#i just got light headed thinking about this

[inkandapex]

tides of change

Lando Norris x Y/N

Summary : Lando and Y/N’s not so situationship had become the talk of everyone around them. It was clear to everyone but the two of them that their connection was something worth fighting for. The question on everyone’s lips: When will Lando finally stop holding back and risk it all?

Words : 4.1k

Warnings : swearing, mentions of sex, poorly translated french

It was a rainy day in Monaco, the kind of weather that made everything feel a little slower. The usual buzz of the city was muffled by the constant drizzle, and the three friends—Lando, Max, and Charles—found themselves on a paddle court, looking for a way to pass the time during their break.

Sweaty and winded from their last round, the trio stood around, sipping on drinks, exchanging small talk about the upcoming season. Max, ever the competitive one, wiped his brow with a towel, giving Lando a smirk. "I think you might be getting worse, mate."

Charles finally looks up from his phone after being preoccupied for the past few minutes. "Lando, Y/N is here?"

"Yeah, she got in last morning. Why?" Lando nods, still catching his breath from the last game.

Charles grins and pockets his phone. "Alex just texted me—she just found out today. You should invite her to join us on the yacht. It's supposed to be a clear day tomorrow."

Lando raises an eyebrow. "Who else is coming?"

"Couple of other friends, Carlos and Rebecca too."

Lando smirks, glancing over at Max. "Max?"

"Nah, mate," Max chimes in, wiping his face with a towel. "Don't think being out at sea would help with Kelly's morning sickness." He laughs lightly, clearly trying to keep the mood light, but there’s a genuine care in his tone.

Lando’s grin softens, and he nods. "Fair enough. I’ll let Y/N know then."

"Speaking of which... what's ugh, going on with you two? Finally asked her out?" Max smirks, leaning back against the wall.

A small smirk crept up on Lando’s face, but he quickly took a swig from his bottle, picking up his racket as if the question never happened. "Are we playing another round or what?"

"Well, that’s a clear no," Charles laughs, crossing his arms.

Max raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. "You idiot, how long has this situationship been a thing for now? Two seasons?"

Lando freezes for a second, then points a finger at Max. "First of all, don’t ever use ‘situationship’ again. Sounds weird coming from you." He shrugs nonchalantly. "And... we’re just friends."

Charles snickers. "Friends who kiss every now and then—"

Max jumps in. "And sleep together."

Lando's eyes widen slightly. "Hey, that’s not—"

"So you haven’t?" Max presses, his grin growing.

Lando bites his lip, trying to hide the grin spreading across his face. He glances at Charles, who’s trying to suppress a laugh.

"Oh, they definitely have," Charles chimes in, his voice teasing.

Lando glares at them, but it’s no use—he can’t help the flush creeping up his neck. "Alright, alright, enough."

"I've had a couple of friends ask me about her, mate." Charles pats Lando’s shoulder before casually walking back to his side of the court. "Come on, one more before we head home."

Lando blinks. "Wha— Which friends?" His grip tightens slightly on his racket, trying to sound indifferent but failing miserably.

Charles exchanges a knowing look with Max, the kind that screams look at this idiot, so oblivious. Max just smirks.

"Doesn't matter who" Charles shrugs, stretching his arms as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell. "Just thought I’d let you know. Do with the information as you will."

Lando opens his mouth, then closes it, frowning slightly. His mind is already racing through the possibilities, but before he can press further, Max serves the ball, forcing him to refocus.

But even as they dive back into the game, the thought lingers.

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The sound of Lando's keys hitting the table broke Y/N's gaze from the screen in front of her. She glanced over to see him standing by the door, bag still slung over his shoulder, hair slightly damp from a mix of sweat and rain.

"How was paddle with Max and Charles?" she asked, shifting her focus back to the movie playing in front of her.

"Good. Max lost, of course." Lando smirked, toeing off his shoes before flopping down beside her. He hesitated for a moment before clearing his throat. "Hey, uhm— you busy tomorrow?"

"Mmm, not really. Kinda wanted to walk around and shop for a bit. Why, what's up?"

Lando ran a hand through his damp curls. "Charles is inviting us on his yacht tomorrow with Alex and a couple of their friends. Carlos and Rebecca are coming too, I heard."

Y/N hummed in thought, eyes still on the screen, but Lando barely noticed. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he forced himself to sound casual. He wasn’t sure why he was nervous—he was just inviting his best friend to hang out with their other friends. They all knew each other already.

So why did it feel like something more?

"Sure, yeah, that actually sounds fun. Haven’t seen them in a while," Y/N said, shooting Lando a soft smile.

Relieved, Lando let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He barely had time to react before Y/N’s fingers slid through his damp curls, her touch light and familiar.

"You should shower," she murmured. "You’re gonna get sick."

Lando smirked, tilting his head just enough to press a featherlight kiss to her wrist. "Join me?"

Y/N laughed, gently but firmly pushing his head away. "Dork. We both said no more, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah… I tried," he chuckled, pushing himself up from the couch. As he passed, he reached down to poke her cheek, grinning when she swatted at his hand.

It was true—what Charles and Max suspected. They’d kissed. And, yeah, they’d definitely slept together. More than once. But somewhere along the way, between shared hotel rooms, late-night confessions, and stolen moments, they both agreed that this—whatever this was—couldn’t be more. Not now. Not when Lando was constantly on the move, when their friendship was the one thing they both swore they’d never risk.

So they stayed just that—friends.

At least, that’s what they kept telling themselves.

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

"Cabrón! It's been too long! Have you grown taller?" Carlos' voice rang out, loud enough to make nearly everyone aboard the yacht turn their heads.

Lando laughed, shaking his head as he walked over. "You muppet, I saw you last week." He pulled Carlos into a quick hug before stepping back and motioning toward Y/N, who stood just behind him. "Look who I brought."

Carlos' face lit up. "Ahh… mi novia’s novia. Good to see you, Y/N." Without hesitation, he pulled her into a tight hug, rocking her slightly for dramatic effect.

Before she could fully recover, Charles appeared beside them, grinning as he leaned in to greet her with a cheek kiss. "She's also my girlfriend’s girlfriend," he added, giving Lando a teasing look.

"Y/N is the nation's girlfriend," Carlos announced, laughing as he patted her shoulder. Then, with a wicked smirk, he leaned toward Lando, lowering his voice just enough.

"Except yours."

Lando rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply through his nose, but the warmth creeping up his neck betrayed him. Carlos just smirked wider.

"Too much testosterone. Where are my ladies?" Y/N teased, glancing around the deck in search of her friends.

"Oh, they're inside getting changed," Charles said, nodding toward the doors leading into the yacht.

"Perfect. I’ll see you boys later then." She gave them a small wave before heading off, disappearing through the doors with an easy grace.

Lando’s eyes lingered on her retreating figure, something he wasn’t even aware of until he heard the soft chuckles beside him. He turned to find Carlos and Charles exchanging a knowing look before shaking their heads in amusement.

"What now?" Lando sighed, already bracing himself.

"I just don’t get it," Charles said, crossing his arms. "I really don’t."

"Get what?"

Carlos exhaled dramatically, giving Lando a pointed look. "Why you like punishing yourself like this. Like a fucking sadist."

Charles nodded in agreement. "You clearly like each other."

Lando shook his head, sliding his sunglasses on as if they could shield him from the conversation. "Not that simple."

"Oh, but it is," Carlos countered, arms crossed. "It’s not like you haven’t been in a relationship before, so I know for a fact it’s not commitment issues on your end."

Charles tilted his head. "She doesn’t want to?"

"It’s not that." Lando exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "It just… doesn’t work. We've tried"

Carlos narrowed his eyes. "Tried what, exactly?"

Lando hesitated, jaw tightening slightly. "Just the whole distance thing. Me being away all the time. And then there’s the hate she’s gonna get when people find out. I can’t do that to her." His voice was quieter now, but firm. "She’s already getting shit just for being friends with me."

Charles and Carlos exchanged a look, their teasing fading into something more serious. For all the jokes, they knew Lando wasn’t just making excuses. But still, Carlos shook his head with a sigh.

"You know, if you ever stop being an idiot, I think she’d be worth it."

Lando huffed a small, almost bitter laugh. "Yeah," he muttered. "I know."

"If not, I mean, I got friends that are interested," Charles shrugged, all casual, but the glint in his eye said otherwise.

Lando chuckled, but there was an edge to it, a slight tightness in his voice. "See, you keep saying that, but I think you're just doing it to provoke me."

Charles smirked but stayed silent.

Carlos, however, turned to him with a knowing look. "Who? Luca?"

Charles' brows lifted in surprise before he gave Carlos an approving nod. "Yeah."

Lando’s expression shifted in an instant. His sunglasses did nothing to hide the way his jaw clenched. "Who the fuck is Luca?"

"Like I said… a friend," Charles smirked, enjoying this way too much.

"Don’t fuck with me right now, Leclerc." Lando’s head snapped around as he scanned the yacht, shoulders growing visibly tense. "He’s here?"

Carlos chuckled, clapping a hand on Lando’s back. "Calm down, cabrón. Y/N is available, no?"

Lando shot him a glare before rolling his eyes. "You two are dicks."

Charles and Carlos only laughed, sharing a look before Carlos added, "Just saying, if you don’t want her to be, maybe do something about it."

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The yacht had sailed further into the open ocean, the hours melting away in a blur of sun, salt, and laughter. Everyone had split into their own little group, swimming, chatting, drinking. But as lunchtime rolled around, they all gathered around the spread of food laid out on deck.

Y/N sat at a smaller table in the corner with Rebecca and Alex, the three of them deep in conversation. Lando strolled over, wordlessly setting a small pouch in front of her along with a glass of water.

"Medicine’s in there. Take one, okay?" He gave her head a light pat before turning on his heel and walking off to grab some food for himself, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Rebecca and Alex exchanged confused looks, both raising an eyebrow as they glanced between Y/N and the small pouch Lando had left behind. Neither of them knew what he meant by "medicine," and the whole exchange seemed a bit mysterious.

Y/N noticed their concerned gazes and let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. She pulled out a row of antihistamine pills from the pouch, holding them up. "Sometimes shellfish makes my allergies act up. It’s really nothing too serious, but it’s better not to risk it."

Alex’s expression softened in understanding, though she still looked a little taken aback. "Ah, makes sense," she nodded, her voice light "And of course... Lando is on top of it"

Rebecca let's out a soft laugh as she shakes her head "You're just as oblivious as he is you know, it's cute and funny at the same time"

"Guys... come on. We agreed to not talk about this"

Rebecca nods and holds her hands up in surrender "Mhmm alright, we'll let you figure it out on your own"

"What are you girls gossiping about this time huh?" Carlos walks over with Lando and Charles, plates of food and drinks in hand as their took their respective seats around the table

"Nothing you boys need to worry about," Alex smiles.

"Ah, donc rien à voir avec le fait que quelqu'un nie ses vrais sentiments pour quelqu'un, hein ?" Charles tilts his head, looking over at Y/N as he takes a bite of his food (Ah, so it has nothing to do with anyone denying their true feelings for someone, huh?)

"Espèce de bâtard sournois, Alex t'en a parlé ?" Y/N’s mouth dropped open, her eyes flicking between the two of them. (You sneaky bastard, did Alex tell you?)

"Non ! Je jure que je n'ai rien dit !" Alex quickly defended herself. (No! I swear I didn't say anything!)

"S'il vous plaît, c'est tellement évident. Je pense que tout le monde peut le dire rien qu'en vous regardant tous les deux," Charles smirked, making Alex chuckle beside him as she nodded her head in agreement, while the rest of the table fell into conversations of their own. (Please, it's so obvious. I think everyone can tell just by looking at the two of you)

"Il a pété un câble quand je lui ai dit qu’un pote était intéressé par toi. Tu sais que les potes normaux réagissent pas comme ça, hein ?" Charles goes on, raising an eyebrow as he watches Y/N’s reaction. (He freaked out when I told him a friend was interested in you. You know normal friends don't react like that, right?)

Y/N simply shakes her head and continues to eat, it wasn't until Charles continues to egg on his theory

"Il ne comprend pas un mot de ce que je dis, mais regarde ça." Charles straightens up, a mischievous glint in his eyes as if preparing to prove a point. "Tout ce que j’ai à faire, c’est dire le nom de Luca, et ça attire son attention." (He doesn’t understand a word I’m saying, but look at this.) (All I have to do is say Luca's name, and it gets his attention)

Right on cue, Lando’s head whips around, his conversation forgotten as his ears latch onto the familiar name. Confusion flickers across his face, caught completely off guard by the sudden mention.

"Dickhead" Y/N mutters with a laugh, shaking her head as she stands up, plate in hand, and makes her way toward the buffet table for more food.

Lando is on his feet almost instantly, trailing after her without a second thought. Whatever she and Charles were talking about, he needs to know.

"So, he told you about Luca, huh?" Lando leans against the table, arms crossed as he watches her pick through the food. His voice is casual—too casual.

Y/N sighs, shaking her head. Charles really wasn’t exaggerating. Of course Lando took the bait. "Lan, he was just fucking with you."

His eyes narrow slightly. "So you're not at all interested in this Luca guy?"

She pauses, glancing at him with a teasing smirk. "What if I was?"

Lando blinks at her, completely dumbfounded. His mouth opens slightly, but no words come out as he tries to process what he just heard. "What do you mean?"

Y/N shrugs, casually placing a piece of food on her plate. "What if I was interested? What’s it to you?" She glances at him, eyes challenging. "Like you said, we’re just friends, remember?"

His stomach twists uncomfortably. That is what he said. But suddenly, he’s not so sure he meant it.

Y/N simply tuts, a knowing smirk playing on her lips as she brushes past him. As she does, her fingers trail lightly along his arm, the touch barely there but enough to send a spark straight through him.

"Just something to think about," she murmurs before walking away, leaving Lando standing there—plate forgotten, mind racing, and heart pounding just a little too fast.

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Lando lounged on a sunbed, sunglasses on, deep in conversation with Carlos when Rebecca’s voice cut through the chatter.

“Looking good, Y/N! That set is gorgeous on you!”

Mid-sentence, Lando sat up slightly, resting on his elbows as his gaze searched for her.

And then he saw her.

Not just in any bikini—no, a papaya one. His colour. He almost swore she wore it just for him.

Lando barely had time to recover from the way Y/N’s laugh sent a shiver down his spine before she sat beside him, all sweet smiles and knowing eyes. He saw right through her. She was playing with him, enjoying the way she had him wrapped around her finger.

And damn, was it working.

Before he could say anything, Charles strolled by, some guy trailing behind him.

“Y/N, this is my friend Luca. He’s been asking non-stop about you. Thought it was time I introduce the two of you.”

Lando’s jaw tightened, fingers twitching against the sunbed. You have got to be kidding me.

Y/N stood to greet Luca, and the guy wasted no time leaning in for a cheek kiss. Normally, Lando wouldn’t care—his friends did it all the time. But this? Some random guy he didn’t know? Absolutely not.

“Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard such great things,” Luca said with a grin. “I see you around a lot, just… not with the right team.”

Lando’s eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses.

Y/N laughed. “Ah, yeah! I’ve seen you with Charles and Alex a few times.”

“So how long are you in Monaco this time? For good, I hope?”

“I wish. This place is amazing, but I have to go back to England next week—work calls. I’ll be back by the end of the month, though.”

Luca smiled. “Then we have some time to go out before you leave?”

Lando sat up fully, sunglasses pushed to the top of his head. Was this some kind of sick joke? Asking her out—right in front of him? His blood boiled.

No. Absolutely not.

Lando didn’t even hesitate. “Actually, no, we’re busy. Got plans this week.”

Carlos, instantly catching on, barely held in his laughter—though his girlfriend didn’t bother hiding her amusement, giving him a light slap on the arm.

Y/N turned to Lando, eyebrows raised. “We do?”

“Yep,” he answered smoothly, leaning back like he hadn’t just pulled that excuse out of thin air. “Max and P are coming over to stay with us, remember? Got some activities lined up. Sorry, mate.”

The only problem? Now he actually had to find things to do and start booking these non-existent activities.

Luca frowned slightly. “Oh—well… when you come back from England, then?”

“Sounds good,” Y/N started, “I’ll ask Charles for your—”

“Naaah,” Lando cut in again, shaking his head. “Doesn’t work either, mate. We’re heading to Italy when she gets back.”

Y/N blinked. “We are?”

“Yes. Was supposed to be a surprise. Surprise!” Lando shot her a grin, ignoring the way Carlos was now openly laughing beside him.

Just off to the side, Charles leaned toward Alex, voice low. "S'il vous plaît, laissez-moi le sortir de sa misère." (Please let me put him out of his misery.)

Luca could only laugh, shaking his head as he held up his hands in surrender.

“Alright, got it, mate. All yours.”

Lando didn’t bother hiding his smirk, satisfied with the outcome.

Y/N narrowed her eyes, dragging Lando toward a quieter part of the yacht, away from prying eyes. His smug smirk only made her more irritated.

“What the fuck was that, Norris?” she snapped, arms crossed.

Lando barely flinched, still grinning. “What, you don’t wanna go to Italy? Greece more your style? Oh! How about Ibiza—”

She didn’t let him finish, landing a solid punch to his arm.

“Ow!” Lando winced, clutching his arm. “Forgot how strong you are.”

“Stop playing with me. I know there’s no Italy trip.”

“There is!”

“Bullshit.”

He exhaled, dropping the act. “Fine! I just… You can’t go out with him, Y/N.”

Her expression softened for a moment before tilting her head, arms still crossed. “And why’s that?”

Lando ran a hand through his curls, avoiding her gaze for a second before finally meeting her eyes.

“That’s so unfair, Lando, and you know it,” Y/N shot back, arms tightening over her chest. “You’ve gone out with other girls, and you didn’t hear shit from me.”

“No—that’s different,” Lando argued, shaking his head.

“Oh, it is different,” she scoffed. “Because I haven’t been sleeping around with other people since what happened between us.”

His eyes widened. “But I haven’t!”

“Oh, don’t give me that shit—do you want me to drop names?”

Lando opened his mouth, then shut it just as fast. He let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “…Alright, fine.”

“Doesn’t mean I have feelings for them,” he added quickly, voice softer this time.

Y/N let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “Awe, how fucking romantic.”

Lando felt his stomach drop. The teasing, the back-and-forth—it all came to a screeching halt the second Y/N let her emotions slip through.

She sank onto the sofa, fingers threading through her hair, exhaling like she was tired—tired of him, tired of this.

“We can’t keep doing this, Lan,” she murmured, voice quieter now. “This whole ordeal is fucking exhausting. If you really want this, you can have me. But you can’t just want some of it. Take all of it. The good and the bad.”

She finally looked up at him, eyes searching his face. “I can’t stand having just some of you. I need all of you.”

Lando swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs. Because the truth was, she already had all of him. Always had. He just needed to say it.

Lando dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands gently finding hers, squeezing them with a tenderness that spoke louder than words ever could.

“Hey… pretty girl, look at me, please?” he whispered, his voice soft but full of sincerity.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but despite herself, her gaze met his. The rawness in his eyes caught her off guard. For the first time in a long while, she saw him again—the guy she fell so deeply in love with, the man she’d been willing to risk everything for.

“You have all of me,” Lando said, his voice barely above a whisper. “This time, I promise… we’ll make it work. I’ll make this work. You deserve the world, Y/N. I’ll make it up to you... if you’d give me another chance.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but a quiet part of her still hesitated. It felt too good to be true. But his words… his honesty? It was enough to break through.

Y/N took a slow breath, searching his eyes for any sign of doubt. There was none.

Slowly, she squeezed his hands back. “You better not make me regret this, Lando.”

Lando nodded almost immediately, his eyes lighting up with a joy so pure it made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “I promise,” he said, voice full of conviction. “We’ll take it slow. We’ll do things right this time.”

Y/N let out a soft sigh, her emotions swirling as she processed his words. After a beat, she gave him a small, hesitant nod.

Without another word, Lando pulled her into his arms, locking her in a tight embrace. The way he held her felt urgent, like he was afraid of losing her again. They clung to each other as if the world outside didn’t exist, as if nothing mattered but this moment.

“I know we said to take things slow… but I’m dying to kiss you right now,” Lando murmured against her neck, his breath warm and shaky.

The words made Y/N laugh softly, her fingers tracing the side of his jaw as she pulled back just enough to meet his gaze.

She cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs gently grazing his skin, before she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. It was slow, a kiss that held all the passion, all the longing they’d kept buried. The world outside disappeared as they lost themselves in each other, the kiss a promise of what was to come.

Lando was the first to pull away, chuckling softly as he did. “We can’t… I don’t think I can control myself if we keep going.”

Y/N felt a blush creep up her cheeks, her heart racing from the kiss. She placed one last soft kiss on his cheek before pulling him back into another hug, as if holding him was the only thing that could steady her.

"Greece sounds good..." she muttered quietly, her words almost lost in the moment.

Lando pulled away slightly, brows furrowed as he looked at her, not quite catching what she said. “What was that, baby?”

“Greece,” Y/N repeated with a smile tugging at her lips. “I said Greece sounds good.”

Lando’s face lit up with a grin, the tension in his chest easing as he nodded. “Greece it is. Anything for my girl.”

[rafesangelita]

This idea has been stick in my head but I don’t got the skills to execute it.

Rafe dating a reader he calls “Angel” bc despite growing up with Rafe reader somehow has never done half of the crazy shit Rafe did. So reader is quite literally one of the few good thing going for him.

Until *dundundun*

Someone at a party convinces reader to try some drugs (Rafe as the controlling bastard he is, though that’s a good? thing in this case, doesn’t let reader do anything that isn’t weed) because Rafe must get tired of being around someone innocent. But when Rafe finds out what’s been done he’s rightfully pissed that someone tried to taint his angel.

warnings: childhood friends to lovers, drug use, peer pressure, coercion, manipulation, slight angst, crying, fighting, rafe is very overprotective, a little bit of rough handling, reader is described to be innocent and kind of sheltered, light fluff, reader freaks out when she realizes she’s high, reassurance + comfort

wc: 1.3k

‘innocent little y/n’— that’s what everyone called you when you were growing up. you never lied, you never stole, you were actually a tattletale and everyone hated you for it. because of that, no one ever wanted to be your friend, all except for rafe who had no idea why he felt the overwhelming need to protect you and keep you tucked into his side where you were ‘safe and sound’ from anyone who wanted to tease or be mean to you. it was rather easy since you found yourself following him around everywhere anyways.

your dynamic changed when you two got older and he had another threat to worry about that he didn’t have once before; and that was boys. he remembered hearing some of his friends talk about you in a way that had him throwing punches and getting suspended. once ward threatened him with military school on the mainland, he decided that the only way people with ulterior motives and sick and twisted minds would back off was if he stook his claim on you and let everyone know that you were his. and of course.. it worked.

no one knew how on god’s green earth you two ended up together. rafe was a hothead with a drug habit to match, and you were just there; oblivious to it all. you didn’t know anything about rafe’s little problem since he never did any lines or took rips from a bong in front of you. except for one time when he unintentionally got you high when you two were boxed in his truck and he decided to smoke since ward was on his ass and he needed it. he didn’t snap until he looked over at you and saw you spaced out, your eyes red and glossy as you played with the ends of your hair.

rafe was quick to throw out his joint before fanning the air and rolling down the windows. for the next hour he had to deal with your nonstop giggling and even went as far as getting you snacks from the food mart in a poor attempt to shut you up. “would you quit it already?!” he scolded you every time you tried to feed him whatever sweet you had in between your fingers. rafe vowed from that night forward that weed was the only thing he’d ever let you get high on. fortunately, he never smoked in front of you again and didn’t have to worry about that problem— until now.

“do you really think rafe wants to be with someone who’s boring? a little bit of blow isn’t the end of the world, angel.” topper scooted closer to you on the couch, making sure to throw in the nickname rafe has had for you since you were kids. “i’m not boring..” you crossed your arms over your chest once you saw the way topper eyed your cleavage, your eyes searching the room for any sign of rafe. “you sure about that? why do you think rafe never does his shit in front of you? it’s cause you’re a fucking buzz kill.” topper opened up the tiny baggy of powder, a smug grin spreading across his lips once he saw you peer down in curiosity.

“rafe is a pretty crazy dude, wouldn’t he want a break from all of this ‘innocent’ shit? i bet you he’s no where to be found right now because he’s talking to another girl who actually knows how to have a good time.” he scoffed, his words making your eyes water. “just try it, baby, i think rafe would love to see you bouncing off of the walls for once,” topper opened the baggy, scooping some of the substance up with his pinky, “and you wanna know something else? this shit makes you go all fucking night long. rafe would definitely appreciate that..” you eyed topper’s hand as he brought it up to your eye level.

“i don’t know—” you backed away slightly before his fingertips were nudging your lips. “yes you do know, just snort it, come on,” you kept moving away until your back hit the armrest of the couch. topper had his pinky directly under your nostril, a sense of panic flooding your system as you attempted to turn your face away. topper only followed, cursing a ‘just fucking snort it already!’ before you succumbed and gave the substance the lightest sniff you could muster. in seconds, you screwed your eyes shut tight, the crunching sound of bone meeting bone making you yelp once you realized rafe’s fist planted into the side of topper’s face.

topper was immediately rendered unconscious, the partygoers nearby all gasping in unison. rafe grabbed your face, inspecting you quickly before he spotted the coke residue on the tip of your nose. “that sorry motherfucker..” he gritted his teeth, his vision growing blind with white hot anger. despite topper’s unconscious state, rafe still punched him until he drew blood, kelce, along with some of his other friends stepping in before things could get worse. “he’s down already bro, that’s enough!” kelce shouted, your boyfriend swatting away all of their hands until they were able to get him off.

getting out of their grip, rafe wasted no time in dragging you up by your arm, your legs shaking as he lead you two out of the crowded house and to his truck. “let me see you.” he pulled out his phone, flashing the light on your face. your pupils were blown to shit, your teeth clattering as you shivered in the chilly night air. “fuck, baby..” he felt guilty beyond words for thinking stepping away to get another drink— even if it was for a quick second, that leaving you alone was a good idea. “rafe, my heart is beating really fast!” you cried, grabbing his hand and placing it over your chest as your face twisted in horror.

“i know, i know, just try to stay calm, angel.” he placed you in the passenger seat, clicking your seatbelt in place before rushing around and peeling off in the direction of home. you were sweating now and panting as if you had just ran a marathon. rafe felt utterly helpless, the scared look etched into your usual soft and happy features made his gut wrench. he swore he would never do a line again even if his tolerance was already up there from years of experience. he hated seeing you like this. “he wouldn’t stop getting close to me, i didn’t know what else to do!” your leg was bouncing, your fingertips itching to move in anyway you could.

“don’t worry, we’re almost home.” he reassured you, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles before you could panic any further. once you two were in the driveway, rafe rushed you both inside, quickly starting a cold shower and cleaning you up. neither of you went to sleep until your high subsided a few hours later. during that time, rafe made you push down a lot of water along with eating something so you weren’t on an empty stomach. “everything is okay, alright?” rafe held you in his arms, a small hum sounding from your lips before you drifted off into a much needed slumber.

rafe watched you sleep and he couldn’t help but think of everything after this incident occurred. you were the only person in his life that wasn’t tainted in any way. the only good thing he had going for him. he couldn’t handle the thought of topper forcing his way over you and you sitting there helplessly, hoping he’d turn up soon. the thought made his fists clench again as he recalled the confused yet relieved look on your face once he was in your view. he made a promise to never leave you alone like that ever again.

gone were the days of attending pointless parties..

[abyssyby]

to be devoured, to be held

— a storm brews in your head as you grapple with the longing to take up a little more space in sylus’s life— would he mind?

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: something i conjured up @ 2am thinking about spending time with sylus fresh-relationship, when things are still a little fragile & a little unsure. struggling w this myself, to all who do— you are allowed to take up space. you are enough. fueled by the singular image of sylus chasing fingers with kisses. also!!! the free 5 star henckskd i canT WAIT 😫. enjoy! ❀-urs

sylus x reader | angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, self-conscious reader, overthinker sylus, longing, smoochie kisses, face masks!

Sylus is visibly busy. He doesn’t move much when he works, resembling more a statue really— one carved with passion and love, if you were to gush. 

Were it not for the rapid flickering of his eyes and the tack-tack-tack of his fingers on his keyboard, you’d wonder if he was even breathing. 

Your gaze lingers on the thin-framed glasses you gifted him, now perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t need them, you’d think regeneration would grant him immunity against mere blue-light, but he wears them anyway. A silent gratitude, a heart-fluttering token of you in all his endeavors. Your fingers itch to push them up just that little bit. 

But he’s busy. 

You linger by the door of his office. Meticulous as you take in the set of his jaw, the slight pout of his lips, the subtle crease in his brow and his soft, disheveled hair. You swallow down the burn to run your fingers through the cloud-like tufts and smooth them away from his forehead. 

He’s busy. 

“Sweetie.” You stiffen, pulled from the haze by low, thundering endearment. His eyes never leave the screen, his fingers never cease typing. But you know he’s got every intention of luring you in like a siren. 

“Mm?” you reply, clearing you throat. How you can make a simple hum so utterly pathetic, you’ve no idea. Your face heats, your scalp prickles. Your gut churns at how little of him it takes to undo you.

But he only smiles, just the slightest bit. Eyes require strain to capture its split-second existence. “Need something?”

Your eyes widen. Oh, the last thing you want is for him to think you’re insensitive and entitled enough to distract him. “No— no! I’m okay.” 

His brow raises. The clacking beneath his fingers is silenced. Once shifting eyes now focused on you. “Are you sure?”

You nod. “Yes. I’ll go.” 

You’re turning away before he catches a glimpse of the tingles you feel beneath your skin. You shouldn’t disturb him. He had come home late last night. Slipped into bed to hold you for an hour at most before you felt him drift away once more. Back into his office. To his very important schedule. 

The lump in your throat is remedied by a big gulp of water but the irritation for your self-pity is a fire you cannot easily douse. 

You should be grateful that he accepted you into his home for the holidays. Overjoyed that he’d become more comfortable with your intimate (albeit shy) advances like fingers caressing his own, and lips brushing on any exposed speckle of flesh of his you see. He always indulges you with a shudder and a controlled breath. 

Looks at you like you’d wronged him, like he’s piously holding back unforgivable sin should he touch you back. 

And yet, your chest aches at the lack of attention. You grind your teeth. Dramatically and truthfully, you’re starved, thirsty, and craving for his regard. But how greedy would you be to demand that of him.

Digging your nails in your palms, you relent. He has enough on his plate. He invited you in despite his work schedule. Because you insisted, asked, wanted. And now you must adjust. Be mindful. Behave.

The skin of your cheeks is agitated, you’re sure, when you run your fingers down your face. In hopes to silence a groan. Annoying. Can’t help but be. You’re annoyed— with him, with his work, with yourself for being annoyed. 

Not knowing that as soon as you fled from the threshold, Sylus was quick to stand and follow after you. Had it not been for the shrieking of his infernal phone, you’d be eating your words and thriving in your greed for him by now. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

In three hours, you’ve successfully explored the base in efforts of distracting yourself or making yourself useful— hit the underground gym, sketched the pristine dragon statue down the hall on a piece of sticky note, made an ice cream sandwich, taken a shower and applied your skincare. 

And he— he’d been standing from his desk every few minutes to look for you. But deals were falling through, there are new programs to be coded and all his men were apparently incompetent today. 

He caught glimpses of you— your hair disappearing around corners, your humming as you doodled and made snacks, your silhouette through fogged glass. But something always pulled him away— another problem, another issue, something infuriatingly needing his attention. 

And if he were just so terrible, he’d throw the entirety of Onychinus away just to join you in the shower. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

The clay mask is tightening on your face when you exit the kitchen. Just beginning to crust at the edges, but goopy still. You might have mixed it wrong. The cucumbers you cut out rest on your cheeks for now, until you no longer need to navigate your way through the winding halls from the kitchen back to Sylus’s bedroom. 

A groan escapes your throat as you throw yourself into his plush mattress and silk sheets— knocking the breath out of you at the impact. Gravity pulls your spine down, pops each vertebra into place in a glorious melody of release. Then, you flip the cucumbers over your eyes and draw out a long, loud exhale.

Ten minutes, your app said, orange little happy face promising the silence of your thoughts. Ten minutes of focusing on your breath and your fingers and your toes and your skin. Ten minutes of listening to the sound of a ticking clock you otherwise would never have noticed. Of resisting the urge to twitch a muscle. Of constantly reminding yourself to unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders. Ten minutes of—

“A salad.” 

The bed dips on your side and your breathing— that you’ve been working so hard on— ceases. You feel his hot fingers on your arm, trailing, trickling down to your wrist and over your open palms. Drawing shapes. Making a home. “How appetizing.” 

You don’t need to remove your cucumbers to know the look he has on his face. Cocky, teasing and deep with that unspoken desire. “Got a moment away?” 

He hums. Fed up, he made one final call and warned his partners that if they did anything to disrupt his time with you again, heads would roll— or something along those lines. His phone rests ominously silent in his office. 

Yearning for him all day and finally having him, you are overwhelmed— his touch burns you, and you slip your wrist from his grasp without thinking.

He tries hard not to let that affect him. He is thankful for your lack of vision right now, because the scowl he gives you borderlines on homicidal. 

There is a cant to your tone— one you could not quite be rid of from your initial irritation despite it slowly fizzling away in his presence. One he bristles at. 

“You’ve had a lot on your plate.” you simply state, a supposed expression of sympathy. I feel bad for your workload, I’m sorry I cannot do anything to lighten it. 

But your lips had twitched, pressed into a firm line. This reads like criticism to him— You’d ignored me all day and now, now take this distance as consequence. He swallows. “I have.” 

You rise from your position. He’d laugh if he didn’t feel liquid dread swirling in his stomach now. You pulled away— you don’t want to be touched. Your tone— you don’t want to hear his excuses. He’d scorned you, and now knows not what to do with his lungs or limbs.

“Hungry?” you ask, a cucumber slipping down your eye to your cheek, finally revealing his perplexed gaze and— oh, no. He’s upset. Your mind connects it to your initial worries: of wanting too much, of clinging and pulling him away from the important things. And now he’s here, not there. Had he picked up on your discomfort? Were you so overbearing that he felt the need to check on you? You avert your gaze. 

“I— I made ice cream sandwiches.” because being useful right now seems like the best route. Offering him something he can take and consume for his benefit— that will soften the blow somehow. Make you worth his time. 

And he broods, swallowed in his own clouding thoughts, and follows you to the kitchen. “Alright.” 

The sandwich is a scoop of cookie dough squished between two graham crackers. You put a little mint leaf on top to make it look cute (Keiran commended this detail as Luke choked on it). 

You place it on a plate and serve it to Sylus quietly. 

He barely looks at it. No, he’s too busy, busy, busy with you. What you’re thinking; what you’re feeling. What you think— what you feel for him. “Sweetie—“ 

“It’s cookie dough.” you blurt to fill the deafening silence. Unintentionally loud, drowning out his gentle coaxing. “If— if you want vanilla, there’s vanilla. And, sorry, I don’t know if you like chocolate, but we have some. There’s strawberry too.” 

Sylus furrows his brows. Were you so upset that you didn’t want a word out of him? “Okay.” 

“Enjoy,” you say.

He frowns. “I will.” 

And as he eats, his gaze never leaves you. You in that ridiculous clay mask with cucumbers on your cheeks. In his shirt and your hair in a mangled twist. Your beautiful, divine self— upset with him.

Was it how he failed to approach you throughout the day? Was it something more specific? Something he said? The way he probed for your needs? How he didn’t look at you when you stood by his door? How he didn’t reach for you when you passed his office several times more?

He’d thought you’d wanted space. That you’d appreciate a day without his coddling and clinging, after being so ecstatic about you spending the holidays with him. He asked if you needed something, didn’t he? Asked and, inside, desperately wanted you to say ‘yes, you.’ But now… now?

“It’s delicious.” he finally comments. Shamelessly pushing, testing this boundary you seemed to have put before him. Ever so carefully. Not wanting to make it feel worse that it already does. He must show you how he appreciates you being here. 

“Oh?” 

“I’d like another.”

“Mm.” 

Shit. Has he miscalculated? “I mean… share one with me?” 

Your eyes widen. “Ah.” 

“Or, or not.” He’s fumbling. Tripping and falling over himself but who cares. He can’t take the bile rising up his throat with the way you look at him. Brows scrunched. Hesitant. Wary. It’s sending him into a spiral. “Just… sit with me, please.” 

The hoarseness of his voice is enough to make you soften. Something in you clicks, and your anxiety makes way for his. Work must have been a lot, you think. And he doesn’t deserve your insecurities getting the best of you when he needs you. 

You do as he asks once you take a strawberry sandwich out of the freezer and settle with your own fork. 

“The twins told me you liked strawberry best.” you start, voice now calmer than it was before. Returning like the gradual seeping in of the tide. Sylus— oh, Sylus revels in it quietly. “But I remember you snuck spoonfuls of my cookie dough from my fridge when you were at my place.” 

The acid neutralizes. “Oh?”

“And I thought,” he watches you take a bite, how your plump and shiny lips close around the fork. “What if that was another one of your cover ups? You are particular, yes, but never polarizing. 

“We had this whole debate on whether or not you’d like the strawberry more than the cookie. Luke was very adamant about you only having one favorite.” you cut another piece of the sandwich and bring it up to his lips. An offering. A truce. An understanding. “But if you’ve influenced me to be anything— it’s to be greedy.” 

He takes a bite from your fork. Curling his lips and dragging it over where yours had just been. He is zeroed in on your face, reading every tick, every twitch. And ultimately searching for any absolution. 

He catches your wrist, prays you don’t pull away, and removes the fork from your fingers in favor of his face. He presses his hard edges into the softness of your palm and closes his eyes at the contact. “Tell me what I did so I never do it again.” he breathes.

You frown, blindsided by this reaction— he’s… worried? Anguished and anxious because he thought he was at fault for something? “What?” 

He opens his mouth to explain again but you drag your thumb over his lower lip. He is compelled to silence. “I’m not upset with you.” 

He’s breathless. Clinging to your warmth. “Then what—“

 His lingering stare, almost a scowl, so focused on the micro expressions he cannot read. His sudden distance: a courtesy. It clicks— his upset really just… dejection.

Oh. 

He thinks you were punishing him. 

The thought slams into you, hollow and sickening. So afraid of asking for too much, of being too much— that you never realized how it projected onto him. What it looked like from outside the eye of the hurricane. How it would have made him believe… How could you have let him think—? 

The weight of it presses down, suffocates you harder than the insecurity ever did. You would never— never. But you share this, this inability to comprehend how utterly forgiving and needing the other is. 

So wrapped up in pondering a space you don’t deserve, you’d done this. That space, now, he is mourning. Begging you to fill again, as he drowns in desperation to fix a mistake he never made. 

“I thought I was being a burden.” you mutter, searching his eyes for confirmation that never arrives. “That I was lingering around you too much, hovering and you’d had enough—“

His brows furrow bringing an intensity in his eyes that worsens the caving in your chest.  He exhales then, more than air— everything that has choked and squeezed him inside.

“No. Never.” he cuts you off quickly, too overwhelmed by fear and sorrow and relief to even be the least bit composed. Oh, he was so relieved. His lips chase and kiss the tips of your fingers like a man starved. He mutters, low and clear against your skin, “Could never have enough of you, beloved.” 

You melt into his touch as he circles his arms around your waist and finally pulls you against his warm body. His breath tickles your neck as he presses his face into your shoulder, inhaling the scent of body wash, shampoo and you. “I am yours for the rest of the week.”

“No, stop that.” you argue, but your tone does not reflect. It dissolves, melts away. “Sylus, I’m not asking…”

“Neither am I.” he states, sturdy vibrations traveling from his lips down your spine. “I need to make you greedier. Be greedier for me.”

Your lips press together in a shy smile and you feather them over his pulse point. You seize control of your fingers. At last, you get to push his glasses up his nose, press on the fat of his jutted lip, ease the crumple of his brow and run your fingers through his soft, unkempt hair— just before you kiss him. Consume him. Devour him.

Sylus corrodes at the edges, unmoored at the feel of your lips on his. He presses, holding you to him, needing to be closer, closer, closer. To taste. To feel. To have. 

Putting your each wretched thought of unworthiness to shame. Silenced. Dust.

When you pull away, your eyes take a while to adjust, still giddy and tingling from the static in the air. He lingers, nuzzling into your skin, nose skimming reverently along your cheek. Once your vision returns you let out a genuine giggle. 

He swoons at the sound. Half lidded eyes and lips curved into a stupid smirk, asks, “What?” 

Your laugh escalates into a shriek as he dips to kiss you again and again. “Stop!” 

He’s grinning. The epitome of sunlight. “Why?”

You’re in tears at his appearance— light green smears of clay over his lips and cheeks, a stray cucumber hanging off his jaw. Shaky fingers go to right him, wipe away the remnants of a passionate kiss. Meanwhile, he turns to nip at your wrist and kiss your palm, and you think fondly: it is impossible to clean him up here. He is impossible.

“Come on.” you say instead, dragging him by his fingers which he meticulously intertwines with yours.

He follows, wordlessly, obediently. More than overjoyed to be led to— it does’t matter. He would be led anywhere as long as it were you. He savors how he can press on the soft skin on your palm, how he can so easily stop you in your tracks to kiss you soundly. All because he can. He can and he will. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Not long after, you’re wriggling in his iron grasp, tickled by the movement of his digits on the dips of your waist. You hiss, “Hold still!”

“I’m not the one squirming here, sweetie.” he chuckles, breathy and deep. His hand slides up the curve of your back and up the length of your arm, drawing one up over your head to pin you to the wall. “My little bird, trying to get away? Won’t you check your work?”

“You’re doing this on purpose.” you say pointedly, a fond grin on your gracious lips he cannot help but devour. You stop him in his tracks as he leans down, “We just got you cleaned up!” 

“I can clean up again.” he insists, leans again. To his displeasure, you turn your head to dodge him.

“Let me kiss you.” he whispers, begging with no sense of subtlety. Laid bare and open. With only the thought of tasting you. He nods to the jar in your hand. “Before you put that on me.” 

You click your tongue, but inside your belly swoops at his open expression. Head fuzzy with affection. “You said you couldn’t wait.”

“Your touch is enough to intoxicate and persuade. I am yours all week..” he purrs. He hopes you allow him a kiss— the sudden need make his ears pink. “Sweetie?” 

“One.” you relent, and he is quick to accept. Pressing his lips to yours lightly, to your surprise, as he swallows your gasp in delightful satisfaction. 

He pulls away clean, none of your replenished mask on his face. Then he drops his hands to cage your thighs on the sink you sit on. His eyes glint playfully as he inspects your flustered state, “Done playing around? I can’t wait.” 

You scowl at him— like he didn’t just beg you to… you sigh in kind exasperation and get to work.

To say he was putty in your hands was an understatement. Sylus has always been sensitive, that is a fact, but at every touch of your fingers on the bridge of his nose, the brush of the pads of your thumbs under his eyes, the scrape of your nails just under his jaw make him lose a shuddering breath. The devotion trickles down your spine like rain. 

When you place the cucumbers on his cheeks, he smiles, earth-shattering and gorgeous. Such a powerful man in a matcha-green clay mask. “There.” 

“Now we match.” he says so tenderly it aches. Every valve gives way.

For the rest of the afternoon, you are both in clay masks. Cucumbers over your eyes; happily wrapped around each other in bed like the greedy scum you are. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

thank you for reading!

[cheriladycl01]

Joy Ride - Charles Leclerc x Reader SMUT

Plot: Charles shows you what he can do in the backseat of his Ferrari

Warnings: SMUT, fingering, hand job, p in v, car sex, 18+ Minors DNI

It was the typical date night with your boyfriend Charles, he'd taken you out for a dinner in Monaco after you guys had a little flutter in the Monte Carlo Casino. Now he'd driven you guys out of the province and into France.

The windows were rolled down and the sea breeze was whipping through your hair. Charles couldn't keep his eyes off of you, not just right now but for the whole night you guys had been together. You were in this dress, it must have been new as Charles had never seen you in it and he'd stayed in close contact all night not enjoying the prying eyes from the other men that had been around on the streets.

However, the road and getting you guys safley to the destination he had in mind was his top priority.

But fuck you looked incredible and his grip on the steering wheel was getting tighter and tighter.

"You okay baby?" you ask with a honey dripping from you voice that nearly had Charles head rolling back. You turn to him, looking at his tensed up expression and how rigid he seemed in the car.

"Mhmm" he answers with a tight lipped smile, keeping his eyes forward on the road, only glancing in the rear view mirror a few times just to keep an eye out.

"Are you sure, you seem tense. I didn't want to say anthing earlier but now im just worried" you offer, placing a gentle hand on his thigh that has his whole leg cramping up from tensing it.

"Okay what the hell is wrong?" you ask a little bit of aggravation in your voice.

"Nothing, I said i was fine" he awkwardly laughs, shaking off the growing feeling in his pants.

"No, something is wrong. Tell me!" you beg thinking its something that you've done wrong.

"It's okay, I promise" he says, but you can still hear the grit in your voice.

"No, stop the car right now" you say, looking over at him.

"What?" he asks in shock looking over at you.

"I said stop the car Charles!" you say, some grit in your own voice from annoyance that you felt towards your usually calm and open boyfriend.

He pulls the car up into a safe side layby a gulp as he makes sure its in neutral and turns off the engine. He runs a hand through his hair, shocked at your tone before turning to look at you, only to be met with a sight he'd never seen before. Your arms were crossed and a pout was held tightly on your lips.

"Whats got you upset? Was it something i said?" he asks now more concered for you than anything.

"No, but i know you arent being honest with me about something! What is it? Please just tell me!" you ask turning in your seat, a look of concern flashing across your own face, seeing him now look forward at the road, only a streetlight a couple of yards down the road lighting up the surroundings.

"You've been teasing me all evening and i just want to get home without crashing this car because I'm so distracted by you" he groans his thumb hitting the centre peace of the wheel, close to the horn as his knuckles tighten around the edges of the wheel.

"All night, Charles you should have said" you coo at him as a hand goes to his thigh making him tense and look at your hand that even looked pretty to him. Even your nails that you'd had freshly done with your friends two days ago that he'd not yet felt scrape down his back creating little red lines of lust that he loved feeling.

"Baby, stop! Lets just get home" he groans out his head cocking to the side to look at you.

"So irritable Mr Leclerc" you coo looking across at him before taking your seatbelt off.

You move with the agility of a cat, making your way onto the back seat before twisting over and beckoning him to follow you though. The car, as a sport car, was in fact smaller than others so saddling up in the back was harder than it would in something like a 4x4.

Charles held eye contact with you in the rearview mirror as he took his seatbelt off. He turned to look at you, eyes now blown wide in excitement that he was finally getting what he'd been craving all night.

"So pretty" he sighs as he takes a seat in the back, dragging you to sit on top of his trousers. He toughs with the edging of the dress you were wearing where the slit reached the top of your thigh. His hands slip under, feeling the edge of the lace panties you knew to put on for the events you hoped would happen later that night.

"Can i? Please?" he asks waiting to touch you further.

"You don't have to ask, the answers always going to be yes" you moan as he leans up to kiss across your jaw and down your neck. His fingers slip into your underwear feeling the wetness before slipping in with ease.

Clearly he wasn't the only one who had gotten worked up.

"Do you want me as much as i want you?" he whispers in your ear making you shiver and grasp as his fingers make a scissoring motion that has you rocking your hips against his hand for more friction. The feeling of his trousers rubbing against your thighs as you move back and forth has you leaning into his neck, leaving open mouthed kisses across his skin.

"Yes, please Charles" you moan into his skin as he speeds up the movement of his fingers his thumb toying with your clit despite the ache in his wrist from the awkward angle you guys are currently at.

"Come on touch me too, im just as desperate as you" he gasps as your hips rocking forces pressure against him that he needs to let release.

Your hands reach down undoing the button as clasp of his back trousers pulling them and his boxers down just enough to have his cock spring up. Your hand grasps it, starting in a slow and steady motion dragging your thumb over the top having the most whiny moans come from his as you do, his hips thursting up in approval.

"I cant wait any longer please" he moans moving the skirt of your dress behind you. He pulls your underwear to one side holding the base of himself as he eases in. A sigh comes from the pair of you as he bottoms out, holding you against his for a second.

"Been waiting on this all night" he sighs breathing heavily agaisnt your neck as he feels you start to move up and down. He thrusts up meeting yours in the perfect tandem, loving hearing the moans and breathy gasps that were coming from you. Your hand grabs his chin forcing him to look at you.

"Why didn't you say anything" you scoff out a laugh a little bit.

"Didn't wanna rush or ruin the - the night" he moans as he feels you tighten around him.

"You've not ruined the night at all" you moan as you clentch around him. The feeling has him thrusting up into you, getting as deep as possible.

"I'm gonna cum baby" he moans as he grips your hips tighter.

"Me too, fuck.." you moan as your eyes close and you feel the coil in your stomach snap.

"Fuck" Charles moans as his eyes close and he relaxes back as you help the both of you ride out your highs.

You slow down and cuddle againt him, listening to him get his breath back.

"We could have waited until we got home" Charles says smiling at you a little.

"Mmmmm but that was fun! We should do it again" you grin at him, placing a light kiss on his cheek.

And with that you guys drove home, both getting in the bathroom for a much needed shower.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[goldfades]

if you’re still open to requests!

can we get another joe being protective over pregnant wife???

yessss, it's my current fav trope. hope you enjoy!

It happened once. One time. And now, Joe was acting like you were made of glass.

You’d felt a little off that morning—not sick, not dizzy, just off. The kind of feeling you could shake off with a little fresh air and some movement. So, naturally, you did what any normal person would do: you got up, made breakfast, and started tackling the mountain of laundry that had been piling up.

Joe had already left for practice, so he wasn’t there to side-eye you every time you stood up too fast or to mutter a “Babe, just sit down,” like you were being reckless by existing. And honestly? You kind of liked the quiet. The ability to do something for yourself without feeling like you were being shadowed.

And then, the world tilted.

One second, you were standing at the sink, rinsing out a glass. The next, everything in your vision blurred, and your legs went weak, and before you could even process what was happening, the floor was rushing up to meet you.

You didn’t fully pass out—not really. It was more of a slow collapse, like your body was shutting down in increments. You were dimly aware of your knees hitting the tile first, the glass slipping from your fingers and shattering somewhere near the stove. The coolness of the floor against your cheek.

And then, nothing.

You weren’t sure how long you were out—maybe seconds, maybe minutes. But by the time you came to, your phone was vibrating somewhere nearby, and your stomach churned with the kind of nausea that made everything feel unsteady.

Joe.

You barely had time to register his name on the screen before your fingers fumbled to answer.

“Hey, babe,” you started, trying to sound normal, trying to swallow down the shakiness in your voice.

But Joe knew you too well.

“What’s wrong?”

You hesitated. Maybe if you downplayed it, he wouldn’t freak out. Maybe if you just kept your voice light—

“I, uh—” You swallowed. “I think I just got a little dizzy.”

Silence. Then, a sharp inhale.

“Where are you?”

You tried to push yourself up, but the second you lifted your head, your stomach lurched violently.

“Still in the kitchen.”

More silence. Then, his voice, low and clipped.

“I’m coming home.”

You barely had time to protest before the line went dead.

Joe made it home in record time. You’d managed to pull yourself up onto one of the chairs by the counter, sipping on a glass of water and doing your best to convince yourself that you were fine.

You weren’t fine, though.

Because by the time Joe burst through the door—eyes wild, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths—you realized just how bad you must have looked.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just strode across the room and knelt in front of you, his hands already reaching out, already checking. One palm on your forehead, then sliding down to cup your jaw. His fingers brushed against your wrist, pressing gently, feeling your pulse.

“Jesus,” he muttered, barely audible.

“I’m okay,” you tried, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

Joe’s jaw clenched, and for a second, he just stared at you, like he was trying to convince himself of that. Then, without another word, he hooked his arms under your legs and lifted you.

“Joe—”

“Not arguing,” he bit out, carrying you straight to the couch. “Not now.”

He didn’t let you move for the rest of the day. He got you water, a snack, a blanket—every time you so much as shifted, his eyes flicked toward you like he was afraid you were about to collapse all over again.

And that was before the doctor confirmed it was just a simple drop in blood sugar. One fainting spell. One time.

But for Joe? It was enough.

That had been weeks ago. And if you thought he was protective before, it was nothing compared to now.

Joe no longer just watched you—he monitored you. If you so much as leaned over to pick something up, he was already there, lifting it for you. If you tried to cook, he’d suddenly appear behind you, taking the spatula out of your hands and steering you toward the couch with an exasperated look.

“Just sit down, babe.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “I’m pregnant, not paralyzed.”

Joe hadn’t laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m not taking any chances.”

And true to his word, he didn’t.

No more carrying groceries inside. No more standing too long. No more doing… anything, really. You’d been officially benched by Joe Burrow, and there was no getting around it.

“Joe, seriously, I can fold laundry.”

“Nope.”

“I can put my shoes on without help.”

“Not risking it.”

“I’m literally fine.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

It was sweet. Infuriating, but sweet. Because underneath all the stubbornness, the hovering, the sheer over-protectiveness of it all—he was scared.

Joe had never been one to panic. He was calm under pressure, steady even when things were crumbling around him. But this? You? That was different.

So you let him fuss. You let him help. You let him hover, even when it drove you crazy, because you knew—this was how he showed love.

And when he tucked you against his side at night, hand splayed protectively over your belly, you didn’t complain at all.

Because honestly? There was nowhere safer in the world than right there.

Joe thought he had it all figured out.

The plan was simple: keep you off your feet, make sure you were eating regularly, and under no circumstances let you lift a damn thing. He was taking this whole "pregnant and fainting once means you're never allowed to do anything again" thing very seriously.

At first, you’d gone along with it, mostly because you knew it gave him peace of mind. Joe was a worrier, but he wasn’t the type to voice it—he just did. If something needed fixing, he fixed it. If something needed protecting, he protected it. And right now, the thing that needed both of those things was you.

But after a few days of being treated like a delicate flower in a glass case, you were bored out of your mind.

Joe had taken over everything—cooking, cleaning, running errands, even making sure you had a constant supply of pillows and blankets when you were curled up on the couch. At first, it was sweet. Then, it was suffocating.

Because you? You liked being useful. You liked moving, doing, handling things yourself. And now, thanks to one fainting spell, Joe had basically put you on a permanent time-out.

"Joe, I'm fine."

He didn’t even look up from whatever he was stirring in the pan. "Uh-huh."

You sighed. "You don’t have to do everything, you know."

"I know." He turned, gave you a look. "But I am."

And that was that.

For the next few days, you found yourself in the most mind-numbing routine—wake up, eat whatever Joe set in front of you, sit down, be still, don’t do anything. It felt like some kind of medieval bed rest punishment. You were so close to losing it when Joe finally noticed.

You must have sighed too dramatically or groaned a little too loudly while scrolling aimlessly on your phone because Joe—bless his football-playing, overprotective heart—finally sighed, sat down beside you, and handed you his card.

His card.

The Black Amex. The no-limit Amex. The "please take my money and spend it however you want" Amex.

You stared at it. Then at him.

"What's this?"

Joe just shrugged. "You're miserable."

"And?"

"And I don't like you miserable."

You blinked.

"So you're… bribing me?"

He grinned, leaning back against the couch. "No, I'm giving you an activity." He tapped the card against your palm. "Baby stuff. Buy all the baby stuff. Go crazy. Get whatever you want."

You narrowed your eyes. "Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't be handing you my card if I wasn't."

You held it up between two fingers, inspecting it like it was gold. And to be fair, it might as well have been. You’d been dying to start shopping for the baby, but between Joe’s schedule and your current house arrest, it hadn’t really happened yet.

Until now.

"You said anything?" you asked, already smirking.

Joe nodded. "Anything."

"No budget?"

He let out a soft laugh. "No budget."

Oh. Oh, he fucked up.

It started small. A cute onesie here, a stroller there. You were reasonable at first—practical. A crib, a bassinet, a car seat. The things you’d obviously need.

But then? Then, it spiraled.

Because the deeper you got into the world of baby shopping, the more you realized just how much there was to buy.

Did your baby need a wipe warmer that looked like it was made for royalty? No. Did you buy it anyway? Absolutely.

Did your baby need a $500 luxury baby lounger imported from Europe? No. Was it already in your cart? Yes.

Every time you thought, "Okay, this is enough," you’d stumble across something even cuter, even better, even more unnecessary but absolutely essential.

Joe had no idea what he’d just unleashed.

The first time he really noticed was when the emails started.

He was sitting at the kitchen counter, going through his phone, when he let out a low whistle.

"Babe."

You hummed, still scrolling.

"Babe, did you—did you order a stroller that costs as much as a small car?"

You didn’t even look up. "It has all-terrain wheels."

Joe blinked. "Are we… are we taking the baby off-roading?"

You shrugged.

Joe just shook his head, scrolling through email after email of order confirmations.

"Okay, what about the designer baby clothes? And—Jesus—why are there three different cribs?"

Now you looked up. "Options, Joe."

He let out a soft laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. But the thing was? He didn’t care about the money. It wasn’t about that. It was about you—because for the first time in days, you were back to normal.

He knew you. He knew the way your mind worked, how you thrived on having something to do, something to handle. He’d seen how restless you’d been, how bored out of your mind you’d gotten after just a few days of being forced to sit still. And now? Now you were lit up.

Your fingers flew across your phone screen, your eyes bright as you clicked through page after page, adding things to your cart with zero hesitation.

Joe couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you this happy.

And that? That made it all worth it.

"Alright, babe," he finally said, setting his phone down. "Go ahead. Drain my card."

You grinned. "Oh, I already have."

And for the first time since your fainting spell, Joe finally, finally felt at ease.

[ohcorny]

How I Made the Colors in Hunger's Bite So Good

first of all: buy my book. buy it and look at the colors. (if you cannot buy the book, ask for it at your local library or i GUESS you can look at these spreads i posted)

we're gonna talk about colors, but more specifically we're going to talk about overlays. if you're an artist you are probably familiar with overlays. we love our overlays. we love to color a picture and then at the very last minute go 'hm. looks bad. i'm going to put a yellowish overlay on it to make it look less bad :)'

do not do this.

i mean you can, and it'll work sometimes, but all you're really doing is tricking your brain into thinking different is better. you've been staring at the image for potentially several hours. none of the choices you made at the beginning mean anything to you anymore. you're just finishing what you started. one of the big reasons you might look at your art and go 'man, this doesn't look that good' is because You drew it and are intimately familiar with it. you know all the flaws and mistakes because You made them and You know what your vision was. one of the great frustrations with art is that the piece in your head doesn't look like something you actually made. you want it to look like somebody else did it, so you can enjoy it as a viewer, not as the creator.

so when you put that overlay on, and suddenly the image looks very different, your brain will go 'this doesn't look like the thing i've been staring at for 2-3 hours! this is different! now it's good!'

and again, sometimes it Is good. but do you actually understand why it's good? or is it just different?

okay so what am i supposed to do smart guy

i'm glad you asked. the trick to making overlays work is to have them on from the start. this requires knowing what mood you want to convey in your scene from the very beginning. hopefully you know what mood you want to convey. you do, right? and i don't just mean happy or sad, i also mean safe, threatened, familiar, strange, soft and harsh. blue is not always sad. green is not always healthy. yellow/orange are not the only way to convey a companionable warmth.

okay did you pick the mood? do you have an idea of what color you want to use to represent that mood? great. i'm gonna use blue to convey the cool, clean white of a ship's maintenance corridor without making things literally white. and i'm going to stick in two characters whose color palettes consist of bright yellow, brown, and wine red. awesome. i definitely know how those colors would behave under blue lighting.

(here's the thing: no i don't.) this is where a gradient map correction layer comes in. i want my page to be Blue. alright. let's make a gradient map that's Blue.

a gradient map is basically just A Gradient with specific colors connected to specific values. you have your darkest values on the left, and your lighter values on the right. at 100% opacity, this gradient map layer will read the value of anything below it and go 'okay this bit is this dark, so it should be This shade of blue. and this bit is this light, so it should be This shade of blue'.

kind of like a hue or color layer except determined by a gradient rather than one color, so it could also go 'this is light, so it's green' and 'this is dark, so it's purple'. it's math. i don't really get it either. but anyway this is probably not what you want if you want your characters' palettes to be recognizable. emery's sweater is supposed to be a wine red! neeta's skin should be brown, and her shirt should be yellow. these are their Key Colors. generally, i want them to be recognizable. so let's lower that opacity down.

nice! you can definitely now see that emery's sweater is red and neeta's shirt is yellow. and everything is relatively balanced. nothing is too saturated, nothing is significantly brighter than anything else. it's all got a little bit of blue in it. but i've skipped the step of actually picking your colors. because here's the thing with gradient maps.

they hate you and want to fight. when working with gradient maps you must imagine there is a monkey sitting on your shoulder dumping paint in every time you pick a color. the monkey has a tube of blue and he is going to put that blue into everything you paint, but it's not normal paint. it doesn't mix, it overtakes. it won't turn something yellow into green, it will turn it blue. it wants everything to be blue. if you want something to look like the color it's supposed to be, you will have to make it extremely saturated under the layer to essentially fight the paint monkey's blue. hence, emery's sweater is a BRIGHT red, so it will look a little more purpley under the blue. and neeta's skin is very orange, so it can be dulled down into a soft brown.

this is the sort of thing you will have to learn by feel, because it will be different with every gradient map, especially if you start getting into weird ones that aren't monochromatic. you want to know one of my favorite maps to use?

i have memorized where on the value scale all of these colors appear. i can color something using only shades of gray when i have this filter on. i am evolved. if you want to use gradient maps effectively, you'll have to get a lot of practice.

anyway this post got really long and i'm about to go to a movie so i'll talk about how to use screen/multiply/overlay layers later. but gradient maps are the main tool i used to make hunger's bite's palettes so unified across scenes. but you can see way above how they work to turn insane saturated colors into the nice harmonies--and the trick is that i'll never see those saturated colors while i'm working. because i have accepted the paint pouring monkey into my heart, and i trust him. except when i'm coloring wick's coat. holy mother of god every gradient map hated that man's purple coat.

[jungwnies]

roommate from hell - oscar piastri (5/5)

୨ৎ : pairing : oscar piastri x gn!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : forced into an accidental roommate situation, oscar and you struggle with clashing habits, sarcastic banter, and unexpected tension…until frustration turns into something much deeper.

୨ৎ : genre : romantic comedy & light angst (barely...) ୨ৎ : tws : forced proximity, mild conflict, emotional tension, and mutual pining. ୨ৎ : wc : 1209

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

The envelope sat untouched on the counter for a full week.

Neither of you brought it up. Neither of you made a move to start packing, to start looking for other places, to start doing anything that would acknowledge the inevitable reality—that this arrangement was temporary, and that the lease was never meant to be anything more than a situation you both got stuck with.

But then one morning, Oscar finally cracked.

"So, are we just going to pretend the deposit letter doesn’t exist forever?"

You looked up from your coffee, raising an eyebrow. "I thought that was the plan."

Oscar sighed, leaning against the counter. "I mean, I wouldn’t mind pretending if I knew what exactly we’re pretending for."

You frowned, stirring your drink a little too aggressively. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he said, crossing his arms, "that you haven’t made a move to leave. And neither have I. And yet, neither of us is saying anything about it."

You stared at him.

"So," he continued, gaze flickering to yours, "are we both just avoiding the conversation because we like the convenience? Or is it… something else?"

Something twisted in your stomach at his words.

There it was. Laid out in the open, right between you.

You had spent weeks pretending it wasn’t there, pretending that the shift between you two was just the natural result of learning how to tolerate each other, of becoming… well, not enemies. Not exactly friends, either.

Something else.

You scoffed, trying to play it cool. "Why are you making this sound like some kind of dramatic breakup?"

Oscar rolled his eyes. "I’m not."

"You kind of are."

"I just want to know if you actually want to leave," he said, tilting his head slightly.

You hesitated for just a second too long.

"Thought so," Oscar muttered, looking way too smug.

You glared. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "It means you don’t want to leave."

"I never said that."

"You didn’t have to," he said simply, taking a sip of his water. "If you really wanted to, you would’ve been gone by now."

You scowled. "Okay, maybe I just don’t want to deal with moving again."

"Maybe," Oscar said, unconvinced.

"Or maybe it’s just easier to stay."

"Maybe."

The way he said it—calm, easy, knowing—made your skin heat.

You set your cup down, arms crossed. "Why haven’t you left?"

Oscar shrugged again. "I don’t know. It’s kind of nice having someone around. Even if that someone chews too loudly and leaves the thermostat two degrees too high."

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your chest tightened. "You’re annoying."

"And yet, here we are."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Fine. What are you suggesting, then?"

Oscar’s gaze didn’t waver. "Stay."

It was just one word, but it sent something warm spreading through your chest.

You pretended to think about it, even though you already knew the answer.

"I’ll think about it," you said finally, just to see how he’d react.

Oscar smirked. "Take your time."

—

You thought about it.

You thought about it that night, while you sat next to Oscar on the couch, watching some stupid show you both pretended not to be invested in. You thought about it when he absentmindedly passed you a blanket without you asking, when your shoulder brushed against his and neither of you moved away.

You thought about it when you caught yourself laughing at something he said, realizing how easy it felt to be around him now.

You thought about it when he stared a little too long, when you saw him hesitate like he had something to say but never quite found the words.

You thought about it until you couldn’t not think about it anymore.

—

The next morning, you walked into the kitchen, grabbed the deposit envelope, and handed it to Oscar.

His brows furrowed slightly as he took it from you. "What’s this?"

You exhaled, leaning against the counter.

"Give it to Greg," you said, your voice even. "I think I want to stay."

Oscar blinked, clearly caught off guard, but his expression remained unreadable. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

His fingers tapped against the envelope, gaze lingering on you for a second longer than necessary. Then, ever so slightly, the corner of his lips lifted.

"Good," he said.

You rolled your eyes, snatching your coffee and walking away. "Don’t make it weird, Piastri."

Oscar smirked, shaking his head as he watched you go.

Something about the way you said I think I want to stay made him wonder if you were talking about more than just the lease.

And, judging by the way you hesitated at the door before glancing back at him—your expression unreadable, your lips parted like you were about to say something else but thought better of it—maybe you were wondering the same thing.

Later that night, Oscar knocked on your door.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little quieter than usual.

You looked up from your phone. "What’s up?"

Oscar hesitated for a second. "So… we’re staying here. Together."

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I think we established that."

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, well, if we’re going to be roommates for real this time, then I should probably ask—"

You waited, watching the way he shifted slightly, his usual composure faltering for just a second.

"Would you want to—" he paused, clearing his throat, "—go out sometime?"

You blinked, caught off guard.

"Like, outside the apartment?" you asked, voice teasing but your pulse suddenly racing.

Oscar rolled his eyes. "Yes, obviously outside the apartment."

You tilted your head. "Are you asking me on a date?"

He shrugged, but there was a smirk playing on his lips. "Call it what you want."

You pretended to think about it, just for a second, just long enough for him to shift again—like he was waiting for an answer he already knew.

"Sure, Piastri," you finally said. "Let’s see if you’re as tolerable outside of this apartment as you are inside it."

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh, nodding. "Guess we’ll find out."

— 1 year later

You had expected something to go wrong.

That somehow, you and Oscar wouldn’t work—that the relationship would feel like a mistake, that it would mess up whatever dynamic you had built.

But, somehow, it had worked out.

You still lived together. Except now, Oscar kissed you when he left for races, when he came home tired from a long day, when he had no other excuse but the simple fact that he wanted to.

Now, he didn’t just tolerate your habits—he adjusted to them. He let you steal his hoodies, he let you take over the bathroom, he let you mess with the thermostat sometimes.

And in return, you learned that you actually liked mornings when he was there to make you coffee.

Some things hadn’t changed.

You still bickered. You still made fun of him. You still drove each other insane.

But now, it always ended with him pulling you into his arms, his lips ghosting over yours as he muttered, "You’re still annoying, you know that?"

And now, you didn’t argue when you whispered back, "Yeah, but you love me anyway."

taglist : @sugarfreerbr , @no-144444 , @window-to-nothing , @judelina , @littlegrapejuice , @formulaal , @spikershoyo , @eclipsedcherry , @whispersofthewild , @1-queenofpotatoes-1 , @obxstiles , @poppysrin , @a-beaverhausen , @blakebearsblog , @fastandcurious16 , @imdyinghelpplease , @reginalaufeyson-holmes , @percy-jackson-fan909 , @bavo-delta-eccho , @chloes-book-corner , @edgyficuselastica , @wierdflowerpower , @briefkittenearthquake , @saachiep81 , @takimakiiiii | (comment to be added ... bolded couldn't be tagged)

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[slutoru1207]

Invincible!Mark x reader x Variants!Mark part 4

Warnings: AFAB Reader, Heavy Pregnancy, Psychological Distress, Possessive Behavior, Multiversal Variants, Angst, Horror Elements, Slight Yandere Themes, Escalating Tension, Action, Desperate Escape Attempt, Early Labor

The world blurred as you struggled against the Variant’s grip, your body trembling with fear and exhaustion. Mark was still fighting, but he was outnumbered—he couldn’t get to you. Panic clawed at your throat.

Then, just as the Variant prepared to disappear with you, a high-pitched screech filled the air. A pulse of energy knocked everyone back, throwing you free from his grasp. Your knees buckled, but strong arms caught you before you hit the ground.

“Got you.”

Cecil.

Your head swam as you looked up at him. His face was set in a grim scowl, but there was relief in his eyes as his agents surrounded you and Mark. The Variants, momentarily stunned by the sonic disruption, snarled in frustration.

“About time,” Mark gasped, blood trickling down his chin as he stumbled to his feet. “They’re not going to stop—”

“I know,” Cecil interrupted. “That’s why we’re leaving. Now.”

More agents fired specialized rounds at the Variants—energy weapons designed to weaken Viltrumites. It wouldn’t hold them for long, but it was enough to cover the escape. Cecil’s men activated a portal behind him, the swirling light casting eerie shadows over the chaos.

“We need to move,” he barked, helping you to your feet.

But then, a sharp pain lanced through your abdomen. Your breath hitched, and your hands instinctively clutched your belly. The world tilted as the pain intensified, a deep, unbearable pressure radiating through your body.

Something was wrong.

“Wait—” Your voice broke as another wave of pain hit, stronger this time. “I—I think—”

Mark’s head snapped toward you, his eyes widening in alarm. “No. No, no, no—”

Cecil cursed under his breath. “Damn it. She’s going into labor.”

The Variants, recovering from the attack, noticed the shift in energy. One of them stepped forward, his expression darkening as he saw your distress. “She’s not ready yet.”

“Like hell you get to decide that,” Mark growled, positioning himself protectively in front of you.

Cecil didn’t hesitate. He grabbed your arm, half-lifting you as Mark supported your other side. “Move. Now.”

The portal hummed behind you. The Variants lunged—but too late. Cecil yanked you through just as they reached out, the portal sealing with a final, resounding snap.

The last thing you heard was their furious screams before everything turned dark.

When you came to, the world was softer—quieter. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled your nose, and the low beeping of medical monitors hummed in the background. You were lying on a hospital bed, the pressure in your belly still there but controlled, dulled by something.

Mark was at your side, his hand gripping yours tightly. His other hand was buried in his hair, his face drawn with worry. The moment he felt you move, his head snapped up, relief flooding his features.

“You’re okay,” he breathed, his voice hoarse.

You swallowed, glancing down at your belly. “The baby—?”

“Still there,” Cecil’s voice cut in from the doorway. He stood with his arms crossed, a rare softness in his tone. “We managed to slow things down. You were too early.”

Your body sagged against the pillows, tension draining from you. The baby was safe—for now.

Mark exhaled shakily, pressing a trembling kiss to your knuckles. “We’re safe,” he whispered. “For now.”

But even as he said it, you both knew the truth.

The Variants wouldn’t stop.

And this was far from over.

part 5?

[nerdygirlramblings]

I have a vision

Like reader and John are married for god knows how long (probaly since he was just a Sergeant) so it's obvious that reader knows Ghost, or rather Simon since John is like a father to him.

So when John comes home after a rough mission, Simon is with him. Usually Simon would sleep on the couch or the guest room but this time it's different. He's on the edge of a breakdown and reader offers him to join them in bed for cuddles, John doesn't mind that.

It ends up with Simon bare and vulnerable and reader and John taking care of him

If you wanna include some smut it's your choice, you're the author

Also the gender of reader because Idc about that

Thank you for this ask! This one took a few different journeys in my head before we got here, but this is the version that felt right. I hope you enjoy the result!

an: I delved into asexuality here, but if I misportrayed the acespec experience, please lmk! This is a new space for me, and I want to get it right.

Simon's known you since before he made lieutenant. You've been Price's since forever. Simon likes you because his Captain loves you. Simon loves you because you support his and Price's relationship.

The first time it had happened, they'd been on base less than an hour, wrung out from the mission and staring down the barrel of after action reports. Price was sitting at his desk, paperwork splayed out and only half finished when Ghost had come in and nearly dropped from sheer exhaustion. He couldn't tell if the weariness was mental or physical or some combination of both, but Price served as a grounding force.

Price wasn't a mind reader but he was an expert in body language, and he'd taken one look at Ghost and known exactly what was wrong. He beckoned the younger man over. It took coaxing and a promise that things would be better to get Ghost to kneel at Price's feet and put his head in Price's lap. Price slid one hand off the paperwork he'd only been half-heartedly completing and ran it up under Ghost's mask, pulling the balaclava off. Thick fingers scrubbed through the sweaty hair and eventually began a light pet.

"You're safe here Simon. I've got you," he rumbled, voice gruff from the cigar on his desk. Simon's not sure how long they were there, Price's hand keeping him grounded while giving him the space to let go. It could have been seconds or days. All he knows is he had never felt as free as he did by the time Price roused him off his knees and shooed him back to his own paperwork.

After that, mission debriefs began including quiet time for Simon and his Captain where the older man would help the younger come back to himself. For someone as touched-starved as Simon had always been, Price's comfort was a blessing.

He doesn't remember what mission they'd come off of the night you found them, but he does recall the startled gasp you made when you walked in with dinner for your husband only to find him with another man in his lap. You'd only met the lieutenant once before. He couldn't, wouldn't, get between Price and you, but he didn't know how to find the strength to leave.

Thankfully, you kept an open mind. Let your husband explain that there was nothing sexual or even romantic to their relationship. Smiled at Simon as he stumbled through how it felt to not have to worry just for a little while. And, when all was said and done, opened your arms and beckoned Simon into them.

For years now your house has been Simon's safe place. He has his own bed in what you tell others is the guest room, but several years back you decorated it in Simon's favorite colors with little touches to help him feel grounded. The kitchen cupboard has his favorite tea, and the crisps he likes are always in the pantry. He has a key to the front door and knows he's always welcome no matter the time, so he thinks nothing of slipping in after midnight, finally back from a solo mission, his humanity hanging on by a thread.

Of course John hears the door the moment the lock rolls back on its tumblers, Simon's heavy tread carrying quietly in the still air. He tries to get out of bed without waking you, but you never sleep well when he's not there, so you notice immediately. Bleary eyes find his as he stands half in the doorway, says, "Simon's just got in. Going to go check on him."

You nod as John slips out of your room. He had given you what few details he could about Simon's mission while the other man was gone. You worried about him, how big a toll this would take on him. So moment after John leaves, you slowly climb out of bed, slip into your robe, quietly pad down the hall. You can hear your husband's low rumble and a sound that rocks you. Crying. You don't think it's John, the timbre's off, but despite hearing it, you struggle to believe Simon is crying.

You didn't believe there was anything that could ever make his lieutenant - the Ghost - cry.

You ease the door open, catching Simon so very human. Broken. Hunched over, head between his knees, hands clasped tight behind his neck. He's still in most of his gear. He must have come straight from transport. John rubs his hand up and down Simon's back, but the man barely reacts. He doesn't seem to realize John's there.

Both go suddenly still at the change in the air when you come into the room.

"Simon," you whisper. Like your husband, you want to comfort him. Unlike your husband, this isn't something you've offered before, not a comfort Simon's been allowed.

You kneel in front of him, gently reaching out for a boot. In the thin light from the window, deft fingers pick apart knots so the boots are easier to slip off. First one then the other thuds to the floor behind you. You run gentle hands up his chest, unclipping the tac vest. John pulls it off Simon's shoulders. Shirt and trousers follow, the two of you working seamlessly, silently to help Simon shed Ghost. When he's down to just his pants, you slip your fingers under the edge of his mask.

"Is this okay?" Your whisper feels like a shout in the darkness.

Simon grunts and dips his chin further into your palm. You take it as permission, pulling the knit up and off. Cupping his cheeks in your hands, you run your thumb through the eye black. You can't say what possesses you to do it, but you lean forward and drop little kisses on Simon's eyelids.

When they flutter open, it's like seeing directly into Simon's soul. The brown cracked with pain and desperation. A fear too big to name.

You stand, reaching one hand down to John and the other to Simon. John comes willingly, no questions. Simon needs reassurance. "It's okay, Simon. You're safe here. We've got you," you tell him. You have no idea how much you sound like John did all those years ago. It's that echo alone that allows Simon to follow you back to the room you share with his Captain.

John understands your intent immediately, ushering first you then Simon into the bed. You slide into your usual space against the wall, holding the covers up as Simon stiffly joins you. He lays on his back, ramrod straight, as John sinks into the mattress on his other side. The hand next to Simon fumbles a moment, finding his, and interlacing your fingers together. Your other hand comes to rest on Simon's chest. You curl towards John and he towards you, one hand covering yours over Simon's heart. You breathe slowly, pressing the rhythm ever so slightly into Simon's lungs.

Tension is thick for a moment. Two. Three. By ten, Simon is breathing in time with you, shuddering as silent tears slip out. Lips brush his cheek as you whisper again, "We've got you."

You do. And he knows in his bones you always will.

[moonstruckme]

hi mae!! how are you? i hope you're doing fine i was actually wondering if you are up for writing another prince!sirius x princess! reader? you wrote the last one so beautifully it got me thinking if the reader was getting extremely bored by all the suitors approaching her at a ball and being forced to dance with all of them when sirius notices it and snatches her away from them and starts dancing with her on his own and they are just caught having a moment in front of everyone? i would love for you to write it!! anyways love your writing and i hope you have a good day<33 lots of love

Thanks for requesting and for being so patient angel! Lots of love back!!

prince!Sirius x princess!reader ♡ 1.3k words

In all your time since becoming a princess, you don’t think you’ve felt so thoroughly perceived as you do now. Stepping and slow-turning in the middle of the ballroom, with a throng of suitors each waiting for their turn, it seems an undeniable certainty that every bead of sweat forming along your hairline is being caught by the light of the multiple chandeliers and discussed among your spectators. 

It doesn’t help that the man you’re dancing with now is squeezing your hand like he wants to break it. 

“Oh,” you gasp, as you’re dipped so low your foot nearly slips. 

Your would-be groom tightens his hold around your middle. “Don’t worry,” he says, flashing a self-assured smile. “I’ve got you.” 

“Right,” you laugh breathily. You think you’ve twinged something in your back. “Sorry. Thank you.” 

This is about the ninth bachelor you’ve been partnered with tonight. Despite whisperings of yours and Sirius’ courting, the princess dancing with every eligible suitor who asks is tradition at this particular ball. You’ve been spun about, tripped, showboated, and scrutinized in every way imaginable. Your only solace is the promise that you’ll be allowed to wear slippers for the rest of the weekend. 

“Excuse me.” 

You never seem to spot Sirius before he does you. His voice hardly surprises you anymore, though; you relax automatically at its silken familiarity. 

You finish your turn to find him there waiting. Debonair as always in a well-fitting suit and with a glint you wonder if only you can discern in his cunning eyes. You smile, your partner frowns. 

“May I cut in?” Sirius asks. 

“I have her for the rest of the dance,” your partner responds. 

You remind yourself to appear pleasant, but Sirius’ eyebrow raises. “Her Highness isn’t something to be had, but you’ve engaged her for two dances already. It’s time to bow out.” 

It seems a rude dismissal, but maybe this is the sort of thing princes can get away with. Your partner relinquishes his death-grip on your hand and back, stepping away with a stiff incline of his head. You bow back as you’d rehearsed. 

Sirius takes your hand so gently, it’s like he knows the torture it endured. You could almost cry at the warm press of his hand against your back, guiding you through the steps instead of yanking you through them. 

“Hi,” he says softly. “Sorry I’m late. You look beautiful.” 

“So do you.” You find yourself matching his tone, as you often do. Sirius has many moods, and as you’ve gotten to know him better you find yourself mimicking him more often and more comfortably. When he teases, you tease him back; when he’s sincere, you offer the same; and when he flirts, well…you’re still working on that one. He’s a good deal bolder than you are. “What kept you?” 

“Oh, mumsie wanted to have a fit before we left.” He says it dismissively, casting the whole thing off with a minute roll of his eyes. “It’s practically tradition before big to-dos like this.” 

Your answering smile is rueful. You aren’t quite sure of Sirius’ family situation, but you’ve pieced together that it’s far from ideal. He doesn’t seem to like talking about it. 

“I’m glad you made it,” you say. “I owe you a ton for getting here when you did.” 

Sirius’ lips tug. “Yeah? Are your feet getting tired, lovely?” 

You aren’t sure how much to say with so many other pairs dancing around you, but your expression must say something for you. Sirius tsks sympathetically.

“We could fake an injury,” he suggests, leaning close to your ear. “You clutch your ankle, and I sit us down with a bag of ice for the next half hour.” 

You smile. It’s tempting. “Might not have to fake it,” you confess in a whisper. “I’m a little worried there might be blood pooling in the toe of my shoe from how many times it’s been stepped on.” 

Sirius pulls back, looking down at where your feet barely poke out of your dress with a frown. “Really? If you’re hurt, we should—” 

“No, it’s fine. Sorry, I was joking. I think.” You shrug, sheepish. “My toes have gone numb, I wouldn’t really know either way.” 

Sirius relaxes. “Oh. Poor thing, how long have you been at it?” 

“Well, the ball started at seven…” 

“Mhm.” 

“And the dancing started at about seven-oh-five.” 

He laughs, the sound soft and commiserative. “That is awful. They’re breaking you in more aggressively than those shoes, hm?” 

“Aggressive feels like the right word, yeah.” 

The music swells. You ready yourself for a spin, but Sirius doesn’t twirl you like he’s supposed to. He guides you neatly into the next steps, saving you from having to turn on your exhausted feet. 

“You must be tired,” he says. “Sure you don’t want to claim injury? I can pretend to stumble over your feet.” 

You cast a glance at your grandmother. She’s seated, with two courtiers standing at her side, her posture perfect and the crown on her head glittering in the light. All of them are watching you anxiously. 

“Thanks,” you say, “but I don’t want to cause a scene. I’m feeling better now that you’re here, anyway.” 

Sirius palm rubs over your lower back. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. This is perfect, Sirius. Thanks so much for helping me out. I know you don’t have to.” 

He tsks. “‘Course I do.” 

You expect him to go on; course I do, because we’re supposed to look like we’re courting or course I do, because everyone is watching. But Sirius doesn’t say anything else. He leaves it right there. 

“Okay, then,” he says after a minute. “If you want to keep dancing, then I’ll keep dancing with you. You won’t have any more toes bloodied tonight if I can help it.” 

You look at him, amused. “You just told my last partner he had to leave because he had more than two dances with me.” 

“I did. If he wanted to have more, he should have held his ground. I can’t really help who has backbone and who doesn’t, doll.” 

“But now you’re going to do the same thing?” 

“That’s right.” He tilts his head down so his hair falls like a curtain around his face, eyes getting that glint again. “Is that a problem?” 

You bite your lip to suppress a smile. “No. No problem.” 

“Lovely.” 

Sirius continues leading you through the dances, so natural you don’t even have to think about the steps yourself. Occasionally one of you will whisper some comment about a noteworthy hat or an interesting discussion going on at one of the tables, but for the most part you sway together in comfortable silence. Sirius’ thumb drags heavy over your back. You’re so tired you have to keep reminding yourself not to yawn. 

You’ve lost track of how many songs have passed by the time you catch your grandmother’s eye by accident. It’s her stare, along with the buzz of conversation that reaches your ears, which alerts you to the fact that your head has somehow come to rest on Sirius’ shoulder. 

You must look awfully cozy. His hand splayed familiarly over your back, your other hands clasped together, moving sleepily as though you’re in a world all your own. You take in a quiet breath. 

Sirius' chin bumps your forehead. “What is it?” 

You feel as though you’ve been caught. You’ve revealed more than you meant to, exposed some dark secret, bared yourself for everyone here to see. It takes you a moment to remember they’re actually seeing exactly what you want for them to: you and Sirius, falling in love. 

That has to be why Sirius hasn’t pulled away. He’s playing the part, and he likely assumes you are too. Keeping other suitors away, keeping your families in negotiations, keeping him here. That’s what you’re supposed to be doing. 

“Nothing,” you murmur. 

“You sure?” 

“Mhm.” You shift slightly, feeling the material of his suit jacket against your cheek, but you don’t lift your head. “Your feet must be getting tired now, too. We can stop, if you want.” 

“What, and leave you to the wolves?” You can hear the smile in Sirius’ voice. His thumb strokes over your spine, sending goosebumps racing all the way up to your neck. “Don’t insult me, gorgeous. I can do this all night.”

[rikiluvrr]

☆ nishimura riki x afab!reader

☆ wc: 1,517

☆ WARNINGS: MDNI. making out, smut, teasing, fingering, aftercare

THE dimly lit nightlamp was the only source of light in the room, pulling your attention towards it. You’d been trying to get an assignment done for the past hour but for some reason, you couldn’t pull through, letting out a sigh for the umpteenth time, you lifted your head up from your notebook to look at the figure sprawled out on your bed. It seemed like whenever riki was around, you couldn’t focus on anything else. Your mind would just go blank. 

Riki was on your bed, legs spread out, one hand behind his head and the other scrolling on his phone. He wore those thin-framed glasses that made him look insanely attractive. Sensing your eyes on him, riki looked up at you “What? Don’t give me that look. I offered you to come cuddle but you wanted to do your assignment” he sassed, in response you scoffed and got up from your chair, trudging to the bed. You dipped both your knees onto the bed, climbed on top of him, and sat on his abdomen, hands sprawled out on his chest earning you an amused look from him. 

You continued staring at him, taking in his appearance. His tousled hair which rested over the frame of the glasses only made his features stand out more. “I should’ve known that having you around meant I’d get no work done. You’re too distracting Nishimura” you expressed with a mischievous smile. Riki simply grinned before turning you over and pinning you down to the soft mattress, causing you to let out a squeal “What are you trying to do-” “I don't think I’m being distracting enough yet,” his voice teased as if he was testing the waters.

Before you could respond , riki leaned down and connected your lips, grounding you down to the bed by placing his entire body weight on you, he held both your wrists on either side of your head and tightened his grip on them. You let out a soft whine as he bit down on your bottom lip, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth, exploring it passionately with no intent of stopping anytime soon. Riki’s hands dropped from your wrists to trail down your body, making you arch your back because of his cold touch. He wrapped his arms around your waist and ground against you, making you whimper as you wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged at the small strands of hair at his nape.

When the two of you finally pulled back to catch your breaths, riki looked at you through his glasses with glossed eyes and swollen lips, silently asking for your consent to move further to which you eagerly nodded and that was all he needed to let his restraint snap. He was about to take off his glasses when suddenly you gasped, your hand immediately flying to his to stop him from taking them off, your eyes widened as you realized what you’d done on an impulse “U-uh don’t”. Riki’s face contorted to one of confusion before he finally understood what you were trying to convey. “Oh? Didn’t think you had a thing for glasses baby” he teased with a wide grin evident. You groaned and rolled your eyes and pulled him down for a kiss to shut him up, which worked perfectly.

Riki groaned into the kiss before pulling away, only to latch onto your neck, leaving hot, wet open-mouthed kisses on your soft skin, this was bound to cause some marks later. His hands found their way under your oversized t-shirt where his fingers softly traced patterns on your waist, making their way up to fondle your breasts, taking note of the fact that you didn't wear a bra tonight before he pulled away to take off your shirt and shorts. His pupils were blown at the sight before him “fuck baby..”, he sighed with contentment and took his shirt and pants off, leaving him in boxers and you in your panties.

You gazed up at riki with parted lips, his abs glowing under the warm night lamp which also reflected on his glasses. Unable to wait any longer, you let out a small whine “Hurry up”, making him chuckle before mumbling “Cute..”. He slowly trailed his cold hands up your thighs, making you squirm from the coldness of his fingers “ngh..riki” you complained, knowing he was purposefully taking his time. He was always like this when it came to teasing the shit out of you. 

He leaned down and pressed kisses from the base of your neck, down to your collarbone before his lips wrapped around one of your nipples, making you gasp and let out a loud moan. One of his hands wrapping around your waist and the other one pinching and kneading the nipple of your neglected breast. He licked and flicked at your nipple with his tongue, not forgetting to slightly graze his teeth over it, making you arch your back, not long after, he switched to your other breast before repeating the same actions, earning small hisses and moans from you as you gripped the sheets tightly.

 He then pulled away and trailed one of his downs to your clothed cunt and slowly pressed his thumb onto your clit over your panties, drawing eights over it, and marveled at the sight of your growing wetness that was evident on the fabric. the feeling making you moan. After what felt like hours, he pulled your panties off, revealing your dripping cunt eliciting a laugh from him “I barely touched you and you’re already dripping all over baby”, in response you just rolled your eyes, already used to his antiques. 

Riki leaned back down, capturing your mouth in a messy, heated kiss while he used two of his fingers to collect and spread your wetness making you squirm from sensitivity. He gripped onto your hips tightly before pushing two fingers in, knuckles deep, and pumping them in and out of you at a slow rhythmic pace, the sudden intrusion making you arch your back and moan into his mouth. Riki pulled out of the kiss, his face still hovering over yours as his glasses fogged up from the heavy breaths and heat in the room. He fastened the pace of his fingers only bringing out more and more of your sweet moans. 

You gripped the sheets tightly. “riki.. please,” you breathlessly whispered, not sure what you were begging for, but all you knew at that moment was that you needed more. Your body felt like it was on fire, a wave of pleasure washed through you hard and hot as you came undone all over his fingers, riki still working his fingers in you to help ride out your high. Riki slowly pulled out his fingers, causing you to hiss at the sudden exposure, and brought your release-coated fingers to his mouth, sucking on them hungrily and groaning at the sweet tangy taste, “god you taste so sweet” his voice hoarse and filled with lust. He then caressed your waist and kissed your forehead “You did so well for me love” he placed another loving kiss on your lips.

 Beads of sweat formed on your forehead which glowed in the warm light as you breathed heavily, still recovering from your post-orgasm high, riki let out a chuckle after seeing your state, making you frown “What’s so funny?” “Nothing baby, lets get you cleaned up” and just as he was about to get off the bed “Wait! What about you?” clearly referring to his evident bulge, riki shook his head “I’ll take care of it, you’re tired baby. You need sleep”, he was right and you didn’t have enough energy to fight him either. 

Riki got off the bed and made his way to the bathroom, preparing a warm bath for you. When he returned to the room, he saw you lying on the bed with your eyes closed, smiling to himself, he slowly wrapped his hands around you “Baby..” he whispered, causing you to jolt awake and making him laugh. You rolled your eyes and sat up ,making grabby hands at him “Carry me?” you tilted your head at him and god how could ever say no to you “Of course baby”, he kissed your forehead and lifted you in his arms and took you into the bathroom, carefully lowering you into the warm water. 

You sighed and closed your eyes as you leaned back, the warmth of the water relaxing your taut muscles, especially your thighs. Riki only stared at you with nothing but adoration. “Looks relaxing... Can I join?”, he asked with a mischievous grin. You immediately opened your eyes before splashing water at him “And start something else? No, thank you. You can get in after I’m done” “Ouch baby” he dramatized, putting his palm over his heart mockingly, making you laugh. The rest of your bath was filled with playful banter and lots of splashing each other and you could’ve never asked for anything better than that. 

☆ xiao's notes: the smut took me too long oml. I hope its not too bad <3

[rabotimagines]

I come here to offer an idea

Imagine being an older con, and you call one of them a good boy with a caress of some kind(e.i their lower back, their cheek, etc) and watch their souls ascend and become one with the allspark.

Now you have a duckling following you cause the hot dilf hit on them

ANON IVE ALREADY HAD THAT EXACT THOUGHT PROCESS!! I just hadn't written it. But I will because others have had the same idea as me. Literally whenever there's some type of "How did you accidentally discover you had a kink?" thread the most common one is always people saying a friend or coworker called them "Good boy/Girl" and they got light headed immediately.

I did let it slip in a little bit with Skywarps petname part. But let's do some others for fun/lean into it a bit more.

"Praise" Older! GN BOT Reader x Bumblebee, Bluestreak, Perceptor, Skywarp, Astrotrain, Blitzwing

Summary: You call him "Good boy" after he'd done something for you.

G1 characters: Bumblebee, Bluestreak, Perceptor, Skywarp, Astrotrain, Blitzwing

Warnings: G1 Blitzwing being G1 Blitzwing (a menace.)

Genre/Theme: The bots get flustered and mildly horny

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours

Bumblebee probably should have expected it considering- well, all of you. But he's woefully unprepared when you praise him with a "Good boy." You smiled at him, and your em field brushed lightly against his helm right next to where your servo was petting his helm. Bumblebee stops, and his optics widen. Thankfully, you just moved on to other things, so you didn't see Bumblebee stopping where he was to process what just happened.

Bumblebees spark is suddenly humming so loud in his chassis he's worried it's audible. His optics are burning so bright he has to reboot them fully. Finally, Bumblebee can't help laughing light at the fuzzy feeling in his chassis before clearing his vocalizor roughly. He even slams his fist into his own chassis to make sure his engine doesn't stall.

Bumblebee knew exactly what the feeling in his frame was. And he's trying not to get even more embarrassed when he realizes exactly how horny he just got from the very short exchange with you. Yeah- okay. New thing to be aware of when interacting with you. You teasing him like that gets his engine purring. Cool. Bumblebee can do this. He's totally not gonna be thinking about that the next time he self services. Nooooo absolutely not....

Bumblebee can't help thinking what else he could be doing for you to call him. "Good boy."

-

You smile at Bluestreak and nod in acknowledgment. "Baby blue." Bluestreaks wings flutter when you address him with your nickname for him, and he hands you the datapad you wanted. Bluestreaks talking about what he had to do to get it to work, and in the middle of it, you just start moving to leave. Bluestreaks worried for a moment before the back of your servo is brushing up against his cheek.

It's very light but it's accompanied by your hot em field. "Good boy." And then you're leaving- thank Primus because that means you don't see Bluestreaks wings practically shoot upwards. Blustreaks mouth audibly clicks shut, and his glossia feels like It suddenly weighs way too much, and he can't say anything- His optics are burning so bright he can feel them tinting the color on his faceplate cobalt.

Bluestreak pushes his servos over the lower half of his face in mortification when he realizes he's feeling very hot and bothered by the exchange. Oh, Primus, no! You were his superior officer! Bluestreak couldn't think about you like that! But you were so nice to him- and charming and your em field was so touchy- oh, Bluestreaks not gonna be able to be normal about this!

Bluestreak tries to be normal, but every time he sees your faceplate now all he can think about is if you'd call him a "good boy" again...

-

Perceptor offered to do something quick for you, so you didn't have to find someone else to do it. He had the time after all. He's standing next to you when he jolts lightly when he feels your servo on the small of his back. Perceptor glances to your faceplate to see a smile on your derma. "Good boy." Your servo slides away from his back when you move to leave, and Perceptor is stuck staring at the direction you walked off in.

Oh, that's... oh no. Perceptor has to cycle his optics twice before what happened actually, registers and his optics brighten near immediately. Perceptor has to clear his vocalizor since it suddenly feels as if he's got a mild obstruction in his intake. Perceptor then rapidly soothes down his own puffed up plating sheepishly. He's now very glad it was only you and him in the room. Well, his emotional response made sense to a degree. Positive reinforcement was known to have its benefits...

Perceptor then registers the interest in his array and his optics snap wide. Oh, there's something wrong with him! Well, he knows it's not that far out there- it would be a dichotomy when considering common interface interests after all but Primus- Perceptor could not have gotten this worked up over one phrase and one little, albeit very nice, touch- Perceptor can feel the ghost of your servo still on his lower back. The plating felt warm still- Perceptor finally just sighed and scrubbed a servo over his faceplate.

Perceptors processor is now just occasionally wondering the chances of if you'd call him "good boy" again for another favor. And he has to scold his apparently rather perverted processor more than once.

-

Skywarp already knows that he can get you to call him "Good boy" and he already knows he needs to do everything he can to get that rush and phrase one more time! Skywarp wants every little brush of affection you'd give him. The words, your expressions, your em field, and sometimes rarely physical attention when he got lucky. So he's waiting for it to slip out of your mouth again. But he's not really ready for it, though, after you all get your afts kicked by the slagging Autobots.

Skywarp does not want to get his medical attention from Hook- he does not! It's gonna suck! He's fighting Hook until you come outta nowhere and physically force him to lay flat on the medical slab. "Skywarp- behave." Skywarp looks up at you and debates fighting you before slacking against the medical slab. "Good boy." The phrase makes his plating fluff. And you just climb off of him and leave him with Hook. Skywarps too busy thinking about what just happened to even really care too much about Hook.

It's not till after Hook kicks him out that Skywarp realizes he got horny about it. Skywarp did think you were hot. He also liked you flirting with him. You were easy self-service material, really. But now? Yeah, your frame hunched over his own while you call him "good boy." That was gonna be his go too self service fantasy for a hot klick.

Skywarp could totally let himself want some more of you, right?

-

Astrotrains just glad he got stuck with you for the day. He'd take you over any of the other high command since you were the most mellow. Astrotrain would take your dumb little names over worrying about injury from his other bosses. So he's not exactly prepared when your servo is on his arm after he'd done his job like he was supposed to. Astrotrains helm snaps to the side only to be met with you smiling. "Good boy." Your warm em field brushes along the side of his frame before you just up and leave.

Astrotrain's spark does something- glitches? Frag- he didn't know, but he's staring at where you'd walked off like you hadn't just done that slag. His chassis hot and the plating on his arm feeling warm due to the lingering touch of your em field. Astrotrain clamps his plating back down on himself tight when he realizes it slightly fluffed up. Astrotrain then forces his wings to flick back down since they'd flicked upwards due to his shock.

His wings shoot right back up when Astrotrain comprehends the heat in his array. Slag okay no- no no no. Astrotrain was not- he will not have sexual thoughts about one of his bosses. He's not going to. No. Apparently, his sparkdamned frame did not care if he indulged it because he still was very horny over his little exchange with you. And now occasionally just remembering it when he sees you- slag it all.

Astrotrain at least accepts the fact that he's slightly attracted to you. In the end, he's just glad it's you and not any of the other decepticon high command.

-

Blitzwing had his stupid task, and you had pointed out how he was totally smarter than it, and how he could definitely handle it easy. And yeah! He could, and he did. Then you're near him, and you smile, and Blitzwing kinda just thinks you'll use your crummy names. Blitzwing thinks he might be able to actually land a hit on you for it this time if he just- Then your servo is on his pauldron but you're smiling- "Good boy" Blitzwing stopped thinking when the phrase rolled out. You then turned and went off to go make sure the dumbaft coneheads were on task.

Blitzwings wings are twitching, and he's doesn't know what the slag that was- but he sure as frag knows he liked it. He liked it a lot, actually. A rush he usually only gets on the battlefield settles down in his chassis, and the point of entry was his pauldron where you'd touched him. Both Blitzwings jet engines and even his tank engine rev and the sound is loud and rough. A wide grin that shows his denta curls on his derma.

Blitzwing knew sparkdamn well what else he was feeling and he's not about to pretend he doesn't just now wanna grab you and use you like a toy- Blitzwing bites his top denta down on his own fist when he remembers he hasn't even managed to land a hit on you for your stupid little name game you played with all of them. You were a high rank for a reason- you weren't a puny pushover.

Blitzwing doesn't know if he should flirt or threaten you the next time he can- so naturally, he does both.

[oldsoul007]

stuck here like me

joel miller x reader

summary: After twenty years apart, you and Joel reunite in Jackson, but while he spent decades surviving, you built a life without him—one he can only look at from the outside before walking away in silence.

a/n: angsttttttyyyyy, some fluff, takes place when joel and ellie make it back to jackson to live there, let me know if you want a part two because I reached the limit hehe, enjoy ;)

joel miller masterlist

I spot Tommy before he even makes it up the path.

I know that walk—slow, deliberate, like he’s carrying something heavy and trying to figure out how to put it down. It’s the same way he used to walk when we lost people, back when grief was a daily visitor we learned to live with.

He doesn’t come out this way often. Not unless it’s important.

The ranch is a little ways from town, far enough that most folks don’t bother making the trip unless they’ve got a reason. Tommy’s got a reason.

I wipe my hands on my jeans and step off the porch as he slows to a stop by the fence. He swings off his horse, and I meet him halfway.

“Hey, stranger,” I say, brushing the dust off my hands. Tommy’s mouth twitches into something close to a smile. “Y/n.”

I step into him easily, arms wrapping around his shoulders. He hugs me like it’s nothing, like it’s second nature—and maybe it is, after all this time. After everything.

“Didn’t think you’d make it out here today,” I say as I pull back.

“Yeah, well. Thought I’d check in on you.” His eyes flick toward the house. “Been a while.”

“Two weeks, Tommy. You’re slacking.”

Tommy huffs out a laugh, the corner of his mouth tilting up. But the lightness doesn’t stick. His gaze drops to the ground, hands sliding to his hips.

I don’t notice at first. My mind’s already moving, still caught in the easy rhythm of conversation.

“Well, the kids were just talking about you the other day,” I say, wiping my hands on my jeans. “They wanna hang with Uncle Tommy soon—take the horses out maybe, or—”

I trail off when I see the way he’s looking at me. “What’s wrong?”

His mouth pulls tight. The lightness in his eyes fades into something heavier.

“We got some new folks in town,” he says carefully. My stomach tightens. “Yeah?”

Tommy hesitates—just for a second—but it’s enough.

“It’s Joel,” he says finally.

My breath catches.

I stare at him, feeling like I’ve misheard. But I haven’t. I know it in the way Tommy looks at me—soft and steady, like he’s bracing himself for impact.

Joel.

My Joel.

The world tilts under my feet.

I hear him, but my body won’t catch up. My breath locks in my chest. I shake my head, staring at Tommy like I can will the words away. “No,” I say, too quiet. “That’s not—”

Tommy’s expression softens. “It’s him, y/n.”

“He’s not alone,” Tommy had added, his voice soft. “Got a little girl with him.”

Something deep inside me clenches so tight it hurts. My vision blurs at the edges, and for a second, I feel untethered—like if I don’t hold on to something, I might just float away.

He’s alive, and he’s here, in Jackson, in the same place as me, breathing the same air, walking the same streets.

For the first time in twenty years.

I don’t realize my hands are shaking until Tommy steps closer and grips my arm. “Hey,” he says gently. “I know this is a lot.”

I nod, but it’s automatic. My throat feels tight, my chest too full.

Tommy hesitates, like he’s not sure if he should say more. But in the end, he just squeezes my arm once before letting go. “You okay?”

No. But I don’t say that.

Tommy shifts his weight, the heel of his boot scuffing against the dirt. “He asked about you.”

My heart jolts painfully against my ribs. “What did you say?”

“Told him you’re doing fine.”

I press my lips together, nodding.

Tommy watches me closely. His eyes soften. “Y/n—”

“I’m fine.” My voice is too quick, too thin.

Tommy’s mouth twitches like he’s about to say something else, but in the end, he just sighs.

“You don’t have to see him,” he says quietly. “If you don’t want to.”

I swallow hard. “I know.”

Tommy hesitates for a second longer, like he’s waiting for me to crack. When I don’t, he steps back toward his horse and grips the reins.

“I’ll be around,” he says.

I nod. “Alright.”

He swings back into the saddle. His eyes linger on me a beat longer before he clicks his tongue and guides the horse down the path. I stand there, arms crossed against the chill, watching him disappear toward the tree line.

The breeze shifts through the dry grass, brushing over the porch steps. I hear the faint sound of the horses in the stables, the quiet creak of the weathered barn door swinging in the wind.

Joel is in Jackson. And he asked about me.

I head back toward the house, the screen door creaking under my hand as I push it open. My hand is still on the doorframe when I pause, looking out toward the horizon.

I know this land better than I know myself. The stables, the hills beyond the creek, the trails that lead into the woods. I’ve walked them a hundred times.

But now it feels different.

Like maybe there’s a ghost in these hills.

—

I don’t see him. Not at first.

“He’s not alone,” Tommy had added, his voice soft. “Got a little girl with him.”

A little girl.

That’s what pulled me toward town, even when I knew I should stay put. I didn’t even remember leaving the ranch, but somehow I was here now, standing just outside the square, breath hitching in my throat as my eyes caught him.

Joel.

He was talking to Tommy, his back to me, but I knew him like I’d seen him just yesterday. Broader now, a little more gray in his hair, his shoulders tense beneath his worn jacket.

And next to him—there she was. The girl. Maybe fourteen. Freckles, wild brown hair, arms crossed over her chest with the kind of defiance only a kid could wear so comfortably. Joel stood close to her, protective. Always protective.

My chest squeezed.

I should leave. I should turn around, go back to my house, pretend this moment never happened. But I don’t.

I stayed frozen there, my boots planted firmly in the dirt. I could’ve turned back. Maybe I should have. But then Joel shifted, like he felt me, and when he turned—

His lips part slightly, like he wants to say my name but can’t. His face flickers through a thousand things at once—shock, disbelief, something deeper, something broken. His hands twitch at his sides, like he doesn’t know whether to reach for me or run.

The world shrinks to just the two of us.

His face… the years were carved into him like stone. Deep lines at the corners of his eyes, at the crease of his mouth. But those eyes—they hadn’t changed. Dark brown, the same way they used to soften when he looked at me.

“Y/n.”

It wasn’t a question. Just my name, rough and low and familiar.

My breath hitched. His eyes swept over me like he was trying to take me apart, piece by piece. My knees locked to keep from swaying under the weight of it.

I took a step toward him, then another. Joel didn’t move at first—he just stared, his eyes sharp and dark. And then his jaw tightened, and he crossed the distance between us in three long strides.

And then his arms were around me.

I stumbled into him, my hands pressing against his back as his arms locked tight around me, one hand curling at the back of my head. My breath hitched as his chin dropped against my shoulder.

“Hey,” I whispered against him.

He breathed out, his chest rising and falling hard beneath my hands. His arms stayed locked around me, one hand splayed against my back like he was grounding himself. My fingers curled into his jacket.

We stood there too long. Longer than anyone would call just a casual hug. But neither of us let go. His heart thudded against mine. My eyes burned.

Finally, Joel’s hand slid from the back of my head, brushing down my hair. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands framing my arms. His eyes softened, but there was something sharp in them. Something guarded.

Joel’s jaw tensed. His hands flexed around my arms, but he didn’t let go. “Tommy said you knew.”

“I did.” My breath hitched. “I just… I didn’t know if you’d want to see me after all this time.”

Joel’s eyes darkened slightly, but he didn’t say anything. His gaze flicked over my face, searching, and then his brow furrowed like he was trying to figure me out.

A small voice broke the silence.

“Uh… hi?”

Joel’s head turned toward the girl standing a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest. She was watching us with open suspicion, one eyebrow raised.

Joel’s hand dropped from my arm. His posture shifted slightly, more guarded now, his protective instinct flaring up the way it always did when Sarah was nearby. My stomach squeezed painfully at the thought.

Joel’s gaze lingered on me for half a second longer before he spoke.

“Ellie,” he said. His voice was steadier now. “This is y/n.”

Ellie’s eyes narrowed. “You know each other?”

Joel’s gaze sharpened. His mouth twitched like he wasn’t sure how much to say. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We know each other.”

Ellie’s eyes slid toward me. “How?”

Joel hesitated. His jaw flexed. “It’s… complicated.”

Ellie snorted. “Figured.”

Joel’s hand dragged down his face, weariness etched into the lines of his face. His eyes met mine again, dark and searching.

I glanced toward Ellie, then back at him. “She yours?”

Joel’s eyes widened slightly. His mouth parted like the question had caught him off guard. Then he shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “She’s not mine.”

Ellie made a face.

Joel shot her a look. Ellie just shrugged.

“She’s… with me,” Joel said after a beat, his voice low. “Been taking care of her.”

My heart twisted painfully.

“She’s lucky to have you,” I said softly.

Joel’s jaw tightened. His eyes lingered on mine for a long moment. “I don’t know about that.”

Ellie made a scoffing noise. “Yeah, well, I’m still alive, so he’s doing something right.”

Joel’s gaze sharpened toward her. “Ellie.”

She held up her hands, but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

Joel’s eyes softened just a fraction as he looked at her. My chest squeezed at the sight. That protectiveness—that quiet steadiness—it was still there. Still Joel.

Joel’s eyes slid back toward me.

I hesitated. My hand twitched toward my chest—toward the thin gold band on my finger—but I stopped myself before it could catch his eye.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said quietly.

Joel’s eyes softened, something flickering beneath the guarded expression. “Yeah.” His voice was low. “Me too.”

Ellie shifted impatiently.

“Yall should get settled,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Jackson’s a good place. Safe.”

Joel watches me a second longer, his jaw tight, like there’s something he wants to argue, something he wants to say. But instead, he nods.

I turn before I do something stupid—like let my heart remember what it was like to be his.

I avoid him after that.

It’s not easy. Jackson isn’t a big place, and people talk. I hear his name in passing, see glimpses of him from a distance—helping with patrols, talking with Maria, fixing up some old building with Tommy. The girl, Ellie, is always nearby, a shadow at his side. She reminds me of Sarah in some ways, the way she carries herself, the sharpness in her eyes.

But I don’t go near him.

I don’t trust myself to.

The hug was a mistake. I should have turned and walked away the moment I saw him, but I didn’t. I let myself feel something I buried a long time ago, something I had no right to hold onto anymore. And Joel… Joel felt it, too. I could tell in the way he held me, in the way he didn’t want to let go.

I can’t let it happen again.

So I stay away.

I stick to my routines, my family, my home. I keep my head down, and for a while, it works. Until it doesn’t.

—

It happens a week later.

I’m standing near the garden beds in the middle of town, hands resting on the edge of a planter as Maria talks. The smell of soil and cold air hangs between us.

“So, we’ll need someone to cover the north patrol this week,” Maria says, arms crossed over her chest. “Could use someone who knows the area.”

I glance toward the street where my kids are playing with a couple of the other town kids. Their laughter cuts through the crisp air, sharp and clear.

“I don’t know, Maria,” I say, quiet but steady.

Maria’s gaze follows mine. “They’re old enough now,” she says, voice soft. “You know they’ll be fine.”

My stomach knots. I know that. But it doesn’t make it easier.

“You’ve done your part,” Maria says. “Hell, you’ve done more than your part. But Jackson’s safer with you out there.”

I’m opening my mouth to respond when I feel it—someone watching me.

It’s not loud or obvious. Just a shift in the air, the way my skin prickles under the weight of a gaze I know too well.

I turn toward the street, and there he is.

Joel stands a few feet away, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, broad shoulders tense beneath the worn canvas of his coat. His face is unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes are heavy and sharp, searching me for something I’m not ready to give.

Maria’s gaze flicks toward him, then back to me. Her expression sharpens. “Think about it,” she says, tone clipped. Then she gives Joel a look before stepping away.

I don’t move until she’s gone. Then I force myself to turn toward him fully. “Hey.”

Joel’s mouth presses into a thin line. “Been tryin’ to find you.”

I shift my hands to my jacket pockets. “Been busy.”

Joel’s eyes narrow slightly. “Yeah,” he says, but there’s doubt in his voice. “Guess I just thought… after all this time… you might wanna talk.”

My gaze flickers toward my kids again. I force myself to keep my expression even.

“There’s not much to say.”

Joel tilts his head, studying me with that quiet intensity that always made it hard to breathe. “That why you been avoidin’ me?”

My chest tightens, but I keep my face neutral. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

His brows lift slightly. “Right.”

The weight of his gaze is unbearable. I glance toward the street again, toward the sound of my kids’ voices, and it feels like I’m standing on the edge of something sharp.

Because I have a husband. A family. A life.

But Joel doesn’t know that. And I don’t tell him.

Because the moment I say it out loud, the moment I name it, everything between us will become real again. He’ll look at me the way I know he will—like I’ve slipped through his fingers all over again.

So I don’t say anything. I just shove my hands deeper into my pockets and shift my weight. “I should go.”

Joel watches me, his jaw tightening. His hands twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for me, but he doesn’t.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Guess you should.”

I turn and walk away before I do something stupid.

Before I tell him the truth.

I try to keep my distance after that. I really do.

But Joel has never been the type to let things go.

—

The next time I see him, it’s late. The town is quiet, the sky thick with stars. I’ve just finished putting my kids to bed when I step outside for air, wrapping my arms around myself as I breathe in the cold. The past week has been suffocating—knowing Joel is here, knowing I can’t let myself get close.

And yet, somehow, he still finds me.

I hear the scuff of boots before I see him.

“You always did like the quiet,” he says, voice low and rough.

I turn, and there he is—leaning against the wooden railing of my porch, arms crossed. He looks older in the moonlight, more worn than he did all those years ago. But he’s still Joel. That part of him hasn’t changed.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, but my voice lacks any real conviction.

Joel huffs a soft breath. “Yeah, well… got the feelin’ you weren’t gonna come find me.”

I sigh, pressing my hands to my face before letting them fall. “Joel—”

“Just talk to me, y/n.” His voice is quiet but firm. “You can’t just—see me again after twenty years, hug me like that, and then disappear.”

I close my eyes briefly, willing the lump in my throat to go away. When I look at him again, his face is softer—like he’s pleading, like he’s just as lost as I am in all of this.

I sink down onto the porch steps. For a moment, I think he’ll leave, but instead, Joel exhales and eases down beside me. We sit in silence, the night stretching wide around us.

“Didn’t think I’d ever find you again,” he admits after a while. His voice is lower now, almost hesitant. “Hell, didn’t think there was anything left worth findin’.”

I swallow hard, staring at my hands. “I stopped wondering a long time ago,” I say quietly. “Had to. Didn’t see the point in hoping for something that wasn’t gonna happen.”

Joel nods slowly, like he understands. Like he lived through the same kind of grief. “Guess I shoulda known you’d make it,” he says. “Always were tough.”

I huff a laugh, shaking my head. “I wasn’t tough, Joel.”

“You were,” he insists. “You are. You… You saved me more times than I can count, you know that?”

I glance at him, startled. “Joel—”

“You did,” he says again, voice thick. “Even when you didn’t know it.” He exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “After Sarah… I wasn’t sure I was gonna keep goin’. Didn’t see the point. But you—” He pauses, shakes his head like he’s searching for the right words. “You kept me human. Kept me from bein’—”

The kind of man he became.

He doesn’t say it, but I hear it anyway.

I blink back the burn in my eyes and look away. “I should’ve been there,” I whisper. “I should’ve—”

“No.” Joel’s voice is firm. “There wasn’t anything you could’ve done, y/n.”

I clench my jaw, swallowing against the ache in my chest. “I still think about her.”

Joel’s breath shudders. “Me too.”

The silence that follows is heavier than the last. I stare out at the town, at the flickering lights in the distance, at the life I built. A life Joel was never supposed to be part of again.

“I miss her,” I admit.

Joel nods, his voice barely audible. “Me too.”

We sit like that for a while, side by side, ghosts between us.

I know I should end this here, should get up and go inside before I let myself get too close again. But I don’t.

Because for the first time in twenty years, I don’t feel so alone.

—

Joel doesn’t show up at my house again right away.

For a while, things stay the same—I see him in passing, hear his name spoken in town, feel his presence like a shadow I can’t shake. We don’t talk about that night on the porch. Maybe we both know it’s better that way.

So when I open my front door one evening and find him standing on my porch, I’m not surprised.

I am, however, completely unprepared.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

I grip the doorframe like it might hold me upright. “Joel.”

His gaze drifts past me, into the house, and I know he’s taking it all in—the warmth of the fire, the sound of laughter from the other room, the smell of dinner lingering in the air. A home. A life. One that isn’t his.

One that never could be.

“You gonna invite me in?” he asks after a moment, his voice light, but there’s something beneath it, something heavier.

I hesitate, just for a second, before stepping aside. “Yeah. Come in.”

Joel moves past me, slow, his eyes sweeping over everything—the framed drawings on the wall, the worn blankets draped over the couch, the little boots by the door. His jaw tightens. I can see it in the set of his shoulders, the way his hands curl into fists before he forces them loose again.

He’s seeing everything he never had. Everything he lost.

And then—

“Daddy, look!”

I freeze.

Joel does, too.

My son barrels into the room, waving a wooden toy in the air, and runs straight into the arms of the man who walks in after him—my husband.

I feel the air shift before I even turn to look at Joel.

Because I know what he’s seeing.

My husband laughs, ruffling our son’s hair, his smile easy, warm. He’s kind, steady, everything I needed when the world felt like too much. He doesn’t hesitate when he lifts our son into his arms, doesn’t flinch when our boy clings to him, laughing.

Joel watches it all, silent.

I force myself to breathe.

“Y/n?” My husband looks up, finally noticing Joel. His brow furrows. “Who’s this?”

I swallow hard, ignoring the way my hands feel unsteady at my sides. “This is Joel,” I say carefully. “An old friend.”

Joel’s face doesn’t change. He just nods, his voice even when he says, “Nice place you got here.”

My husband nods back. “Thanks. Been a long time since y/n had any old friends show up.” He chuckles, bouncing our son once before setting him down. “She doesn’t talk much about the past.”

I feel Joel’s eyes flick to me. I don’t look at him.

“That so?” he murmurs.

My husband claps a hand on Joel’s shoulder, always friendly, always welcoming. “You should stay for dinner. We’ve got plenty.”

Joel doesn’t move for a long moment. I wonder if he’s going to refuse, if he’s going to say something, if he’s going to—

But then, he just shakes his head, offering the smallest of smiles. “No, I should get going, just wanted to stop by.”

He looks at me then, really looks at me, and there’s something in his eyes I can’t name. Something deep, something that aches.

I wonder if he’s thinking about all the things he never got. A home. A family. A son who runs into his arms without fear. A wife who waits at the door, smiling when he comes home.

Joel’s gaze lingers for a second longer before he steps back toward the door. “I’ll see you around, Y/n.”

And then he’s gone.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my chest tight, my heart unsteady.

I don’t go after him.

Because I know—just as well as he does—some things aren’t meant to be spoken out loud.

—

I hadn’t been on patrol in years.

Maria had asked—no, begged me, really—about a dozen times to come back on the rotation. My kids were older now, the ranch wasn’t as demanding, and I wasn’t getting any younger. She said it would be good for me to get back out there. Said I’d be helping the community.

But every time she asked, I just found an excuse. I didn’t want to leave my family behind, didn’t want to risk being away from them for too long. They were my everything, my anchor.

But eventually, I relented. Maria practically wore me down. And so, here I was, gearing up for a patrol, reluctantly pulling my vest on and checking my gear.

I watched my three kids in the living room, the boys, already getting into some roughhousing, while my little girl, sat on the couch, clutching her stuffed bunny. She was so small, so fragile, even after all this time.

She was sensing the shift in the air, stood up and waddled over to me. Her little hands reached for my legs, and she looked up at me with wide, uncertain eyes. “Mama, I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, her voice small but heart-wrenching.

My heart clenched in my chest as I bent down to scoop her up, holding her tight against me. “I know, sweetie,” I murmured, kissing her forehead. “But I have to go. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

I kissed her forehead, whispering, “Be good for Daddy.”

My boys, still half-distracted by their wrestling, looked up.

My husband stepped into the room just then, his eyes soft as he walked over to me. Without a word, he pulled me into a kiss, brief but full of unspoken feelings.

“Come back safe,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against mine for a moment.

“I will,” I said again, pulling away, my heart aching.

I turned to leave, one last look at my kids as they waved from the door.

“Be safe, Mama!” They shouted.

“I will, I promise,” I called back before heading out the door.

They waved from the window, and I waved back, trying to smile. My oldest hand was resting on my youngest little head, her face pressed against the glass.

—

“I’ll be fine,” I said to myself, as much as anyone else, as I checked my rifle. It wasn’t the patrol I minded—it was the thought of facing things I didn’t want to face again.

Jackson’s streets were quieter than usual as people prepared for the oncoming winter, most already taking refuge inside their homes. My boots crunched against the snow as I made my way to the stables, where the patrols usually gathered.

I should’ve known something was off when I saw Maria standing there, looking tense as she talked to a familiar figure. Joel.

Great.

My stomach twisted into knots when I saw him.

Joel was standing by one of the horses, adjusting the straps on his gear. He looked different—harder, with a rougher edge than I remembered. His eyes had the same weight to them, the same depth, but his body was broader, more solid, like he’d taken years of wear and tear and only gotten tougher.

Maria caught sight of me and gave a small wave. “Hey, y/n, thanks for doing this. Joel’s new at patrol. Thought you could show him around the area.”

I nodded curtly. “Sure. No problem.”

Joel turned at the sound of my voice, his eyes locking onto mine almost immediately. There was no surprise there, no flicker of recognition at the moment. It was as if he was already expecting me to show up, though his expression softened just a bit when our eyes met.

“Y/n,” Joel said, his voice as rough as I remembered.

I raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure what to say, or if I even wanted to speak. The tension between us still hung in the air like an unspoken apology, the years that had passed only thickening it.

Maria handed me a map and some supplies before giving us both a nod. “I’ll leave you two to it. Just make sure to stick to the area. Stay close to town.”

I barely acknowledged her as she walked off, my attention already on the horse I’d need to ride. I kept my gaze trained forward, refusing to meet Joel’s eyes again.

Joel mounted his horse first, adjusting his gear, the weight of his gaze lingering on me.

“You gonna teach me the ropes, or what?” he asked, his voice quieter this time.

“Just stay close and follow my lead,” I said, trying to keep my tone even, but the underlying edge was there.

We started riding in silence, the snow crunching beneath the hooves of our horses as we made our way toward the outskirts of Jackson. My stomach was in knots, the quiet between us stretching longer than it should. The past twenty years felt like a lifetime, and every inch of space between us seemed to weigh a ton.

Finally, as we rounded a bend, Joel spoke. His voice was calm, but I could hear the tightness in it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shake my head, exhausted. “Tell you what, Joel?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were married?” His voice hardened, just a bit, with the question. “Why didn’t you tell me you had kids?”

My chest tightened. I didn’t want to have this conversation. Not now, not like this. The words were already there—sitting on the tip of my tongue—but I forced myself to swallow them.

“It wasn’t your business,” I said, more sharply than I meant to.

Joel’s jaw clenched, and I could see the way his hand tightened on the reins. “It wasn’t my business?” His voice was low but raw. “You think I wouldn’t care? You think I wouldn’t want to know what happened to you?”

I could feel his eyes on me, and I kept my gaze straight ahead. “It’s not like that, Joel.”

“Then what is it?” he demanded, his voice thick with frustration. “You didn’t think I deserved to know? Or you just didn’t want me to know the truth? That you went off and got a family, while I…” His voice trailed off for a second, and I could see the way his fingers flexed around the reins, his knuckles white.

“You know what happened to me,” I said quietly, the sharpness in my voice slipping just enough for my vulnerability to bleed through. “I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want you to know.”

Joel’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second, but his frustration didn’t subside. “You think I wouldn’t have wanted to be there for you? To help you?”

I shook my head, my breath catching in my throat. “I didn’t need your help, Joel. I needed to move on. I needed something… something normal.”

He scoffed, clearly frustrated, his gaze turning cold. “Normal? Is that why you couldn’t tell me? Because you were so busy trying to create some perfect little life that didn’t include me?”

“Don’t you dare,” I snapped, finally turning to face him. “You don’t get to throw that in my face. You don’t get to act like I owe you some explanation for how I lived my life. You left. You disappeared.”

His face hardened, his lips pressed tight as if he were holding something back. “You think I wanted to disappear? I didn’t have a choice, y/n. None of us did.”

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my shaking hands. “I couldn’t just wait around. I couldn’t just stand still while my world kept falling apart.”

Joel opened his mouth to say something, but I turned away, refusing to let him see how close I was to breaking.

“I don’t need your forgiveness, Joel,” I said softly. “I just need you to understand that I did what I had to do.”

There was a long, painful silence as Joel rode beside me. I could feel his gaze on the back of my head, but I didn’t dare look at him.

“Yeah,” Joel said after a while, his voice quiet. “I get it.”

But we both knew it wasn’t that simple.

—

The gates creaked open as we approached, the familiar faces of the patrol guards nodding at us. Maria waved from the guard post, her smile genuine, but I could tell she could sense something was off. She always had that way about her.

“Y/n! Joel! Good to see you back in one piece,” Maria said, her voice bright but laced with concern.

“Yeah, we’re good,” I said, forcing a smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “No problems out there.”

Joel, on the other hand, didn’t even glance at Maria. He just gave a small grunt and walked past her, disappearing into the gates without another word.

I sighed, rubbing my forehead as I followed behind. The weight of everything was crushing, but I didn’t want anyone to see it. Not now. Not in front of Jackson.

Inside the gates, everything was calm—too calm for what had just happened. The kids were playing in the streets, some people were talking, others were tending to the animals or making their way home. It was a normal evening in Jackson, and I should have felt relieved to be back in the safety of the settlement, but all I could think about was Joel’s words. His accusations. His anger.

And the way he’d looked at me before we left, like I was some stranger he couldn’t even recognize anymore.

I walked past a few familiar faces, nodding and greeting people, but my thoughts kept drifting back to him. He wasn’t okay. I wasn’t okay. But I had to pretend. For everyone else.

“Y/n,” Tommy’s voice called from behind me, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I turned to see him walking toward me, his face lighting up when he saw me. “Hey,” I said with a forced smile, trying to push the weight of the argument and the silence from my shoulders. “Everything okay here?”

Tommy grinned. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just got back from the stables. We’ve got a new batch of supplies in from the west side. How about you? How was the patrol?”

I didn’t want to talk about it, but I couldn’t avoid it. “It was fine,” I said quickly, trying to make it sound like it had been just another patrol. “We got into a bit of a scuffle, but nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Tommy’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t push. “You sure? You don’t look like you’re fine.”

I forced a smile again, brushing off his concern. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. “Alright. Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

I nodded, stepping away as I tried to make my way toward home. I couldn’t help but glance over at the direction where Joel had disappeared, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. But there was nothing. The world was moving on, and I was stuck in this mess of old feelings and unspoken words.

I wanted to make everything okay. I wanted to fix things, to make it feel like it used to. But I knew it wasn’t that simple.

Joel wasn’t the same anymore, and neither was I.

But for now, all I could do was put on the mask and pretend. Pretend everything was okay.

Because there was no other choice.

Days pass. I avoid him. I shouldn’t, but I do.

I have a life now. A family. I can’t just let Joel drag me back into the past.

—

20 years ago

The kitchen was warm, filled with the smell of garlic and onions sizzling in a pan. I moved around the counter, chopping vegetables, the soft sound of the knife cutting through them mixing with the low hum of the oven. The evening light was fading outside, casting everything in a soft, golden glow.

Sarah in the living room, sprawled out on the couch, doing her homework or reading—something that kept her distracted. Her laughter occasionally bubbled up as she talked to me from across the room. She didn’t mind the quiet either.

I loved these quiet nights—just the simple rhythm of cooking dinner, the familiar routine. It made everything feel right, grounded. As I stirred the pot, I could hear the soft creak of the floorboards behind me, the sound of someone moving closer. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The familiar weight of his presence, the warmth in the air, was enough.

And then, just as I added the last of the spices, I felt his arms slip around me from behind, pulling me in close. His chin rested on my shoulder, and for a moment, everything stopped. The knife in my hand was forgotten as I leaned back into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart through the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re making my favorite,” he murmured, his voice low, warm with affection. His breath brushed against the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

I smiled softly, glancing over my shoulder at him.

He tightened his hold a little, like he wanted to pull me into him more. His lips brushed my neck in a soft kiss, lingering for a moment. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of him flood over me, savoring the comfort of this.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this,” he whispered, the words so quiet they almost seemed like a secret just between us.

I felt my heart tug at the simple honesty in his voice. The world outside, everything that had happened, seemed to fade away in that moment, leaving only this—us—together in the quiet of the kitchen.

“I hope not,” I whispered back, turning in his arms, our faces only inches apart. Joel’s eyes softened, the weight of everything we’d been through settling between us, but in that moment, there was nothing else but the peace we’d found here, together.

With a small, quiet smile, he leaned down and kissed me, his lips soft and sure. It was gentle, but it carried the weight of all the things we didn’t need to say. Just us. Just this.

And in that instant, I realized that no matter what else happened, I’d always hold on to this. This small, perfect moment. Just Joel and me, in a kitchen full of the smell of dinner and the quiet hum of life moving on.

—

We were careful. Cordial. Friendly, even, in that way people are when they have too much history and not enough words. We saw each other in passing, at the stables, at town meetings, in the market. He kept to himself most of the time, but I saw how he watched over Ellie, how he was trying, even if he didn’t always know how.

And then there were the moments that caught me off guard.

Like when I’d be in the town square, helping my husband with the livestock trade, and I’d glance up to find Joel watching from a distance. His eyes would flick from me to my husband, to my kids, to the life I had built without him. He never said anything about it, never let his expression betray anything more than quiet observation, but I knew him too well.

I knew what he wasn’t saying.

And maybe that was why, on a cool evening, I found myself walking up to his house with a basket in my hands.

It wasn’t much. Just a small batch of cookies, warm from the oven, the kind I used to make for him before.

I hesitated outside his door. It was stupid, really. He might not even remember. But before I could overthink it, I knocked.

The door creaked open a moment later, and Joel blinked at me, looking more surprised than anything. “Y/n.”

I lifted the basket slightly. “Brought something for you and Ellie.”

Joel glanced down, and for the first time in a long time, something like warmth flickered in his eyes.

“You remember,” he said quietly.

I huffed out a small, nervous laugh. “Hard to forget how you used to hoard these things like they were gold.”

Joel shook his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Still are.”

Something in my chest ached. This—this easy familiarity, this old rhythm of knowing each other—was dangerous. It made me remember too much.

Before I could linger too long in it, there was a noise from inside.

“Who’s at the door?” Ellie’s voice called out.

Joel sighed, stepping back and nodding for me to come in.

I hesitated.

And then I did.

The house was simple but warm—lived in. A fire crackled in the hearth, the scent of old wood and leather filling the space. Ellie sat on the couch, legs kicked up on the coffee table, whittling something in her hands. She glanced up as I entered, brows raising.

“Hey,” she said, studying me like I was a puzzle she hadn’t figured out yet.

“Hey,” I replied, setting the basket down on the small table near the couch. “Brought you something.”

Ellie perked up instantly, setting her whittling knife down and leaning forward. “Wait. Are those—” She lifted the cloth covering the cookies, eyes widening. “Oh, hell yeah.”

Joel exhaled, shaking his head. “Manners, kid.”

Ellie ignored him completely, already stuffing a cookie in her mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut. “Okay, these are so much better than the ones they make in town.”

I smirked. “Well, I was always better at baking than Joel, so that tracks.”

Joel let out a sharp breath, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “I didn’t bake.”

“Exactly,” I said with a grin.

Ellie perked up at that, something sparking behind her eyes. “Wait, wait, wait—you knew Joel before all this?”

Joel stiffened slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Just waited, watching me.

I hummed, tilting my head. “Oh, yeah. Way before.” Ellie’s brows shot up. “How far back?”

I glanced at Joel, but his expression was unreadable. “Before the outbreak,” I admitted.

Ellie’s mouth fell open slightly. “Whoa. So, like, you knew young Joel?”

I bit back a laugh. “Well, I wouldn’t say young—he was already an old man in spirit.”

Ellie choked on her cookie, grinning. “Oh my god. I knew it.” Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus.”

Ellie ignored him, leaning forward like I’d just promised her the juiciest gossip of all time. “Okay, What was he like?”

I tapped my chin, pretending to think. “Hmm… well, he was stubborn—”

“Big shock,” Ellie deadpanned.

“—and bossy,” I added.

“Still checks out.”

“And,” I drawled, smirking at Joel, “he thought he was so cool, but really, he was just a huge dork.”

Joel groaned, shaking his head. “Y/n.”

I grinned. “What? You were! Always muttering under your breath, acting all broody—” I turned back to Ellie. “You know, I once caught him singing to himself while he was fixing his truck?”

Ellie’s face lit up. “No way.”

“Oh yeah,” I said, nodding solemnly. “And not just any song. It was some cheesy ‘80s ballad, and he was really into it.”

Ellie clutched her stomach, laughing. “Joel, is this true?”

Joel sighed heavily, like he was reconsidering his entire existence.

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice like I was sharing a secret. “And he used to smile all the time. Like, actual, real smiles.”

Ellie’s laughter slowed as she blinked at me. “Seriously?”

Joel went quiet.

I felt my own smile falter, something heavier settling between us.

I cleared my throat, forcing some lightness back into my voice. “Yeah. He was a good man.”

Ellie looked between us again, clearly picking up on something, but thankfully, she didn’t push.

Instead, she sat back, munching on another cookie. “Huh. You know, I think I like you.”

Joel shook his head, exhaling sharply. “Lord help me.”

I laughed, shaking my head.

For a second, it was easy—too easy—to pretend like things weren’t broken. That Joel and I weren’t standing on opposite sides of something too wide to cross.

—

I should’ve known better than to let my guard down.

That night at Joel’s, sitting with Ellie, laughing, letting the past slip off my tongue like it wasn’t still a wound—it was a mistake. A stupid, reckless mistake. Because now I can’t stop remembering.

The way Joel used to smile at me like I was his whole world.

The way I used to look at him like he was mine.

The way we used to belong to each other before everything fell apart.

And now we live in the same town, breathing the same air, orbiting around each other like ghosts of the past we never buried.

I do my best to avoid him.

I keep myself busy—taking care of the kids, helping my husband on the farm, working in the stables. It’s easy to pretend when my hands are full, when my days are long, when I fall into bed too exhausted to think.

But Joel doesn’t make it easy.

I see him everywhere. Walking through town, talking to Tommy, riding out for patrol. I feel his eyes on me when I pass him on the street, when I’m at the market, when I’m laughing with my kids. And every damn time, I pretend I don’t notice.

But then, some nights, I slip.

Like tonight.

It’s late—spring air thick and cool, the sky stretched wide and star-freckled above Jackson. I’m at the stables, brushing down one of the horses, the rhythmic strokes lulling me into a quiet, distant place.

I don’t hear him at first. Not until his voice cuts through the quiet.

“You always did love the stables.”

I freeze. My heart lurches painfully, betraying me before I can shove the feeling down.

Slowly, I turn.

Joel stands a few feet away, holding a saddle in one hand, the other resting against the wooden stall. His eyes are dark in the dim lantern light, watching me like he’s trying to read the parts of me I keep hidden.

I swallow. “And you always loved sneaking up on me.” His lips twitch like he wants to smile—but doesn’t.

He steps closer, setting the saddle down on the nearby bench. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t.”

He nods, but his gaze flicks over me, like he doesn’t believe me. Like he still knows me well enough to see through the cracks.

Silence settles between us, heavy with things we don’t say.

I turned toward him, sweeping my hair over my shoulder. His eyes flicked down immediately, and I realized too late what I’d done.

The scar.

It stretched over my shoulder, pale against my skin even in the dim light. My husband always told me it had faded, but I knew better. It was still there. A reminder.

Joel went still.

His gaze darkened, brows pulling together, and before I could say anything, his fingers twitched—like he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if he should.

“What happened?” His voice was low, rough around the edges.

I swallowed. “Joel—”

“Y/n.”

I exhaled slowly, my grip tightening around the brush in my hand. “It was years ago.”

Joel didn’t say anything, just waited.

I turned away, running a hand down the horse’s mane, grounding myself before I spoke.

“It was before Jackson,” I murmured. “Bandits found our camp. We fought back. I—” I swallowed. “I got lucky.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “That ain’t lucky.” I forced a small smile. “I survived.”

Something in his expression shifted, something deep and unspoken. He took a slow step forward, his hand hesitating before it finally reached out.

His fingers barely grazed the scar, the lightest touch, but it sent a shiver through me.

I should’ve pulled away. I should’ve stepped back, laughed it off, said something to make it less. But I didn’t.

Because his touch was careful. Reverent. Like he was mourning something he never even knew he lost.

Joel swallowed thickly, his voice quieter now. “Did he take care of you?”

I knew who he meant.

“Yes,” I whispered. Joel nodded, but something in his eyes was raw, something heavy pressing between us.

We stood there for a long moment, neither of us moving, his fingers still hovering just barely over my skin. The air between us felt thick, charged with something we weren’t supposed to name.

Then, just as quickly, Joel pulled back. I cleared my throat, stepping away. “You should get some rest.” Joel exhaled, like he was letting something go. “Yeah.”

And then, without another word, he turned and walked away. I let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand over my shoulder—where his touch still burned.

—

It had been a few months since Joel and Ellie settled into Jackson. Things were… good, mostly. Better than I expected, considering everything. Joel and I had found a rhythm again—not quite the way it used to be, but close. Close enough that some days it felt easy to slip into old habits.

He’d come by the stables when I was working, make some dry comment about how I hadn’t changed, and I’d roll my eyes and give it right back to him. He’d show up at my house sometimes, too—usually under the pretense of asking about patrols or Jackson’s defenses—but he’d stay longer than necessary, and we’d find ourselves talking about things that had nothing to do with Jackson. Things like Sarah. Things like the life we almost had.

And it was fine. It was safe. It was a line we both knew better than to cross.

Until today.

We’d just gotten back from a longer patrol—a rough one. A couple of clickers had gotten too close to the perimeter, and Joel had gotten clipped. Nothing serious, but he was pissed. His shirt was torn at the sleeve, dried blood crusting the fabric. He wouldn’t stop flexing his shoulder like he was trying to work the soreness out, and it was starting to grate on me.

“You should’ve let me handle it,” I muttered, brushing down my horse as Joel stood nearby, watching me with that same hard look he always wore after a fight.

“Yeah, and let you get yourself killed?” Joel scoffed. “Not a chance.” I rolled my eyes. “I had it under control.”

“Yeah, sure,” Joel bit out, shaking his head. “Looked real under control from where I was standing.”

I spun toward him, frustration bubbling over. “God, Joel, why do you always have to make it a thing?”

“Because it is a thing!” His voice rose, sharp and cutting. “You think I’m just supposed to stand there and watch you throw yourself into danger?”

“That’s how patrol works, Joel. I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”

Joel’s jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle twitching beneath his skin. His eyes were sharp and dark, cutting right through me.

“Yeah? And where the hell was your husband while you were out here risking your life?”

I froze. My hand stilled on the horse’s reins, my breath catching in my chest. Slowly, I turned toward him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Joel took a step closer, his shoulders tense, his eyes burning into mine. “It means you’ve got a whole family waiting for you back home, y/n. And yet here you are, out on patrol, risking your life every damn day.” His voice was low, rough, like he was trying to hold it together but barely managing. “Why the hell are you still doing this?”

I shook my head, trying to laugh it off. “You don’t get to ask me that.”

“Don’t I?” Joel’s voice sharpened. “Because last I checked, we’ve been doing this together for months now. And I don’t see him coming out here with you. I don’t see him keeping you safe.”

My chest tightened. “That’s not his job.”

“It should be.” His eyes flashed. I felt the heat rising to my face. “What are you even trying to say, Joel?”

Joel’s face twisted into something complicated—anger and hurt and longing all wrapped up together. He shook his head, raking a hand through his hair. “You know what I’m saying.”

“No, I don’t,” I shot back, my heart pounding. “So why don’t you just say it?”

Joel’s mouth curled into something bitter. “Fine,” he bit out. “Your husband—he got everything I wanted.”

The words hit me like a gut punch.

Joel took a step closer, his eyes burning into mine. “You think it’s easy for me? Watching you with him? Watching you with your kids?” His voice cracked, and he exhaled sharply. “You built a life with him. A whole life. A family.” His jaw flexed, his voice trembling. “And it should’ve been me.”

My mouth went dry. My heart hammered so loud I was sure he could hear it.

“You think I don’t think about it?” Joel’s voice dropped, low and raw now. “About how different things could’ve been if you’d stayed? If I had pulled myself together and told you how I felt before you left?” His eyes darkened. “But I didn’t. And now I get to watch him have the life that I should’ve had with you.”

My chest squeezed painfully. “Joel—”

“No.” He cut me off, his eyes hard. “I need to say this. You think it didn’t kill me? Knowing that you moved on? That you built a life with someone else?” His breath hitched, his eyes sharp with something almost desperate. “That you had his kids?”

I blinked, feeling the sting of tears that I refused to let fall.

“I’m happy for you,” Joel said, but his voice sounded anything but. “Really. You deserve to be happy. But don’t stand here and act like it doesn’t kill me every time I see him put his arm around you. Every time your kid calls him ‘Dad.’” He took another step toward me, close enough that I could feel the heat coming off his body. “It should’ve been me, y/n. It was supposed to be me.”

My throat tightened. “Joel, you don’t get to say that.”

“Why not?” His voice sharpened again. “Because it’s true?”

I swallowed hard, shaking my head. “Because it’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” His eyes searched mine, desperate, angry. “Tell me you’ve never thought about it. Tell me you’ve never looked at him and wondered if it should’ve been me instead.”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Joel’s eyes were sharp, his breath shallow. “Yeah,” he said bitterly. “That’s what I thought.”

We stood there in the cold barn, the sound of the horses shifting restlessly around us, the storm still lingering in the distance. I didn’t know what to say. What the hell could I say to that?

Joel’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, his hand flexing at his side like he was barely holding himself together. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. All I could feel was the weight of what he’d just said sitting between us like a live wire, burning and dangerous.

Joel shook his head, his eyes dark. “You don’t have to say anything. I already know.” Then he turned, his hand running through his hair as he started toward the barn doors.

“Joel,” I said, my voice strained. He stopped, his back to me.

“I…” I trailed off, not even knowing what I wanted to say.

Joel sighed, his shoulders sinking. Without looking at me, he said, “I’ll see you around, y/n.”

Then he walked out, leaving me standing there, heart racing, head spinning, wondering how the hell we were supposed to come back from this.

[pomegranatepip]

"Lazy" Mornings?

synopsis: zayne is a textbook workaholic but if it comes down to choosing between extra work and spending time with you. well. he's a weak man.

pairing: zayne x gn!reader

wc: 1.1k

content tags: fluff, zayne thinks he's funny (he is but noone tell him)

a/n: written for @ollieneedsamilkshake for @unintentionalseductress 's valentine's day event ^-^ sorry for making it banter heavy, i love zayne's sense of humor xD hope i did it justice

ao3 link

The bed is empty when you wake up, Zayne's side long since cold. You groan and shield your eyes against the onslaught of sunlight directly on your face through the bedroom window, before pulling yourself away from your cosy nest of blankets. You stretch, your joints stiff, and look around for any telltale signs of your husband.

He can't have left for work, can he? It was one of the rare days both of your days off from work aligned, though it was entirely possible he had been called in for an emergency given the nature of his job.

Sighing, you trudged into the living room. Noticing the study door was ajar, you made to close it when you noticed the light was on inside. When you peeked in, you saw Zayne still in his pyjamas, his back to the door, typing away on his laptop.

You smile exasperatedly. Of course he was working on his day off. You slipped into the room and tiptoed over to him before slinging your arms around his neck and dropping your head on his shoulder. He stops typing for a second to look back at you.

"Good morning, my love. Why are you up so early?"

You give him a noncommittal hum in response. "I could ask you the same thing. Why are you working on your day off and at-" you squint at the penguin shaped clock on his desk- "8 in the morning too? You should be in bed with me," you whine.

He smiles at that. "I just had some reports to review which I couldn't do yesterday. I thought I'd get them done early so I could enjoy my day off without any worries. Also," he adds, taking one of your hands into his own, "It's 7 a.m., not 8."

"You do realise you're not helping your case, right?" You lift your head to look at him and he uses this chance to press a chaste kiss to your cheek.

A wry smile from him. "I'm merely pointing out that it's unusually early for you to be up so early on a weekend; you know it's routine to me."

You give up. "Fine," you concede, "you can finish your reports. But make it quick. I'll go start breakfast."

"Yes, ma'am."

Pleased with his response, you nip at his earlobe and laugh at how quickly it turns red along with his cheeks, and finally make your way to the kitchen.

Zayne pores over the file he's reviewing and sends it to Greyson after he's ascertained there are no changes for him to make. He takes his glasses off and leans back, his eyes tired from the strain of staring at his laptop screen. Just a few more, and then he'll be done.

From the kitchen, he catches the faint sound of humming alongside the noises of you making breakfast. He thinks he recognises the melody- it's the same song you've been singing for the past couple of weeks and inadvertently got stuck in his head too. He recalls your gleeful laughter and teasing when you caught him humming the tune to himself one day, and smiles in spite of himself.

The scent of pancakes wafts into his study, and he looks back at his laptop. Maybe the reports can wait.

You're flipping pancakes when you feel Zayne drape himself over you from the back. "Smells good," he says.

"Finished with your reports already? Or did you just miss me?" you tease.

"Neither. I got hungry."

"Wow. I'm going to be having this entire stack of pancakes by myself now. You can eat cereal while you think about what you did. And it's the plain kind too," you huff.

"You wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't I."

He watches you plop the last pancake on the plate and turn off the heat, and then spins you around to face him. "My apologies, miss. Allow me to make it up to you for my thoughtless words."

"Oh? And how are you planning to do that?" You make a show of being offended, but the barely concealed smile on your face gives you away.

A smile Zayne matches as he leans down and whispers, "Like this," before pressing his lips to your cheek much like earlier, except this time he didn't stop after just one. He tilts your face slightly to kiss the other cheek, and then trails down to kiss the corner of your mouth. He ghosts over your cupid's bow and a little involuntary shudder passes through you, making him chuckle quietly before he leans in.

He's gentle with the way he kisses you, his hands warm as they cradle your face. His earlier playfulness manifests in the form of a succession of soft pecks to your lips, eliciting giggles from you. He pulls back to spin you away from the stove and presses you back against the kitchen island, his hands splayed on your lower back and hip as he claims your lips with his own again.

After a minute or so, he breaks away. "Did you add nutella to the pancakes?"

"Huh? Oh! Yeah, I did. How did you know?"

"I could taste it on you." He swipes his thumb on your cheek before one last sweet press of his lips to yours.

You roll your eyes. "Sue me. Besides, didn't you finish a whole jar all by yourself last week? I had to have my smores with chocolate syrup and it just wasn't the same," you mourn.

"I offered to run to the store to get more, but if I recall correctly, someone was too impatient to wait," he deadpans.

"It's not the situation, it's the principle. I was looking forward to that specific jar of nutella on my smores and you took that away from me. You need to apologise for that too," you say, hoping he'll take the bait.

He narrows his eyes. "You're playing tricks on me, aren't you."

"Who, me? Whaaaat. No way."

He sighs. "Alright. We can go to that new dessert place you've been mentioning for a while. How does that sound?"

"…you mean the dessert place you've been mentioning."

"I see it as a win win, no?"

"Of course you do."

"So you don't want to go?"

"No! I mean. That's not what I said."

Zayne smiles inwardly. "There's that new movie they're showing at the theater near the park too," he says as he finally gets to setting the table. "An adaptation of a book you were reading? We can go watch that and drop by the dessert place on our way home."

You sit down and pile pancakes onto your plate and his. "So you're not going to work on those reports today?"

He makes a show of weighing his options, though the hope sparkling in your eyes made his choice laughably easy.

"The reports can wait."

[mashtatosworld]

in your arms

summary: your baby attends her first GDragon concert

The energy of the concert is electric.

The bass reverberates through the arena, the lights flash in hypnotic patterns, and the entire stadium is alive, thousands of voices screaming for GDragon.

And from the side of the stage, his daughter watches.

She’s perched on Daesung’s hip, her tiny fingers fidgeting with the straps of her little pink backpack - the one that has a leash. The one she whined and stomped her feet at whenever it was brought out.

You and Jiyong are embarrassed to use it, but you’ve both learned the hard way that Diva is fast. And has a desire to go wherever she wanted. So unless you’re her Appa or Eomma, she will wiggle, twist, or roll her way out of any grasp.

“She’s going to be fine,” you assure Youngbae and Daesung, adjusting the bag’s straps one last time.

Youngbae looks skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“She’s been calling for Jiyong the whole night,” Daesung says, shifting her weight in his arms. “What if she tries to run to him?”

You shrug. “Then use the harness.”

The two men exchange a look.

They'd seen Jiyong shout - for a solid twenty minutes, at Seunghyun when he'd let the lead slip out of his grasp one time and Diva had nearly made her way out of the park.

“She’s too smart for her own good,” you sigh, recalling all the times your baby had attempted a great escape. “And besides, it’s only for five minutes. I just need to run to the bathroom. You’ll be fine.”

Diva wiggles impatiently in Daesung’s hold, her big, expressive eyes glued to the stage.

She’s mesmerised.

Because Appa is famous?

Of course, she knows you sing.

She’s watched you perform, even toured with you when she was barely a year old. But Appa? He’s just the one who reads her bedtime stories, who does the silly voices, who lets her steal bites of his snacks even when you tell them both no.

And now, here he is, standing under blinding lights, thousands of people screaming his name.

She misses him.

You glance toward the stage, where Jiyong is in his element, his shirt damp with sweat, his voice intoxicating over the mic as he sends the crowd into a frenzy.

A tiny part of you gets distracted, watching him perform.

But you shake yourself out of it, pressing a kiss to Diva’s head before pulling away. “Okay, back in five.”

Youngbae nods. “Got it.”

Daesung doesn’t look as convinced, but he salutes you anyway. “No problem.”

You hesitate for only a second. It’s fine. They’ve got this.

And then you’re off.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Two minutes later and Diva is impatient.

She clutches Daesung’s shirt tightly, eyes wide, ears straining as she listens to the deep echo of her father's voice fill the stadium.

She recognises that voice. It means comfort and safety.

But where is he?

The lights flash bright, the music booms, and suddenly - it’s too much.

Usually, when it gets dark and loud like this, her Appa holds her close, whispering that everything is okay.

But he’s not here.

“Appa, here!” she says, tiny fingers tightening around Daesung’s collar.

Daesung lightly pats her back. “Appa’s singing, sweetheart. We have to wait. Look, look, we can watch him from here!"

She pouts.

Not good enough.

Youngbae tries, taking off his sunglasses and holding them out to her. “Hey, here we go, do you want to wear these? You like glasses, right?”

“No.”

A fib, but she only wanted one thing at that moment.

Her tiny fists ball at her sides.

She wiggles again.

"Hyung, hyung! I'm losing her here!" Daesung shifts his grip, like he was wrestling with a slippery fish. “Don’t even think about it!”

She'd already thought about it.

And then, before either man can react -

She moves.

Fast.

Like a tiny bullet, she twists out of Daesung’s arms, hitting the ground running.

Youngbae yelps. “YAH - !”

Daesung lunges for the pink harness - but she dodges.

Tiny legs sprint past staff and security, and the harness leash dangles uselessly behind her.

They chase.

She's heading straight for the only person who matters.

Jiyong.

He’s in between songs, catching his breath, preparing for the next set - when suddenly, the crowd erupts into something different. A different kind of scream.

A laugh ripples through the stadium as he turns just in time to see a tiny figure barreling toward him.

His little, trouble-making daughter.

For a split second, he thinks he’s imagining things.

But then, nope, that’s definitely her. Pigtails and all.

And she’s coming in hot.

The audience loses their minds.

Security hesitates - that’s his baby. They all recognise her. She’s the one who waved at them backstage and raided the snack table.

So they let her through.

And Jiyong - crouches.

Arms open.

And she collides into him, wrapping her small arms around his neck.

The stadium erupts.

Screaming. Cheering. Crying.

Jiyong laughter is caught by the microphone while adjusting his in-ear. “My princess!”

Diva clutches his shirt. Her safe place.

He lifts her effortlessly, so proud of his little Houdini. “What are you doing, huh?”

Diva leans toward the mic.

“Appa sing."

The crowd melts.

From the side, Youngbae and Daesung finally stumble onto the stage.

Panting.

Hands on their knees.

Jiyong raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“She’s too fast,” Daesung defends, breathless.

“We're getting old.” Youngbae mutters, wincing as he straightened.

The audience erupts with laughter.

Jiyong kisses Diva’s temple, smiling at his little girl. She can do no wrong in his eyes.

Then the opening chords of “Home Sweet Home” begin.

Jiyong chuckles. “Guess you’re staying for this one?”

And just like that - Diva is part of the show.

She kicks her legs in victory as Jiyong sings, happy to be in his arms again. Youngbae and Daesung interact with her mid-song, playing along, making her giggle.

The cameras catch everything.

Her curious hand pulling out Jiyong’s earpiece.

Her patting his shoulder to the beat.

And then -

You return.

You stop dead in the wings of the stage, watching the performance. And the last minute added addition.

Your five-minute bathroom break turned into a viral moment.

Jiyong catches your eye. You raise an eyebrow.

Seriously?

He just smirks.

When the song ends, you hurry onto the stage, reaching for your daughter. “Alright time to come back."

But Diva has terms and conditions.

"Yes, yes, we'll get you a snack and juice.” You shush her while trying to pry her grip from Jiyong's shirt.

The fans continue to scream and chant at your surprise appearance.

You smile and wave at them anyway, adjusting Diva on your hip.

Jiyong smirks into the mic, his arm coming around you two. “What do you guys think? Should we do a song together?” he asks the crowd.

The roar is deafening.

He laughs at the reception. “It's been a while, hasn't it?”

The last time you two performed together was when the mischievous little daughter you were holding was still in your belly, unable to escape and cause havoc.

You shoot him a playful glare.

This man.

But the glint in his eyes is irresistible.

And just like that -

The night just got a little longer.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

im backkkk - revived by a kiwi passion fruit and guava vape

hope you all enjoyed. gd's tour will be the start of big changes for the btu series!!

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford

[helaintoloki]

Hello and good evening,

I saw you opened requests so I'm dropping by!

What about an infinity stone mishap that has multiple Bucky variants be at the compound at the same time. (Let's just have Winter Soldier be not entirely murderous for the sake of Tony's heart) and literally no one can seem to keep some apart except Steve and reader, who goes off on a rant about all the teeny tiny, to her very obvious details that differ between the Bucky's and accidentally in doing so admits she has a huge crush on him/them??

I hope that made sense omg

And as always, only if it speaks to you and you're up for it! ♡♡

a/n: hi hon, ty for sending this in! i’ll admit this was a bit challenging to tackle but still fun! hope you don’t mind that i changed a few details in the process <3

warnings: light angst, lots of pining, fluff

summary: a multiversal mishap leaves the compound teeming with Bucky variants, and Steve entrusts you with helping him figure out which one is the real deal

“I think I had a nightmare like this once,” Sam shudders as the two of you survey the plethora of Bucky’s taking up space in the compound. A multiversal mishap had led to an overflow of variants into the compound, and now your team found themselves working vigorously to determine which Bucky was your own and which ones needed to be sent back to their proper dimension.

Getting rid of the Winter Soldiers had been the easiest, the red stars on their arms giving away their identities and also giving Tony a heart attack in the process. You could tell apart the Bucky’s with hair that was too long or too short, the one’s that had brown or green eyes instead of blue, and the ones that went by Jane instead of James. The real work, however, came when there was only a handful of variants left that looked identical to your own Bucky.

“We can’t take any chances,” Steve says after having approached you and Sam. “All of these men are going to insist they’re our version of Bucky, and we can’t risk sending back the wrong one. I’m really going to need your help on this, y/n.”

“Why me?” You retort with furrowed brows, nervously peeking your head out of the office to observe the variants that sit restless in the common room.

“Out of everyone here, you and I know Bucky best,” the blond states truthfully. “I think if we work together we have a better shot at cleaning up this whole mess. The sooner the better.”

“You got that right,” Sam scoffs, prompting you to roll your eyes in response.

You couldn’t exactly deny the truth in Steve’s words. Other than Captain America himself, Bucky considered you to be one of his closest friends. Your kindhearted nature made it easy for him to gravitate towards you when first joining the team, and after saving each other’s asses on multiple occasions, he knew you were someone he could entrust with his life. You tore down his walls with ease, you brought out the best in him, and he’d forever be indebted to you for your friendship.

You decide with Steve that the best course of action is to spend one-on-one time with each Bucky you cross paths with to detect any abnormalities in their behavior. The Captain makes it abundantly clear that you cannot let them cloud your judgement with pleasantries, and it’s pertinent you trust your gut with each decision you make. The pressure is on, and you feel the nerves settling in your gut as you approach the Bucky that has made himself at home in the communal kitchen.

“Hey, stranger,” you call gently, a pleasant smile on your face as you seat yourself at the island counter. You note with interest how the man visibly relaxes at your presence and sets aside the pot of tea he’d just finished brewing. His eyes are bright like your Bucky’s, full of adoration and relief when he sets them upon your face.

“Y/n,” he breathes out gently before coming to meet you at the counter, “you have no idea how glad I am to see you, doll.”

“Rough day?” You prompt understandingly.

“Where do I even begin? Being around so many versions of myself is more unsettling than I ever could have imagined.”

“Well, Steve and I are doing our best to fix that,” you assure him. You watch as the man turns back to his pot of tea and begins to pour you both a cup. There’s nothing unusual about this considering your Bucky also enjoys drinking tea; it helps him keep calm and relaxed before retiring for the night.

“How many are left?” He asks before handing you your mug.

“Around ten. Steve and I are making our rounds to figure out which Bucky is ours.”

“Am I your Bucky?” The man prompts with a raised brow while taking a careful drink from his cup.

“You tell me,” you reply with a faint smile, ignoring the way your heart begins to flutter when he refers to himself as ‘your Bucky.’

“I know you have a scar on your stomach from being stabbed by another Widow in the Red Room, and the reason I know that is because I accidentally walked in on you changing in the shower room once,” Bucky admits with a sheepish laugh, prompting your face to heat with embarrassment.

“God, don’t remind me,” you groan while hiding your face in your hands. It’s not exactly comforting to know that Bucky has accidentally seen you naked in at least two different universes, but it also doesn’t make it easier to determine if this man is an imposter.

“I know you like your tea with a tablespoon of honey,” he continues before gesturing to your cup. You hum thoughtfully and set the mug down before meeting his gaze.

“I do, and I know you only like chamomile tea,” you reply, prompting Bucky to stiffen in front of you as you look down at the mug in front of you. “But this is green tea.”

Sighing, the doppelgänger sets his cup down with a defeated frown before meeting your gaze with pleading eyes. “Don’t make me go back.”

“I’m sorry, but it has to be done. We can’t risk the effects that come with having two Bucky’s in one place.”

“Then can I ask you a favor?” The man says solemnly.

“Of course.”

“Before you send me back, can I… is it okay if I hug you?” He asks, catching you by surprise. Noting the confusion on your face, Bucky gives you a dejected smile that doesn’t reach his eyes before explaining, “We don’t talk anymore in my universe. I was an idiot, and you rightfully cut me out of your life. This is the first time in years you’ve looked at me with love and not utter disgust, and I just want to enjoy it a little longer before I have to leave.”

Your heart aches for this poor Bucky who very clearly misses you, or at least his version of you, so you can’t find it in yourself to deny his request. You wordlessly rise from your seat and allow him to wrap his arms around your frame. His hold is tight, his nose brushing against your neck as he savors the feel of your touch, and you feel terrible for the fact that there isn’t anything you can do to help him.

“I’m not sure what happened between the two of you,” you utter quietly while rubbing comforting circles into his back, “but if she’s anything like me, I know she probably misses you but is too stubborn to admit it. Don’t give up on her.”

You release him with a smile and find his eyes shining with tears as he lets your words settle. You bid him a final goodbye before escorting him to Tony and Bruce so that he can be properly transferred back to his own time. That’s only one Bucky down with several more to go, and you know now that you really have your work cut out for you. This is going to be much more difficult than you anticipated.

You stumble upon the next Bucky quietly ruminating in your room, and it takes him a moment to detect your presence as you lean against the doorway and simply observe his mannerisms. You can already tell this isn’t your Bucky by the way he anxiously taps his fingers against his knees; your Bucky’s tell is the anxious bouncing of his leg. This Bucky also wears his hair pulled back into a ponytail, whereas your Bucky prefers to tie his hair back into in a half-up style.

His eyes widen in shock when he finally notices you standing there, and you’re taken aback by the way he nearly flings himself at you. His strong arms wrap around your midsection and lift you off the ground, holding you impossibly tight against him as if you’ll disappear otherwise.

“жена,” he whispers in a trembling voice while combing a hand through your hair.

“I don’t speak Russian…” you voice with an uncomfortable laugh, struggling to take a breath due to how tightly you’re pressed against him. “Buck, you’re kind of suffocating me here.”

The man finally releases you after your admission, but his hands immediately find their way to your cheeks as he cups your face and rests his forehead against your own. You’re startled by the closeness, but there’s no denying the rapid beating of your heart when you stare into his troubled eyes. You’ve had daydreams like this before, but it’s jarring to experience it in person.

“When I arrived here and came across your room I thought it was too good to be true,” he utters shakily, “but you’re here. You’re alive.”

“Bucky, I-“

“You’ve come back to me, жена.”

“жена?” You repeat unsurely. His panicked features melt into a fond smile at the sound of your botched Russian, and he carefully pushes back your hair before gifting you a nod of confirmation.

“Wife.”

Your eyes widen at his proclamation, your heart dropping to your chest while you process the weight of his words and struggle with the turmoil inside of you. You thought dealing with the Bucky from the kitchen was difficult, but this is way out of your playing field.

“Oh god,” you breathe out before carefully removing his hands from your face. He frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“I know this is all really confusing, but I’m not…” you start to say, grappling with your guilt at having to crush the man’s hopes of being reunited with his version of you, “I’m not your wife.”

The man’s features become sullen at your confession, brows furrowing in disappointment and confusion. “What do you mean? You aren’t y/n?”

“I am, but I’m just not the same y/n you know. This is a different dimension, and you were sent here by accident.”

“So you’re not… she’s not really alive, then,” he murmurs dejectedly, eyes casting towards the floor in despair.

“No, and I’m so sorry I’m not the one you’re looking for,” you console, resting a comforting hand on his bicep. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut at the feel of your touch, something he’d been lacking since your death. You aren’t his wife, but in spite of that, he is grateful to be able to speak to you and see your face once more. “Can I ask what happened to her?”

“Hydra wanted revenge for my desertion and for aiding Captain America in their destruction,” Bucky utters lowly, eyes hardening at the memory. “An eye for an eye. She paid the price for my mistakes, and I’ve spent every waking moment avenging her death.”

A chill runs through your spine as you hear the recounting of your counterpart’s death, but you do your best to remain composed while in the presence of this alternate version Bucky. Your heart aches for the man, and you once again find yourself completely useless at trying to help him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you express solemnly. Despite this, Bucky looks to you with a tender smile before carefully taking your hand in his own.

“Don’t be. I know you’re not her, but seeing you again, hearing your voice- It’s the most precious gift I could ask for. Thank you for giving me some semblance of peace.”

You’re a wreck when this Bucky is returned to his own timeline, and after multiple instances of running into Bucky’s who believe you’re their y/n Steve assures you that he’ll take over moving forward. It seems that each Bucky you speak to cares so fondly for you, they adore you even, and yet in this universe you’ve been designated as a close friend and nothing more. It’s killing you to see all the ‘what if’s,’ because deep inside you know that you’ll never be with your Bucky the way you want to.

You’re not sure when your crush on the super soldier had first developed, but you know that you’ve harbored these romantic feelings for him for quite a while now. You’ve never told anyone, though you can guess Steve was smart enough to figure it out on his own, and you have no urge to act on such feelings in fear of how complicated things will become if he doesn’t reciprocate your emotions.

Your rumination leaves you in deep thought as you sit out on the balcony and enjoy some quiet after all the chaos you’ve endured. You hear the sliding door open and shut behind you, but you make no attempt to see who it is until they seat themselves beside you. You peek at Bucky from the corner of your eyes before returning your gaze to the New York skyline, simply enjoying his presence without making an effort to speak.

“You doing okay?” He asks, effectively breaking the silence between you.

“I didn’t think being around multiple versions of you would be so exhausting,” you confess with a humorless laugh, but it prompts his lips to quirk up slightly into a smile.

“You’re starting to sound like Sam,” he teases with a careful nudge to your side. While you’d normally laugh at his jokes, Bucky doesn’t even get a smile out of you. You feel him shift closer to you and hope he can’t detect the way your heart picks up a beat in response. He nudges you again softer this time and asks, “Talk to me. What’s eating you?”

“Every Bucky variant I met today looked at me like I moved heaven and earth together, like I was their reason for getting up in the morning, and I guess it just reminded me of the fact that my own Bucky doesn’t really look at me that way.”

You pull your knees up to your chest and let your chin fall on top of them with a melancholic sigh. A part of you feels embarrassed to be voicing your disappointment aloud, but you figure there’s no harm in telling a variant since you’ll never have to see them again after today.

“Do you want him to look at you that way?”

“Of course I do,” you avow incredulously like the answer isn’t already obvious. “I love him so much that Steve trusted my judgement enough to have me help him sniff out the doppelgängers. I know how he likes his tea, how he does his hair, what his favorite movie is- the list could go on forever. But of course, I live in the one universe where Bucky and I don’t end up together.”

You feel his hand come to rest on the small of your back and shudder at the feel of his cool metal hand seeping through your sweater. You can’t help but to lean against him so that your head is rested on his shoulder, and you’re able to find some comfort in his presence. You hear him let out a thoughtful hum beside you.

“You want to know something?” Bucky pronounces. He feels your head nod against him and smiles. “I know the exact moment I fell in love with you.”

The confession has you lifting your head to peer up at him questioningly. “You do?”

“Of course I do. We were on a mission, and you picked up Steve’s shield to stop a bullet from hitting me straight on before using it to knock out three bad guys in a row. You looked so strong, so beautiful. My heart was yours from then on.”

“I didn’t think you remembered that,” you confess quietly, stomach fluttering with nervous butterflies.

“Haven’t stopped thinking about it since,” he asserts with a fond smile. “Any Bucky would be lucky to have you, and I’m sorry yours has been too chicken to make a move.”

“I guess it’s not totally his fault,” you relent with a meager shrug. “I’m chicken, too.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Bucky suggests, tone light and inviting. “I know I’m not the most obvious about it, but I love you too.”

You open your mouth to answer only to be interrupted by the sound of the sliding door again. You turn to see Steve standing there, surprise on his features when he sees you two sitting on the balcony together.

“Y/n, I’ve been looking for you,” he says suddenly. “I wanted to talk to you about the variants-“

“Don’t worry,” you interrupt him with a passive wave of your hand before gesturing towards Bucky with your head. “I found another one for you. This Bucky just told me he loves me which means he’s definitely not ours.”

“Actually,” Steve says with an amused grin, “I was just coming to tell you we sent the last of them back to their own dimensions.”

“What?” You gape in shock, heart immediately dropping to your stomach as you slowly shift your gaze towards the Bucky sitting next to you. He flashes you a bashful smile and a small wave that fills you with embarrassment.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” the blond says with a knowing smile before making his exit, leaving you alone once more with the man you’d just poured your entire heart out to.

“I thought you knew,” Bucky offers apologetically. You take a nervous swallow before forcing yourself to meet his gaze again.

“So you’re saying that you do love me?” You ask hesitantly, almost afraid that this is all some sort of joke.

“I may not be as romantic or straightforward as the other Bucky’s you met, but I love you just as much as they do if not more,” he professes earnestly, gently resting a hand on your cheek to pull you closer. “I think we make a great team, but we’d make an even better couple.”

“I think so too,” you utter with a giddy smile, waiting with bated breath as Bucky slowly begins to lean in. The anticipation is killing you, but you’re finally rewarded for your patience when his lips meet your own in a tender kiss. Your lashes flutter shut as you melt into his touch, reveling in the moment you’ve dreamed of since discovering your feelings for Bucky.

No matter the timeline and no matter the universe, Bucky is destined to fall in love with his y/n. And you wouldn’t want it any other way.