his cock into your tight, wet heat without uttering a word. You doubt that he would even take the trouble of laying you down on the ground for taking... Beasts rut when they want to: this man could fuck you against this wall if his loins demanded so, guttural groans being the last thing you hear before the candle goes out. 

You don’t know if you have to spread your legs for him before this is over, but you reckon you will do even that if it means you’ll see the sun again. You’ll endure every thick thrust, and gods be cursed, you wouldn’t even be solely disgusted if this half-animal chose to breed you... As shameful as it is, you would somewhat enjoy having him rut you like an animal in heat.

And you’ve gone mad, surely. 

You want to touch him too, just to test another theory. 

Deciding that it's a good idea to stick your hand into the maw of hell, your fingers lift. They meet his bicep, and the lewd panting stops.

He’s not even breathing… He’s just drowsy and drunk, looking at you with a mixture of soft sleepiness and awe in his stare. Like a dog who has never been petted, even his eyes drift half closed when he forgets to threaten you, now focusing solely on your hand. 

And you start to caress him, slowly, so slowly… Tracing the muscle all the way up where it meets the shoulder, you stroke even the thick cord that leads to his neck. The rest of him disappears under the bull, but the man behind it already shivers under your touch. He even bends his head a little in hopes that you would go under the mask and touch him there, and the gesture reminds you of an animal exposing its vulnerable areas, baring its very throat in submission. 

Braving a quick peek down, you notice that the buckskin cloth is stretched high and wide. His whole body is tense and immobile: you could cup him through the soft animal skin and he would probably shoot his seed from a single stroke of your palm. 

If this is not a virgin, you don’t know what is...

In a way, it would perhaps be wise to shove your hand down and disarm this man. That way, you would be safe for a few more minutes. Instead, you lay your palm over his chest, right over where his heart should be. 

“So do you, Bull of Crete...”

His gaze flickers.

The darkness hesitates, widens, nearly swallows the azure pools whole. But he doesn’t look irate or wild... Only shocked.

It’s an impasse. A thicket. His hand on you, your hand on him.

He surrenders first: the underworld budges before the utterly pure. You bless him with grace the instant he withdraws his hand from between your legs – slowly, reluctantly, like leaving a place that belongs to him. Or to which he belongs…

“I promise I’ll help you, Minos Tauros. But I need you to give me something in return.”

You remove your hand too. Softly, slowly, like a horse master who trains and tames wild things. All words seem to have escaped his tongue: he only grunts, unsure of what a beast like him could give you in return for your help.

“You must promise to be kind to me.”

“Kind...?”

“I need you to behave,” you explain. “No bad things on the way up... No fucking.”

Everything else, he seems to accept, but during the last sentence the Minotaur blinks at you, utterly confused.

“But... You smell like you want to fuck.” 

Your jaw drops open a tiny bit. Then you remember that a priestess of Hecate doesn’t gawk.

“I don’t–How would you know that…?”

The beast only shrugs. Then he leans forward and takes another sniff as if to prove it’s true that you want his cock inside you.

“You smell good,” he grunts. “Different... Female, not afraid.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to…”

He even raises his hand to inspect the slight wetness there. Fascinated by the thin film on his fingers, he rubs his thumb in it, probably thinking about bringing it under his mask to get a good sniff of your juices too.

You grab his wrist without thinking, mortified to your core by the prospect of him getting high on your slick. 

“Look. We need to leave before the candle burns out.”

The obsessive stare threatens to swallow you once more, so you let go of his wrist and steel your resolve. Scooting down to grab your things, you try to ignore the violent erection still pointing straight at you.

Hecate keep you from offering yourself to this man out of your own free will...

And you don’t have a torch, only a candle and a skein of blood-red yarn, but you know the way out, so there’s hope. There’s always hope.

“I need you to promise me,” you turn at the mouth of the tunnel, seeing that he’s still standing there, in the place where he almost took you like his first whore. As if waking up from a thrall, he straightens to his full height, picks up his sword and looks like a half-human, half-bull once more.

“I promise,” comes a booming voice from under the animal skull. “No fucking… I’ll behave.” 

You nod. There's a sense of trust in the air. A promise of hope... It's mutual, invigorating -- life-giving, like the sun and blood in your hands.

You don't know if the son of Minos has ever smiled in here, but from the quick glint in his eyes, you suspect that he's smiling right now, the man under that animal mask. Somehow, it reminds you of the stars in the sky.

“Lead the way, maiden.”

[gracieheartspedro]

No One Fucks With My Baby

pairing: fem!reader x dbf!joel miller (based on established back story from my oneshot Who We Are)

description: everyone now knows that you are joel's girl. when you're working a busy night at the bison, a newbie stirs up a bit of trouble. joel handles it the only way he knows how and you thank him the only way you know how.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, post!outbreak joel, age gap (reader is in her 30s, joel is in his mid 50s), i don't describe the reader all that much, consumption of alcohol, drunk old men who harass reader, joel fucks them up, mentions of blood, glass breaking (?), voyeurism, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, pet names

author's note: this fic is dedicated to the birthday girl @ilovepedro !!! happy birthday sweet nini, I love you so much! thank you for helping me edit this, but more importantly, thank you for being a wonderful friend. you make the world a better place. love you always <3

after the amazing love I got on "Who We Are", I decided to add to the universe. let me know if y'all want more! xoxo, gracie

“Didn’t know they made jeans that low cut!”

You were used to stupid comments made towards you by drunk men. But now that Joel has made it known, you are his, a lot of the men in Jackson kept their advances to themselves. The gentleman at the end of the bar must not know that your big ole’ scary boyfriend was positioned in a booth with Tommy and your father across the room. His eyes had been locked on you for most of the night, and every time he and the guys needed more drinks, he’d be the one to grab more. 

You turn to the drunk man, who had to be your father’s age. He’s practically drooling at the sight of your ass in your favorite jeans. The summer air was not a good combination to a normally humid bar, so you had been wearing less and less clothes behind the bar. You were sporting the jeans and a tighter tank top than usual, mainly because you knew Joel would be around and you loved driving him wild when the shirt rode up on you. 

“You’re gonna catch flies if you don’t close your mouth,” You joke, pouring whiskey for another patron, “Don’t think you’d like the way that would taste.”

The man slams down his glass which causes a couple people to look down at him. You don’t even glance in his direction, knowing if he’s mad, he can take it up with every man in the Tipsy Bison. 

“I don’t take too kindly to sarcastic little sluts.”

Your heart stops. You calmly place the whiskey bottle down beside the shot glass you were pouring into and glance towards the red faced prick. You hear the conversations subside around the room while you lock eyes with the guy who’s bold enough to talk shit to you. 

You know Joel’s already standing up from his spot at his booth, but you move quicker. You position yourself in front of him, leaning over the bar, your eyes raking down the pathetic boy in front of you. 

“Pardon?”

He swallows, realizing how quiet his surroundings got. “I s-said I don’t take kindly to sarcasm.”

You click your tongue, a newfound confidence surging through your body, “I don’t think that’s all you said. Somethin’ about me being a slut?”

“Listen, girl-”

His boots are loud against the hardwood as he approaches you and the man. He stands scarily close to the barstool where the man sits. You don’t break eye contact though, wanting to handle this situation yourself. 

“It’s ma’am, to you,” You cut him off, “I think it’s best if you leave.”

“I haven’t finished my drin-”

Joel reaches around the guy and grabs the whiskey glass from in front of him and slams it on the floor. The guy immediately starts to tremble, shaking like a little leaf. You crack a smile before whispering one final thing to him. 

“Think you’re finished, buddy,” You flick your eyes up at Joel, who’s fury is written all over his face, “Mind walkin’ him out, baby?”

Joel grabs onto the guys shoulder with a bruising grip, “Would be my pleasure, sweetheart.”

He rips the guy from the stool, not even making sure the guy finds his footing. You ignore the shuffle outside and return to your pouring. You feel like your heart may beat out of your chest, but you’re relieved it was handled before Joel got even more handsy with him. You grab the shot glass and hand it to the fellow that was sat by the drunken fool. 

“You got Miller wrapped around your finger,” The guy, who’s name you think is Aaron, says. He was a regular and frequently stopped Joel to talk about morning patrols. You smirk before snatching a rag off your shoulder. 

“Yeah, he’s so wrapped around my finger that he’s gonna clean up all that broken glass.” You joke, wiping down the condensation ring the glasses left on the wooden table top. 

You hear some footsteps approaching and when you look up it’s Tommy. He’s shaking his head, a grin playing on his lips. 

“Where’s the broom? Joel seems busy putting that guy in his place.”

You furrow your brows as you reach for the broom, “What do you mean?”

“I just sent your Dad out there because it sounded like some rustlin’,” Tommy explains, grabbing the stick from you to begin sweeping up the shards, “I’m sure they are handlin’ it.”

Before you can get nervous, you hear the front door swing open quickly. Your Dad and Joel walk in and you can tell Joel is pissed and a bit rattled. You navigate your way around the bar and glass, reaching their booth as soon as Joel sits down. He’s cradling his right hand in his left, hissing in discomfort. 

“What did you do?” You say, reaching out for his hands. There’s two gashes that litter his knuckles, only bleeding slightly. You shake your head when he pulls away from you. 

“Nothin’ baby,” he mumbles, “Just taught the guy it’s not nice to talk to ladies like he did. He walked off with a bloody nose and busted lip when he started talkin’ shit back.”

You roll your eyes, catching your Dad’s glare. 

“Did you break it up?” You press, wanting more of an explanation. 

He shakes his head, “Nope. Joel can handle himself. I did tell the guy when he was walking away that if he talked about my daughter like that again, he’d wouldn’t be able to walk away cause he would have a bullet between his eyes.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms under your chest. “I swear to God…”

Tommy approaches the table, his task of cleaning glass finished. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, “You okay?”

“I’d be better if the men in my life weren’t insane,” You joke, nudging Joel’s arm as he inspects his knuckles.

Tommy laughs and sits back down across from your Dad and Joel. While he makes jokes with your Dad, Joel is silent and stirred. You can tell he’s bothered by something more than handling some asshole who called you a name. You decide against pestering him more, allowing him to settle back into conversation with Tommy and your Dad. 

You give him a quick peck on the cheek and return to slinging drinks. 

-

“Thanks for staying while I lock up,” You say to Joel as pushing in the last barstool, “And thanks for earlier.” 

He is propped up on one of the middle pillars, his shoulder resting on the wood while his arms and legs are crossed. He was still being quiet, not giving into conversation. You approach him, your eyes trained on his arms. He was wearing a t-shirt for the first time all summer, which made you feel some type of way. His arms were tanned beautifully and toned. His biceps were perfectly outlined by the thin fabric of the gray t-shirt. 

“Anythin’ for you, sweetheart.”

You glance up at him, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “Tell me what’s got you all bothered.”

“It’s nothin’,” He uncrosses his arms and reaches out for you. You know it’s not nothing, so you wrap your arms around his waist and pull him forward. He looks a bit surprised. 

“It’s somethin’, so you better tell me what happened.”

He huffs, fanning your face with his breath, “That asshole said some shit about us and it set me off.”

You squeeze him a bit, “What did he say?”

You can tell he does not want to repeat it, but you were not going to let it go. 

“How I’m an old man with a young girl. How I’m old enough to be your dad.”

You feel sick to your stomach at the idea he had to hear some asshole say that. You look down between you, shifting your weight onto your other foot. You started to feel clammy, unsure of a good response that would reassure Joel. 

“He’s just some asshole. What does he know?” You manage to sputter. 

Joel’s shoulder’s sag, “He’s not wrong, though, baby girl. I’m an old man with a younger girl.”

You push away from him, scanning him up and down. You are pissed that he’s even bringing this up again, after all this time. 

“I’m a grown ass woman, Joel. A grown ass woman with a grown ass man. Just because there’s time in between us doesn’t mean we aren’t old enough to make decisions for ourselves.”

His lip curls, “I know baby, I am just saying that sometimes we get odd looks cause of the age difference. I really don’t care anymore… Just caught me off guard, is all.”

You fold your arms, “You put him in his place, right? He’s not gonna come around here sayin’ shit again?”

“He’d be stupid to come near you again. Think I got my point across.”

You feel like you owe him something. You had a couple ways you could repay him, ensuring that he never thinks about those stupid comments again. 

You use your arms to press up your bra a bit, your cleavage more highlighted with the gesture. Joel’s eyes trail down, the scoop neck giving away your suggestive movement. You step closer again, wanting to be in his space. 

“My man…” You trail, your eyes falling to his agape mouth, “Makin’ sure everyone knows I’m his.”

He nods slowly before his hand creeps around your waist, “What are you tryin’ to do, girl?”

“Nothin’,” you click your tongue. “Just thinkin’ of how I could repay you for handlin’ that for me. You hurt yourself defending my honor. I owe you.”

“Don’t think of it that way. You don’t owe me anything,” His fingers start to creep down to the curve of your ass. “But, I would love to see what you had in mind.”

“Oh, you would,” You hum, your arms unfolding to wrap around his neck. “Let’s start by walking back to your house.”

Instead of responding, he dips his head and peppers kisses down your neck, taking his time letting his fingers wander around the skin on your lower back and hips. Your skin feels like it’s on fire with every press of his lips. 

“Fuck,” You sigh as you try to bring him closer to you, but he’s not letting up on your neck. He’s suckling spots near your collarbone, groaning as you react to his every move. You knew at this point, this whole situation was in his hands and not yours. 

He lifts his head slowly, letting his bottom lip drag across your skin, “How ‘bout this… How ‘bout I take you right here over this bar? Maybe that asshole is nearby and he can hear how well I give it to ya.”

His proposition sends you into a spiral. You and Joel have had plenty of sex in different places, but the bar? And he wants others to hear? Usually he’s telling you that your moans are for his ears only, and while he wants you to be loud for him, you’re usually too timid to actually vocalize your pleasure. 

You place your hands on his expansive chest, “You want to fuck me here?”

He beams down at your question before he whispers, “I want to fuck you everywhere. Here, your bed, my couch, the shower. Hell, I’ll take you at this bar while people watch.”

“Jesus, Joel,” You huff, almost dizzy from the statement. 

He brings his hand up to tilt your head back so you look at him. When your eyes meet, he brings the hand up around your neck and to the nape, right where your spine starts. 

“God, I need you, sweet girl.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can speak, Joel brings you in for a passionate and eager kiss. He’s feverish, his hands now wandering down to your ass. He starts to walk you backwards towards the now abandoned bar top. You knock into a couple chairs, but his arms keep you from tripping. His hands are propped on your ass, navigating you to the edge of the bar top. When your back is pressed against it, he starts to shove his thumbs under your waist band. He pulls away from your lips to push down your jeans, letting them pool on the floor.

“Spread your legs,” he grumbles, “I want to taste you.”

You do as you’re told, shaking your jeans off your ankles and spreading your legs. Joel falls to his knees like a man starved. You note his devilish smile when you do as you’re told. 

“I thought I was repaying you,” You choke out as his hands roam over your flesh. He chuckles darkly before pressing a kiss to your right inner thigh. 

“Lettin’ me get between these legs with my tongue is repaying me,” He clicks as pulls at your panties. He slides them to the side, getting a great look at how wet you are already. Your knees feel like they may give out any second just from the anticipation, so when his mouth finds your entrance, you rest your elbows on the freshly wiped down bar. 

Joel exploring you in this way was nothing new, but every time he went down on you, it was thrilling. He was simply so fuckin’ good at it. You never had a man take his time eating you out, desperately wanting you to cum straight on his tongue. 

The vibrations from his groaning sends shockwaves down your legs, causing them to shake. Joel’s hands are the only thing keeping you stable because even your elbows are slipping from the bar top. The suckling noises coming from him are obscene, especially because you’re standing over the bar at your work. You cannot help but try to balance yourself so you can grind yourself down onto his eager tongue. Before you can really get started doing that, he pulls away, his wet lips glistening under the overhead lights. 

He sticks his pointer, middle, and ring finger into his mouth, slathering them in his own saliva. You watch him carefully as he brings them up to your slit, adding to the slick that’s already there. 

“I want you to cum all over my fingers before I bend you over this bar,” He practically moans. “Can you do that for me, baby?”

You can barely speak as his fingers slowly slip in and out of you, “Y-yes.”

“Yes what?” He adds another finger, curling them as he pumps in and out. Your head is spinning, watching his other hand spread over your lower stomach to hold you against the bar. You know what he wants, but you can hardly get the word ‘yes’ out, let alone the name he loves you calling him. You try to breathe in and center yourself, but the fire in your tummy burns bright. 

“Y-yes, Sir. Please m-make me cum.”

He latches his lips around your clit as he speeds the strokes of his three digits. You grab onto his dark curls to hold him there to ensure that he doesn’t stop putting all the pressure right there. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train and you cannot help but scream out in pleasure. 

He grabs your hips, not caring about your recovery. His dick is rock hard in his blue jeans and it makes you giggle in satisfaction. Joel has fucked you in so many different ways, but you do not remember a time he fucked you over counter.

Your upper body is laying flat against the wooden bar, your hands gripping onto the other side to steady yourself. You hear his zipper go down and then his hands are back on you. Your panties are stretched to hell already, so he practically tears the fabric off your lower body without any resistance. You chuckle at how vehement he is. He spreads your ass cheeks as he slips his cock between your closed thighs. 

“Gonna need you to spread some more for me, sweet girl,” He mutters, smacking one of your cheeks lightly, “God, you’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn, “Yes, Sir.”

You do as you’re told, spreading your legs for him. When you do that, his dick prods at your clit, before easing into your entrance. You and Joel fuck raw, so when he opens you up, you feel every vein and ridge against your walls. He’s thick and it always takes you a minute to adjust to the feeling. 

“So fuckin’ tight.”

He retracts back and inches forward again, letting you take in every inch of him. You grab onto the edge of the bar harder, your grip growing tighter with the action. He rests his grip on your hips, using them as leverage as he sets a steady pace. The moment his pace picks up, it’s like the motion pushes all the air from your lungs and you huff out louder. It only encourages him, but instead of keeping you in that position, he grabs onto your shoulders and lifts you up. You are lifted up to his chest, flush with his clothed upper body. He reaches around your arms and grabs onto your breasts through your thin v-neck. 

“J-Joel,” you nudge him with your free hands, “Let me take it o-off.”

He slows his thrusts and lets you pull your shirt over your head. Instead of unhooking your bra, Joel takes the liberty to do it himself. The straps drop off your shoulders and you peel the padding off your chest. His hands instantly cradle your breasts, kneading them as he jolts forward to continue fucking you. His thumb and pointer pinch and tug at your pert nipples. 

“Mmm,” He hums, “Only I can fuck you this good, huh?”

You whimper at his actions, “Only you, Joel.”

“That’s right.”

With that, he slips himself out of you, causing you to whine at the empty feeling. He moves you around like a rag doll, turning you around to face him. 

Joel’s eyes are dilated and his hands are moving quickly to lift you off the ground and press your lower back into the bar. You place your hands on his shoulders, knowing exactly what position he wants you in. 

He picks you up so seamlessly. It’s like when he’s horny or angry, he’s super strong and practically indestructible. He will probably complain how his back hurts later. 

Your knees fold over his forearms, perfectly spread open for his taking. 

You are so wet that he slips right into you. He uses the bar a bit for leverage as he fucks up into you, the angle completely sending you into a spiral. His eyes are perfectly trained on your chest, watching your tits jiggle as he drills into you. 

“Most perfect thing I ever did see,” He remarks between strokes. Your nails are digging into his shoulder, right above a scar he got a couple years ago when he was out on patrol with your dad. You remember it was the first time you saw Joel shirtless. He was sitting next to your Dad in the infirmary, getting stitched up from getting caught on a sharp tree limb. You remember thinking how tan and beautiful he was back then. 

Now you’re gripping onto his shoulders years later, his dick ramming into you and hitting you in all the right places. 

Life is so mysterious and wonderful. 

He bites his lip, putting all his focus into making you cum before he does himself. He’s a giver and for that, you’re extremely grateful. No man has ever put in as much effort. Before Joel, you did not know you could cum more than once in a single session. A couple months ago, he could not help his insatiable taste for you and made you cum 6 times. 

His thrusts begin to falter when he feels you clenching around him, the fiery thrill building in your stomach. Your legs feel like jello, but as soon as the orgasm hits you, they stiffen in his grip. 

“F-fuck Joel,” You whimper, stuttering at how good your body feels as your come down unravels. This orgasm is way more powerful, making you practically vibrate in Joel’s arms. 

He fucks you through the feeling, his finish quickly approaching. When he’s finally finding his own release, he slips out of you before he can cum inside you. You two had an agreement that he could only cum inside you if you explicitly say he can. Since you didn't even think about it, you watch as his seed spills all over your pelvic bone.

When you two catch your breaths, he gently places you down on the ground. He steadies your wobbly legs by holding onto your naked waist. 

You realize you are smiling like an idiot, completely blissed out on how good Joel made you feel. You find your footing, picking up your pants nearby. You don’t even bother with the material that used to be your underwear. 

You hear Joel behind you fixing himself up, zipping his dick back into his jeans. You pull on your pants, leaving them unbuttoned. You grab the material on the ground and ball them up. You prance over to Joel, his eyes raking you up and down. 

“You can keep this,” You joke, pulling at one of his front pockets. You tuck the panties into his pants, smiling widely. 

“‘M just gonna add them to the collection,” He replies, gripping onto the point of your chin. 

When he tilts your eyes up to meet his, your heart flutters at the action. He’s so beautiful with his fine lines and wildly untamed peppered curls. His eyebrows are furrowed as he contemplates your expression. 

You finally say it. Those three words that you had been meaning to say for months. The words that you had never said to another man ever. There was a distinct moment about 2 months ago, after you had dinner with him and Ellie, where you almost said it while helping him with the dishes. It was that steadying of your heart, a moment you felt most at peace with someone. He made you comfortable. He made you feel safe. 

“I love you, Joel.”

He drops your chin, his eyes soften at the statement. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Your anxiety starts to creep up your throat. Maybe you should not have said that. Fuck. 

“I-I…”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” He says in almost a whisper before he takes your right hand, rubbing the top of it with his thumb. “‘M sorry I didn’t say it earlier.”

Your body relaxes, reassured by his answer. You did not have any doubts about your feelings for Joel, but your mind could not help but over analyze every little thing he ever said to you, forcing you to assume he may not feel the same way. 

He brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a long kiss onto your knuckles. 

“Let’s get you home, sweet girl. I gotta get up for patrol tomorrow.”

[rowdyluv]

“He's been a bit of a jerk”

Summary: quinn suddenly ditches his childhood best friend on new years eve when they have spent every NYE together since they were 6. luke saves the night

Warnings: use of y/n and I think one or two uses of y/n/n, only brief mentions of quinn not actually active in fic but substantial to the plot, like has internal dialogue via italics, if I missed anything please let me know

Word Count: 1.8k

requested: yes - “luke pining after Quinn’s best friends and he finally gets the girl.”

Authors Note: edited as may 31, 2024 - if you read before May 31 the word count is now 800 more than it is was previously 🫣

part 2

On the frost-tipped grass, (Y/N) sat beneath a canopy of stars, her back propped against the rough bark of an old oak tree. A light dusting of snow had settled over the ground, transforming the world into a perfect winter wonderland. She shivered, not necessarily from the cold evening, but from the heart wrenching realization that tonight was supposed to go different. It was New Year's Eve, and every year since they were six, she and her childhood best friend, Quinn had celebrated together. But this year, he had up and ditched her last minute. Just like that. He gave her zero explanation and no apology. He had just vanished into the night with his middle brother, leaving her feeling more alone than ever. Which when he left for the NHL was pretty hard to top, yet he somehow managed to do it when he was only somewhere in the same town. The two barely get to see each other anymore as it is. He lives in Vancouver and she lives in Michigan. Quinn flies her out to a few games a season and of course she attends any Canucks vs Redwings games as well as Canucks vs Devils games. However the time the two have available with one another is so restricted at that time, she may as well be just another fan in the arena.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching through the frosted snow. A warm blanket was draped over her shoulders, and a steaming cup of hot chocolate was pressed into her hands. She looked up, her eyes falling on her best friend’s youngest brother, Luke, as he joined her. She briefly looked over his features, his cheeks were already flushed from the growing colder night, but the smile he gave her was warm and genuine.

"Hey, (Y/N)," he whispered as if they were amongst a huge crowd of people and not alone in an empty yard. His voice still highly audible over the silence of the night. "I came out here for a few reasons but one being because I…” Luke’s words ran out into the night. His right hand pulling off his beanie then he was slipping his fingers through his messy curls. A tell tale sign he was nervous about whatever he was about to say. “I wanted to apologize for what Quinn did to you tonight. He had no right to leave you like that. I don’t know what is going on with him and what would make him decide to leave behind the one person who has been consistent for him that isn’t family. The one person in his life that still sees him as Quinn and not as big shot Quinn..” Luke shoved his beanie back on and sighed. He had been looking up at the night sky watching the night clouds move uncovering the stars. “He has been a bit of a jerk here lately, and I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to stop him."

(Y/N) smiled weakly at the rambling boy next to her. Her gaze slowly drifting back up to the now clear sky and where the stars were twinkling like Christmas lights. "It's fine, really. I mean, it stung a lot at first, but..." Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged halfheartedly. "I'm just glad you were here tonight." The butterflies in Luke’s stomach flapped back to life and were going insane at her last statement. “Who knows Lukey. Maybe we can start our own tradition together this New Year’s.” Luke was watching her body languagefor any signs of a joke before speaking up. “I wouldn’t mind. It would teach Quinn to ditch someone as special as you.” (Y/N) slightly smiled, still looking up at the stars. “Special? No. Just me Luke.” (Y/N) argued, Luke didn’t want to have the silly argument back and forth. He knew just how special she is. Given the chance he would show her too. After all, a girl like her deserves to be treated, loved, and respected the way she treats, loves, and respects everyone else. (Y/N) was the girl has sought after ever since Luke stopped thinking he was supposed to marry his mom when he was older. Luke shook his head and groaned at her words. “One day (Y/N/N). Just you wait, one day you’ll know just how special you truly are.” He tells her before they fell into another comfortable silent state. His words confidently spilled out. (Y/N) turned her head opposite from Luke so he couldn’t see the true smile she was wearing across her face because of him. She also hoped he couldn’t hear her heartbeat as a result of his words.

The silence stretched between them, as she snuggled further into the blanket, (y/n) suddenly became aware that Luke was only wearing a thin jacket as he shivered. She glanced over at him, her eyes meeting his. "Here," she said, pulling the blanket off from around her shoulders. "You can have this. It's getting kind of cold out here." Luke hesitated for a moment, debating on offering to share the blanket. "No, really. It's fine. I'm warm enough." She shot him a glare. “Luke Warren Hughes. I just saw you shiver.” Her tone, at best, was barely strict. He held eye contact waiting for her to continue, he could practically see the gears turning in her mind. “If you won’t take it for yourself, we will share it.” She says wrapping it around him and snuggling into his side. Luke was trying his best to calm the butterflies and his racing heart. While also fighting the mental battle on if he should shoot his shot at midnight.

(Y/N) is the girl I have wanted for years now. She is right here. Cuddling into my side, a couple moves and I could easily be her new year’s kiss. If she hates it? I just play it off as a friendly new year’s kiss. Her and Quinn have been each other’s midnight kiss before, I can play it off as if I’m filling his shoes if she questions me and she’s angry. I can do this. I can do this. I think I can do this?

As midnight was quickly approaching the air was thick with anticipation between the both of them and more people were gathering outside.

The countdowns echoed throughout the night, each one louder than the last.

Fireworks lit up the sky, casting a multitude of colors over everyone. The fireworks also casting iridescent colors across the blanket of snow on the ground. Making a beautiful picturesque scene.

Luke decided it was definitely now or never. He may not have done it 12am but right now under the colorful display of the many fireworks was perfect. He smiled down at (Y/N), feeling a warmth spread through his chest, for the first time the butterflies in his stomach calmed. He leaned in, his breath fanning her cheek. "Happy New Year, (Y/n)." She felt his lips brush against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. That is when he froze up. Her reaction to his lips barely touching her sent his heart racing. He was scared she was going to send him flying into the snow. Her best friend’s baby brother’s lips just touched her. But she didn’t move. She was waiting? Luke quickly finished his well wishes to her before she snapped out of it, "I hope this year brings you everything you wish for." Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled back, their gazes locked.

“Do it Luke. Her eyes are basically screaming, begging for you to.” why do you have to be in my head now jack dear god please shut up.

In a seconds time he was leaning back in, his left hand making its way softly to the back of her head. His fingers interlacing in her hair. (Y/N)’s breaths were slow and deep awaiting Luke’s next move. “Tell me if this isn’t something you want.” Luke swallows down the anxiety he was feeling. Mentally silencing the jack he hears in his head telling him to go for it. “Because once I do this once.. I’m going to want to do this again and again. Everyday for the next foreseeable future.” Luke’s voice was trembling in want, desire, need. All of his feelings rushing to the forefront of his mind. “Shut up and kiss me Luke.” (Y/N) sighed grasping his face pulling him to her.

As their lips touched, the grand finale of the fireworks show was set off. The energy of the grand finale matching the energy sparking off the two of them. Luke and (y/n)’s kiss was hot enough to melt the snow underneath them. The way their mouths moved in perfect harmony. The small nips Luke made against her bottom lip as he pulled away. It left them both wanting more, needing more.

“Remind me to thank my brother for being an ass.” Luke mumbles against her lips before getting lost in another languid kiss. “Lukey let’s go home. It’s the new year, I’m cold and I also want to thank Quinn, because now I know who the better kisser is...well I’ve not kissed Jack.” She pauses and makes a playful gagging noise. “And because it finally got you to make a move.” Luke’s face went more red than it already was where it was tinged from the cold. “That..what?” He was baffled by her admittance . “I had my assumptions. I’m just happy I wasn’t wrong. Now let’s goooo. I wanna go get in bed and get warm.” (Y/N) sent a wink his way.

She was hinting towards cuddling. But with how fast Luke was grabbing up the blankets that they had been sitting on and were wrapped up in, before grabbing her hand and heading to the car…She is pretty sure his mind went a different direction.

“Quinn now owes me $10, he said you didn’t like me.” (Y/N) says once they were in the car and headed down the road. “You two had a bet on if I had a crush on you or not?” Luke laughed while asking. “No we had a bet on if you even liked me as a person. Because you avoided me. He’s going to be so shocked to know that you like-like me.” She clarifies with a giggle when she says ‘like-like’. Luke rolls his eyes at the thought of his older brother being naive enough to believe he didn’t like his best friend. “So back to what you said earlier tonight…Same thing and same place next new year’s?” Luke asks her. She nods with a smile. “New tradition, with you. Starting this year.” (Y/N) confirms with a nod. “Only maybe we hang out inside until right before midnight.” She adds grabbing for Luke’s hand to wrap both of her freezing ones around. The two sat in a comfortable silence stealing quick glances, with smiles plastered across their faces, and glimmers in their eyes the rest of the way to the Hughes home.

[girlgenius1111]

overworked

putellas!reader r is struggling with being a full time student & playing for Barça, and being alexia putellas' sister. she turns to some unhealthy methods to cope, and her sister is not pleased when she finds out. warnings: panic attacks, hospitalization, drug use [very mild]

--------

"Alexia," Olga murmured, shaking her girlfriend gently. The blonde only mumbled incoherently, rolling away from the disruptive sound of her girlfriend's voice, and tucking her head under her pillow.

"Alexia Putellas Segura," Olga repeated, yanking the pillow away.

"Hey! What do you want?" Alexia asked grumpily, glaring up at her girlfriend.

"I think your sister is still awake. I went to get water and her light was on."

Alexia sighed, running a hand over her face. "What time?"

"It's 3am."

"Hermanita loca," Alexia groaned, rolling off the side of the bed and directly onto the floor, before popping up and heading for the door.

"You are so dramatic." Olga sighed, rolling her eyes at her girlfriend's antics.

You'd lived with your sister for a while now; after signing with Barça, Alexia had convinced your mami that the best thing would be for you to live with her. Alexia could keep an eye on you, and Eli wouldn’t have to deal with the crazy schedule you had to follow. 

Being a 20 year old playing for the best football club in the world, while simultaneously being a full time student was not easy. In fact, you were pretty sure it was slowly killing you. 

You were, and always had been, a perfectionist. You weren't a quitter. In your family, you saw through your commitments. So, even though you were dead tired, stressed beyond belief, and barely keeping up with your coursework, you wouldn't give up. You wouldn't even drop a class. You were running yourself into the ground, and everyone around you could tell. Well, mostly everyone. 

You'd heard Olga get up, and you knew her well enough to know that she had probably woken your sister to tell her that your light was on. Before she could come marching into your room and take your computer, you flicked the light off, shut your laptop, and burrowed under the covers.

Sure enough, your door creaked open a minute later, and your sister poked her head in, finding you 'asleep'. She knew you, though, too, and she didn't buy it for a second.

"Nice try." She said, voice just above a whisper. She moved towards your bed, flicking the light back on, and grabbing your laptop.

"Alexiaaaa," you complained, pretending she'd woken you. You squinted your eyes at her, removing the covers from your face, finding her staring at you with one eyebrow raised. You knew you were fucked, but you needed to get this essay done, tonight. The thought of adding it to tomorrow's to-do list made you want to cry.

"That was quite a performance." She opened the computer, where your essay was still pulled up, and looked at the document history.

"'Last edit made: 3 minutes ago'. Do you think I don't know all your tricks, nena?" Alexia teased, shutting the laptop again, and moving to get off the bed to leave the room with it. She caught your facial expression, though, and realized you were barely holding back tears.

"Hey," she said softly. "What is it? What's wrong?" Alexia took a seat back on the edge of the bed, brushing a piece of hair out of your face as you blinked hard, willing the tears away.

"Please give it back." You managed, gesturing towards your computer.

Alexia grew stern once more. "Nena. No. It's late, and you need sleep. This isn't healthy."

"I need to finish this essay, Alexia, please," you pleaded. You and your sister were similar, especially in that you were both very stubborn. The chance of either of you letting up was... low. Alexia held your computer, though, and therefore, held all the power.

"No. You can finish it tomorrow."

"I can't! We have training, and I have an essay to do for another class, and an exam to study for, and a presentation to start, and-"

"You are working yourself too hard, nena. None of those things are more important than sleep. You can turn in some things late, it won't kill you."

Unlike you, Alexia was not a perfectionist; at least not when it came to school. She tolerated it for as long as she had to, before putting all of her energy into football. It had paid off, but Alexia never understood your need to be a good student, to get the highest grade possible in everything.

This very distinct difference between the two of you often caused confusion on Alexia’s part, and frustration on yours. Alexia didn’t understand why you couldn’t just relax about school, and you didn’t understand how Alexia expected you to be okay with getting anything less than a perfect score. 

“Alexia,” you began. 

“No. Sleep.” Alexia insisted, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before leaving your room, your computer held hostage in her arms. You waited until her footsteps faded down the hall before you grabbed your phone from the nightstand and opened up your essay. It wasn’t ideal, but it needed to be done. Sleep was the last thing on your mind. 

You finished the essay an hour later, which gave you only 5 hours of sleep. Still, you’d trained with less sleep, and you probably would again. 

--------

Being the sister of the best in the world wasn’t easy. Alba had been telling you that for years. Being the sister of the best in the world, and playing the same sport that she was the best at, though? That was a different kind of nightmare, one which you lived everyday. 

Though the athleticism genes seemed to skip right over your middle sister, it was clear to everyone that from a young age that you were talented on the football pitch. The 10 year age gap between you and your sister meant that Alexia had always blurred the line between parent figure and sister. Once you got serious about football, Alexia made it her mission to make sure you were the best that you could be. 

From extra training to talking about tactics while you were supposed to be studying for school, your sister had always made it clear to you that if you wanted football, school would have to come second. Your mami disagreed heavily, but no one on earth had the will to stop Alexia doing something she’d decided was important. And as her baby sister, you showing interest in following in her footsteps was the most important thing. Ever. She’d moved you in with her when you were 18, still playing on the Barça B team. It was because of your sister that you excelled enough there to move up to the first team by the time you were 19. 

Your sister had been stunned when you told her you intended to attend university and get your degree while you continued your football career. For her, football was it. Football was everything. It was all she had ever wanted to do, and all she would ever want to do. For you, though, it was much more complicated. You loved football. And maybe you would have loved it as much as Alexia did, if it hadn’t been for your sister herself. 

It was a combination of things that had begun to leech away your love for the game. It was the pressure Alexia put on you, for sure. The demand for perfection at all times, even if she told you that it was okay to make mistakes. It was the expectations inside of the team to be a mini Alexia, to take charge and be a leader even though you were much shyer and quieter than she was. Above all else, though, it was the feeling that nothing you would ever accomplish, no matter how hard you tried, how hard you pushed, would ever be enough. Alexia, the public, the team, the coaching staff, they all expected you to be a younger version of your sister. They expected you to do what she did, sooner than she’d done it, and better than she’d done it. 

The pressure mounted. It built over several years, accumulating until you were 20 years old, and you weren’t even sure why you were still playing. You didn’t think you loved football anymore. You kept going because of Alexia, because you’d made commitments. But the truth was that you worked so hard in school because that was your safety net. It was your chance to do something that was your own, do something that Alexia hadn’t done first. It was a place where you were spared constant comparisons to your sister, a place where you felt like yourself, your own person. 

You loved Ale; that wasn’t the issue. It was just that very accomplishment you had was tinged with it just not being as good as something your sister had done. And it felt like everything football related you would ever do would be overshadowed. 

It felt like if you ever wanted to be something other than Alexia Putellas’ baby sister, you’d have to do it someplace else. 

So it was a full workload of classes for you, on top of training with the team. On top of playing for the national team. Alexia didn’t understand why school was so important, no one did. But you were committed to having a back up plan. Football wasn’t your passion at the moment. So much of the joy you had while playing had drained away. 

You couldn’t slow down with football, that was out of the question. And you couldn’t slow down with school, either, not if you wanted to graduate on time. Your only option was to push through. 

It was inevitable, really, that you’d stumble, that it would all become too much. And inevitable that you’d break. You just couldn’t fathom what would come after that, so you plowed forward. Moved steadily ahead, towards the edge of a cliff. You didn’t know what awaited you at the bottom once you fell from the edge, but you were well past caring. 

-------

Your sister always kept a close eye on you during training. She made sure you were hydrated enough, that you didn’t get overheated, that you weren’t doing anything to risk injury. Any hint of discomfort on your face had your sister yanking you off the pitch and dragging you inside to get evaluated. 

No one could ever accuse Alexia of not caring. 

Today, she noted that you looked preoccupied. And that you’d brought your phone into the gym with you, which in and of itself wasn’t odd. It was the way you were checking it obsessively in between reps that had Alexia slightly concerned. You weren’t talking to your friends the way you normally did, and just as Alexia had decided to put her foot down and pull you aside, you picked up your phone again. 

This time, your face dropped, all the color draining out of your cheeks. Before Alexia could take even a step in your direction, you were slipping out of the gym, rushing into the locker room as you stared at something on your phone.

“What are you doing?” Alexia said, following you into the locker room. 

“I- I got a grade back.” You told her. 

“A grade?” 

“On the exam from last week,” you whispered. 

“Is it bad?” Alexia wondered, taking a few steps closer to you. Her mind flashed back to when she used to have to show Eli a bad grade she’d gotten on an exam during school. Normally, she’d slip her the paper and take off to hide in your room, because Eli didn’t like to yell in front of the baby. Alexia wondered if you were so upset because you were worried about her reaction. 

“No Ale, I did well, that’s why I'm freaking out,” you snapped sarcastically, falling back down onto the bench as your chest heaved, hiding your face in your hands. “I can’t breathe.”

“Hermana?” Alexia asked, brow furrowing with concern as she looked at you. 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” you repeated, your voice muffled by your hands. 

“What is happening?” Alexia asked, her face clouded with concern as she sat down next to you. “Hermanita, tell me what is wrong.” 

You thrust your phone into her hands. It took Alexia a moment to figure out what she was looking at, but then she saw the grade reflected back at her. It wasn’t bad by any means, but it wasn’t your usual perfect score. 

“Nena, this isn’t bad,” she tried, but you pulled your hands away from your face to glare at her, barely able to form words. 

“It’s- not good enough, Ale, I need to do bet-better than that, it’s not good enough,” you sobbed. Alexia couldn’t remember ever caring this much about a grade, but she knew how different you were from her, and she did her best to comfort you. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay nena,” she soothed, noticing Irene and Mapi walking in through the locker room door, looking concerned, but she couldn’t tear her focus away from you. You’d gone completely silent on her, the only sound you were making being a choked gasp as you tried to inhale enough air. “Nena?” 

“Ale, help,” you cried, both of your trembling hands clawing at your chest. Your face was rapidly losing color and you looked completely dazed and completely petrified. Irene and Mapi moved closer, looking between the two of you.

“Hermana?” Alexia panicked. You shook your head, a few tears escaping. You swayed in your seat, tilting forward until you were half leaning on your sister, and gripped onto her shirt with your hands, desperate for some relief from the tidal wave of terror and panic rushing through you.  “Nena, talk to me.” Alexia said, rubbing your back as she looked between her teammates. 

“Can’t breathe,” you gasped, “chest hurts.” 

Alexia froze, but Irene snapped into action. 

“Mapi, call an ambulance.” She instructed. “Ale, let’s get her on the ground before she passes out.” 

The world was swirling around you, nothing comprehensible. Before you knew it, you were laid on the floor of the locker room, your head resting in your sister’s lap as her hands anxiously fiddled with your hair. You could see her mouth moving, and you tried to force your ears to hear anything other than an echoing ring. 

“You’re okay, nena. You’re okay, I’ve got you. You’re going to be just fine.” 

You blinked, but when you opened your eyes next, you were moving through the halls of the Barça facility. You felt a bit like you were floating, and though there was a mask on your face that was forcing oxygen into you, it still didn’t feel like there was enough air on earth to fill your lungs. 

You blinked again, and Alexia’s face was hovering over yours, along with the face of a stranger. You could hear a bit better now, and even as your eyes tried to shut, you did your best to listen before you drifted back off.

“-does she keep passing out?” That sounded like Alexia. Worried Alexia.  

“A lack of oxygen, she’s breathing too rapidly. Every time she comes to, her heart rate picks up again.” 

“Stay awake, please,” Alexia begged, the paramedic next to her forgotten as she glanced down and noticed your eyes were open.  

And you wanted to, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t breathe. You were pretty sure you were dying, and the only thought you had was that at least the anxiety would finally stop. 

-------

You were completely calm when you woke up. Sleepy beyond belief, and your body felt heavy, but you were calm. It was hard to peel your eyes open, and harder to try to move your hand to rub at your eyes. 

You remembered what had happened, but you didn’t feel panicked like you normally did. The constant pulse of anxiety wasn’t running through you as it normally did, and though you couldn’t figure out why, you were relieved beyond belief. 

“Hey,” Alexia whispered. She was sat at your bedside, cheeks alarmingly tearstained. 

Your guard was up instantly, and your sister could tell. She desperately wanted to know what was happening to you, what had caused this, but she knew from the look on your face that you wouldn’t talk to her. 

And that hurt more than she wanted to admit. 

“I am going to go call Mami and tell her you are awake.” Alexia said, avoiding eye contact as she got up and left the room. You hadn’t realized Olga was standing against the wall until she moved, taking Alexia’s vacant seat. She gave you a soft smile. 

“Hi.” You whispered. 

“Hi.” She replied, taking your hand in hers. 

“Was it a panic attack?” 

“It was.” Olga nodded. “Has that happened before?” 

“Never that bad.” 

“You need to talk to someone. And it doesn’t have to be me or Ale, but something is going on. I don’t know what, but you need help.” 

“I’m fine, Olga.” You said, biting your lip and looking away from the brunette. She sat silently for a minute. 

“Alexia is not going to let this go. You know that. You terrified her today, and you know as well as I do that she would go to the ends of the earth to make sure you are okay. It doesn’t matter how much you pretend, nena. She sees right through you.” Olga said gently, falling quiet as your sister reentered the room.

You knew she was right. But like your sister, you were stubborn, too. And you wouldn’t make this easy. 

-------

Three days and two painful therapy sessions later, you were dragged into a meeting to discuss your wellbeing. Your favorite topic. 

The meeting really couldn’t have gone worse. The team psychologist, Ana, couldn’t say much because of confidentiality reasons, but she’d made it clear that if you kept going like this, panic attacks like you'd had the other day would keep happening. You were under a high amount of stress between school and football, and it was of her opinion that something needed to change. 

Ana suggested you be benched for a few weeks, while you figured things out. She told Jona, and Alexia and Irene who were sitting in the meeting, that she didn’t think you were being honest with her, and that if you were going to get better, you needed to be. 

You’d barely spoken during the meeting. Alexia did all the talking for you, and she managed to convince Ana not to bench you, not yet. You were given 2 weeks to get a better football-school balance, and to prove that you were mentally doing better. If your sister, Ana, and Jona felt that you weren’t improving after 2 weeks, you’d be benched.  

You knew Alexia was upset when she ignored you the rest of the day. The entire training session, the entire drive home. Olga looked confused at the icy tension between the two of you as Alexia stormed into the house, turning to face you with a frustrated look on her face. 

“Here is what we are going to do. I want you to drop a class, but you are not going to agree to that. So, you are going to put your computer in my room every night at 11pm. You will either finish your homework by then or it won’t get done. Either way, you will go to bed at 11. You will see the psychologist twice a week. You will come to me if you have any more panic attacks. We are fixing this before it goes any further, okay?”

She paused, raising her eyebrows at you. 

“Okay.” You agreed. There was no arguing with your sister, and you knew it. You’d have to break the rules, rather than try to change them. Alexia was instantly suspicious how easily you’d agreed to her request. 

“There is no option of you being benched, pequeña. Football comes first, before school, before everything. Do you understand?” 

“I understand.” 

“Good.” Alexia turned without another word, heading upstairs to take a shower. You avoided eye contact with Olga, as you slipped upstairs, too. You had a call to make.

-------

It was a bad idea. You knew it as soon as you bought the pills, but that didn’t stop you. 

It was just a few. Just to get you through this upcoming round of exams and through football. You had to wait for Alexia and Olga to both fall asleep to get your computer out of their room. Once you finished your homework, it was normally around 3 or 4 and you were exhausted. You had to put your computer back, and then you could go to sleep. It wasn’t a sustainable routine, but it was your only choice. And the only way you knew how to accomplish it was to take the adderall you’d bought from a boy at school. 

You couldn’t quit school. When football failed, or you quit, whichever came first, you needed to have a plan b. School was your plan b. 

And you weren’t sure you wanted to quit football. You hadn’t decided yet. It was suffocating, playing in Alexia’s shadow, and you just weren’t sure how much more you could take. Quitting, though. You weren’t quite there yet. 

You just had to keep going. Keep trying to balance both things, and not let anyone know how miserable you were. You didn’t really consider, very naively, that the pills would make everything worse. 

-------

You took one for the first time the next evening after training. 

The guilt that hit after you swallowed the pill was unbearable. You couldn't work, couldn’t get anything done. You curled up into a ball on your bed and let your thoughts run wild. All you could think was that you were risking everything; school, football, everything. 

It was school or it was football, but you couldn’t have both. You were pretty sure of that now. Something had to change. You had to get rid of the pills, and you had to make a decision. 

School or football. 

Disappointing your sister, or never living up to her expectations. 

And, ironically, the only person you could really turn to for help was Alexia 

You couldn’t keep everything a secret anymore. And even though you were terrified of being honest with her, you knew you had no other choice. 

-------

Alexia and Olga were lounging on the couch, Olga draped across your sister, when you walked in. Olga saw you first, sitting up slightly at the sight of the distressed look on your face. She nudged Alexia, who paused the TV and turned expectantly towards you, a frown tugging at her lips as she looked up at you. 

“Pequeña-?” Alexia cut herself off when you took the plastic bag out of your pocket, the little blue pills clearly visible inside. You dropped it onto the table in front of her. 

“I bought them from someone at school. It’s adderall. I didn’t take any. Get rid of them, please.” You said numbly, refusing to make eye contact with your sister, before turning and walking back out of the room. 

Alexia and Olga sat in stunned silence for a minute, before the blonde slowly reached for the bag, picking it up gingerly and looking at the pills. Her expression quickly grew angry, and she moved to stand up from the couch and follow you up the stairs. Olga grabbed her arm, though, pulling her back down onto the couch. 

“Ale, hold on.” 

“She bought drugs, Olga. This could have ruined her career, gotten her kicked out of school, gotten her arrested. You cannot tell me not to yell at her,” Alexia complained, though she turned to Olga with an expectant expression on her face. 

“She brought drugs, Alexia.” Olga repeated slowly. “Your perfect marks, perfect training schedule, perfectly behaved sister bought drugs to try to keep up with her school work. She is so stressed about getting everything done that she bought drugs. She didn’t take them, she gave them to you before she took them. This isn’t normal, Alexia, this is not a normal stress level for a 20 year old to have. Yelling at her is not going to make it better. Trust me, Ale, talk to her like she’s an adult.” 

Alexia considered that, for a minute. It was worth a shot, she supposed. And she could always start yelling if she needed to. 

-------

The softness of the knock on your door was almost unnerving. You’d expected Alexia to follow you up the stairs, shouting her head off. It had been a few minutes, though, and you’d only just heard her quiet footsteps coming up the stairs. 

“Come in,” you called shakily. 

Alexia walked in slowly, her every step measured. You could tell that she was trying to keep herself calm, which is more than you expected. More than you deserved. 

Your sister didn’t speak as she came in, didn’t seem to know what to say. She just slid onto the floor next to you, seemingly stunned into silence.  

“I fucked up.” You said after a minute. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw your sister nod slowly. 

Very suddenly, she put a hand on your shoulder, forcefully turning you in her direction. Her eyes looked severe when you looked up at her, and all you wanted to do was cry and beg for her to forgive you. 

“Hermanita. Did you take any of those pills?” Alexia asked, enunciating each word slowly. She was looking at you right in the eye, and you knew that if you lied, she’d be able to tell. You’d lied before, and you thought you’d be able to keep it going, but you couldn’t. All of a sudden, you felt like another lie might suffocate you. 

“One.” You whispered, shutting your eyes tightly. 

Alexia exhaled slowly. “When? Today?” 

“Sí.” You told her, voice dripping with shame. You couldn't look at her. If she’d been disappointed in you before, you were sure the look on her face now would be something you couldn’t tolerate. 

“You feel okay? No hives, no allergic reactions?” 

“No, I’m fine.” 

Alexia didn’t really feel like taking your word for it, evidently, and you felt her hand grip your chin and turn your face up towards her. She didn’t look as disappointed as you’d feared. She looked worried, and a bit lost as she inspected your face. 

“I don’t know what to say. I’m… I am upset with you. This is just so unlike you, nena, and I am really worried. I don’t know how to help you.”

“I’m never going to do it again, Ale, I gave you all the pills, I swear.” 

Alexia shook her head. “The pills are a problem, but something is going on with you to make you feel like you needed to do this, and I want to understand.” 

“Nothing. It’s nothing, I was just stressed, it was a mistake and I won’t make it again.” You dismissed. 

“It is not nothing!” Alexia shouted, seeing you wince and look away from her. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that yelling wasn’t the way to get you to talk to her. “It is not nothing. I am your sister, nena, you can tell me whatever is going on. I can help you. I can fix whatever isn’t okay, you just have to tell me.” 

“Alexia, there is nothing to fix. Now please, I gave you the pills and I know I fucked up. There isn’t anything to talk about, just leave it alone.” You hated how much she was pushing. You’d prefer if she would just yell. Yelling, you could take. But honesty? And what would come with it? There was no chance on earth that Alexia would understand. She was Alexia, and you were just you. Her younger sister, who would never live up to her legacy, no matter how hard you tried. 

“Leave it alone?!” Alexia yelled again, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically. She rose to her feet, beginning to pace, and you stood up too, crossing your arms defiantly across your chest. “You bought drugs at school, you took a pill that was not prescribed to you, you have been going crazy with anxiety, and I want to know why!” 

“I told you, I was just stressed.” You said through clenched teeth, willing yourself not to rise to her level of anger, even though you wanted to. Why was she pushing so hard? Why did she care so much?

“This has to be more than just stress, pequeña! Doing things like this is not okay, you are not okay.” 

“I’m fine.” You insisted. 

“Stop lying to me!” Alexia yelled, ignoring the appearance of Olga in your doorway, even as she felt her girlfriend giving her a look that told her to calm down. 

“Ale-” Olga began, but you cut her off. 

“ I am doing the best that I can, I am doing everything I can to be good enough for you and for the team and for everyone, but none of it is ever enough!” You shouted, slamming your mouths shut when you felt like you’d said too much. 

“This is about school, not football. No one is making you do school! This stress is your own doing, this pressure is coming from you, not anyone else. Drop a class, drop out for all I care. What you are doing to yourself is completely unnecessary.” Alexia said, completely and entirely confused as to just why school was so important to you. Important enough to risk everything.

“It is not unnecessary, Alexia. I need a backup plan, and school is my backup plan.” 

“You have football, why do you need a backup plan?” Alexia scoffed, rolling her eyes at you in a way that made your body flame with rage. 

“Maybe I don’t want football, Alexia. Maybe that’s not what I want anymore.” 

Alexia stared at you, jaw dropped in shock. “What?” She whispered.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Olga step closer, but you willed yourself not to look at her. Olga was always more sympathetic than Ale, and you were pretty sure the look on her face would break you right now.

“I can’t do it anymore, Ale, I can’t,” 

“You are 20! You are a baby! How could you want to quit, you have barely even gotten started!” 

“You don’t understand what it’s like for me, Alexia.” 

The blonde rolled her eyes. How could you say that? Of course she understood. “I do, nena, I understand better than anyone, but you cannot just give up because things are more difficult than you anticipated.”

“No. You don’t understand. Things aren’t more difficult than I anticipated, they are impossible. I am losing my mind, Ale, I can’t take it anymore. I can’t.” 

“So you want to quit? All of it, everything you’ve worked for. Throw away everything I’ve done for you?”

“I don’t know, Ale. I just can’t do it like this anymore.” 

Your sister didn’t understand. The anger on her face told you that, and you knew when she opened her mouth next, her words would hurt more than you thought possible. 

“If you are quitting because it is hard, you are not the person I thought you were. Putellas’ don’t quit. I expected so much more from you.” 

And even though you’d anticipated it, the words Alexia spit at you still felt like a bullet through the heart. Mostly because you were pretty sure she was right. You were a failure and a disappointment beyond comparison. 

Your sister took a step back, and though her face remained hard, she was horrified at herself. 

“Alexia, that is enough,” Olga snapped, walking to stand in between the two of you. She knew she’d stepped in too late but the roles of Alexia’s girlfriend and of someone who cared about you were difficult to balance. 

“I’m going to Alba’s. I can’t be here right now. I’m sorry Alexia.” You rushed out of the room, leaving your sister frozen, in horror at her own words, behind you. 

-------

When Alexia got to Alba’s,  she could hear you from the hall. Your sister paused for a minute. She’d expected you to be angry, expected you to be telling Alba exactly what she’d said. She’d expected anger, and that wasn’t what she found. 

Instead, she opened the door to Alba’s apartment quietly and stepped inside. You were curled up on the couch, your head in Alba’s lap as she soothingly ran her fingers through your hair. 

“I-I’ve ruined everything,” you sobbed. 

“No, hermanita.You made a mistake. Nothing is ruined.” 

“She hates me now,” you continued, as if you hadn’t heard Alba speak at all. 

“You need to breathe, cariño, you need to calm down.” 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” you cried, before words became impossible and all you could do was cry. 

Alba looked up, then, her face thunderous as she caught sight of her older sister. She shook her head, but Alexia’s eyes were only on you. 

“Hermanita,” she whispered, cautiously walking closer to the sofa. You sat upright at the sound of your oldest sister’s voice, a downright terrified expression on your face. “I don’t hate you, nena. I could never hate you.” 

Your face crumpled at her words, the last stable part of you collapsing.“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I can’t do this anymore, Ale, I can’t,” 

“Alright, alright.” Alexia soothed, sitting down on the couch next to you. 

“We’re gonna fix it, hermanita. Whatever is wrong, whatever you are struggling with, we are going to fix it.” Alba promised you, exchanging a look with her older sister. Alba was pretty furious with Alexia at the moment, but they knew they’d need each other to get you through this.The destroyed state you were in now, the things you’d been doing were all signs that you weren’t okay, and that you needed their help. They were determined to help you.   

You sat in between your sisters, crying harder than you ever had before. You weren’t sure how everything had gotten so messed up. And you weren’t sure you knew how it could be fixed. 

-------

Alexia and Alba had both decided that you should go back home, and get some rest. 

Olga had been anxiously waiting for you both to return, having sent your sister after you almost as soon as you’d left the house. Neither you or Alexia had said much upon arriving back home. You’d been practically catatonic when you’d walked through the front door; cheeks tearstained, body slumped against your sister’s as she helped you into the house. You’d gone right up to bed, and Alexia had simply pulled Olga into a hug. All Ale had told her girlfriend was that she was going to sit you down tomorrow and get you to talk. She was going to figure out what was wrong. What had brought you to this point, why you’d been hiding things from her. She was going to get you to talk if she had to get down on her knees and beg. 

Alexia had already texted Jona and told him neither of you would be in tomorrow, aside from a meeting with Ana that your sister had scheduled for the afternoon. If Alexia couldn’t get you talking, she hoped the therapist would. If that didn’t work, she’d call Eli. The only reason she hadn’t called her mami yet was because she knew how hard Eli would come down on you for the drugs, and on Alexia for not taking better care of you. And Alexia knew that each of you respectively carried enough shame for both of those things. 

 Your sister lay awake in her bed that night, trying to piece together what exactly was happening with you. It was like there was a big piece missing, and she couldn’t think her way through the problem no matter how hard she tried. She tossed and turned in her bed for at least an hour, fighting the urge to go check on you. 

“Ale.” Olga whispered, having been woken up by her girlfriend's restlessness. She rolled onto her side and wrapped her arm around her girlfriend’s body. 

Alexia sniffled. “Did I wake you?” 

“No. I was thirsty.” Olga lied, sitting up to grab her water off her nightstand. “Worrying all night is not going to help your sister, baby.”

“Well, I can try.” Alexia said back, turning on her side to bury her face in Olga’s shirt. “I messed up. So badly. She wants to quit football, she brought drugs at school. She’s been miserable for so long and I didn’t know. I didn’t do anything about it.” 

Olga ran her fingers through her girlfriend’s hair, thinking hard about what to say. “Amor, you can’t go back and change things. You can just try to be better for her.” 

“What if I can’t be better? What if I’m just a bad sister? A bad person?” 

“You aren’t either of those things, mi amor. A mistake doesn’t make you bad.”

“This is more than just one mistake. This is months of mistakes.” 

Olga shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. She is your sister, and she adores you. Both of you will get past this. You love each other too much not to.” 

Alexia sat with that for a moment. It was true. Even if she didn’t always act like it, even if she wasn’t the best at showing it. She loved you and Alba more than anything on earth. And she decided, then and there, that she wouldn’t ever stop trying to prove that to you. 

------

Crying must have tired you out, because when you woke the next day, before even opening your eyes, you could tell it was late. Well past when Alexia would normally wake you up for training. Momentarily, you wondered if she’d gone without you. If she was upset. But then you recognized the soft touch of Alexia’s hand on your back, gently moving back and forth; her preferred way of waking you up. Alexia cherished her sleep, and because she assumed everyone else did too, she was careful to wake you up in the least jarring way possible. 

You rolled over, clonking your head into her knee. Grumpily, you opened your eyes. Alexia was not in her training clothes. She was still in her pajamas, in fact, looking down at you nervously. You weren’t used to her being nervous to talk to you. 

“Hola.” She greeted. “I woke you up because you never sleep this late, but if you are still tired, you can go back to sleep. We have an appointment with Ana at 2, and I was hoping we could talk before that, but we don’t have to. We can just-”

You cut off her rambling with a shake of your head, dragging your body into a sitting position. Your head was pounding, probably a combination of all the cry and dehydration. 

“No, I’m okay. I’m up. We can talk. I’ll be down in a few minutes.” 

“Okay!” Alexia said much too quickly. She ruffled your hair awkwardly before turning and heading downstairs, looking back at you slumped in your bed at least 3 times. 

When you appeared downstairs 5 minutes later, having made yourself look somewhat presentable, Alexia was sitting on the couch, anxiously bouncing her knee as she waited for you. She had her phone in her hand, and she was rapidly texting someone. Alba or Olga, you guessed. You carefully sat down on the couch a safe distance away from her, now feeling a bit nervous yourself. 

You didn’t know what you were supposed to say. If being honest would make things better or worse. If things could really even get any worse. 

“You wanted to talk.” You said after a minute, finally venturing a quick glance at your sister, who was looking expectantly at you. 

“I want you to talk. And I want to listen.” Alexia said gently. 

You thought for a moment, before shrugging. “What do you want me to talk about?”

The blonde took a deep breath. “Do you want to quit football?” She asked quietly, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice, no matter how hard she tried. She loved playing with you. It was her favorite thing. 

You read her disappointment wrong, though, thinking she was disappointed in you, and you became slightly defensive, and slightly more tense. “Sometimes.” 

Alexia fought the urge to respond to your hostility with her own. Instead, she kept her face soft and open. “Why do you want to quit? And why do you not want to quit?” 

You shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with your fingers in your lap. Avoiding Ale’s gaze, you replied as honestly as you could. “I think I still love it, deep down. It just feels like it’s suffocating me right now. Draining all of my energy and all of my happiness. It’s really hard, Ale. I don’t know how to fix that.” 

Nodding slowly, the blonde tried not to react to your words outwardly. “Can you tell me what is so hard? I have played for many years, nena, and I do not think I have ever struggled as much as you are struggling now. I don’t understand, but I want to.” 

She was being sincere, you could tell. She genuinely did not understand what the issue was. It had never felt this difficult for her, not in this all consuming way. You wanted your sister to understand, but you didn’t want to hurt her. Explaining ran the risk of upsetting her, yet you knew you had no choice. 

“You have played for many years, yes. But you have never played as Alexia Putellas’ younger sister. You have never played in the shadow of the greatest in the world, of your sister.”

Alexia inhaled sharply. “I make it hard? Being my sister makes it hard?” She asked, voice almost a whisper as she tried to fight back tears. This was her fault. 

You nodded miserably. “I can’t go a day without being compared to you. Your talent, your leadership skills, everything. I feel like nothing I do is ever good enough… for you or for anyone else. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I will never be you, Ale. And that is what everyone wants me to be.” 

Your sister shook her head frantically, scooching closer. “That’s not what I want, nena. You are one of my favorite people in the world. I don’t want you to be me, I want you to be you.” 

“But I’m not good enough, Ale. Not for anyone. Being me isn’t good enough.” You cried, pulling your hand away from Alexia’s. You couldn’t even begin to consider that she was telling the truth. 

“Yes it is, nena, and I am so sorry if I have made you feel like-” 

“If? Alexia you have spent the past 2 years of my life pressuring me to be better, telling me to try harder and to push more. And so has everyone else.” 

Your sister shook her head again, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into her, even as you tried to pull away. “I am so sorry, nena. So sorry. I thought you wanted it, as much as I wanted it for you.” 

“I did want it.” You mumbled. “But I wanted you to just be my sister more.” 

Alexia felt her heart shatter, but she fought against the tears welling in her eyes. “I am so sorry.” She repeated, shutting her eyes tightly as she rubbed your back. “ I… If you want to quit, I will support you. I won’t be disappointed in you, I will always support you. No matter what you do or don’t do, I will always be your sister. And you will always have me.” 

“No, Ale, I don’t know that I want to quit, I just… I can’t do it anymore. Not like this. It’s too hard.” You sobbed, hiding your face in your sister’s shirt. 

“Okay. Okay, cariño. We’ll figure it out, alright? We’ll figure it all out.” Alexia promised. 

You hoped she was right. 

--------

Therapy later that day was… alright. You broke down again, detailing your near constant anxiety and stress, and admitting to Ana that you’d bought adderall. You don’t quite remember what you said, honestly. It was a blur. You remembered crying, remembered holding Alexia’s hand. Explaining to her that you were so obsessed with school because you wanted to have something if football didn’t work. You never wanted to disappoint your family, Alexia most of all. Alexia had cried too. You remembered what she said clearly, and even now, three weeks later, you thought of her words.  

“Hermanita, I don’t care if you are a footballer. I don’t care if you get a degree or get an impressive job. I don’t care what you do, as long as you are happy and healthy and okay. That is all that matters to me. And that is all that matters to Mami and Alba, too. I love you, nena. That is not conditional or dependent on anything.” 

And she had proven that. She had been patient, kind, and thoughtful. Supportive. Even when you took three weeks off of football and school to get your anxiety under control. She was there through every sleepless night and every tear. Alexia was the reason you got through it, and she was the reason you made the decision you did. 

-------

You’d waited a bit to tell her. You were always going to finish the season out with Barça, but it remained to be seen whether or not you’d continue after the season ended. Alexia had prepared herself for you not to continue. For you to tell her that this was it. She’d made her peace with that. She was wholly surprised, then, when you sat her down two nights before you were set to go back to training and told her your plans. 

“I’m dropping out of school.” You said carefully, watching her reaction. She looked stunned. 

“But I thought… you don’t have to do that for me, nena. I just want you to be happy.” 

The thing was, you believed her. And that was why you wanted to play again. 

“I know you do, Ale. I’m doing this for me. I love football. I’ve missed it these past few weeks, much more than I missed school. I didn’t really care about school, I just wanted to have something. If I couldn’t make you proud of me with football, I thought I could do it through school.” 

“I am proud of you. So proud of you, because of football and completely separate from it.” Alexia insisted. 

You nodded. “I know you are, and that’s why I want to play again. It doesn’t feel the same as before, like your love for me is riding on how well I perform. That wasn’t ever the case, and I know that now. You’ve made it really clear, Ale.” 

“But your anxiety,”

“I was having a hard time because I was trying to do school full time and football. I’m already so much less stressed. The pressure feels less intense. It feels like football can be fun again.”

“You are sure about this?” Alexia asked, gripping tightly onto your hand. She didn't want a repeat of three weeks ago. And she didn’t want you to be unhappy. 

“I promise, I’m sure. I want to play. And if that changes… I’ll tell you. I know I can trust you. I should have known that all along, and I didn’t, but I do now.” 

“You can always trust me.” Alexia affirmed. “You are sure? You want to play?” She checked again, looking intently at your face, trying to tell if you were lying to make her happy. 

“I want to play.” You promised. 

Her neutral face transformed into a huge grin and she all but suffocated you in a bear hug. 

“I love you so much, hermanita. And I would have understood if you wanted to quit, but I love playing with you and I am so, so happy.” She told you, rather vulnerably. “I’m going to be better. I am going to make sure no one puts too much pressure on you, especially me. I won’t mess up again, nena, I promise. I won’t ever let you think that I care more about football than about you.” 

You buried your face in her shoulder, sniffling slightly. “I love you too.” 

It wasn’t just about missing football. It was about knowing, really really knowing, that your performance wouldn’t change how your sister looked at you, or how your teammates looked at you. You’d spent the last three weeks learning from Ana to see yourself as a person separate from your abilities on the pitch. You were good and worthy of love no matter how you played. And with that weight off your shoulders, you knew you wouldn’t care as much about being in Alexia’s shadow. You could just be proud of her. And be proud of yourself. You hadn’t needed school the way you thought you did, and you hadn’t needed to quit football. You had just needed to be honest with your sister, and be a bit kinder to yourself. 

The following season, you would play better than you ever had. You found your place on the pitch and within the team, and you set yourself aside as your own person. Even if you were known as a great footballer, you would still always be known as Alexia’s sister. And you didn’t want to change that, because it was your favorite thing to be. 

--------

hope you enjoyed! ❤️ leave a comment if you want, they make me v happy! :)

[tpwk-formula1]

Kinktober Day 5 - Corruption - LH44

Lewis Hamilton X Reader

I am more than willing to write a part 2 to this one shot as there was no sex in this one. I felt to keep the realism of the story it didn't feel right for the character to lose her virginity the same night she had her first kiss.

TW - Virgin, smut, oral (male and female receiving), NO ACTUAL SEX

WC - 3100+

Y/N POV

August 2024

Walking through the paddock I can't help but speed my way toward the Mercedes Hospitality knowing as soon as I got in there, there would be no more eyes on me. I mean I know realistically no one gives a fuck who I am but with all the hustle and bustle around me I can't help but feel anxious.

Once I am in the comfort of a quiet room in the hospitality I pull out my laptop and get right to work knowing I didn't have much time before I would need to be in the garage to take pictures for the official Mercedes accounts.

Being one of the main photographers for Mercedes definitely has its perks but being as quiet as I am it has been hard making friends with people.

As I am editing a photo of Kimi and George for Instagram I hear a soft knock on the door.

"Um, come in?" I stutter a little making it sound more like a question than a statement. When the door opens slowly I see Lewis's head peek in to see who was occupying one of the only empty meeting rooms in the whole hospitality.

"Oh hi Y/N," I hear Lewis say softly before he comes into the room and closes the door.

"Hi, Lew. How are you doing today?" I ask softly while still looking at my computer too intimidated to make eye contact with Lewis.

"I'm good, just trying to get away from all of the noise," Lewis tells me making me finally look up and nod my head softly.

"I get that," I tell Lewis softly finally closing my laptop to give him my full attention.

"What are you working on today?" Lewis asks me showing a real interest in my work.

"I'm actually working on more promotional photos for Kimi and George for next season," I tell Lewis making him smile.

"I've been working for Mercedes for the past 3 years and I'm gonna be completely honest it feels strange editing photos for the team without you in them," I tell Lewis for whatever reason. This makes him chuckle a little.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm happy you're doing what is best for your career," I double down in slight embarrassment hoping I didn't offend Lewis.

"I know what you mean. I don't think anyone even myself expected it," Lewis tells me in a reassuring voice to make sure I knew I didn't offend him in any way.

"I have a hard time grasping that you have worked for Mercedes for 3 years know and I feel like I barely know anything about you," Lewis tells me honestly making me smile a little.

"I don't think anyone really knows anything about me if I'm being completely honest," I tell him.

"Well tell me about yourself then," Lewis says with a smile on his face.

"Well, what do you want to know?" I ask back in a softer tone than I intended.

"Whatever you want," Lewis tells me leaving the ball in my court. I can feel my anxiety start to grow slightly from the pressure of having to tell him about myself.

"Well, I'm from Brisbane and grew up with 2 older brothers and a little sister. I always loved taking pictures when I was really little, so it makes sense that I went on to become a photographer. I moved out on my own only a year ago when my parents retired and decided to sell our house and travel the world forcing me to finally leave the nest. I always grew up really quiet which made it really hard to get through school but eventually I made a core group of friends. I'm so sorry I'm rambling," I finally realize I'm word-vomiting to Lewis.

"No I enjoy listening to you talk. Keep going if you'd like," Lewis tells me clearly interested in what I have to say.

"Well then, my dad was always into Formula 1 and even put my little brothers into karting but they both were shit and it was too expensive to get them the proper training and equipment to help them be good. I ended up being the only one into racing like him so we would go to the Australian Grand Prix together every year. That was when I knew I was gonna be a Formula 1 photographer someday. You were actually the first driver I ever met. I was like 13 and this awkward quiet kid and my dad had surprised me with paddock passes. You signed the hat I was wearing and just all around really sweet. You ended up winning that year and I was so excited," I tell him some more looking up to realize Lewis is smiling and clearly listening to every word I was saying.

"Oh wow, I knew you were young I didn't realize how young you were. I'm assuming that was 2015?" Lewis's comments make me nod and laugh a little.

"Ya I turned 22 back a few months ago," I comment softly which has him nodding his head.

"Tell me more, I haven't heard you talk this much and if I'm being honest I love your voice," Lewis tells me making my cheeks grow red in a blush. I don't know the last time someone had complimented me.

"Well, when I went to Uni everyone tried to convince me to pick a more reliable career, but I knew what I wanted. As soon as I graduated I started applying to every position in photography F1 could offer and basically, now I'm here. Uh, I've never had my first kiss, matter a fact I've never even had a boy frie-," I finally cut myself off realizing I was starting to anxiously ramble about the most embarrassing aspect of my life.

When I look up at Lewis in sheer embarrassment I notice a look in his eyes that I had never seen before. It wasn't a bad thing but it made my body heat up in a way I had never felt before.

PRESENT TIME

"Y/n can I kiss you," Lewis asks softly. We are standing in my small apartment after another one of the many dates we have been going since the day in the meeting room. After I embarrassingly spilled my guts about never being in a relationship Lewis matched my energy by admitting he had been in a relationship since the one he got out of in 2015.

A few weeks after that conversation and many more after he finally asked me out on a date. I was worried given our drastic age difference however over time I realized it wasn't a problem if we didn't make it one.

"Yes," I finally whisper out before feeling Lewis's lips graze mine softly. When he finally places his lips on mine and starts to kiss me I instantly start kissing back, not entirely confident in my ability but I knew that whatever I was doing felt good. I could feel the start of a heat rising in me, one I only felt when I was with Lewis but this time it was stronger that I had ever felt before.

This being my first kiss I lose my breath fairly quickly so I'm pulling back gasping in softly. When I make eye contact with Lewis I notice the look he gave me back in the office.

"Was I okay?" I ask nervously not entirely confident in my previous actions.

"Baby, it was perfect. But just to be sure should we try again?" Lewis asks softly making me laugh a little at how cheesy he was being. Instead of using my words I pull Lewis closer by his neck and crashing my lips against his.

This time when I part my lips slightly I feel Lewis slip his tongue into my mouth making me instantly gasp at the feeling before following suit and allowing my tongue to tangle with his. In the midst of out make out session I feel Lewis pick me up and placing my thighs on either side of his waist and moving us towards my room.

When we get into my room he softly lays me on my mattress.

"Is this all you want tonight?" Lewis asks me before he moves any further.

"No, Lew I need something," I tell him softly.

"Pretty girl, what do you need?" Lewis asks me back while looking into my eyes.

"I don't know how to explain it. I've never felt like this before," I tell him honestly. While I was completely innocent and had never even masturbated I can only assume this is what it feels like to be turned on but I'm far too embarrassed to admit it.

"I think you do know what you need," Lewis tells me urging me to be honest with him. I close my eyes refusing to look at him before I say, "I need you to touch me."

"Are you sure?" Lewis asks softly which has me opening my eyes and making eye contact with him.

"If you're sure," I tell him not wanting him to feel the need to do something just becaus I wanted something.

"No, this is about you. Are you ready?" Lewis says repeating himself but using a more stern voice and vocab.

"Yes," I tell him firmly when I get a sudden rush of confidence. I instantly feel Lewis's hands graze my sides slowly pulling my top up exposing the lacey white bra I had worn today. I lift my body slightly to allow Lewis to pull my shirt completely off. Once it is completely off Lewis immediately brings his hands down to my tits to grip them through my bra.

"Fuck Lew," I moan out the second I feel Lewis's hands.

Lewis starts kissing down my neck making his way to my covered tits but they didn't stay covered for long because Lewis was helping me sit up slightly to unclip and pull off my bra. Once I'm free from my bra Lewis brings his lips back down to mine where he slowly lays me back down where he starts his trail of kisses again.

When he reaches my tits he almost instantly takes one of my nipples into his mouth while playing with the other.

"Lewis," I whine out dragging his name slightly from the pleasure. I feel Lewis slightly smile against me before moving to the other tit to suck my other nipple into his warm mouth.

While he is still pleasuring my tits I feel him move his hands down to the jeans I was wearing where I could feel Lewis starting to unbutton them before slowly pulling them down with my already soaked panties. Once my jeans are fully off Lewis slowly trails his kisses from my tits down my stomach.

"Lewis, hurry up," I tell him while getting impatient with him.

"patience, pretty girl," Lewis tells me still not going where I want him the most.

I start to feel Lewis, ghost kisses all over my thighs making me gasps out in shock.

"Please," I whine out to Lewis growing more impatient by the second.

Lewis finally brought his mouth to my pussy taking a long strip from my virgin hole to my aching clit.

"Fuck, Lew," I gasp out the second his tongue grazes my clit.

While Lewis was keeping a steady pace he was eating me out like it was the last meal he was ever going to eat.

"I think- fuck Lewis, something's happening," I stutter out when I feel an overwhelming pleasure I had never once felt before. My words only spurred Lewis's movements to pick up pace bringing me closer to the edge.

"Oh, fuck, fuck," I moan out the second my body was thrown over the edge for the first time ever. Lewis continued to eat me out to help me ride out my orgasm that felt like it was going to last forever.

When I finally come down from the intensity of my orgasm, my legs still shaking from the intense pleasure Lewis lays down next to me pulling me into in chest.

"Thank you," I whisper out to Lewis not really sure how to have pillow talk. Lewis just chuckles a little before placing a kiss on my forehead.

When I shift around a little I feel something poking my side. When I reached down to see what it was it had Lewis gasping at the touch. When it finally registered in my brain what I was touching I make eye contact with Lewis while still rubbing him threw his jeans.

"Y/N if you keep doing that I'll cum in my pants," Lewis gasps out through a light laugh.

"Then take your pants off," I finally gather enough courage to take the lead knowing if I did something wrong Lewis wouldn't judge me.

"This was about you tonight," Lewis tells me while his breathing began to grow labored signifying he was growing closer to cumming. When I realize he wasn't going to help me help him out I sit up all the way before climbing on top of Lewis and sitting on his legs so I can still unbotton his pants and pull his hard cock out of the jeans that had grown to be comfortably tight. at some point in the night Lewis had lost his shirt, making it easy to place soft kisses all over his chest.

Once I finally get Lewis's hard cock out of his jeans I look up to Lewis and ask, "I wanna make you feel good, please."

"Fuck, whatever your comfortable with, pretty girl," Lewis finally says giving me full permission to explore his cock and body.

I take my time exploring Lewis's body with my mouth. Spotting tattoos I had never seen before, which I softly traced with my finger before making my way down to his cock which was starting to leak precum with how hard he was.

I slowly start jerking his cock off while holding eye contact with Lewis. I can see how Lewis's breathing was starting to pick up again before his eyes rolled back signifying he was experiencing pure pleasure. When I realize his eyes were going to stay closed I decided to shock the both of us by leaning down and pulling the tip of his cock into my mouth.

The second my tongue started teasing his tip Lewis's eyes flew open realizing it was no longer my hands that were touching him.

"Y/N what are you doing," Lewis gasps out when I start slowly taking him further in my mouth trying to test the waters. Instead of answering him, I start bobbing my head trying to bring him more pleasure.

"Fuck, so good baby," Lewis moans out which only encourages me to go faster, which resulted in me going a bit too fast and hitting my gag reflex making me gag quite hard around Lewis's cock which instantly had Lewis gathering my hair in his hands and pulling me off.

"You've got to take it a little slower, pretty girl. This isn't some kind of race," Lewis tells me while I'm still gasping lightly for some air while allowing a couple tears to fall.

"I wanna make you feel good, besides, I kinda liked it," I admit making my cheeks heat up. I can't believe I just admitted to enjoying it when choked myself on Lewis's cock.

"You liked it huh?" Lewis teased me slightly making my cheeks grow more red.

Instead of answering him I went back to work with my mouth this time being a little less cautious with my movements which resulted in me occasionally gagging around his cock.

"Who knew my pretty girl was such a dirty slut," Lewis moaned out making me moan out around his cock from the degrading word.

"You like being called a slut don't you?" Lewis questioned which had me nodding my head the best I could with my mouth still full of his cock.

It doesn't take long before Lewis is grasping my hair to try and pull me off his cock.

"Baby, if you keep doing that I'm gonna cum in your mouth," Lewis gasped out while still trying to pull me off but instead of pulling back I pushed my head down as far as I could making me gag and choke a bit around his cock. This sent Lewis over the edge making him cum straight down my throat. He's still cumming when I pull back slightly to bob my head a little to help him ride his orgasm out the same way he had done to me.

When Lewis was done cumming I pulled off his cock with some of his cum still in my mouth.

"You can spit it baby," Lewis tells me softly but instead of listening I swallowed down every last drop and even licked the little bead of cum that was still left on the tip of his dick.

"What the fuck," Lewis gasps at how the girl who never even kissed a boy an hour ago was now licking his cock clean.

"Was I okay Lew?" I finally ask once we are cuddled up comfortably.

"Are you sure that was your first time?" Lewis joked clearly having enjoyed himself.

"Ya, I liked it though. I wanna do it again and again. I liked when yo called me the dirty name too," I tell him too embarrassed to say it myself.

"I don't remember what I said," Lewis says clearly wanting the dirty words to slip past my lips.

"I- uh, well you called me a slut," I whisper out which makes me realize how insane I was for enjoying such a term.

"Ya? Do you wanna be my little slut pretty girl?" Lewis asked softly making my thighs clench together. I just nod my head too embarrassed to say it again.

"No, I want words. Who are you?" Lewis said a bit sterner than he had ever talked to me before.

"I'm your dirty slut, Lew," I tell him while making direct eye contact with him. While I was embarrassed to say it out loud I couldn't help but bask in the pleasure it was to say that. I enjoyed being a little slut for Lewis and while I was still a virgin I couldn't help but be excited to explore everything more with Lewis.

"Get some rest pretty girl with a mouth and pussy as good as yours I will be going in for seconds before the clock strikes midnight," Lewis tells me making me cuddle further into his side and falling into a light sleep. Lewis kept his promise, by morning time he had managed to make me cum a dozen more times with just his mouth and fingers.

[n0tamused]

A/N: This is based off of this post I saw on tiktok theorizing that BootHill must've died a brutal death for only his head to remain.

Content: angst, scramble drabble, she/her, female reader, BootHill needs comfort and he gets it, BootHill written prior to his release

“-Hey, hey, BootHill, breathe, my love-” Warm and cautious hands cup the cheeks of her loved one who sat shaking on the very corner of her bed. Hair messy and some fallen in small clumps from the struggle with his artificial body. “Shh, you’re with me.. there’s no one around, just me” she tries to soothe him again, worry rising like a bubble in her throat at her partner’s distress.

BootHill’s eyes flickered between red and gray, jumping around the room but once they were on her, they looked at something past her, through her. Even with half of his human body gone he wasn’t spared of the terrible memories and dreams. Every once in a while they’d come back to haunt him and drag him through all the suffering once again. Like once wasn’t enough. And in his scared stupor he didn’t rise from the bed before tugging his own hair and trashing the bed, even managing to hit her in the pure state of his delirium in attempts to pull off the ropes he felt in his nightmare.

Ragged breaths fan across her hands and she has to call out to him a few more times until she finally gets a response that he’s finally lucid. “Huh-? Huh..what?” He stumbles, hoping to summon strength to feel again, with his hands, Metal wraps itself around her wrist, squeezing then lessening its grip before squeezing again. “It’s okay.. it was just a dream.. See? Just breathe, come on.. do it with me”

Worry is etched deep between her brows and her frown in the dim light of the bedroom, but she manages to calm him down. But with each twitch of his body she regrets the lack of things she could do. She would’ve intertwined their fingers together, would’ve hugged him until he realized he was being held - but what use of it was it when he physically couldn’t feel touch? It was like explaining colors to a blind man. She might as well cry with BootHill.

But she has to stay strong, and patient above all else. She needs to be his rock at this moment. “Come.. let’s rest some more. We can just lay down for now” she leads him to lay down after her, moving his head despite his confused and pained grunt, setting his ear to her chest. Her hands go to his hair and she holds him there, just like that. And she feels his weight fall onto her, no longer resisting.  The thump of her heart draws him in until it becomes the center of his world. He sees darkness before his eyes, but hears the light of the heart kept away from him, safe behind her ribs.

It was an anxious thump, fastened with fear and lack of air, before easing into a smoother rhythm. BootHill didn’t realize he was shedding tears until her gentle fingers brushed over the edge of his eyes, prompting them to close. “ ‘m sorry..” he muttered, swallowing a breath before he nuzzles his head against her chest, shuffling so his artificial body followed the long lost habit of his past self in the form of hugging. Mechanical arms practically trap her under him, and she only hugs his head closer. This is the least she could do..

Hearing him cry into her chest broke her heart, feeling how her shirt became damp,  and hearing him murmuring apologies for every tear that fell tested her strength too. He felt broken and lost, in hatred of the fate he was forced into and the suffering he had to endure, and he couldn’t give up, for that would mean betraying you. He just had to keep moving. 

BootHill can’t betray the only person left that he loves, and that loves him in return. 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[theologyy]

Review: “My Investing Journey and Learning” by Carmen Mundt

Qualifications: I’m a journalist reporting on business, economics, and defense who’s been in the industry for 7 years — the last 3 have been at, debatably, the #1 business publication in the world.

Rating: 2/5 stars

Thoughts: I cannot believe I spent 39 euros on this.

This 39 page ebook provides incredibly basic information that can all be found in this article.

First: while the ebook is about 40 pages, it probably has about 10 pages of actual information in it, interspersed with inspirational quotes from Sheryl Sandberg and Warren Buffet, with some pictures of Carmen in Monaco.

There’s about 1 page of “introduction” from Carmen that talks about her upbringing and journey to university in London. I won’t comment too much on her personal story, but an important thing to note is that she says she came from a “traditional Spanish household” where her father was the breadwinner and her mother had no access to family finances. After the 2008 crash, her family couldn’t afford to send her to college. She moved to London, applied for a student loan, and began studying finance at a university while working part time.

Carmen very, very briefly mentioned her regrets as to her mother’s inability to access higher education, work, and family financial planning; she says she’d never want to be in that position. While literally only one sentence, I think it makes it clear who the audience for this ebook is: someone who has absolutely, positively, no idea about money.

(She also very, very briefly mentions “big changes in her personal life” that made a full-time job in finance “not sustainable,” leading to her move to Monaco. This is her only reference to George.)

The rest of the book very simply explains how to make a budget, set financial goals, invest in the stock market, and mitigate risk. The information was kinda factually correct, and was written in a coherent manner. I think that’s the highest praise I can give it.

Here’s the thing: like other reviewers have called out, I am pretty certain that Carmen didn’t write anything besides the introduction. Whole sections (and indeed the entire format of the ebook) were clearly ripped from the Female Invest introductory courses. (I spent 3 hours clicking through each course so I could find direct wording comparisons to make this claim. I really wouldn’t recommend it.) I do think she edited these sections, and she interjected a few personal sentences; but I believe that’s where her involvement ended.

From an expert perspective, a lot of the information is so simplistic as to be almost incorrect. This isn’t a “first day of Econ 101” ebook — this is a “freshman year of high school home ec class” ebook. (Did anyone else’s home ec classes teach budgeting, or just me?)

Here’s an example. In a section on stocks, Carmen/Female Invest writes: “Investing in stocks allows you to support companies and causes you care about while still making a profit.”

On a basic level, this is correct. Purchasing a stock technically means you’re buying a little bit of a company, and I guess therefore supporting it. But unless a company is IPOing, you’re buying those stocks from another investor — which means your purchase has no effect on the company. So it’s a little disingenuous to claim you’re somehow helping the company. The ebook is rife with this kind of thing.

Carmen pushed in her advertising posts that the Female Invest courses were a key supplement to her book. So obviously, I had to do those too. And holy shit, they were so much worse than the ebook. Some parts were blatantly incorrect on basic information (they claim markets are open 24/7, when most are only open 9am-4:30pm on weekdays) and have some of the most patronizing metaphors I have ever read. (One of the most egregious was comparing your investment portfolio to a pizza because “stocks, bonds, and ETFs” make up different “sizes of slices to make a whole pie”. This isn’t even an accurate equivalent — maybe a calzone, pasta, and pizza make up a whole meal? I don’t even know.)

I would not recommend buying this ebook unless you, too, were barred from even thinking about a stock by your traditional father. Even then, consider free sources.

A Disclaimer on disclosures: So, after @ohblimeygeorge sent me a reddit post also reviewing Carmen’s book that mentioned ad disclosures, I decided to dive into the regulations. In the U.S., influential advertising is regulated by the FTC — in the EU, it’s regulated by the EU Commission, which I believe Carmen would qualify under since she is a Spanish citizen who lives in Monaco. First, I looked at this legal brief on content monetization business models, and concluded that that the ebook likely falls under “affiliate marketing” as Carmen likely receives a percentage of each ebook sold through her link.

(An additional disclaimer: obviously, I don’t know the details of the deal Carmen has with Female Invest, but I’d think it unlikely that she isn’t getting paid for their collaboration. She mentioned in an Instagram story under her Female Invest highlight that she “tried purchasing equity but they were already too big for what I could afford” but “did buy a bit of their crowdfunding.” Since she doesn’t have equity, i.e. doesn’t own a piece of the company, it’d be weird if she was doing this for free.)

Back on topic. I next looked at this legal brief on advertising disclosures. It states that affiliate marketing must be disclosed: “you need to make sure your audiences understand that it’s advertising.” Disclosures can include hashtags and “mentioning” advertising in the caption. Carmen has not disclosed advertising in any of her Female Invest posts, and appears to be violating this regulation. (Interestingly, her only posts that follow disclosure requirements are her Tommy posts.)

It’s apparently not uncommon. An EU Commission study showed 80% of influencers in the EU do not properly disclose ads.

So, there’s that too.

[pastel-peach-writes]

VI WITH A READER WHO FREAKS OUT AT EVERY OITTLE OUNCE IF ATTENTION SHE GIVES THEM

AHHH THATS SO CUTE. I also decide to change this up a bit and made Vi a pro-boxer. Enjoy!

The Fan Turned Partner | Vi x Reader Headcanons

╰┈➤ PLOT: Headcanons of Boxer!Vi with a partner who freaks out when given attention.

╰┈➤ WARNINGS: Uses of the term "fangirl" in a genderless way, Not Proofread, Boxer!Vi, Fan!Reader, Headcanons + Brief Narrative Prose

⍣ ೋ Enjoy!⍣ ೋ

– Okay, this reader is giving me fangirl energy.

– Like how the gays of the Arcane fandom go crazy over edits or feral over fanart.

– Before you got together with Vi, you would watch her matches online and arrange watch parties during the season.

– You would deck yourself out in merch, paint her initials on your cheek, and you even got yourself a red jacket to match hers.

– For your birthday, your friend got you tickets to see her in person and passes to her meet and greet!

– Obviously, you were geeked. You were going to see your favorite boxer, and celebrity crush, in the flesh and meet her!

– In the line for her meet and greet, you tried to be civil. You tried not to freak out about how pretty she looked and how she interacted with the kids who came to see her, and you tried to convince yourself that the eye contact you two made was all in your head.

– You were 20th in line. There was no way she could see you from there. As your friend said: "Everyone thinks their favorite is looking at them. It's all a delusion."

– You tried to drill that statement into your head but as you gained proximity, there was a voice in your head telling you that what your friend said wasn't true.

– You two did make eye contact. That smile on the corner of her lips was real and you were the cause.

– When your turn came, your delusions were confirmed. She did look at you. She said it herself.

– "Hey! You've been in line for a while. Thanks for waiting so patiently."

– Uhm, hellooooo. She was totally taking glances at you. How else would she have known that you've been waiting for a long time? Totally not because she can gauge the line's length and the amount of time it's taking her to get through everyone. Totally not.

– Anyway, as you two encountered, (your friend stayed back to give you your moment), your eyes couldn't help but sparkle when you met Vi's. Her gorgeous gray eyes, her pink hair that was way more vivid in person. Even her height. God, her height.

– You were obsessed with it.

– You knew she had to be on the taller side, but even the tallest person in the world looks 2 inches on a TV screen. ___

"Hey, you okay?" Vi smiled at you. Her eyes scanned yours, aware of your starstruckness but also looking for any signs that said you were indeed not okay. She had her hand on the small of your back and you almost felt like palpating. Well, that was until your friend, Hannah, snapped you out of your daze.

"Dude," her voice barked. "You're drooling and other people are waiting." Her tone was light and sweet.

You and Vi shared a chuckle, although yours sounded more embarrassed than hers. "Consider yourself a fan?" Vi gave you a mix of a smirk and a smile. Her hand still remained on the small of your back.

Giving her an eased smile, you moved closer so you two were side-by-side and in frame for the picture Hannah was taking. "You could say that."

---

– After that interaction, you could not stop talking about it on the way to your seats.

– You and Hannah gathered some goodies along the way. And even in line for frozen drinks, you couldn't stop mentioning how her wrapped hand felt on your back and how her voice was smooth as honey.

– Hannah could only sympathize so many times before she grew tired of your yapping, but she let you continue nonetheless.

– In your seat and deep into the match, you two raved and cheered for the respected sides. One of Hannah's favorites was competing before Vi's match so it was like a 2-for-1 special.

– When Vi's match did come around, you couldn't help but relish in her confidence and bask in her charisma. How she owned the ring during her intro and how her body bounced against the ring's ropes.

– She was stunning. (Even though you knew that already).

– As she stood on the ropes, smiling and waving to her fans, her eyes found yours. For Vi, it was like time stopped. The cheers of the audience drowned out and all she cared about was making you smile and seeing that sparkle in your eye again.

– She gave you her signature wink with the tilt of your head. To that, you squealed, jumped on the balls of your feet, and waved ecstatically towards her.

– Satisfied, Vi hummed to herself and went on to start her match.

– Now Vi wasn't going to let some cute human distract her from winning this fight. She's met many cute people before and she refused to let them get into her head and make her lose the match.

– Even if those cute people seem to melt and stare at her in admiration at the smallest things.

– Your meeting was only the beginning of a long-lasting relationship.

– Even after months of being together, you still freaked out time to time.

– These freakouts were different than before. They weren't "fangirl" freakouts and instead were smitten, "omg-i-can't-believe-how-awesome-my-girlfriend-is-and-i'm-in-love-with-her" freakouts.

– Like when Vi would rest her arm someplace on your body to lean on you, you would internally freak out because she was leaning on you and she's so attractive when she does that.

– Or another time when she gives you puppy eyes for wanting something you said no to. She'd even stick out her bottom lip and deepen the pout before you groan, cup her face, and express over and over how cute she is before giving in.

– When she calls you "babe", you freak out a little, and even when she cups your face, a tiny squeal comes from you.

– Vi never grew tired of your freakouts or moments of flusteredness. She thought it was cute.

– She had her moments of freakouts too but hid them better than you.

– (I had wayyy more ideas for this originally but they all went out the window as soon as I started writing so abrupt ending! Sorry!)

WC: 994

[venusacrossthestars]

Carnival

Summary: You love your boyfriend and you love the edits of your boyfriend that are all over TikTok, however your dirty little secret is soon shared.

Pairing- Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

wc-923

warnings- not proofread, at all. Carnival by Kayne West is the song in question, one sexual innuendo at the end, swearing and FLUFF

f1 masterlist

You were no stranger to TikTok and the editing trends that made their rounds. You have seen your fair share of edits or both real and fictional men. You have even come across a few of your boyfriend and they were, well a sight to see. The first time you liked one with your main account, that had sent the comments and the poor editor into a frenzy. 

You wanted to interact with the fan base, especially the ones on TikTok without acting liked a crazed girlfriend who thirsted over her boyfriend publicly. So you did what any sane person would do and you made a fan account for your own boyfriend, you never posted anything just liking edits and commenting on how wonderful the edit was. 

Charles had no idea and to be honest you didn’t really want him finding out. This was your dirty little secret, something you only looked at when Charles wasn’t home. How was it that these editors were so talented. Putting together a bunch of random clips, the coloring, the transitions, the song choice, all of it was beautiful. 

The song of choice at the moment was Carnival and you weren’t complaining. Your entire saves was filled with edits of Charles to this song. You have probably seen hundreds and you ate it up everytime. 

It was a random wednesday and Charles was off doing his workout and you had thought that there was no better time than to open TikTok and go scroll through your saves. Too lost in your own little world you failed to notice the front door open a close, signaling that Charles was home. 

The only thing that Charles could hear throughout the apartment was a song he wasn’t familiar with. ‘Go Go, go, go, go Head so good, she a honor roll She'll ride the dick like a carnival’. What the hell were you watching? 

Coming up behind you Charles could see his own pictures flash across the screen to the song. He watched as you scrolled down and to his surprise it was another video of himself to the same song. 

“What are you watching?” Charles ask. 

You nearly screamed at Charles’ voice, not expecting him to be back so soon. You turned off your phone and flung it across the couch, “You’re home early!” 

“No, No, No. We aren’t changing the subject. What were you watching?” 

“Nothing…” you say sheepishly. 

Charles raises an eyebrow at your tone, “Are you sure?” 

“Mhmm,” you hum out, “Absolutely sure.” 

Charles moves next to you on the couch and grabs your phone. You go to reach for it but Charles is quick to grab it back. “I think I know what you were doing.” 

“Charles,” you groan out “Give me my phone please.” 

Charles continues to hold it out of reach, no matter how you move or where you move to, he is one step ahead. “Not until you tell me who that handsome man was on your screen.” 

“Charlie, stopppp.” You groan out, “It’s embarrassing.” 

“Then I’ll just have to keep this,” he says, pocketing your phone. 

“Fine! I was watching edits of you!” 

Charles giggles out at your admission and you hide your face in your hands, heat creeping up your neck. 

“I want to see,” Charles says, “show me your favorites.” 

“Wow, someones is a little vain.” 

“I’m not the one who was watching edits of their significant other.” Charles teases. 

“Well now I don’t want to.” 

“Mon amour, please.” Charles begs and you turn away from him. You won’t fall victim to his pleading eyes this time.

“Mon amour. Mon cheri. Please my love. I’m not making fun of you I swear.” 

You could never hold your resolve to Charles’ pleading, “Fine, can I have my phone?” 

Charles hands you your phone and you are quick to unlock it. You exit the edit you were currently watching to scroll back up to the top of your saves. 

“I made a separate account to like and comment. One time I liked with my personal account and I think I nearly sent the editor into a early grave. I wanted to interact with the fans but I thought you might think its strange for your girlfriend to be liking thirst edits of you.” 

“I think it’s adorable,” Charles says, pinching your cheeks. You swat his hands away in embarrassment. “But y’know you can thirst over me anytime, right?” 

“Of course I do, it’s just these edits do something to me. I can’t explain it.” 

“Well let me see.” 

“Fine,” you scroll down to where you know the edit is, “This one has been real popular lately. There are more to this song, the one that was playing when you walked in earlier, I really like them.” 

You hold your phone to at an angle so that Charles can see the edit play out. He sits in silence for the whole thing and once it loops you pause it and wait Charles reaction. 

“Wow,” he pauses, trying to think of what to say next, “people really make edits of me to songs like this.” 

“Yes and I don’t blame them. You are very sexy.” 

“I can see why you watch them. If there were edits of you I’d be watching them all the time. Can I see another?” 

“Sure.” You scroll down to another Carnival edit and you watch as Charles is encaptured by himself. 

“Well the song got one thing right-you do ride dick like a carnival.” Charles chuckles out. 

“CHARLES!” 

taglist- (crossed out names mean I couldn't tag you)

@arieslost @spookystitchery @tpwkstiles @oliveswiftly @morgonjinn @herondalism @softieekayy @deprxssed-loser @noreri @boiohboii @im-on-a-hellavator @captainchickadee @whatever7justchillin @outerudeth @jscircuit @loveyatopluto @saiteliites @asparklysoul @missmontiopath @helanahaadock @froggybij @slaygirlbossworld @vee2004dee @tennisloversblog @slvtforredheads @senna13sworld @hellobeauty-06 @jaxx-7 @anastasiamoony @reguluscrystals @gr1mes-cc @yoooooooogiiiiiiii @sharlsworld @janeholt3 @valtkitty @wondergirl101ks @georgeparisole @m4dyl @janegxi @amberpanda99 @itsmeimthedissapointment @jah0700 @non-binaryandy @sarahskomal @anedpev @xqwiser @apllo-axolotl @h34rts4maisey @anonymousjo @megsmclaren @charizznorizz @decadentlightchaos @adelinemack @bwormie @bonbonvz @hoodshair @bunbun9396 @fangirlika @vex-et-soleil @sillylittlegooselings @hlhclh @stvrlec16 @omgsuperstarg @luanasrta @its-cat-eyes @taytaythirteen @marekmybeloved @rqlstefanny @nickxcorpse @olivyamarvelgirl @violyn20 @emisaxols @thesouistone @hangmandruigandmav @embonbon

[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ v ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: sorry it took a while compared to the other chapters. i finished up my lab reports in my surveying class. this is not edited nor is it beta read and i dont remember much on what happened during the 2018-2021 seasons so pardon me if there are inaccuracies. anyways, welcome to max's pov. u can say im stalling on the shitshow that will happen once max discovers that reader resigned. lemme know what you think.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1

masterlist.

2018

“Who’s that?”

Daniel looks up, cheeks stuffed with the sandwich he was eating for lunch, “Who?”

Max cringes internally. His mother always told him and Victoria to not talk when his mouth was full, she called it bad manners, and now, he is understanding where she was coming from with those lectures. Nevertheless, he doesn't reprimand Daniel. Instead, he gestures to the girl standing a few meters away from their table in the Red Bull hospitality staff cafeteria, who was happily chatting with two Red Bull senior engineers whom Max recognizes to be Elijah Stuart and Richard Fox.

It is the first time Max has seen her. A new employee perhaps? Perhaps not. She lacks the company standard uniform.

Daniel trails his line of sight to where Max has pointed, “Which one? Richard?”

“No,” Max groans. Daniel blinks.

“Elijah?”

This is quickly becoming annoying.

“The girl, Daniel,” Max says, his exasperation bleeding through his words. “She’s not wearing a Red Bull polo.”

Daniel’s brows rise to his hairline, head snapping back to Max, “[Name]?”

Then, a shit-eating grin erupts on his lips. “Are you interested in her?”

“She’s not my type,” Max’s denial comes quickly. Is it even considered denial if it’s the truth? In his twenty almost twenty-one years being alive, Max never really put a lot of time into thinking about what his ideal type would look like. But he is sure that the woman of his dreams will look very far from the woman who was successful in catching his attention because you are wearing a black shirt in a sea of Red Bull polo shirts.

You with your eyes that forms into tiny crescent moons once your face breaks into a grin, you with your smile that shows too much gums and too much teeth, you with your hands that moves too much when you talk, and you with that too loud and too obnoxious laugh that comes even with the lamest of jokes. You’re like Daniel in a way. All happy sunshine vibes.

Max is watching you close, observing how you were interacting with Richard and Elijah. They're old men and no one should look this happy while talking to boring, old, white men, who worked more than four decades in the engineering industry so they only know how to speak boomer language and everything engineering. Surprisingly, Elijah and Richard seem to be having fun talking to you. A miracle on its own because they never even look that happy talking to Daniel Ricciardo and everybody in Red Bull Racing adores sunshine honey badger, Daniel Ricciardo.

“I didn't say anything.”

“You're thinking about it.”

“How would you know what I’m thinking?”

“Because you’re currently on a quest to erase my singledom. I can put two and two together.”

Daniel snorts, crossing his arms over his chest, “Maybe I just want to let you meet new friends.”

“I have enough friends.”

“You don't have friends that are not racers.”

Max presses his lips in a thin line.

“She’s my manager, by the way.” says Daniel, leaning back into his seat.

“What happened to Nick?”

“He’s on leave,” Daniel says. “His wife’s giving birth soon. She’s my temporary manager for a few months. Or I don't know, maybe the whole season.”

Max brows rise in pleasant surprise but says nothing.

“Now that I think about it, she’s around your age. How old are you again? Twenty-two?”

“Twenty,” Max corrects. His birthday is still months away from pre-season. On the end of September.

“Ah, she's older than you. Oh wait, here she comes. Hey, [Name]! Here!”

Max flinches and his heart begins ramming against his ribs erratically that he thinks he’ll undergo cardiac arrest in a matter of seconds. He does a double take—why am I even panicking?—then forces himself to calm down and straightens up in his seat. His shoulders and neck are still considerably stiff and his palms are slowly becoming sweaty. He swallows an invisible stone in his throat.

“¡Hola mi amiga, [Name]!” Daniel greets and his Spanish accent sounds off that it makes [Name], who stopped right in front of their table, giggle and when Max looks up at her through his lashes, it almost feels like the world is turning too rapidly on its axis and it’s making Max dizzy. Daniel and her do a friendly handshake—when did they reach this level of friendship?

“Hola, Daniel,” she greets, smiling. Your accent reminds Max of Carlos, but unlike Carlos, who possesses a very distinct Spanish accent, yours sounded subtler than his and it's mixed with the charming rhythm of words that reminds Max of sunsets in the south. You pronounce Daniel’s name like it has two syllables instead of three. Dan-yel instead of Dan-i-el. Suddenly, Max is curious as to how his name will sound if it originates from her mouth, how the syllables will roll off her tongue. Max will still sound like Max. Nobody will mispronounce that name. But Emilian and Verstappen? How will you say it?

“Hi Max.”

The Max sounds plain even though you’re smiling when you greet him. She didn't say Max the same way she said Daniel, whose name was uttered with a certain fondness.

“Hello,” Max’s chin dips slightly into a nod.

“Eat with us,” Daniel invites and he is already dragging a chair from a nearby table to their table before Max can fully register what he’s doing.

“You sure?” you ask, brows raising slightly at Daniel’s abrupt invitation.

Daniel waves his hand dismissively, “Yeah, yeah, Max wouldn't mind. Would you, Max?”

Suddenly, two pairs of eyes are on him and his throat feels dry. He cannot speak. No words leave his mouth. Empty brain, zero thoughts. In the end, he nods and you join the two for lunch.

Max frequently sees you following Daniel in the paddock. You remind him of a dog. No, even dogs do not follow their owners this much. Or do they? Max wouldn't know. He is a cat person anyway.

Max’s main point is this: not even the other racers’ managers follow them around this much. Not even Max’s manager follows him this much. (No one tell Max that this was due to the fact that he scares his own manager. Imagine a middle-aged man scared of a Dutch racer half his age with anger issues.) But you follow Daniel around like he is the sun and you are planet Earth and you need to be constantly revolving around him to achieve universal balance. And for some reason, your actions cause something odd to stir up in Max. He is annoyed. Of what? Maybe because you are so good to Daniel? Maybe he wants someone to be like that for him, too? His manager is not as proactive as you. Yeah, maybe that’s it.

And if you are not with Daniel, which is a rare occurrence, you’re hovering around the Red Bull mechanics. You even go as far as bringing them coffee in the mornings and that annoys Max even more. Daniel, he can understand if you brought him coffee, but the others? No. You don't even bring Christian Horner coffee. Why only them?

Whatever.

You are such a suck up. Max hates suck ups.

Baku 2018 was a bad race, a total nightmare for everyone in the team. The moment Max got out of that car, he was burning. Figuratively, at least. The engine of the RB14 is the one burning, in a literal sense. Horner is red in the face when he sees Max and Daniel, and he yells at them to cool down before they do the formal stuff of apologizing and dealing with the FIA and all the formalities that Max rather thinks are bullshit.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice raising, when he sees you approaching. “Aren't you supposed to be with Daniel?”

“Water?” you offer the water bottle to him and Max knows full well it’s supposed to be for Daniel. Max saw you offering it to Daniel earlier when the two of them stepped into the Red Bull garage after retiring from the race but the older man has declined your offer before stomping off somewhere else to cool down.

“No.”

He is not going to take the scraps of someone else, even though he is thirsty as hell.

You nod, shrugging your shoulders and saying, “Okay.”

You crouch on the floor and put the water bottle in front of him with a neatly folded face towel balancing on top of it. Then, you rise and walk away, leaving Max to glare at your back as you fade away from his view. Once you disappeared from his line of sight, he drags his gaze back to the water bottle and towel.

He drinks the water and then uses the towel to wipe his sweat. At that moment, Max decides that he will never allow himself to be beaten by Daniel ever again.

Max remembers the anger he feels when he discovers the news of Daniel leaving Red Bull.

“Was this because of Baku?!”

Daniel tries to explain his situation as calmly as he can but Max is all fire and flames and fury. He is only hearing Daniel’s words, not listening to them because all that he registers are the words “leaving” and “Renault” and “goodbye” and the rest are all just a bunch of ringing noise. Max knows where Daniel is coming from because he isn't dumb nor naive and he is aware that he is quickly becoming the team favorite, but did Daniel really need to leave?

Daniel’s leaving, Daniel’s leaving, Daniel’s leaving. He’ll have no friends left on the team.

Max’s fear of being left behind is often masqueraded as anger. The thing about Max is that his pain always turns to anger and his anger turns into violence.

He barely registers what he has done to Daniel until he sees his teammate—former teammate—on the floor, eyes wide and clutching his cheek. Max’s fist trembles. They are both horrified at what Max has done.

“Daniel, I—”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, man?!” Daniel scrambles to a stand and lunges at Max. Max fears he’s going to get punched, too, and maybe he deserves it because he is the one who has thrown his fist first, but [Name] appears, quick as lightning, and rushes in between Daniel and Max.

“Daniel, calm down.”

Max is surprised you can hold Daniel down on your own. Daniel was a racer, had been since 2011, so he possessed the physical strength of a veteran racer and you, well, you're not. You’re shorter than them both, too.

Daniel is turning red in the face and fury paints his features. Max wants to fight, answer Daniel’s anger with his own. Fire to fire. Let them both burn until they achieve ruination.

“Nick!” you cry and at the call of his name, Nick appears quickly. “Hold Daniel!”

Your hands clutch Max’s nape and forearm and you quickly drag him away from the furious Daniel, leaving Nick to hold Daniel off and calm him down.

His ears are still ringing. Even after he's dragged away from the chaos. Even after he's brought into an empty room. Even after he sits down on a plush chair, face scarily blank while his mind runs for miles.

The ringing sound disappears when you tap his shoulder and asks, “You okay, big boy?”

His brain becomes a blank slate.

Max nods hesitantly, “Yeah.”

His knuckles are still tingling. He can still feel the remnants of the violence of his fist, can still feel the sting when his knuckles met Daniel’s cheek.

“Injuries?”

Why do you only speak words instead of full sentences?

You scan Max’s face for injuries and Max holds his breath when you lean your face closer to see clearly.

“No—No injuries.”

Your shoulders sag in relief, “Good. Thank fuck. Horner wouldn't be happy if golden boy got clocked.”

You pull yourself away and Max feels like he can breathe again. Then, you pivot on your heels.

“I’ll get you water.”

“No!”

You flinch and then turn to him slowly, your eyes growing wide and mouth falling slightly open. Max mirrors your surprise. You blink at him. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then, your forehead creases and you close your mouth.

“No need to yell at me,” you mumble but Max hears it loud and clear and now, his anger is spiking up again.

“Fine, go!”

You raise a brow at him, giving him a long look. A sigh escapes your lips. You leaned against the door, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why aren't you leaving?”

“You don't want me to,” you say in a know-it-all tone.

“I told you to go!”

“What you want and what you say are two different things. Don't worry, I’ll stay for as long as you need.”

Max doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he sits there in the silence with his thoughts and he can already feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He’s sure you noticed that he’s trying not to cry, not with you standing in front of him. Max always makes weird faces when he forces himself not to cry.

But then you turn your back on him, not to leave, but to give him the privacy he needs.

His tears fall silently.

The 2018 WDC was Lewis Hamilton, who garnered 408 points by the end of the year. Max finishes in fourth, only after the Ferrari drivers, Sebastian Vettel and Kimi Raikkonen. The world thinks it is not a bad result. Max is still young and he’s battling three WDCs for points. But Max thinks otherwise. Winning is number one. The rest is just losing. The only thing he knows is he's not good enough. Jos is thinking of the same thing, too. He knows it.

Everytime someone congratulates him, Max has to bite his tongue and fake a smile. He can only feel anger, for finishing up fourth. It's like people are constantly reminding him of what he failed to become—a champion.

Red Bull throws an after party at the hotel bar, like they do at every Grand Prix, but Max chose not to go so he can drown in his own bitterness in the privacy of his hotel room.

A series of knocks on the door disturbs his ongoing rampage. He is sure it is his manager who’s behind the door. Archie possesses a horrible habit of appearing when he is not needed and not appearing when he is.

“What?!”

“Open the door, sour loser.”

That's not Archie.

Max’s jaw tenses. He marches towards the door and aggressively throws it open. It is you who stands behind it, an unimpressed expression printed on your face. Why is Daniel’s manager here?

“Who are you calling a loser?”

You sigh, peering your head in to look at his hotel room. You wince.

“Horner is not gonna be happy with how you trashed everything,” you begin. Max may or may not have thrown things across the room, punched a table and the wall, and accidentally broke a hotel-owned wall decoration. “Did you punch the wall?”

He did. But he’s not going to tell you that. Max hopes you don’t notice the peeling skin on his knuckles—red and angry and bloody.

“Can you leave?” he asks through gritted teeth. He hears you sigh. You do that a lot when you’re around him. Why?

You rummage through your tote bag—cream-colored with peach prints, the same one you wear all year round—and pull out a cold can of beer and a face towel.

“Lemme see.”

You reach for Max’s hand, which causes him to jerk back, his hand going behind him. You pause.

“I told you to leave.”

“Okay,” you shrug. You grab his wrist before he could dodge and you thrust the cold canned beer and face towel into his hand.

“Put this on your knuckles,” your tone leaves no room for further arguments. “Danny’s worried ‘bout you.”

“If he’s so worried about me, he shouldn't be leaving me,” Max snaps.

“Have you tried listening to his reasons?”

“Of course, I did!” Max is offended that you even feel the need to ask him that.

You purse your lips, “Maybe you did listen, just never tried to understand. I’d do the same thing, too, if I was Danny. No need to stay in a place where we’re no longer wanted.”

Max opens his mouth to bark back. How dare you utter such nonsense? You only stayed here for a year! ? You will never understand the relationship between Daniel and Max. You will never know Daniel the same way Max knows him.

“He isn't going to win anywhere else. We are going to get a new engine and the car will be better than this year. We’ll be better than Ferrari or Mercedes. We’ll be champions.”

I’ll be a champion, but Max leaves it unsaid.

“I know, heard it from the mechanics,” you shrug. “Maybe Danny won't win in another machinery. Maybe he will. Who knows? But if the team wanted Danny then that’s better. A team that wants and prioritizes Danny will treat him better than any team could. And right now, that's what he needs, a good team that supports him well.”

“Red Bull prioritizes him, too.”

“You're lyin’ to yourself, you know it. You of all people should know how shitty it feels to be number two and Danny is number two right now.”

Silence.

Number two. Cursed number two.

“Are you gonna follow Daniel, too?”

Max will not be surprised if you do.

You shrug.

“Let's wait and see.”

Then, you turn around and walk away, the soft click of your beige flats echoing in the hotel hallway until it fades into silence, while Max stands there at the open door, a cold canned beer and a face towel in his hand.

He uses the face towel to wipe the blood on his knuckle and uses the cold canned beer to help soothe the pain of forming bruises. Max wishes you brought something to ease the pain in his heart, too.

2019

The 2019 pre-season begins with Christian Horner saying that Archie, Max’s incompetent manager last year, has submitted a resignation letter. That makes Max Verstappen officially manager-less this year.

“For this season, since Daniel is no longer with us—” The corner of Max’s lips curve downwards. “[Name] does not have anyone to manage anymore. I was thinking of moving her to the engineering team but she was too efficient at managing Daniel last year. Would you mind if she becomes your manager? I assume you're both friends?”

Friends is not the appropriate term to describe what they are. Sure, they talked because Daniel talked with Max frequently and wherever Daniel was, [Name] is closely behind. Daniel also has this habit of dragging everyone into the conversation so no one will be left out. They also engaged in banter a few times, when Daniel’s not around and Max and her do not bother tolerating each other for the sake of the Australian racer.

For the most part, when Daniel is present, [Name] become the nicest person to ever grace the room, even Mother Teresa is put to shame, but when Daniel’s gone, [Name]’s saintess act disappears and enters an asshole who'll argue with Max and annoy him to oblivion. She absolutely vexes him.

Also, she's a terrible suck up. Max hates suck ups.

“She’ll be good for you,” Horner adds.

“Do you believe so?”

“I know she can handle you.”

Max raises a single questioning brow, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Nevertheless, Max has no choice. Horner believes she’ll be good for him and Max prefers having her as a manager than having none at all. God forbid he’ll be stuck manager-less. He can barely organize anything to save his life.

Even though they're not perfectly civil with each other, Max cannot deny the fact that [Name] is a good manager. It is like she possesses the uncanny ability of knowing everything Max needs without having him to voice it out and you do it without Max having to ask you. Which works greatly for Max. He really isn't the best at asking what he needs and people cannot mindread so he just sucks everything up until a simple thing gets blown out of proportion and he ends up blaming someone else for a problem that should have been solved had he voiced it out in the first place.

“PR sent me this,” you walk into the room early in the morning and Max groans because he’s still dealing with the hangover from last night so he cannot deal with your annoyingness right now. Despite hearing his dilemma, you put the iPad on the table and Max sees a picture of him drunk as fuck in a bar somewhere in Barcelona. He winces, looking away and not bothering to read the caption.

“They want you to clear shit up.”

“What's there to be cleared about?”

“People think we're datin’, darlin’. That's what you need to clear up.”

Max’s eyes go comically wide. Him and [Name]....dating? A blush graces Max’s cheeks.

You swipe down and show Max a video. The clip shows you walking out of the bar, warding off people with a passed out Max on your shoulder.

There are two things that immediately entered Max’s head at that moment:

Wow. You're really strong.

What the fuck? When did this happen?

“I’ll get you an Advil and soup. In the meantime,” you open a word document on your iPad. “You read this. Prepared a script ‘cuz you can’t improvise shit. We’ll film a press release vid when I come back, aight?”

You are gone before Max can even nod his head.

[wandaslamb]

One of those days

Parings: Step-mom!Wanda x fem!reader

warnings: none just fluff and wholesomeness :))

a/n: I felt sad and wanted to write something to take my mind off things, so I decided to write something short. I did not proofread this nor felt like editing it so if there are mistakes I'm so sorry, i wanted to post this for the people who also have bad days maybe this can help, I dunno lol. anyways back to girl rotting and what not, enjoy!! :D

Word count: 1.1k

“Malysh, I’m home!..” Wanda sat her bags down on the couch frowning, usually once she comes home you're running to her with open arms. Since your dad was on a business trip it left you with her. It’s been a couple of days and university had been kicking your ass. 

mentally you weren't feeling the best, and it had been eating you away until today after class it broke you. 

“Baby.. where are you?” She walked upstairs to your bedroom, only to find you curled up in the bed with the covers over your head. 

“oh!! hi darling!!” her usual smile appeared on her face before uncovering your head, finding you teary-eyed and sniffling. “Angel…angel what’s wrong?” your cries started to get louder as she sat you up pulling you in her lap. 

“hey.. hey look at me.” She turned your head to face hers wiping away the tears from your face. “talk to me Lyubov..tell Mommy what’s wrong.” 

you started to speak but you just broke down in her arms, she let out a sigh and put her chin on your head rubbing your back to help you with your breathing.

“oh, it’s one of those days isn’t it?” you nodded into her chest.

“aww baby…don’t worry, mommy’s here and I have all the time in the world to be with you..” 

She shifted on the bed to make you both comfortable rocking you both as you started to calm down a little bit.

“i-i’m sorry... I just-“ you started but she shushed you, running her hands through your hair. “You have nothing to be sorry about printsessa, let mommy take care of you.”

She pulled you into a tight hug, “I know you don’t wanna talk when you’re in this state, But I don’t need you to say anything I just need you to listen to me, honey?” You nodded playing with her fingers. 

“It’s all right, baby, It's ok to have these days...Even the people who seem to be the happiest, strongest, perfect individuals on Earth, go through tough days… It happens to me too, baby. Remember?” she started to smile again.

“Remember that even Mommy sometimes is in a bad mood and doesn’t feel good.” 

“yea..” you sniffed 

“Yeah? And what do you do to help me when I’m in a bad mood?” 

“I try to make you feel better..” she nodded before pulling you back into her chest. 

“That’s right! but right now, it’s time to make my baby feel better and I know exactly what to do about it,” she spoke in a matter-of-fact tone that made you giggle a little. 

“you do?” 

“Yes, Of course, I do silly! first off I think my baby deserves some mommy kisses..” She started to kiss you all over your face before she landed on your lips.

your giggles filled the room, as she kissed all over your face and neck, before stopping and moving your hair out your face moving your so that you would face her. 

“There’s that beautiful face I know and love, now mommy needs to tell you something important..” your smile quickly turned back into a frown. your anxieties started to show its face again as you removed your hand from hers but she quickly held it again rubbing the back of it to reassure you you were fine.

“Are you ready to hear it?”

you slowly nodded as she took a deep breath and smiled, “I love you.”

she took a hold of your face and looked into your eyes wiping your forming tears.

“I love you very very much angel.” your tears started to fall again your hands pressed up to your face as she pulled you right back into her. 

“Aww, malysh,” she rubbed your back. 

“shhh it’s ok, mommy’s got you... I didn’t mean to make you cry again but you needed to hear it. I love you so much, you mean the world to me..” she sighed. 

“I know you have many responsibilities, and with everything that is going on sometimes you feel overwhelmed but I’m here for you, printsessa. I’m here to help you recharge, on the days you feel drained like today, and I’m here for you on the days you have everything under control and your energy matches the one of a little bunny because you're always my little energetic bunny..” she giggled.

“But still, I’m here for you, sweetheart always and I’m so grateful to be able to do that, cause you know I wouldn't stand to see my bunny like this and not do something about it, right?” you lifted your head and nodded at her before putting your head back on her chest. 

“Yes, that’s because you’re important to me, honey. You’re my good girl, My precious baby girl, I will always be here when you need me I promise you.” 

“I love you mama..” you mumbled into her chest and she laughed before kissing the top of your head. 

She froze for a moment letting the word ‘mama’ ring through her head, out of all the years she’s been with your dad you’d never call her that. It stuck something in her something so… soft and endearing which filled her with so much love.

“I love you too, honey.” she pulled you up to face her again. “Are you feeling a little bit better now darling?” 

“yeah, a little bit..”

“Good. But I’m not done cuddling and spoiling you tonight, I think my baby deserves to have a nice dinner.” 

“I don’t need-“

“No no, honey you need to eat. How about I make your favorite food and you're going to be a good girl for me and eat it. I’m thinking my famous Chicken paprikash how does that sound?” you excitedly nodded Wanda made this dish a lot when she first moved in with you and your dad, and it soon became a meal you loved for her to make. 

“I’ll also let you choose what movies we can watch tonight.. but for right now, we can just cuddle a little bit more.” She held out her arms, you melting right back into them listening to her heart beating and the breaths she took as she started to hum softly as she slowly rocked you. 

“Don’t worry, baby…everything will be all right. You'll be fine, Mommy’s here, and I’ve got you. You’re safe with me, sweetheart, There’s nothing that can hurt you, I will not allow anything to hurt you, not while you’re safe and secure in Mommy’s arms. I will take care of you, always my sweet, precious, beautiful baby girl.”