#is gnawing on the walls an expression . no i don’t think so . but it’s an apt description of my current condition

[duskholland]

Just wait until u get to season like 12 or 13 oh my god he gets so hot it's unreal

no stop it because i’ve seen the gifs and it has me gnawing on the walls

[solxamber]

Hello, I love your writing! The isekai fics are so fun, Vil's was my favorite! Can I request the twst boys (+ staff if you have inspiration for it) comforting a reader who just breaks down in tears after the seventh overblot is resolved because they haven't had much support and time to process being in a new world away from everything they've ever known, were basically told to play therapist by Crowley, and have had their life and their friends lives at risk. Lots of angst but mostly comfort in the end! Thank you if you write this!

7th Overblot Aftermath

Characters: All NRC + Staff

hi! and thank you so much 🫶 vil was the first one I wrote I'm glad you liked it. I love this request and I hope you like it <3

The aftermath of Malleus’s overblot felt surreal. The sky had cleared, but the air was still heavy with the weight of what had just happened. It was over. Finally over. You had seen seven overblots now, each one pushing you and your friends to the edge, forcing you to confront darkness that shouldn’t have existed in people you had come to care for.

But this one had felt different. Maybe it was because of the sheer power Malleus wielded, or maybe it was because of how fragile the world around you had seemed as you fought to bring him back. You had nearly lost him—nearly lost everyone. And you were so, so tired.

Your knees gave out, hitting the ground with a soft thud. You stared at the grass beneath you, eyes blurring with unshed tears. Everyone was celebrating the victory, but all you could think about was the sheer exhaustion gnawing at your bones, the burden of playing mediator, therapist, and survivor all at once. You hadn’t signed up for this. You had been thrown into this world without warning, away from everything you had ever known, and you hadn’t had a moment to breathe since.

“I’m so tired…” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

And then it all came crashing down. The walls you had so carefully built around yourself crumbled, and before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face. Quiet at first, but then the sobs came harder, your shoulders shaking as you finally let yourself break.

You barely registered footsteps approaching until a pair of hands rested gently on your shoulders.

Ace Trappola

"Hey, hey," Ace’s voice broke the silence, softer than you’d ever heard it before. “What’s wrong? You’re... crying.”

You hiccuped, trying to suppress the sobs that wouldn’t stop coming. Ace was never one for emotional moments—at least, not the serious kind. He usually joked his way out of anything too heavy, but right now, he seemed out of his depth.

“C’mon, don’t cry,” he mumbled, his voice awkward but concerned. “We’ve been through worse, right? I mean, we beat Malleus of all people. If we can get through that, we can get through anything.”

He crouched beside you, his hand patting your shoulder in an attempt to be comforting, though he was clearly fumbling. “Just… talk to us, okay? We’re here. You don’t have to keep everything inside.”

You shook your head, not trusting your voice, but the tears kept coming. Ace sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly unsure of what else to say, but he stayed close, his presence enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Deuce Spade

Deuce knelt down beside you, his expression full of concern. His hand hovered over your back, unsure whether to touch you, as if he was afraid of making things worse. He eventually settled on patting your back gently, his voice unsteady but earnest.

“It’s okay,” Deuce whispered, his usual tough demeanor nowhere to be found. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re all here for you. I—I didn’t realize how much you’ve been going through.”

His face was a mix of worry and guilt, as if he felt bad for not noticing sooner. “You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore. You’ve been looking out for us this whole time, and I… I didn’t see how much that’s been hurting you.”

You couldn’t respond, your throat tight with emotion. Deuce, seeing your tears still falling, gently shifted closer, offering the only comfort he knew how: his presence. “We’re friends, right? And friends help each other. So… let us help you, okay?”

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle appeared beside you, his normally rigid posture softer now. He knelt down, placing a hand on your arm, his touch surprisingly tentative. He looked at you for a moment, eyes filled with unspoken regret before he spoke.

“I should have seen how much you’ve been carrying,” Riddle began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’ve been through so much—more than any of us realized. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

His words were measured, careful, as if he was trying not to overwhelm you. “I’ve been so focused on maintaining order, on fixing things after my own mistakes, that I failed to recognize how much weight you’ve been holding on your own.”

He sighed softly, guilt clear in his voice. “You’ve been our support through everything, but you’ve had no one to lean on yourself. That’s not fair to you, and it’s not something you should have had to do alone.”

Riddle stayed close, his hand still resting on your arm, offering comfort in the only way he knew how—through quiet sincerity.

Trey Clover

Trey crouched down beside you, his presence calm and steady, like always. He didn’t say anything at first, just rested a hand gently on your shoulder, waiting for your sobs to slow. He wasn’t one for grand gestures or overly emotional words, but he didn’t need them. His quiet support spoke volumes.

“You’ve been doing a lot for everyone,” Trey said softly, his voice low and warm. “More than anyone should have to. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed.”

He offered you a tissue, waiting patiently as you wiped your face, though the tears kept coming. Trey’s hand stayed on your shoulder, a grounding weight.

“You don’t have to keep everything bottled up,” he continued, his tone gentle. “We’re all in this together, you know? If you need a break, if you need someone to listen… we’re here. I’m here.”

There was no judgment in his voice, no impatience, just the quiet assurance that he’d be there for you whenever you needed.

Cater Diamond

Cater slid down beside you, his usual carefree smile nowhere in sight. Instead, his eyes were soft with concern as he pulled out a tissue and handed it to you.

“Y’know, it’s okay to break down sometimes,” Cater said quietly, watching as you wiped your face. His voice was unusually subdued, and for once, there was no joking, no lightheartedness to deflect from the situation.

“We’ve all been through a lot,” he continued, “but I think you’ve been carrying more than the rest of us. Crowley’s been dumping all this stuff on you, expecting you to handle everything, but you shouldn’t have to. Not alone.”

Cater leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve been the glue holding us together. But who’s been holding you together, huh?”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to answer, but the tears just kept coming. Cater didn’t push. He just sat beside you, his presence steady, offering you the space to cry without judgment.

“It’s okay to let it out,” he said, his voice soft. “We’ve got you now.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona crouched down next to you, his green eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of your trembling form. He let out an exasperated sigh, as if annoyed by the situation—not by you, but by everything you’d been forced to endure.

“Ugh, this is exactly why I hate people like Crowley,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Always dumping stuff on others and never dealin’ with the mess themselves.”

He placed a heavy, warm hand on your back, his grip firm but comforting. “Listen, you ain’t weak for feelin’ like this. You’ve done more than enough, and I don’t blame you for breakin’ down. Hell, anyone else would’ve lost it way before you did.”

Leona’s tone softened slightly, his voice low and steady. “You’re tougher than most of the idiots I know. So, stop thinkin’ you gotta do everything yourself. Just rest already.” He grumbled something under his breath about humans overworking themselves, but stayed close by, a quiet, protective presence.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie hunkered down next to you, his usual cheeky grin replaced by something much softer. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head lightly. “Sheesh, you really let all that pile up on ya, huh?”

He gave you a light nudge with his elbow, playful but careful. “Look, you don’t gotta carry everything by yourself, ya know? I get it—you’re tough. But even tough people gotta take a break now and then, yeah?”

Ruggie’s eyes gleamed with empathy, his voice taking on a gentle, comforting tone you didn’t hear often from him. “Life’s been a little unfair to ya, huh? I mean, Crowley dumpin’ all that responsibility on you… it’s not right. But you’re here, and you’re still standin’, even after all that.”

He flashed you a small, reassuring smile. “But you don’t gotta stand alone. You’ve got us now. Lemme know if you need a break—I’ll hustle for the both of us.” Ruggie winked, his familiar mischievousness flickering back into his expression, but the concern in his eyes remained genuine.

Jack Howl

Jack’s ears twitched as he knelt down beside you, his tail swaying slowly with a sense of unease. He wasn’t great with words, but the sight of you breaking down hit him harder than he expected. “Hey,” he began softly, his voice gruff but sincere. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

His hand hovered awkwardly for a second before settling firmly on your shoulder. Jack wasn’t sure how to help, but he wanted to—more than anything. “I know you’ve been strong… probably stronger than anyone should have to be. But it’s okay to let it out.”

He shifted slightly, trying to find the right words. “I… I know how it feels to be away from everything familiar. To feel like you don’t have anyone to lean on. But that’s not true. You’ve got me. You’ve got all of us.”

His grip on your shoulder tightened briefly, like he was silently reassuring you of his support. “You don’t have to face all of this alone. We’re here for you. And I’m not gonna let anything happen to you—or anyone else.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul approached you cautiously, his usual calm and collected demeanor faltering as he saw you crumbling under the weight of everything. His steps were slow, calculated, but there was an unusual tightness in his chest. He knelt down beside you, his expression torn between concern and his usual polished facade.

“You’ve… been carrying quite the burden, haven’t you?” he asked softly, though there was a certain edge to his voice, almost as if he was angry—at the world, at Crowley, at everything that had led to this moment.

His hand hovered over your shoulder for a moment before he rested it gently, almost hesitantly. “I won’t lie to you,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I’ve always admired how capable you are. But no one should be expected to handle what you have. Crowley’s negligence… it’s unacceptable.”

Azul glanced away briefly, his sharp gaze softening. “But you’re not alone anymore. You have us. You have me. And I promise, I won’t let anyone take advantage of you again—not without consequence.”

There was a sincerity in his words that Azul rarely revealed, a vulnerability hidden beneath his usual polished exterior. “You don’t have to keep being strong on your own. Allow yourself to lean on someone else for once.”

Jade Leech

Jade knelt gracefully beside you, his usual serene smile gone, replaced with a look of quiet concern. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he was gauging how best to approach the situation. “My, you’ve been holding this all in for quite some time, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice as smooth as ever, but with an underlying warmth that was rare for him.

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, his fingers light but reassuring. “You’ve done more than anyone could ask of you. It’s no surprise that you feel overwhelmed.”

Jade’s gaze flickered over your trembling form, his mismatched eyes studying you carefully. “It’s a great deal of responsibility to bear, especially in a world so far from your own. But… you’re not alone.”

There was a softness in his tone that you didn’t expect, his usual composed demeanor shifting. “You’ve been strong for everyone else. Now, allow yourself to rest. Let us take care of things for a while. You’ve certainly earned it.”

He smiled gently, his hand still resting on your shoulder, steady and reliable. “And do not worry. Should anyone try to take advantage of your kindness again, they will have me to deal with.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd approached you in his typical loose, carefree stride, but when he saw the state you were in, his usual playful grin vanished. His steps quickened, and before you knew it, he was crouched down right in front of you, his mismatched eyes widening in genuine concern. “Whoa, hey, hey! What’s this?” he asked, tilting his head as he examined your tear-streaked face.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into a tight hug—so sudden and fierce that it left you breathless for a second. “You can’t cry like this, Shrimpy. It doesn’t suit you,” he said, his voice unusually soft, though still carrying that familiar teasing edge.

Floyd squeezed you tighter, his long arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. “If things are bad, you should’ve just told me. I’d go squeeze the life outta Crowley for you—he deserves it.” He chuckled, but his grip didn’t loosen, like he was afraid you might fall apart if he let go.

He leaned back slightly, still holding you close. “You don’t gotta be strong all the time, you know? You’re my friend, and I don’t let my friends break down alone. So, whenever you feel like this, just come find me. I’ll squeeze the sadness right outta ya.” His words, though playful, carried a weight of sincerity that made your heart ache a little less.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil stood before you, his expression unreadable, though his eyes held a rare softness. “You’ve let yourself reach this point of exhaustion,” he sighed, shaking his head slightly. “It’s not your fault, but you shouldn’t have been forced to carry this burden alone.”

He knelt beside you, his touch gentle but firm as he took your hand. “You’ve been strong for so long, but even the strongest need time to recuperate. Don’t mistake vulnerability for weakness. It takes great strength to admit you need help.”

Vil brushed a stray tear from your cheek, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “You’ve given so much of yourself, but now, it’s time to prioritize your own well-being. I won’t let you neglect yourself any longer. Remember, even a diamond can crack if too much pressure is applied.”

Rook Hunt

Rook’s eyes sparkled with emotion as he knelt gracefully beside you, his usual exuberance tempered by an uncharacteristic stillness. “Ah, mon ami, you have been carrying such a heavy heart all this time,” he whispered, his voice a melodic lilt.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch light, almost reverent. “To be in a world so foreign, surrounded by danger, yet still you’ve stood tall… such beauty in your strength. But even the most resilient soul must rest.”

Rook smiled warmly, leaning closer as if to share a secret. “Let us lift this burden from your shoulders, together. You are not alone. I, too, am by your side, always watching, always ready to catch you should you stumble.”

Epel Felmier

Epel crouched down next to you, his face tight with concern. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, not used to comforting others but determined nonetheless. “You shouldn’t have had to go through all this,” he muttered, his country drawl creeping into his voice. “Crowley’s a real piece of work, throwin’ all that on ya.”

He reached out, offering a hand in his own shy way. “You’ve been tougher than most, and I admire that. But that don’t mean you gotta keep it all bottled up. It’s okay to feel this way. We’re all here for ya, and I’m not lettin’ anyone mess with you anymore.”

Epel’s expression softened, his voice gentler now. “You’ve got us, so don’t think you’re alone in this. We’ll face it all together.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim immediately rushed to your side, concern written all over his face. “Oh no! You’ve been carrying all this by yourself? Why didn’t you tell me?” he exclaimed, kneeling down and grabbing your hands with both of his, his usual exuberance tempered by a rare sincerity.

He gave you a bright, reassuring smile. “You’ve been so strong for everyone else, but it’s okay to take a break. You don’t have to do everything alone—you’ve got us! And I promise, from now on, we’re all going to make sure you’re okay too.”

Kalim’s warm eyes sparkled with optimism. “Let’s go celebrate once you feel better! Something fun and happy—just to take your mind off everything. I’ll plan the best party ever, and you can just relax, okay?”

Jamil Viper

Jamil crouched down beside you, his dark eyes watching you carefully, as if assessing your every emotion. He sighed softly, his voice low and calm. “You’ve been under more pressure than anyone should have to deal with, and none of it was your fault.”

He rested a hand on your shoulder, his touch firm and grounding. “You shouldn’t have had to bear all this alone, but you don’t have to anymore. I understand what it’s like to carry more than you should.”

Jamil’s eyes softened, though his expression remained calm and composed. “From now on, you can rely on us. I won’t let things spiral out of control again, and I won’t let Crowley push you to your limits anymore. You deserve to take a step back and breathe.”

Idia Shroud

Idia stood awkwardly at a distance at first, his usual nervous fidgeting even more pronounced as he saw you breaking down. He hesitated before kneeling beside you, keeping his hands to himself. “I, uh… I get it,” he muttered, voice quieter than usual. “Feeling like the world’s too much to handle? Yeah, I’ve been there.”

He shifted uncomfortably but spoke with genuine understanding. “You’ve been through way more than anyone should. And, uh, it’s okay to not be okay. You don’t have to act like everything’s fine all the time.”

Idia’s blue flames flickered a bit brighter as he added, “If you need to… y’know, not deal with everything, I’ve got games and stuff to help you chill out. No judgment. Just… take it easy, okay?”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho hovered closer, his usual upbeat tone shifting to something far more gentle. “You’ve done so much, and I know it’s been really hard on you,” he said softly, his mechanical voice somehow conveying warmth.

He floated down beside you, his small hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “But you’re not alone anymore! You’ve got big brother and me, and we’ll help you through everything. You don’t have to carry all this by yourself.”

Ortho gave you a bright smile, his eyes glowing softly. “Let me help you feel better! We can work together, and you can lean on us whenever you need to.”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus approached you slowly, his imposing presence softened by the genuine concern in his eyes. He knelt gracefully beside you, his voice low and soothing. “You have been through much, more than anyone should bear. It is no wonder you feel as though the weight is too much.”

He extended a hand, his fingers brushing gently against your arm. “You are not alone in this world. I understand what it is to feel isolated, but you have friends, and you have me.”

Malleus’s gaze softened further, his voice almost a whisper. “I am here for you, as are the others. Rest now, and let us share in your burden. No harm shall come to you as long as I stand by your side.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia floated down beside you with a lightness that contrasted the gravity of the situation. His usual playful demeanor faded, replaced by quiet empathy. “Ah, little one,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with affection. “You’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

He rested a hand gently on your head, giving it a comforting pat. “You’ve done well, more than anyone could have asked of you. But now, it’s time to let go of some of that burden. There’s no shame in needing help.”

Lilia smiled gently, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “You’re not alone, not anymore. We’ll protect you. You can lean on us when you need to.”

Silver

Silver knelt beside you, his calm eyes filled with quiet understanding. “You’ve been strong for a long time,” he said softly, his voice low and soothing. “But you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his touch steady and grounding. “It’s okay to let yourself feel overwhelmed. It doesn’t mean you’re weak—it means you’ve been through too much.”

Silver’s eyes softened as he spoke. “You have friends here, people who care about you. You can rely on us. I’ll be here, watching over you, so you can rest.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek approached you with his usual fervor but hesitated when he saw your tears. His sharp voice softened, though it still carried his typical intensity. “Human! You have been through much, but you must remember—you are not alone in this!”

He stood tall beside you, his green eyes blazing with determination. “You have shown strength, but it is not weak to ask for help! Lord Malleus would never allow you to suffer alone, and neither will I!”

Sebek crossed his arms, standing like a guardian at your side. “You are under the protection of Lord Malleus, and by extension, my protection! No harm will come to you now.”

Crowley

Crowley fluttered over, his usual flamboyant demeanor subdued as he saw your distress. “Ah, my dear prefect,” he began, wringing his hands nervously. “It seems that perhaps I’ve… placed more on your shoulders than I should have.”

He knelt beside you, his expression uncharacteristically somber. “You’ve done so much for this school, more than anyone could have asked of you. And for that, I owe you a great debt.”

Crowley’s voice softened, uncharacteristically sincere. “But now, it’s time for me to take some responsibility. You’ve more than earned your rest. From now on, I’ll make sure you have the support you need.”

Divus Crewel

Crewel knelt beside you, his sharp eyes softened with concern. “You’ve been through hell, pup,” he said, his voice low but firm. “And it’s no surprise that you’re feeling the strain.”

He reached out and adjusted your collar with practiced precision, as if he could fix your emotional state as easily as he could fix your appearance. “You’ve shown remarkable strength, but even the strongest need a break."

Crewel’s voice took on a more gentle tone as he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not expected to bear the weight of the world on your own, pup. You’ve more than proven yourself, but now it’s time for you to let others shoulder some of that burden. I won’t allow anyone to exploit your loyalty or determination again.”

He straightened up, his steely demeanor still present but tempered with warmth. “You’ve got me in your corner now. If anyone dares push you to the brink again, they’ll have to deal with me. Understood?”

Mozus Trein

Trein approached slowly, his usual stern expression softened with concern as he adjusted his glasses. “You’ve been under undue stress, haven’t you?” he observed in his deep, calming voice. “No one should be forced to handle such pressure alone.”

He knelt beside you, his demeanor fatherly as he rested a hand on your arm. “This world has not been kind to you, I see that now. But you’ve handled it all with remarkable resilience. However, even the strongest minds and hearts need time to recover.”

Trein sighed deeply, his tone softening further. “I will ensure that you are given that time, without further demands placed on you. You’ve done more than enough.”

Ashton Vargas

Vargas came over with his usual boisterous energy, but seeing you in distress made him pause. His expression softened, and he knelt down beside you. “Hey, hey! What’s all this about, huh?” he said, his voice a bit gentler than usual. “You’ve been holding up the team for too long, I see. That’s a heavy weight, and it’s no wonder you’re feeling tired.”

He placed a strong, reassuring hand on your back. “You’re tougher than you think, but even the toughest need a break sometimes. You’ve done amazing—really! But now, it’s time to rest up and let others carry the load for a bit.”

Vargas smiled warmly, his usual energy tempered with sincerity. “You’ve earned it, champ. We’re not leaving you behind. We’ll get through this together.”

Sam

Sam quietly appeared beside you, his usual playful smile replaced by something softer, more caring. “Well now, looks like you’ve been carryin’ quite the burden, huh?” he said in his deep, smooth voice.

He crouched down next to you, his hand resting on your shoulder with a firm but gentle grip. “You’ve been strong for everyone else, but you can let that go for a bit. No shame in feelin’ overwhelmed.”

Sam’s eyes twinkled kindly, and he gave you a warm smile. “Remember, you’ve got friends, and we’re all here for you. Anytime you need a little pick-me-up, you know where to find me. No more carryin’ this all by yourself, alright?”

Grim

Grim strutted over, his ears twitching as he noticed the tears on your face. “Oi, what’s this?” he huffed, trying to sound nonchalant but clearly concerned. “You’re not supposed to be cryin’. You’re supposed to be tough, like me!”

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to handle the situation, before awkwardly patting your arm with his paw. “Uh... stop bein’ all sad, okay? You’ve been through a lot, but you’re still here, right? And that’s ‘cause you’ve got me, the Great Grim! I mean, you’re my henchhuman, so obviously you’re tough enough to handle anything!”

He puffed out his chest, trying to inject some of his usual bravado into the situation. “I’ll take care of things next time! No need to worry. Just... stop cryin’, alright? It’s weird. I’m supposed to be the one gettin’ pampered, not the other way around!”

Despite his tough words, Grim stayed by your side, his tail flicking nervously. “But, y’know, I guess... if you need to cry, that’s fine too. Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Masterlist

[mythicalmaven]

hiya! Could i please have number 1 with charles leclerc from the prompt list please? Extra smutty with a super needy reader please xxx

Racing Pulse - Charles LeClerc (request)

Masterlist ↳pairing: charles leclerc x female!driver!reader ↳word count: 1,9K ↳prompts used: 1 - 'Use my thigh" ↳warnings: reader is an f1 academy driver, charles and her are friends, thigh riding, voyeurism (kind of? if you count charles letting her use his thigh), masturbation (sort of) ↳summary: The reader is a driver for the f1 academy & finds herself very very sexually frustrated before the race, leading to Charles offering her a way to relief herself.

The roar of engines echoes through the garage, a constant reminder of the race ticking closer with every passing second. But no matter how hard you try to focus, your mind keeps wandering, pulled back to the gnawing frustration that’s been simmering beneath the surface. You’re pacing, restless, the usual pre-race jitters replaced by something far more distracting. You’re wound so tight you think you might snap, and it’s only making the tension worse.

Just as you were about to kick against the wall, you catch Charles watching you from across the room. His eyes narrow, noticing your agitation, and before you can look away, he’s already making his way over, concern laced in his steady stride. “You look like you’re about to combust,” he says, his voice pitched low, so only you can hear. “What’s going on?”

You roll your eyes, trying to brush off his teasing, but the tension inside you only tightens. "Nothing, nothing," you huff, attempting to sound normal, but the frustration seeps through. "Everything is going peachy."

Charles raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Yeah, totally, that's why you were about to kick a table, huh?" he quips, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

A frustrated sigh escapes you, and you run a hand through your hair, the pent-up energy making it impossible to stay still. "Okay, fine," you admit, glancing around to make sure no one else is within earshot. "I'm just... sexually frustrated, alright?"

He blinks, then a laugh bubbles out of him, not mocking but genuinely amused by your candid confession. "Seriously? That’s what’s got you all twisted up?"

You huff again, this time more at yourself than at him. "Yes, Charles. And it’s driving me insane. And no, I’m not joking."

His laughter fades, but the smile remains, a little softer now. "I could help with that, you know," he says, surprising you with the seriousness in his tone.

You furrow your brow, tilting your head to the side. "Do you, though? I mean, this isn’t just some casual frustration. I need... well, you know."

Charles steps closer, his expression unreadable, but his eyes are locked on yours. "Yeah, I know," he says simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. As he looked at you, leaning against the wall, he moved to the table near you, leaning against it with his backside, his hands behind him on the table to hold him up.

You blink, processing his words. "Wouldn't it be weird," you start, hesitating slightly, "You know, most friends don’t just... do that. And besides, we don't even have time to go anywhere private, the race is starting soon"

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. "Friends are supposed to help each other out, aren’t they?"

You open your mouth to protest, but he’s pulling you in by your wrist, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And even if you let me help, you wouldn’t have to go anywhere."

You raise an eyebrow, confusion flickering across your face. "Charles, how—?"

"Use my thigh," he murmurs, his tone calm but with an edge of something darker. His gaze flickers to the shadows around you, the secluded corner of the garage where the angle and low light provide a surprising amount of privacy. "No one would be able to see from here. And with the noise out there, it’ll just look like we’re talking, getting close to hear each other better."

Your breath catches, the idea sparking something deep within you. The tension that’s been gnawing at you suddenly has an outlet, and the suggestion is as thrilling as it is scandalous.

For a moment, you hesitate, the absurdity of the situation battling with the undeniable pull of desire. But Charles's gaze is steady, reassuring, and there's something in the way he looks at you—like this is just another challenge, another hurdle to overcome together.

You swallow hard, nodding ever so slightly. The moment the decision is made, Charles shifts closer, his hands finding your waist as he guides you to straddle his thigh. The heat of his body seeps through the fabric of your suit, and the tension you’ve been battling for hours seems to tighten and ease all at once.

“Just relax,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and husky, the vibration of his words sending a shiver down your spine. He pulls you closer until you’re pressed up against him, the thickness of his thigh positioned perfectly between your legs. “No one can see a thing, I promise.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself as his hands settle on your hips. He gives an experimental roll of his thigh, and the friction against your clothed core draws a sharp gasp from your lips. The sensation is maddening, just enough to stoke the fire that’s been smoldering inside you, but not nearly enough to satisfy.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your ear. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. “I can feel how much you need this.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep quiet, but he’s relentless. His hands guide your movements, encouraging you to grind against him, each subtle shift sending sparks of pleasure through your body. The friction is delicious, the pressure just right, and it’s all the more intense because of how forbidden it feels, knowing anyone could walk by at any moment.

“Charles,” you breathe out, your voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and disbelief. You feel him lean in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Let go,” he murmurs, his tone dropping to a seductive rumble. “No one can hear you over the engines. No one’s watching. It’s just us.”

His words are your undoing. You start to move with more purpose, pressing down harder, seeking out that sweet spot that will tip you over the edge. Charles tightens his grip on your hips, guiding you with a slow, deliberate rhythm that’s both torturous and perfect.

You begin to rock your hips against Charles’s thigh, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. The need that’s been gnawing at you for days flares up, making you desperate, and you can’t help but lean your head on his shoulder, seeking the comfort of his warmth as you move. Each grind sends a wave of heat rushing through you, and you cling to him, trying to suppress the whimpers that threaten to escape.

Charles’s breath hitches slightly, but he stays composed, his hands steady on your hips as he guides your movements. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry, lips brushing against your ear. “So needy, so desperate… What’s got you so worked up like this?”

You let out a small, frustrated whine, your voice strained with need. “I-I haven't really had.. any sex lately,” you admit, your words barely a whisper as you press yourself harder against him, trying to find the relief you crave.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Poor thing,” he coos, a teasing edge to his tone. “You know, I could always help you with that… if you want. All you have to do is say the word.”

You bite your lip, suppressing a moan as the pleasure builds, the fabric of your clothes rubbing deliciously against your throbbing core. The wetness between your legs is undeniable now, soaking through your panties, your racing suit and onto his thigh. You know he can feel it too, and the realization only makes you grind down harder, your desperation growing with every passing second.

A small, breathless moan escapes you, and in a desperate attempt to stifle the sound, you lean in and bite down lightly on Charles’s shoulder. His grip on your hips tightens, a soft groan escaping his lips as you continue to grind against him.

“Charles, I need more,” you whimper, the words slipping out in a moment of vulnerability. Your voice is heavy with desperation, your body trembling with the effort to find release.

Charles’s breath is warm against your ear as he leans in closer. “Oh, chérie, I’d give you everything you want, mon amour,” he whispers, his voice like velvet. “But you don’t have time, remember? You have a race to win.”

His words are a cruel tease, and the ache between your legs only intensifies. He continues to guide your movements, setting a slow, torturous rhythm that keeps you on the edge, but never lets you fall over it.

“If we had the time,” Charles murmurs, his tone dark and seductive, “I’d have you spread out in front of me, completely bare. I’d take my time with you, taste every inch of you until you’re begging for more.”

Your breath hitches at his words, the vivid image sending a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you. You can’t help but glance down, your eyes widening slightly when you see the clear outline of his erection straining against his jeans. The sight of him, hard and ready beneath you, only spurs you on, and you quicken your pace, grinding down on him with more urgency.

Charles’s breath grows heavier, his chest rising and falling with each ragged inhale. “God, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice laced with need. “I love seeing you like this, so desperate, so willing to take what you need.”

Just as you feel yourself getting close, the heat building to a fever pitch, someone walks past, calling out a quick greeting. You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest as you fight to keep your breathing steady. Charles’s hands tighten on your hips, holding you still as he nods in acknowledgment, a casual smile on his face as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

Once the person is out of sight, Charles relaxes, letting out a breath he’s been holding. “We have to be careful,” he whispers, his tone a mix of warning and thrill. “Can’t have anyone catching us, can we?”

Without waiting for your response, he resumes the slow, deliberate grind, guiding you back into that maddening rhythm. The brief interruption only heightens the intensity, and you find yourself clinging to him, desperate for release.

“Come on,” Charles whispers, his voice both encouraging and commanding. “Go for it. I want to see you fall apart for me.”

His words, combined with the relentless friction and the feeling of his hard thigh pressing against you, push you closer to the edge. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, your body straining for that sweet release.

“I’m… I’m close,” you manage to gasp out, your voice trembling as the pleasure becomes almost unbearable.

Charles responds by leaning in, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck in a barely-there kiss. To anyone watching, it would seem as if he’s simply whispering something to you, but the intimacy of the gesture makes your heart race even faster.

“Come for me, mon amour,” he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. “I want to feel you let go.”

The combination of his words, the sensation of his lips on your neck, and the relentless pressure between your legs sends you spiraling over the edge. Your body tenses, a sharp cry escaping your lips as the orgasm crashes through you, waves of pleasure radiating out from your core. You bury your face in Charles’s shoulder, biting down on his jacket to muffle the sound, your entire body trembling with the intensity of it.

Charles’s hands hold you steady, guiding you through every pulse and shudder, his voice a soothing murmur in your ear. “That’s it,” he whispers, his tone filled with a mix of pride and desire. “Good girl. Let it all out.”

Masterlist

[natswife-marvelicious]

Between Shadows and Secrets

Plot: Natasha and you are having a secret affair, but you want to make things official. Natasha on the other hand sees things differently and whatever you had, had to come to an end. After weeks of contempting yourself, Natasha can't pull her shit together at one of Tony's parties.

Warnings: argument, drinking, hooking up w strangers, not feeling loved, light depression?/self-contempt

Word count: 3,7k

Masterlist

It started as something simple, something you could both control. You and Natasha kept things quiet, hidden between stolen moments and secretive glances. It was exciting at first, sneaking around Avengers Tower, slipping into each other’s rooms in the dead of night, sharing whispered promises under the cover of darkness. There was something thrilling about being her secret, the one who could make her lose that cold exterior and melt into someone real, someone vulnerable.

But over time, the thrill faded, and the secrecy became heavy, suffocating even. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were something to be kept hidden, something not worth showing to the world. It gnawed at you, the way she would smile at you in the shadows but barely acknowledge you in the daylight. Every day, you found yourself wanting more, needing more, but Natasha stayed firm. She was always cautious, always guarded. It was like there was an invisible wall between you, and no matter how close you got, you could never quite break through.

Then, there was that night, the night everything changed.

You had just gotten back from a brutal mission. Your body ached from the bruises and cuts that littered your skin, and your mind was frayed from the tension of the last few days. You had needed comfort, something familiar to remind you that it was all worth it. But when you walked into Natasha’s room, seeking her warmth, you found something else, something colder than the woman you had fallen in love with.

She was standing by the window, her arms crossed over her chest, staring out at the city lights. The tension in the room was palpable. You swallowed hard, knowing that the conversation you were about to have would be one of the hardest.

“Natasha,” you began, your voice quieter than you had intended. “We need to talk.”

She didn’t turn around, but you could see her shoulders tense at your words.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I can’t keep pretending like I’m okay with hiding. We’ve been doing this for months, and I need-”

“What?” she interrupted, finally turning to face you. “What do you need, y/n?”

Her tone was sharp, defensive. The calm, composed Natasha was starting to crack, and you could see the frustration lurking just beneath the surface. You took a step toward her, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I need more, Nat,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “I need to know that you’re not ashamed of me. I need to know that you want something real.”

Natasha’s eyes darkened, her expression hardening. “It’s not about being ashamed,” she snapped, the tension in her voice making the room feel even smaller. “It’s about keeping you safe.”

You frowned, your brow furrowing in confusion. “Safe from what?”

“From them,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the window, where the world outside felt miles away. “From the people who would use you to get to me. You think this life is simple? You think my enemies wouldn’t jump at the chance to hurt you if they knew what we are to each other?”

Her words stung, but you weren’t sure if it was because of her coldness or because deep down, you knew she had a point. Still, the ache in your chest wouldn’t go away, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than just fear for your safety.

“So what?” you shot back, your voice rising. “You’re just going to keep pretending like this doesn’t mean anything? Like I don’t mean anything to you?"

Natasha’s jaw clenched, and she looked away, refusing to meet your eyes. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” you demanded, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “Because it sure as hell feels like you don’t care.”

“I do care,” she said through gritted teeth, her fists clenching at her sides. “But this is the way it has to be. I won’t let you become a target because of me.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I want to be with you, Nat. Really be with you. I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of feeling like I’m not enough.”

For a moment, Natasha’s face softened, her eyes betraying the turmoil she was feeling. But just as quickly as the vulnerability appeared, it vanished, replaced by the cold mask she always wore when she was trying to protect herself.

“It’s not going to happen,” she said flatly.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stared at her, stunned, your heart pounding in your chest. “What?”

“I said, it’s not going to happen,” she repeated, her voice emotionless, detached. “This, us, it’s not real.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. “What do you mean, it’s not real?”

Natasha’s green eyes were hard, cold. “I don’t love you.”

The room seemed to spin around you as the words left her lips. It felt like your heart had just been ripped out of your chest. You stood there, staring at her, trying to process what she had just said. This woman, this woman you had fallen in love with, who you had shared so much with, was standing there, telling you that she didn’t love you.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Don’t lie to me.”

But Natasha’s expression didn’t change. If anything, it hardened. “It’s not a lie,” she said, her voice colder than ever. “I never loved you.”

The words were like a knife to your chest, twisting deeper with every second that passed. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You refused to let her see how much she had hurt you.

“Fine,” you said, your voice shaking. “If that’s how you really feel, then I’ll leave you alone.”

Natasha didn’t respond, and that silence hurt more than anything. You turned on your heel, walking out of her room and slamming the door behind you. The second you were alone in the hallway, the tears began to fall, silent and steady.

After that night, everything changed. You threw yourself into a reckless spiral, trying to bury the pain in any way you could. You started hooking up with strangers, people who didn’t know you, didn’t care about you. It was easier to lose yourself in fleeting moments of distraction than to face the reality of what you had lost.

Every time you hooked up with someone, it felt like you were punishing yourself. It was never about wanting them, it was about forgetting her. But no matter how many drinks you had, no matter how many meaningless kisses you shared, nothing made the pain go away. Nothing made you forget the way Natasha had looked at you when she said those words.

The other Avengers started to notice your behavior, especially Wanda. She had always been your closest friend in the team, and she could sense the shift in you almost immediately. She tried to reach out, tried to talk to you, but you shut her out just like you had shut out everyone else. You didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t want to admit how broken you were.

And Natasha? She had barely spoken to you since that night. She avoided you whenever she could, and when she couldn’t, her eyes were cold, distant. It was like the woman you had loved had disappeared, leaving nothing but a shell in her place.

You tried to tell yourself you didn’t care. You tried to convince yourself that it was better this way, that if she didn’t love you, you didn’t need her. But the lie was harder to believe with each passing day.

It was at one of Tony’s infamous parties that everything came to a head. The Tower was packed with people, music blaring and drinks flowing freely. You were already three drinks in by the time you spotted her, Natasha, standing near the bar, her arms crossed as she surveyed the room. She looked as calm and composed as ever, but the second your eyes met, your stomach twisted.

You quickly turned away, not wanting to get caught in her gaze for too long. Instead, you focused on the girl standing next to you, a pretty blonde who had been flirting with you all night. She was giggling at something you said, her hand brushing against your arm, and you leaned into the touch, trying to ignore the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

It didn’t take long for things to escalate. You were drunk, drunker than you’d like to admit, and before you knew it, you were leaning in close, whispering something in the blonde’s ear that made her laugh again. She touched your arm, her fingers lingering a little too long, and you didn’t pull away.

But then you felt it, eyes burning into you from across the room. You looked up, and there she was. Natasha. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes were blazing with something you couldn’t quite place. Anger? Jealousy? Whatever it was, it made your heart race.

Before you could react, Natasha was storming across the room, her jaw set in a tight line. She grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the blonde, who stood there looking bewildered.

“What the hell are you doing?” Natasha hissed, her voice low but venomous. Her grip on your arm was firm, almost painful. You could feel the eyes of everyone around you turning to watch, but you didn’t care. The alcohol had dulled your senses, and all you could focus on was the anger radiating off her.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you shot back, your words slurring slightly. You yanked your arm out of her grasp, glaring at her. “Why do you care, anyway? You don’t love me, remember?”

Natasha’s eyes darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Stop this,” she ordered, her voice cold and commanding. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”

You laughed, the sound bitter and hollow. “I’m making a fool of myself?” you repeated, your voice rising in disbelief. “What about you, huh? You’re the one who’s been treating me like I don’t exist for weeks! You’re the one who told me you didn’t love me, and now you have the nerve to act like you care?”

The room had gone quiet, the music and chatter fading into the background as people turned to watch the scene unfolding. You could feel Wanda’s eyes on you from across the room, could see Tony’s concerned expression out of the corner of your eye, but none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was Natasha standing in front of you, looking at you like you were a stranger.

“I told you it wasn’t real because it’s for your own good,” Natasha said through gritted teeth, her voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t understand the risks.”

“Oh, I understand the risks,” you spat, your chest heaving with the effort to keep your emotions in check. “But that’s not why you said it, is it? You were just trying to protect yourself, Natasha. You were scared, and instead of dealing with it, you pushed me away. You lied to me.”

Her jaw clenched, and for a split second, you saw something flicker in her eyes, guilt, maybe even regret, but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. “I was trying to protect you,” she insisted, her voice growing more desperate.

“By telling me you didn’t love me?” You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “You know what, Natasha? Maybe you were right. Maybe you don’t love me. Maybe I was just some distraction for you, someone to pass the time with when you were bored.”

The words were harsh, cruel even, but in that moment, you wanted to hurt her the way she had hurt you. You wanted her to feel the same pain that had been gnawing at you for weeks.

Natasha flinched, and for a moment, you thought you saw her mask crack. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, anything, to refute your words, but nothing came out. The silence between you was deafening.

Your chest felt tight, the weight of everything pressing down on you until you couldn’t breathe. Without another word, you turned on your heel and bolted for the stairs, pushing through the crowd as you ran. You could hear Natasha calling after you, her voice strained with panic, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t want to hear any more excuses, any more lies.

You slammed the door to your room, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you leaned against the wall. The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, hot and angry as they streamed down your cheeks. You slid to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as the sobs wracked your body.

All you had ever wanted was for Natasha to love you, to treat you like you mattered. But instead, you had been nothing more than a secret, something to be hidden away. And now? Now you felt like you didn’t even know her anymore. The woman who had held you in the quiet of the night, who had whispered soft promises in your ear, was gone. In her place was someone cold and distant, someone who didn’t care.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, your tears falling silently as the ache in your chest grew heavier and heavier. The sound of footsteps outside your door startled you, and before you could move, the door swung open.

Natasha stood in the doorway, her face pale and drawn. For the first time in weeks, she didn’t look like the Black Widow, the fearless, untouchable assassin. She looked like Natasha, the woman who had once made you feel like the center of her world.

“Y/n,” she said softly, stepping into the room. “We need to talk.”

You shook your head, wiping angrily at your tear-streaked face. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you muttered, your voice hoarse from crying. “Just leave me alone, Natasha.”

“I’m not leaving,” she said, her tone firm but gentle. She closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment as if gathering her thoughts. “Not until you hear me out.”

You let out a shaky breath, your anger flaring up again. “Why should I? You already said everything you needed to say. You don’t love me, right? That’s what you said.”

Natasha winced, her eyes softening with regret. “I never meant that,” she admitted, her voice quiet. “I was scared, y/n. Scared of what would happen if people knew how much you meant to me. Scared of what it would mean for both of us.”

You stared at her, your heart pounding in your chest. “So you lied?” you asked, your voice trembling with hurt. “You thought lying to me, telling me you didn’t love me, was better than just being honest?”

“I thought I was protecting you,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “I thought if I pushed you away, if I made you believe I didn’t care, it would keep you safe. But I was wrong. God, I was so wrong.”

Her confession hung in the air between you, the weight of her words sinking in. You wanted to believe her, you wanted to believe that she had been trying to protect you, that she hadn’t meant to hurt you. But the pain was still fresh, still raw.

“I needed you, Natasha,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

Tears filled Natasha’s eyes, and for a moment, you saw the real her, the vulnerable, broken part of her that she kept hidden from the world. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but I see now that I hurt you. And I hate myself for that."

The tears you had been holding back came rushing to the surface again, and you buried your face in your hands, the sobs wracking your body. Natasha crossed the room in an instant, kneeling in front of you and pulling you into her arms.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she held you close. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You clung to her, your tears soaking into her shirt as you let yourself fall apart in her arms. For so long, you had been carrying the weight of your hurt, of your confusion, but now, in Natasha’s arms, it all came pouring out.

“I thought you didn’t care,” you choked out, your voice muffled against her chest. “I thought I was nothing to you.”

“You’re everything to me,” Natasha said softly, her hand gently stroking your hair. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t. I’m sorry for all of it.”

You cried harder at her words, all the pain you had been holding inside finally breaking free. Natasha didn’t let go, she held you tightly, whispering soft apologies and reassurances into your ear.

Eventually, the sobs subsided, leaving you feeling drained but somehow lighter. You pulled back slightly, wiping at your tear-streaked face as you looked up at Natasha.

“Why now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Natasha sighed, her thumb gently brushing away the last of your tears. “Because I can’t lose you,” she said softly. “Not like this. Not ever.”

Her words sent a wave of warmth through you, but the hurt still lingered. “You already lost me,” you said quietly, the truth of it hanging between you.

Natasha’s expression crumpled, and for a moment, you thought she might cry too. “I don’t want it to be too late,” she whispered, her voice raw. “Please… give me another chance. Let me show you that I can be better.”

You searched her eyes, looking for any sign of doubt or insincerity, but all you saw was the same vulnerability that had always been there, the vulnerability she had tried so hard to hide.

“I don’t want to hide anymore,” you said quietly. “I don’t want to be a secret.”

Natasha’s eyes softened, and she nodded, her hand still cradling your face. “You won’t be,” she promised. “No more hiding. No more secrets. I’m done pushing you away.”

The sincerity in her voice made your heart ache, but for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of hope.

“I want to believe you,” you admitted, your voice shaky. “But I’m scared.”

“I know,” Natasha whispered, her forehead resting against yours. “But I’ll prove it to you, y/n. I’ll prove that I’m not going anywhere.”

You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of her presence wash over you, but the uncertainty still lingered. Natasha had hurt you so deeply, and it would take time for the wounds to heal. But in that moment, as she held you close, you felt something you hadn’t felt in weeks, hope.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “But I want to try. I want us to be… something real.”

Natasha pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, her green eyes soft, almost pleading. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” she promised. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you, if that’s what it takes. Just… don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on us.”

Her words were raw, vulnerable in a way you’d rarely seen from her. It felt like the walls she had built around herself were finally crumbling, and for the first time, she was letting you see her, the real her.

Your heart ached with the weight of everything, but slowly, you nodded. “Okay,” you whispered. “But it has to be different. No more pushing me away. No more lies.”

“No more lies,” she agreed, her voice thick with emotion. “I promise.”

You stared at each other for a long moment, the tension slowly melting away, replaced by a fragile, tentative peace. Natasha gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, her touch soft and careful, as though she were afraid you might break.

“Can I hold you?” she asked quietly, her voice almost hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure she had the right to ask.

You hesitated for a moment, but then, with a deep breath, you nodded. Without another word, Natasha pulled you into her arms again, cradling you against her chest. Her warmth, her scent, everything about her was familiar, comforting, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself relax in her embrace.

The two of you sat there on the floor for what felt like hours, wrapped up in each other, the weight of your argument and the pain slowly starting to lift. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t a complete resolution, but it was a start, a beginning.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha whispered again, her voice barely audible against your hair. “I love you, y/n. I always have. I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, and though the pain was still there, something in you softened. You pulled back just enough to look at her, searching her eyes for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was sincerity.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I never stopped.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Natasha smiled, a small, fragile smile, but it was real. And for the first time in weeks, you felt like maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

It wouldn’t be easy, and it would take time to rebuild the trust that had been broken. But as you sat there, holding each other in the quiet of your room, you knew one thing for certain: you were both willing to try.

And that was enough. For now, it was enough.

Little longer one for now.. I'm in love with this.. how do you feel about it?? Lemme know :)

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader x tommy miller

genre: smut, minors dni, no outbreak

word count: 2.7k

summary: joel knows you have a little thing for his younger brother so decides to indulge you for your birthday.

warnings: gonna state this very clearly: joel gets cucked by tommy and watches, everyone is consenting and it's discussed beforehand, piv, dirty talk, possessive!joel, daddy kink, size kink, established relationship between joel and reader, jealousy, some brotherly rivalry, facial, mild degradation kink, creampie

a/n: this work was commissioned through kofi by the lovely @losergurlsstuff, thank you so much for your support and thank you so much for this delicious idea, I had a blast! ❤️‍🔥

**gif made by the amazing @pedgito thank you so much dear!! dividers made my the talented @saradika-graphics 💜💜💜

Everything has been amazing since you and Joel started dating. To you, he was perfect. The perfect man. The perfect partner. The perfect person. You are forever grateful to whatever god made your roads cross. You have no idea what you’d be doing without him. You’ve never felt so cared for in your entire life. What he doesn’t say with words he shows with what he does and today is no exception. 

“What do you want for your birthday?” 

You smile and shake your head, his head is laying right above your stomach, his one hand under your shirt, caressing the warm skin. “I have everything I need.” 

“Just tell me.” 

“I really don’t want anything, Joel. Especially not from you.” 

His hand on your skin stills, looking up, you giggle at the way he’s frowning. Shocked. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means, you dork,” you lean and brush your lips against his forehead. “That you already give me everything. Being with you is enough.” 

Joel’s eyes narrow. A pleasurable shudder rolls through your spine, you adore it when he looks at you like that. It reminds you of all the times you pushed his buttons, resulting in a delightful time. 

“I have an idea what you might want.” 

“And what’s that mister know-it-all?” 

“Tommy.” 

“W—What?” Your heart sinks to your stomach, your palms suddenly cold and sweaty. His younger brother’s name was the last thing you expected to hear. Joel spreads his fingers across your waist, gently, he squeezes. 

“It’s a’right, sweetheart. I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot and well, I think it might be a good gift for your birthday.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

You genuinely don’t. Also, he’s been thinking about it? The inside of your stomach feels like lead. It’s true that once upon a time you thought how it would be with Tommy—but that was before Joel. And after you two started dating well. . . sure maybe your eyes did linger a bit, maybe you leaned a little too close when he whispered something in your ear during a party. . . You genuinely thought Joel wouldn’t notice. 

“I haven’t asked him yet,” he says, thoughtful. “But I was thinkin’ of indulgin’ your curiosities.” 

You‘re still not quite sure what he means by that. Your guilt gnaws at the walls of your stomach. Joel gives you everything, yet you make him feel like he doesn’t. Your eyes move away, falling to the corner of the wall. You can’t bear to look at him. He deserves better. 

“Hey,” he says, hand cupping your jaw and pulling you back. “Don’t cry.” 

“I’m not crying.” 

“You look like you’re about to,” he cracks a small smile. “I don’t mind, darlin’. It’s just a fantasy ain’t it? I know that you’re mine.” 

“I am,” you say tearfully. “I am and always will be.” 

“And I’m yours. I just want to spoil you as best as I can, sweetheart. And this seemed doable.” 

“Why do you even think Tommy would agree to this?” 

“Oh he will,” he says with a grin that makes your cheeks grow warm. “Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours.” 

You nod but doubt still taints your expression. You don’t doubt Joel’s words, but no one can deny that this might be a bit odd. You’re not entirely sure Tommy will be on board. But you trust Joel, so you don’t question it. 

Despite all the doubt, and tension in your muscles, excitement slowly brews deep within you. 

“Joel, I’m not so sure about this.” 

His head turns harshly to face his brother. There’s no way he’s backing out now, not when they were only inches away from the fucking bedroom door. 

Then again, he does understand. He’s ain’t stupid. But Joel had seen the way Tommy looked at you, the way his eyes would do a subtle sweep and linger on your ass whenever you walked out of a room. “I ain’t gonna suddenly choke you out if that’s what got your feathers ruffled.” 

Tommy shifts from one foot to the other. Joel’s not used to seeing his brother so deep in though. He fears that if he thinks a little harder he might break his brain. With a huff of breath escaping his lips, Joel throws a hand over Tommy’s shoulder and squeezes, drawing his attention. 

“Look, I’m gonna tell you the same thing I told her, if at any point you decide you don’t wanna do this, just say so and we’ll stop. No one is gonna get offended.” 

Tommy visibly relaxes at Joel’s words. He nods, lips a tight line. It reminds Joel when he taught him how to ride a bike when they were kids. He had the same expression.

“A’right then, now that that’s settled, let’s not keep her waitin’ anymore.” 

Without warning he opens the door and pushes Tommy in. If it was any other situation Joel would’ve laughed at the way Tommy tripped over his own feet. But his attention is immediately dragged to the bed you’re perched on. His mouth waters. He knew you were going to get dressed, well undressed in this situation, but he hadn’t thought about what you would put on. Joel’s eyes briefly flicker to Tommy, he seems just as in shock. It’s hard not to be with what you’re wearing. 

The fabric is a luxurious, deep blue, reminiscent of the darkest hours when the stars come out to play. The material is silky and smooth against the skin, offering a touch of elegance and comfort. And he would know. It’s his favorite damn set. Shimmering sparkles that adorn the fabric, mimic the stars scattered across the night sky. These sparkles catch the light of the scented candle you’ve lit, creating a subtle and enchanting glow.

Joel gradually meets your gaze. As soon as he does he knows you’ve done it on purpose. His lips quirk up, amusement growing in his eyes, you’d pay for this little stunt. 

“Wow,” Tommy exhales and takes a step forward. “You look amazin’ sweetheart.” 

You seem a little out of breath already, it’s going to be fun to watch you crumble. Though Joel isn’t quite sure how he feels about his brother being the one doing it. 

“Thanks,” you answer, unsure. 

There’s a lingering tension in the air and Joel almost rolls his eyes at them both. Almost. 

“A’right then,” he pushes Tommy until he’s at the edge of the bed and takes a seat on the chair he brought in this morning. “Stop bein’ shy now. Tommy, you’re her gift, are you sure you want to be the person responsible for her havin’ a shit birthday?” 

Tommy’s chest raises, “N-No.” 

“Then what are you waitin’ for?” 

“Jesus Joel, it’s not like I'm bringin’ her a new plant, give us a second.” 

Joel grins at the way he snaps and Tommy only shakes his head, turning to you and finally focusing on the right thing. You. 

Tommy tenderly presses both palms on each side of your face, thumbs moving in circles. Your nipples are already hard, he can see them like little diamonds showing up through the fabric. His fingers twitch. Patience isn’t something that he has, but he’ll try. For you. 

Your lips part with a soft gasp as Tommy finally brings you in, their lips brushing before full-on pressing against one another. Joel doesn’t miss the way your chest heaves. Your hands fist his shirt and Tommy tilts his head in response, Joel hears your little moans, his own cock gradually hardening under his jeans. 

Fuck, you look too good in that lingerie set. It’s hard just to sit and watch. 

“Take off his shirt,” Joel grunts, sounding more cross than he intended. You nod, but not without giving him a wary look first. When Tommy’s shirt hits the floor, the younger Miller roughly grabs your chin and turns your head so you’re facing Joel. His spine straightens. 

“You ain’t the one given’ orders,” Tommy says. “If you want me to make her feel good, you’re goin’ to shut up and watch, understood?” 

Joel’s mouth goes dry but he nods anyway. His eyes narrow as Tommy’s smile grows, his hand slips between your legs and begins to stroke you through your panties. Joel’s breath hitches, his gaze landing where you grow wetter and wetter. 

“Who’s in charge baby, tell him.” 

Your hips grind down to his hand, “You are.” 

“Well that wasn’t much of a challenge,” he chuckles, eyes finding Joel’s again. “Don’t you think you’re bad girl sayin’ that in front of your daddy?” 

Heat rushes to Joel’s cheeks, crimson spreading from his chest to his face. He wasn’t expecting Tommy to know that. A tingle he hasn’t felt before spreads from the base of his spine. His jealousy is starting to brew, but at the same time, it feels oddly nice to be helpless, even though he knows he isn’t. 

“Answer my question,” Tommy commands, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Are you a bad girl?” 

“Y–Yes.” 

Your eyes roll when Tommy presses your clit, drawing rough circles, he smiles. “Tell your boyfriend who’s your daddy now?” 

Joel holds his breath. Beads of sweat coating his back. “You are,” he hears you say to Tommy. There’s a slight quiver to your bottom lip and every part of him wants to soothe you. 

But instead, his brother does. 

Tommy sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and kisses your deeply, his hands caressing the contour of your body. 

“Don’t worry,” Tommy says. “Daddy is goin’ to take care of you.” 

You’re about to lose your mind. Your body is a flame and with each devastating snap of Tommy’s hips, your mouth drops open with a guttural moan. You’ve always assumed he’d be a gentle lover. Though you have a sneaking suspicion that Joel’s presence might be a solid reason why he’s tearing you and building you up over and over again. 

He positioned you so you’re staring at nothing else but Joel, you see how hard he is under his pants, the outline of his cock visible and making you gush all over Tommy’s cock. You want him in your mouth so bad but you know this isn’t that kind of game. Joel’s eyes follow the sway of your breasts, your bra ripped from you a while ago. You were completely naked except for your panties—Joel’s favorite and now Tommy is fucking you in it. 

Tommy reaches forward and grabs your throat, pulling you up so more of your chest is exposed. His cock is bigger than you imagined, nearly big as Joel. He pounds into you mercilessly, his length stretching you every day, reminding you whose cock is tearing you apart. 

“Does it turn you on that he’s watchin’ how wet you’re gettin’ my dick sweetheart?” With his question another fresh wave of slick drips out of you, tears build in your eyes, your insides left throbbing. His hips stutter, going balls deep, breath catching in his throat. “Fuck. Joel, she’s soaked— does she ever get this wet for you?” 

“‘Course she does,” he grunts, crossing his arms. You can’t tell if he’s upset or not, but the fact that Tommy doesn't have a broken nose already must be a good sign. 

Tommy leans into your ear, loud enough for Joel to hear. “Bet the old man can’t fuck you as well as I do.” 

You don’t answer. You can’t. Both of them are so good at this, and your head is in shambles. 

Tommy suddenly stops, and you’re a brink away from breaking down. A whine tears away from your lips. He releases your neck, you fall forward, only upright thanks to his hands holding your arms. “Answer me.” 

“You’re making me feel so good,” you say instead and thankfully, he doesn’t try to gauge a different response. His cock pulses, making you believe that was all he wanted to hear. Joel observes the two of you carefully. 

“Say it again baby, tell him how well daddy’s taking care of you.” 

“Daddy’s taking care of me,” you slur as his pace begins to pick up again. Each thrust makes you squeeze his cock like a vice. Liquid heat drops down your spine, your stomach clenching as he edges you closer and closer to your downfall. “J–Joel,” you call out without much thought and his dark gaze meets your own. “He feels so good.” 

“Oh fuck—” Tommy chokes and swiftly pulls out, prompting you to let out a disappointed whine. “Shit, baby, I’m gonna— fuck— bring your face here—” 

The back of Tommy’s head falls against the headboard and you quickly hurry towards him, your glistening cunt now in perfect view. You hear Joel taking in a sharp exhale. You part your lips, dipping down to take Tommy into your mouth but he stops it, holding you by the nape. “I’m gonna ruin that pretty face of yours,” he groans, forcing you down so your cheek would be pressed right below his pelvis. He starts stroking himself, fucking into his fist, and the sight is so beautiful that you lick one of his balls into your mouth, his back arches. 

Suddenly, he grips you even tighter and starts moaning loudly in harsh gasps, his hips thrusting uncontrollably against your face. He closes his eyes, losing himself in the sensation of you. You can feel him pulsing against your skin. You moan in response, feeling the rush of excitement as you open your mouth wider to take it all in.

“Tommy, please,” you breathe out, your eyes locked with his as he releases a stream on your face, covering your cheeks and lips with his release. You can feel yourself growing even more aroused as he continues to stroke himself, coating your face with his warm come. You whimper, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine as he lets out a final raspy breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes out, his chest rising and falling heavily as he stares at you, your face damp and covered in his release. “You look so beautiful like this.”

You can feel your cheeks heating up, the intimate moment causing your heart to race in your chest. Tommy reaches out, gently wiping some of the come off of your face with his thumb before bringing it to your lips, letting you taste yourself.

“Fuck,” Tommy murmurs, his breaths coming out in short pants. He pulls you up to him, his lips crashing onto yours in a fierce kiss. However, while you’re lost in his mouth, you don’t realize the bed dipping with an added weight. You hear a clink of a belt and suddenly Joel is buried deep between your legs, his fingers rubbing tight circles around your clit. You gasp against Tommy’s mouth, the sensations becoming almost too much to handle.

“You didn’t make her come, idiot,” he groans, fucking himself into your deeper and deeper. Your eyes roll, your lips parting an inch away from Tommy’s face. Joel sinks his teeth into your neck, hips rutting into you without leaving you. His other hand playing with the elastic of your panties, you break down around him, your orgasm hitting you like a truck. “Mine,” he growls, acting as if the two of you are alone. “Mine, mine, mine—” 

Joel spills into you with a deep and visceral groan. There’s so much, his cock twitching and pulsing as he forces himself even deeper, claiming you as his. Doing something Tommy isn’t allowed to do. You shiver all over, your body weak with pleasure. 

He trickles down the inside of your thighs as he pulls out, falling back to his knees. You collapse onto Tommy’s chest and you’re surprised when you feel his hand on your neck, rubbing soothingly over your warm skin. 

Joel leaves a trail of kisses down your spine, “You were amazin’, honey.” 

“Such a good girl,” Tommy murmurs, though both of their voices feel as if it’s coming from a distance. Your eyes flutter closed, exhaustion taking hold of you. “Let’s get her cleaned up and tuck her in.” 

Joel presses his mouth against you one last time before heading to the bathroom. 

[isak-dot-gov]

Communication

Pairing: Rhea Ripley x Reader

Word count: 1281

My Masterlist :)

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The argument started over something trivial, something that shouldn’t have been as big as it now was, but with the pent-up tension between you and Rhea, it quickly escalated. You’d always been reserved, used to handling things alone, bottling up emotions because that’s what you’d known. Growing up, you’d always been the odd one out—the youngest by a lot, with siblings much older who never quite understood you or took the time to try. So you learned early on to keep things to yourself, never expecting others to help, never even thinking about opening up. But Rhea was different, and that difference was what you loved and what scared you the most.

As her voice grew louder, frustration clear in her eyes, you tried to hold back, to keep calm and prevent things from going any further. But your deflection only made it worse.

“Why won’t you just talk to me?” Rhea demanded, her hands clenched into fists. “I tell you everything about myself. You know all my issues, my history, the things that haunt me. I’ve trusted you with it all. But you… I feel like I know nothing about what’s going on with you.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Rhea.” You mumbled, hugging your arms to your chest. You looked down, feeling like a child again, misunderstood, alone, just waiting for the conversation to be over.

She sighed heavily. “I want you to open up, to let me in. I hate feeling like I’m the only one who’s here. This relationship is supposed to go both ways, you know? But every time I try to be there for you, it’s like… it’s like I hit a wall.”

You could see the pain in her eyes, but you didn’t know what to do. The words were trapped inside you. Rhea was right; you hadn’t opened up about your struggles or your past because, for you, that was just how you lived. It felt as though the world was only safe if you kept certain parts of yourself locked up.

“Look, I don’t need you to fix everything, but I need you to trust me enough to tell me what’s going on with you. I want to be someone you can lean on, not just… some girl you agree with until I stop asking.”

You swallowed, feeling a rush of guilt. That was exactly what you’d been doing. It wasn’t that you didn’t care—far from it. Rhea was the most important person in your life, someone who you wanted desperately to hold on to. But letting her in, truly letting her in, was so foreign, so terrifying.

“Yeah, okay, fine.” The words came out sharper than you intended. “You’re right.”

Her expression fell, replaced by a look of dismay and hurt. “Are you serious right now? You’re just… saying that because you want to end the conversation.”

You had no reply. It was true; agreeing with her was easier than actually engaging with the uncomfortable emotions stirring inside. The silence between you stretched, tense and heavy, until Rhea finally threw up her hands, her voice thick with disappointment.

“You know what? I’m done with this for now. I need space. I can’t… I can’t do this if you don’t want to let me in.”

She grabbed her jacket, her keys, and with one last, lingering look, she left, leaving you alone in the dim quiet of the room.

As the door closed, you felt that familiar pang of loneliness, a pain you knew too well. But this time, it was sharper, different. This was Rhea—someone who *wanted* to know you, who’d reached out to you over and over, only to be shut down. It hurt, knowing you’d made her feel like she didn’t matter to you, when the truth was the exact opposite. Rhea mattered more than anything. And now, she’d walked out because you couldn’t give her that vulnerability, couldn’t open up the way she needed.

You sat in the quiet, trying to ignore the ache in your chest, but it wouldn’t go away. It gnawed at you, until finally, you grabbed your phone. Your fingers hovered over the screen, unsure of what to say, but eventually, you managed to type: Can we talk? When you’re ready. I’ll try to explain. I don’t want to lose you.

The hours ticked by painfully slowly until, finally, a message pinged back: Okay. I’ll be back tonight. Just be honest with me, baby, please.

When Rhea walked back in, her eyes were rimmed with red, her expression softer but guarded. She sat down next to you on the couch, and the silence stretched on as you both grappled for the right words.

Finally, you took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been fair to you. You deserve someone who… who can open up, who can talk about things.” You paused, unsure how to continue. “Growing up, I was the youngest by a lot. My siblings were so much older than me, and I was just… the kid in the background. It was like no one ever cared what I was going through, you know? They had their own lives, their own problems, and I was just… there.”

Rhea’s gaze softened as you spoke, listening intently, hanging on every word. You could tell that this was what she had wanted—an opening, a chance to understand you better.

“So, I guess… I got used to it,” you continued, your voice barely a whisper. “To not sharing, to not expecting people to care. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. But somewhere along the way, I stopped asking for help because I didn’t think anyone would really want to listen. I thought keeping things to myself was just… easier.”

Rhea reached over, taking your hand gently in hers, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But you’re not alone now,” she said, her voice full of warmth and a quiet strength that made your heart ache. “I’m here, and I want to be here for you. You don’t have to be that lonely kid anymore. But I need you to trust me, darling.”

You nodded, feeling a lump in your throat as the weight of her words settled over you. “I know. I want to try for you. I just… I don’t always know how to talk about what’s going on inside my head. It’s like there’s this barrier, and I don’t know how to break it.”

“Then let me help,” Rhea whispered, leaning closer, her hand tightening around yours. “I’m not asking you to change overnight, but I want you to try. Just… a little bit at a time. Let me be here for you, even if it’s messy or awkward. Let me in, and we’ll figure it out together.”

You looked up, meeting her gaze, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice cracking slightly. “For being so patient. I know I haven’t made it easy.”

Rhea shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Hey, you’re worth it. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe in us. Just… promise me that next time, instead of shutting down, you’ll at least try to tell me what’s going on.”

You nodded, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of loneliness that had shadowed you began to lift, replaced by something warmer, something new. And in that moment, with Rhea’s hand in yours, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you could learn to open up, one small step at a time. Because for her—for both of you—this love was worth the effort.

..................................................................................

[bandsofmarv]

Forbidden

In which y/n potter is secretly dating mattheo riddle.

No warnings

The glow of the Gryffindor common room fire danced across the walls as you leaned closer to the parchment on your lap, pretending to focus on your Potions essay. In truth, your mind was elsewhere—on the boy with the dark curls and piercing eyes who had managed to worm his way into your heart. Mattheo Riddle.

It was a dangerous name to whisper, even more so to feel something for him. Yet here you were, sneaking glances at the clock, counting down the minutes until curfew when you’d slip out and meet him.

If Harry knew, he would lose his mind.

Your older brother had always been fiercely protective, but his hatred for Mattheo was on another level. Harry saw him as everything wrong with Slytherin—a cocky, sharp-tongued troublemaker with dangerous connections. And Mattheo’s reputation as Tom Riddle’s son didn’t help.

So you kept the relationship a secret. For now.

————————————————————————

The Astronomy Tower was empty, as usual, when you arrived. The December chill cut through your robes, but before you could shiver, a pair of warm arms wrapped around you from behind.

“You’re late,” Mattheo murmured, his breath tickling your ear.

You grinned and turned to face him. “Had to wait for Harry to stop hovering like a Dementor.”

Mattheo chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent warmth spiraling through you. “The Golden Boy really doesn’t like me, does he?”

“He doesn’t know you,” you countered, reaching up to brush a curl from his forehead. “Not like I do.”

“And he never will if we keep sneaking around like this,” Mattheo said, though there was no real anger in his tone. Only a quiet longing. “Don’t you ever get tired of hiding?”

You hesitated, guilt gnawing at you. “I hate it,” you admitted. “But I can’t hurt Harry like that. He—he’s been through so much. He wouldn’t understand.”

Mattheo’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “For you, I’ll wait. But he’s going to find out eventually.”

It happened sooner than you expected.

You were leaving the library, Mattheo’s hand brushing against yours as you both ducked into a quiet corridor, laughing softly about some joke he had made. Neither of you noticed the figure lurking in the shadows until it was too late.

“What the hell is this?”

The icy tone made your heart drop. You spun around to see Harry standing a few feet away, his wand clutched tightly in his hand, his green eyes blazing with fury.

“Harry, it’s not—” you began, but he cut you off.

“Not what it looks like?” he snapped. “Because it looks like my sister is sneaking around with him.” His glare shifted to Mattheo, who stood his ground, his expression unreadable.

“Harry, please—just listen,” you pleaded.

“Listen to what? That you’ve been lying to me? That you’re sneaking around with Riddle?” Harry’s voice cracked with anger. “Do you have any idea who he is? What his family has done?”

“Harry, I know who he is!” you shot back, your voice rising. “But he’s not his father! He’s not what you think!”

Mattheo stepped forward then, his voice calm but firm. “I love her, Potter.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Love? Don’t you dare talk to me about love. You’re just using her—”

“Stop it!” you yelled, stepping between them. “Mattheo isn’t using me. He cares about me—he’s been there for me in ways you wouldn’t understand.”

Harry’s expression twisted with a mix of hurt and betrayal. “I’m trying to protect you,” he said quietly.

“I don’t need protecting from him,” you replied just as softly.

For a moment, the three of you stood in silence, the tension crackling like electricity. Finally, Harry let out a bitter laugh and turned away. “Do what you want,” he said, his voice cold. “But don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart.”

He walked away, leaving you and Mattheo alone in the corridor.

That night, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, you wondered if Harry would ever forgive you. But when Mattheo found you the next day, his hand slipping into yours despite the glares from the Gryffindor table, you knew one thing for sure: some things were worth fighting for.

And you weren’t giving him up. Not for anyone.

[loveinhawkins]

ao3

A gnawing sense of foreboding creeps up on Steve as they head to Eddie’s trailer, armed with weapons.

He tries to outrun it through action: ensuring he’s the first one to go through the Gate; jumping back and forth between The Upside Down and their world whenever someone forgets something, “It’s okay, I’ve got it!”; triple checking that the cables for Eddie’s amps are long enough; searching for the slightest thing than seizing upon it with an enthusiasm bordering on desperate, “Hey, we could use this, right? Better take it, just in case.”

But that only works for so long, and then Steve���s just standing in Eddie’s kitchen, the real one, staring blankly at the cupboards, all out of distractions.

Out of time.

He hears a grunt of exertion behind him, then an unsteady landing, a muffled curse. Eddie.

“Jesus Christ, Steve. Wanted to fit your aerobics routine in?”

He’s teasing, so light-hearted despite it all; Steve can’t stand it.

Keeps his back turned, gut twisting, opening the cupboards then slamming them shut, thump, thump. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He never has.

“Uh, so I was thinking,” Eddie continues, like Steve’s not doing anything weird, “that I could stretch out the, um, the song? My playing? Could buy you some more time, anyway.”

“Sure, great,” Steve says shortly.

He thinks—with a numb kind of calm—that he’s going to be sick.

He gets to the bathroom, tries to shut the door, but his grip slips on the handle.

Turns on the faucet, scoops cold water from his hands into his mouth, and it helps until it doesn’t, until he’s almost choking on it, and he’s been here before, the feeling familiar: a shadow looming over him, just waiting, waiting, and he knows it’ll pass, it always does, but he can’t stop thinking of Robin, it might not work out for us this time, and what if, what if—

He can hear Eddie knocking on the doorframe, just out of view—as if he’d seen Steve’s failed attempt at shutting the door and wanted to respect it.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Then Eddie mutters to himself, “Obviously not, get a fucking clue.”

Steve’s laugh is strangled but real. He wipes his mouth dry and shuts off the water.

“You don’t need to talk to a wall, dude,” he says.

And Eddie steps into view, leans against the open door. His eyes flicker across Steve’s face, and Steve doesn’t want to know what he’s noticed, so when Eddie opens his mouth hesitantly, he speaks first.

“We should—they’re gonna wonder where we are.”

Eddie pauses on the verge of speech; Steve watches him reevaluate whatever he was going to say.

“Well,” Eddie says, gesturing to the bathroom, matter-of-fact, “we could be peeing.”

Steve manages a chuckle. “You’re an idiot.”

Eddie grins like he’s saying yup, that’s me, like he’s won a prize.

Steve has seen him wear something close to that expression not even an hour ago: when the kids had started a line to use the bathroom in the RV, and Eddie had snorted, giggled with a childish kind of delight, “You—ha! You all look like you’re on a field trip,” before joining the line himself—calling out that he hoped their plan accounted for bathroom breaks because, “There’s no way I’m pissing in the alternate dimension,” and that had made Nancy break, laughing in a way Steve was certain he hadn’t heard since ‘83.

Eddie steps into the room and shuts the door quietly. Steve gets why: his breathing’s still all wrong, and if Dustin happened to see him, he doesn’t think he’d ever forgive himself.

“Sorry.” Steve sucks in a breath, tries to hold it. Loses it in an exhale that shudders at the edges. He speaks through the tail end of it, hoping that’s enough to conceal the sound, “Gimme, like, two minutes.”

“Make it ten,” Eddie says.

The way he says it makes it seem like it’s already a done deal; he must’ve spoken to Robin and Nancy before he tumbled through the Gate.

Despite himself, Steve feels a wave of relief: just for a little while, he has time; it overpowers the shame, leaves him sinking down to sit on the closed toilet seat.

He closes his eyes, just breathes. In… out… in…

He doesn’t realise that Eddie’s sitting down, too, until he hears the clunk of his boots, the rustle of clothing as he moves.

“Sorry,” Steve says again, and it annoyingly still comes out a little shaky, like he’s in the pool and he’s left it too long to snatch a breath. “You can go back, man, I’ll… I’ll be right there.”

He opens his eyes to see Eddie shaking his head, sat with his back against the bathtub.

“Stop apologising,” Eddie says, and then it’s as if the seriousness of it is too much for him, because he adds, with a self-deprecating smile that Steve hates, “I get it. You’re walking into the dragon’s lair, I’m just putting on a concert.”

“Don’t,” Steve says, and he doesn’t intend for the word to come out as sharp as it does, but that doesn’t change the fact that he means it. He means it.

Eddie’s smile fades.

“Don’t,” Steve repeats, quieter. Not quite an apology.

Slowly, he moves off the toilet seat, until he’s sat next to Eddie. There’s just enough space that they don’t need to touch, but Steve presses his shoulder against Eddie’s anyway, like he can somehow pass on everything he means through that alone.

Eddie sighs, presses back for just a second. “Don’t what?” he asks. He sounds tired all of a sudden.

“Don’t—don’t joke like that,” Steve says. “Like you’re not—” He swallows. “Like it’s not dangerous.”

There’s a pause. Eddie reaches across and puts a hand on Steve’s knee. Squeezes briefly and pulls back; already Steve finds that he misses the warmth of him.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Eddie says. There’s no joke in this, not a trace. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to Dustin.” Another smile. Gentle. “Swear on his mother.”

I’m not worried about that, Steve wants to say, but of course that’s not true; he’s tried hard not to look at Dustin directly ever since they arrived at the trailer, because his throat would start to close up alarmingly whenever his gaze lingered, and he knows the kid’s doing that whole semi-aloof teenager thing lately, but a part of him still wants to hold him tight and never let go.

It’s more that the shape of Steve’s worry is different to what he thinks Eddie’s imagining, covers more than Dustin’s safety alone—that the cold dread in his stomach brings him back to the tunnels in ‘84; to clutching Dustin, who was so small, Steve desperately trying to shield him with his own body, thinking the kid’s thirteen, only thirteen, this isn’t fucking fair; and that if this had to end one way, all he could do was pray that he’d be the only one to…

And Steve hadn’t wanted to die, but he was suddenly facing it anyway, and Christ, looking back at it, that was crazy, the whole damn thing was crazy, but it all made a twisted kind of sense at the time.

Eddie must spot that his train of thought’s gone down a dark alley because he knocks their knees together, but he doesn’t say anything. Just breathes, slumped against the bathtub; it’s probably the first time he’s been still—truly still—in a long while.

He must be exhausted, Steve thinks.

The gnawing feeling digs in, grips his heart.

“I can hear you thinking,” Eddie says quietly. “Listen, Steve, I know I’m new to, uh… all of this shit, but I’m on it, okay? Got it all up in here,” he taps the side of his head, “trust me—”

That’s not what—I trust you, of fucking course I do, but—

“—no deviations, and—”

“Plans change,” Steve says, and he hears himself, the calm decisiveness, just get ready; Dustin’s scream carrying across the junkyard, Steve, abort, abort! “Just… just promise me.”

“Promise you?” Eddie murmurs.

Steve feels the words on his tongue, the weight of them. Don’t do anything stupid. 

He swallows them down—afraid suddenly that if he really puts a name to it, it’s going to happen.

Fuck it, he’s exhausted too, and for a long moment he evades speaking: gingerly rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder. Feels his body heat, the swell of his breathing.

Eddie doesn’t tense up, just lets him rest there. 

If I kissed you, Steve thinks, drained, would you stay?

He doesn’t say it. Instead he lifts his head and asks, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

Eddie chuckles. They’re still so close, Steve can feel his amused sigh.

“Tomorrow? I’ve not really… like, hopefully I’m not in jail. Anything else is a bonus.”

“We’ll fix it,” Steve says fiercely. “Trust me.”

“Oh, I believe you,” Eddie says, grinning fondly, but he sounds genuine. “Shit, man, I think you could do anything.” He gestures outside. “Got the fucking dream team out there.”

“We solved a secret Russian code last summer.”

Eddie laughs. “Did you?” His eyes sparkle with mirth.

You’re beautiful.

“Gospel truth, I swear,” Steve says. He tries to stay light, but he makes the vow anyway. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

I have so much to tell you.

They stand up, and Steve doesn’t know who’s the first one to move—just that they both probably sensed the time dwindling.

And maybe it’s that, the inescapable thought that something’s coming to an end that does it. Steve doesn’t know for sure, just knows that his eyes are burning suddenly—mortifyingly—with tears. He looks up at the ceiling, hurriedly trying to push them back, but Eddie notices anyway.

“Steve, what is it?” he whispers, with a look of utter devastation.

Steve shakes his head. “Just being stupid,” he says, voice brittle, cutting himself off before he can say something ridiculous.

God, Eddie, let’s just stay here and grow old.

“You’re not stupid,” Eddie says, heartfelt—he stops just short of touching Steve; he clearly wants to help so badly, but he doesn’t know how.

Steve wants to tell him it’s fine. He doesn’t know either.

Maybe nothing can help this.

They leave for the Gate in unspoken agreement; at first Steve finds comfort in the sight of Eddie dangling on the rope, not quite in either world. Like every possibility is laid out before him.

I’ll tell you tomorrow.

But there’s a near imperceptible shift as Eddie keeps climbing, and Steve needs to look away, anything to avoid the pit in his stomach: the suspicion that the path’s already been chosen.

[gothcsz]

part eight of the neighbors series. soooo my angsty little brain just couldn’t leave these two alone 😫 i think we all want to see javier navigate through the consequences of his actions, and thus this was created. this takes place after part six since i’m finally starting to curate a timeline for this. enjoy the angst muñekitas (gn) 🖤

javier peña x f!reader. ~2.2k word count. nothing to tag except the angst that comes with this pairing 😭 oh and some allusions to like porn but even then it’s not a lot.

Now it’s Javier’s turn to feel the absence.

It’s a slow, creeping ache that nestles into his chest every time he notices your purposeful distance.

Since that night when he stumbled to your door, drunk on bourbon and drowning in guilt over disappointing two women in different, disastrous ways, it’s like you’ve vanished, retreating behind walls he helped you build with his own selfish hands.

The way you breeze past him at work, your gaze fixed on anything but him, your expression carefully neutral, like he’s just another face in the crowd.

He lets his eyes linger on you when you’re not looking, tracing the set of your shoulders, the curve of your lips as you smile at someone else. He tells himself it’s just a habit, but the truth is uglier: it’s longing.

He misses you, and it’s eating him alive.

He doesn’t push it, doesn’t call your name or try to stop you. What would he even say?

This is why he thinks, maybe, it’s best to let you go. To step back and leave you to a life that doesn’t revolve around his mess of baggage and excuses. You deserve that—someone consistent.

But Javier is nothing if not selfish.

You make him feel good about himself, make him believe, even for a fleeting moment, that maybe he isn’t as broken as he thinks.

He knows it’s fucked up to want that back, to keep you in his orbit when all he’s done is take and take and take.

He tells himself he’ll change, that he’ll be better for you, but the lie tastes bitter in his mouth. He’s said it too many times before.

He’s never changed. He doesn’t know if he ever will.

Even your apartment feels like it’s given up on him.

The sounds of your life—the muffled hum of your TV, the groan of the pipes when you shower—have vanished. There’s no scent of your cooking wafting into the hallway, no warm glow of your living room lamp spilling onto the street at night.

The first time he knocks on your door and you don’t answer, it’s to apologize. For everything. For being him. He knows you’re tired of his apologies, but he doesn’t know how else to fix things.

The second time, he’s worked himself into a dumb excuse just to see you. Borrowing sugar? Too cliché. Asking you to water his plants? A lie—his plants are fake, courtesy of the furnished apartment.

He settles on a half-baked story about needing your phone because his isn’t working. But you’re not home, or at least you don’t answer.

The third time, he’s drunk again, and missing you has become unbearable. Work is getting worse, and the pressure is pushing him toward old, ugly habits. Temptation whispers in his ear to drive across the city to the familiar brothel.

He’s fighting it—fighting himself—but losing. He mutters nonsense against your door, forehead pressed to the wood, cursing himself for every way he’s managed to screw this up.

By now, he feels pathetic, like a ghost haunting your door with no purpose.

Has he been so self-absorbed that he missed the signs of you moving out? No, he’d have noticed that. He’s sure.

Are you pretending not to be home, just to avoid him? No, you’re not the type. Even thinking it makes him feel more desperate.

He’s grasping at straws, trying to make sense of your absence, but the truth gnaws at him: this is what he deserves.

Javier’s knee bounces impatiently as he watches the clock in the office. The minute hand finally ticks past twelve, and he’s up, snatching his jacket off the back of his chair. His movements are quick, borderline desperate.

Steve doesn’t even look up from the report in his hand, but his coffee mug tilts lazily in Javier’s direction. “Where are you goin’?”

“Out,” Javier snaps, already tugging on his jacket.

Steve smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Gettin’ your dick wet in the middle of the day is impressive, Peña.”

Javier doesn’t dignify the sarcastic comment with a response, brushing past him and into the hallway.

The elevator takes its sweet time, and he jabs the button repeatedly, as if that’ll make it arrive faster.

He doesn’t have much of a plan. Just the hope of catching you on your lunch break, cornering you long enough to get a word in.

He doesn’t care if you tell him to fuck off—it’s very warranted. He just needs to see you, hear your voice, anything to bridge the unbearable silence that’s imposed between you.

When the elevator doors open, he’s out like a shot, weaving through the hallway until he makes it to the courtyard.

He picks a bench partially hidden by shrubs, knowing full well that if you spot him beforehand, you’d turn on your heel and walk the other way.

On cue, you appear. Lunchbox in hand, you push open the glass door and step into the sunlit courtyard.

The way you breathe in the fresh air, as if it’s the first real breath you’ve taken all day, does something to him—something he can’t explain and it warms him up inside.

You settle at a table, pulling out your lunch with that same careful precision he’s always found maddeningly endearing.

He calls your name softly, stepping out from his hiding spot.

You’ve been proud of yourself lately, weaning yourself off of him little by little. It’s been painful, sure, but necessary.

Spending more time at Mateo’s penthouse has helped. What started as a few overnights has quietly turned into something more—a drawer in his dresser, a spot on his bathroom counter, a spare key on your keychain.

You’ve unofficially moved in, and with it has come a tentative sense of peace.

The man dotes on you, showers you with affection and thoughtful gifts, and you’re starting to let yourself feel something for him. How could you not? He treats you well, and after everything with Javier, that feels like a revelation.

So you’ve given Javier the cold shoulder. It wasn’t easy at first—cutting him off, ignoring the drunken mess who showed up at your door that night, all guilt and bourbon fumes.

But you’ve stayed firm. You let him crash on your couch, sure, but only because you didn’t have the heart to turn him away entirely.

After that, you swore you wouldn’t let him back in—not until he showed up with a real apology instead of the hollow ones he always throws your way.

Javier doesn’t understand apologies. Not really. His are more about smoothing things over, dodging guilt, than actually taking responsibility for how he’s hurt you.

You’re tired of being the balm for his bad choices.

“Javier,” you exhale sharply, a hand flying to your chest as your heart races from the scare he’s given you. He always had a knack for sneaking up on you, but now, it’s more irritating than endearing. “You scared me.”

His expression twists in discomfort, a cringe already tugging at his face. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, the words reflexive.

Your brows pinch together at the sound of them, suspicion creeping into your tone. “Can I help you with something? I’d rather take my lunch alone today.”

There it is—the cool detachment, the way your voice wraps around the words like barbed wire, leaving him no easy way in. He hates it. But he knows he’s earned it.

“I just…” He hesitates, shifting his weight like the words are hard to carry. “How are you?”

Your eyes narrow, scanning him like you’re trying to find the angle, the ulterior motive buried beneath the surface. “Fine,” you say crisply. “What do you want, Javier?”

He takes a step closer, his voice low and almost pleading. “I haven’t seen you around. Things have been tense between us, and I—”

“I wonder why,” you cut him off.

He grits his teeth, the frustration crackling in his chest like static. “Can you just talk to me? Please?”

You straighten in your seat, meeting his gaze head-on. There’s no softness there, only a resolute weariness. “Why?” you demand. “Because you’re upset? Because you’re sad? Why is it always on me to be there for you, but you can just disappear when the roles are reversed?”

The soft gurgle of the courtyard fountain fills the silence that follows, a gentle backdrop to the storm brewing between you.

“I never…” He rubs the back of his neck, searching for the right words and finding none that feel adequate. “I never intended for it to come off that way.”

Your laugh is bitter, devoid of humor. “Intention or not, you’ve been a terrible friend. And honestly? I’m done putting energy into something that only drains me.” You lean back, crossing your arms with finality. “So please, just leave me alone.”

He stares at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of softness, any opening he can slip through. But all he finds is resolve, the hurt buried behind it making the air between you feel suffocating.

Finally, he nods, the movement stiff and reluctant. “Okay… okay.” His voice is quiet, resigned, the words a pale shadow of what he wants to say.

There’s a thousand arguments, apologies, and pleas clawing at the back of his throat, but none of them escape.

All he can do now is give you what you’re asking for—the space he let get too vast.

He lingers for a second longer, like he’s memorizing the sight of you, before turning and walking away.

You keep your eyes trained on your lunch, refusing to watch him leave. It’s only when his footsteps fade into the background that you let out a shaky breath, your head falling into your hands.

He’s so damn frustrating.

The days pass in a haze, Javier’s life tumbling forward at its usual relentless pace.

He doesn’t mope by your door anymore, no longer knocking with some feeble excuse or lingering in hopes you’ll let him in.

At work, he doesn’t glance your way when you pass. Doesn’t try to engage.

Conveniently, the streets are rife with bullshit, and his job gives him more than enough to drown in.

Between navigating corrupt bureaucrats, dodging the cartel’s web of influence, and wrangling informants who can’t keep their stories straight, there’s no time to brood.

Or so he convinces himself.

Instead of facing the weight of his loneliness head-on, he starts seeing Vanessa more often. She’s sharp, witty, and knows how to keep secrets—a working girl turned informant turned... something else.

Lover feels too strong, too sincere. What he has with Vanessa isn’t love. It’s relief. A salve for the parts of him he doesn’t know how to fix.

He doesn’t feel the same about her as he does for you—or as he did for Helena. But that doesn’t stop him.

She doesn’t ask questions she knows he won’t answer. When he talks, she listens, offering the occasional hum or sly smile as he dumps his thoughts on her like she’s a therapist.

Vanessa plays the part well, whether it’s for his money or because she genuinely gives a damn, he’s not sure. The nights spent with her—whether tangled in sheets or sharing cheap whiskey and broken conversations—leave him feeling lighter.

Until he’s alone and the crushing intensity of his life presses down again. It amplifies the parts he tries to ignore: the failures, the detachment, the void left behind.

He’s currently standing in the VHS section of a raunchy sex shop, the bright pink neon lighting casting a faint glow on his face.

His hip juts out as he stands in front of the display, one hand braced there while the other dangles loosely at his side, his fingers twitching absently.

The provocative covers blur together in his mind: exaggerated poses, bold fonts, and overly made-up faces.

His gaze roves over them, a bored sort of interest in his search for something to take home. Something to tide him over on the nights he can’t visit Vanessa or doesn’t feel like picking someone up.

Then he sees it.

At first, he thinks it’s your face staring back at him from the glossy cover. His breath catches, his heart stopping like he’s been sucker-punched. He leans in, blinking hard to clear his head.

The resemblance is uncanny, but not exact. The eyes aren’t quite the same, and the curve of the smile is just a little off

It’s enough to shake him. Enough to make his stomach twist in knots, caught somewhere between relief and disappointment.

For a moment, he hesitates, stroking his mustache as his mind races.

The rational part of him knows better. But the other part—the desperate, reckless part that hasn’t quite let you go—pushes him forward.

His gaze flicks around the shop, paranoia creeping in like he’s a teenager sneaking a dirty magazine under his bed, and finally, he gives in.

He grabs the tape quickly, his gaze darting to the image on the back—a sultry, obscene shot of the actress who looks so much like you. That seals it.

Before he can second-guess himself, he’s heading to the register, slapping a few bills on the counter and ignoring the clerk’s bored, knowing look.

He rushes through his apartment door, not even bothering to kick off his boots before fumbling to pop the tape into his player.

His knees spread wide as he leans forward, elbows on his thighs, remote in hand.

The screen flickers to life, static giving way to the image of this woman who isn’t you but is just close enough to hurt.

His heart pounds as the film begins, anticipation mixing with shame.

He tells himself it’s nothing—it’s just a distraction, just something to pass the time.

But as he watches the you-lookalike pleasure herself, he realizes it’s not just about getting off. It’s about pretending, for one fleeting moment, that he still has a piece of you.

Even if it’s a lie.

“¿Estás segura que necesitas ese collar, lindura?” (Are you sure you need that necklace, darling?) Mateo’s voice drips with indulgence as he parks outside your apartment building, glancing at you with an amused smile.

“Sí,” you reply, already unbuckling your seatbelt. “It goes perfectly with this dress. I’ll just be a second, and then we can go.”

He sighs lightly but doesn’t argue, his smile widening when you lean over to kiss his cheek.

Swiping your keys from the console, you push the door open, your heels clicking onto the pavement as you hop out.

The night air is cool, and you feel radiant in your cocktail dress. It clings to your curves just right, the rich hue of the fabric practically glowing against your skin.

You’re on your way to dinner with Mateo’s boss and his wife. Somewhere too expensive, probably, given how you’re dressed.

You stride into the building, the sound of your heels echoing in the quiet corridor. But as you approach your door, your steps falter.

There, slumped against your apartment door, is a figure you’d recognize anywhere. His head is tilted awkwardly to the side, soft snores rumbling from his chest. Javier.

For a moment, you just stand there, stunned. You weren’t expecting this—not the sight of him disheveled and vulnerable, slouched like he’s been there for hours.

He’s a piece of work, truly. It’s almost laughable how he can show up uninvited and still manage to pull at your heartstrings.

This is the first time you’ve seen his face so… relaxed. Without that signature scowl or smug grin. He looks so at peace, your heart begins to flip in your chest.

“Javier,” you say sharply, crossing your arms. He doesn’t stir, his head lolling slightly.

You glance over your shoulder, catching the headlights of Mateo’s car spilling into the hallway through the windows.

“Javi,” you try again, stepping closer and nudging his foot with the toe of your shoe.

That finally does it. He stirs, blinking groggily, then rubbing his face with one hand as if trying to erase the remnants of sleep.

“Mierda,” he mutters, his voice a low, husky rumble.

“What are you doing asleep at my door?” you demand, trying to keep your tone firm.

He squints up at you, his eyes widening as they adjust to the sight of you.

For a beat, he just stares, taking in the sweep of your makeup, the soft shimmer of your perfume, and the way that dress clings to you like it was made for your body.

You see his throat work as he swallows, his brain clearly short-circuiting. “I—um…” he starts, fumbling for words as he plants a hand on the floor to hoist himself up.

He winces, groaning as he stretches out his back, his body protesting after the long fucking day he’s had.

Perhaps he should lay off the cigarettes, his lungs still aching from the intense foot chase he had engaged in earlier in the day.

It had been one of those situations that really resonated with him, and his cruel mind had shoved a memory of you two to the forefront in an attempt to ease his anxiety.

It’s why he had sought refuge by sitting outside of your door, as absurd as it looks.

“What are the odds of both of us getting locked out?” you say, breaking the silence with a sigh as you lean your head back against the wall.

Javier lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief as he sinks down to sit across from you, his legs stretched out lazily. The flickering hallway light casts soft shadows on his face, and you try not to notice how effortlessly handsome he looks, even while stranded outside his apartment.

“Maybe this should incentivize us,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the locked doors,“to finally get spare keys made.”

You slide the takeaway container across the carpet toward him with your foot, nodding for him to dig in.

“What are you feeding me, anyway?”

“Chicken stir fry. I was craving it all day so I stopped to get some after work and now here we are.” You say with a dramatic sigh. “Figured it’s only fair to share. For the sheer cosmic injustice of tonight.”

He smirks, spearing a forkful of food before taking a bite. “How thoughtful.”

The two of you have been sitting there for nearly twenty minutes already, waiting for the locksmith to arrive.

Takeout had been your plan for a quiet night in, but now it’s turned into an impromptu hallway picnic.

“You know,” you start, a teasing edge to your voice, “you could always use your agent strength to bust the door down.”

He pauses mid-chew, one eyebrow quirking up in amusement. “Agent strength?”

“Yeah.” You grin, uncapping your water bottle to take a sip. “Don’t you guys get superpowers at the academy? Like, enhanced strength? X-ray vision? Maybe even the ability to charm your way out of literally anything?”

His laugh rumbles low in his chest, and you can’t help but feel a pang of satisfaction at coaxing it out of him. “You’ve got a wild imagination, cariño.” He leans back, the fork still dangling from his fingers as his smirk deepens. “I hate to disappoint, but it’s not exactly the X-Men over there.”

“I don’t know, Javi,” you quip, pretending to inspect him. “You’ve got the smolder, the mysterious backstory, the leather jacket. Sounds pretty superhero-esque to me.”

He scoffs, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. “I think you’ve been watching too many movies. What I do is… significantly less glamorous.”

“Less glamorous, sure,” you counter, “but I bet it’s still got its moments. Like when you bust down a door or take down a cartel big shot. Or when you dramatically light a cigarette while walking away from an explosion.”

The laugh that escapes him this time is louder, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet hallway. He hands the container back to you, his eyes soft with mirth as he shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re avoiding the question,” you shoot back, grinning as you take a bite of your own. “Admit it, you’ve thought about the superhero thing before.”

He tilts his head, as if considering it for a moment, then leans forward slightly, his voice low and teasing. “Alright, maybe once or twice.”

“See?” You point at him triumphantly, though the warmth in his gaze as he watches you makes your breath hitch.

There’s a moment of quiet as the two of you sit there, and you suddenly wonder if you’re imagining how much smaller the hallway feels with him in it.

The banter continues as you kill time, the two of you sharing bites of dinner and passing the container back and forth.

But when the locksmith still hasn’t arrived, the night stretches on, and you find yourself shifting closer to him. Eventually, you slide down the wall until you’re sitting side by side, your head resting lightly on his shoulder.

Javier freezes at first, his breath catching as he glances down at you.

He notices the curve of your lashes, the way your lips part slightly as you drift off, and—god help him—the faint trace of sauce smudged at the corner of your mouth.

He swallows hard, his jaw working as he debates waking you, but the quiet weight of you against him is oddly comforting.

His fingers twitch, the urge to brush a strand of hair from your cheek almost too tempting. Instead, he exhales slowly, willing himself to stay still. He doesn’t need to touch you to feel the pull you have over him.

For now, just watching you sleep—so close, so serene—will have to be enough.

“Well?” You raise a brow, folding your arms tighter across your chest as you snap him out of his reverie.

He looks away briefly, dragging a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he says finally, his voice gruff. “Just… had one of those days. My place felt too damn quiet, and I couldn’t get out of my own head.”

Your brows furrow. You don’t want to care, but there’s something about the way he says it that gives you pause.

Behind you, Mateo’s headlights flash once, a silent reminder of the evening waiting for you.

Javier notices, his gaze flicking toward the light, and his expression shifts.

“You look nice,” he says, his voice softer now, almost reverent.

You grit your teeth, refusing to let the compliment sink in. “Javier, I don’t have time for this. I’m going to be late.”

“Right,” he murmurs, stepping back and rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to hold you up.” But the way his eyes linger on you for a second longer says otherwise.

You shake your head, brushing past him as you unlock your door. “You need to figure yourself out,” you say, not unkindly but firmly. “I told you to leave me alone. That includes sulking outside of my apartment.”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you disappear inside, his jaw tight and his hands stuffed into his pockets.

You’re gone for only a minute, returning with the necklace in hand, and his eyes meet yours as you lock the door behind you.

“Goodnight,” you say pointedly, brushing past him again as you head for the exit.

“Goodnight,” he mutters, barely audible, watching as you slip back into Mateo’s car, the door shutting behind you with a decisive click.

The car pulls away, leaving Javier standing there alone, the glow of the streetlights casting his shadow long and weary against the pavement.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @persephone-girl . @magneticecstasy . @thundermartini . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @samanthajonees . @yellowbrickyeti . @bambisweethearts . @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack . @picketniffler . @itwasntimethatdidit40 . @94namkooksworld . @dontlookatme121 . @cherrysugarx . @half-moon16 . @dinanabuu . @sunshinefive . @angiewatson .

[charles-leclerizz]

🏎️ ๋࣭ ⭑ flustered tweets

🏁 Pairings : Max Verstappen X fem!Reader

🏁 Warnings : suggestive sexual themes, touching, kissing, licking etc. no explicit content, swearing, Daniel Ricciardo being a menace.

🏁 Word Count : 3.3k words (3352 words)

🏁 Author's note : First suggestive conntent on this blog! woo-hoo, light the fireworks. But I do hope you enjoy and as always please leave a comment or reblog, since they do fuel my motivation. <3 Note that word dividers are by @cottage-writings and as always, translations are available via radio comm.

🏁 Music player : Love by Lana Del Ray

You smile to yourself as you stare at your television screen, the metallic box was currently projecting your boyfriend’s face, post-race, red faced and sweaty. Positively gorgeous. His blonde hair was mused due to his helmet and droplets of water leaked down from the strands to his forehead, trickling down his temple to his chin where they dripped down to his fire-proofs. It was nearing the end of the interview, and that meant his favourite questions would begin to pop up, the personal ones.

“So Max, how’s the missus doing? Based off her Instagram it looks like you both are very happy.” The man holding the microphone smiled at the driver, who rolled his eyes playfully at the memory of the multitude of stories that you would post by the hour, in fact he was 99% sure that you had posted at least 5 whilst he was in the car.

“Yeah well, it’s a dream being with her, it really feels like I’m on cloud 9.” He gushed, a rare occurrence for the notoriously grumpy man, but as soon as you were brought up in conversation, it was as though he was a wilting sunflower that was just introduced to sunlight, “I’m doing all of this for her.” Max admitted bashfully.

“Well, if that isn’t proof of the it couple on the grid, then I don’t know what is.” The interviewer admitted, grinning at the lovesick expression on your boyfriend’s face, “But before I let you go, the fans were in uproar a few days before the race. Based on a tweet made by a fellow driver on the grid.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, as if his humorous actions would jog Max’s memory.

You, on the other hand, knew exactly of the tweet Mark, as he introduced himself as, was talking of. It was tweeted by none other than Daniel Ricciardo, the cheeky bastard decided to divulge the fans with a tidbit of information about Max and your sex life.

Just walked into the 2-time WDC and his girlfriend doing it like bunnies. Somehow, this man is never embarrassed.

You remember that day like no-other, it was the moment after the Spanish Grand Prix and Max had just won.

“I’m so proud of you,” You breathed against his lips, holding his face between your palms as your fingers fisted his hair, close enough to the root that he groaned outwardly. The scent of victory wafted from him as one of your hands snaked down between the two of you to unzip his race suit. Allowing you to push him against the hotel room wall and move down to lick thick, wet stripes against his pulse point, revelling in the taste of fresh champagne.

“heilige shit,” he breathed out, gnawing at his bottom lip whilst the hands that rested on your waist tightened and bruised his fingerprints against your skin.

 “Geliefde.” Max whispered, bringing his left hand up to grip the nape of your neck and guide your face away from the fifth fresh hickey you were creating on his muscle, towards his own, gazing into your eyes with a heavy stare.

“Yeah?” You answer, blinking rapidly to clear the misty haze that overtook your brain, all you could think of was the delicious way that his suit hung low from his hips and how tight his fireproofs were, exaggerating his muscular pecs that strained against the protective layer.

His chest rose and fell rapidly as you scratched your nails lightly down his scalp towards his thick collar that stuck to his body, “Maxie?” You prompt, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

He chuckled at your act, wrapping a large hand around your neck and squeezing gently at the sides, just enough for you to gasp, “What do you think the press will say huh? My girlfriend got too horny watching me win?” He guided you towards the freshly made bed, pushing you down to a sitting position as your knees hit the back of the padded mattress, “It’s okay though, mijn mooie vriendin-“ He paused, moving his hand up to cup your jaw and pull at your lower lip, parting your mouth until you obediently allowed him to slip his thumb in, “I only do this for you.” He murmured.

Max nudged you further, watching contently as you fell onto your back, sinking into the thick blanket and released his thumb with a loud pop. You laugh a little at his proclamation, “Really? You do this for me?” You bite your lip, fiddling with the comforter beneath your fingertips, pushing off from the bed as you anchor yourself on your elbows.

“You doubt me?” He arches an incredulous eyebrow at you, bending down to part your knees, “dat zal niet lukken.” He murmured, getting down onto his knees to hook your thigh onto his shoulder, allowing him to twist his head and kiss the sensitive skin, “What should I do to prove it to you? Huh?”

Max chuckled as you slipped your hand beneath the waistband of your shorts, pushing them down suggestively and he would’ve given into your request had it not been for the interruption.

“HEYYY CHAMP-“The friendly boisterous voice of a certain Australian rang through your hotel room, causing you to jump and grip your boyfriends head, which had merely jolted slightly before coming to rest against your opposite thigh, uninterested.

“Daniel.” Max deadpanned, his cerulean eyes merely slackened, cracking a lazy smile as his friend stopped in his tracks, blocking the door from what seemed to be at least half of the grid, “Must you really bother me?”

“Sorry man,” you heard Lewis call out, chuckling loudly as a familiar French cackle sounded off after a lewd comment sounding like, “damn he’s pussy-whipped”. You whimpered with embarrassment, falling back against the bed as you covered your face, hiding the blotchy blush that covered your face.

“Max” You whined, twitching your leg so that he could get up and most likely go out to celebrate, “Get up, we can continue this later.” You assured him, already imagining the dress that you would wear.

“See what you did wankers?” He called out, barely lifting himself up, “Made my girl embarrassed.” He admonished his colleagues.  Max looked up at you, cooing at your red face, “It’s okay, Mijn liefje. I’ll get them to leave.”

“Guys lets go” Lando called out, “Let the guy get his dick wet.”

“Ew gross.”

“Not my fault you’re single fuck-face.”

You groaned, “Guys!” The crowd settled at the sound of your harsh, crackly voice, “It’s fine, let us at least get ready?”

“Yes ma’am” Charles shouted, which was soon followed with sounds of violence and pathetic groans.

Max kissed your cheek, getting up from the floor to go and slam the door in the few faces, but before you could hear the satisfying wood beat against the hinges, Daniel had whispered, “How the fuck are you not embarrassed?” Which prompted more snickers and a flurry of agreements about your lover’s lack of humiliation.

“You should be embarrassed ass wipe.” Max chuckled as he pushed the group out of the doorway, “Walked in on me about to get the best meal money could never buy.”

If you thought about it too much the humiliation would creep back in, along with the curiosity.

Later that same evening, when your friends and you had gone out for dinner, your face was still flushed and any thought that led back to that moment in the hotel room would lead to you shaking your head promptly and diving back into conversation. Whereas Max was comfortably seated next to you, chatting happily as he sipped more alcohol from the flute by his porcelain plate whilst his free hand rested on your thigh, slipped underneath the silky material of your sundress.

It was as if the moment never happened and he was already fantasising about getting you back into the room, ready to bend you into different positions that would make your legs shake hard enough into next Sunday. He did infact, manage that.

Max laughed on your television screen, turning to look at Daniel, who was animatedly doing his own interview, “Yeah well, it’s hard to embarrass me,” he inhaled sharply through his teeth as he shrugged nonchalantly, “It really was just an inchident.”

Max winked cheekily at the camera as Mark laughed and patted his shoulder, “Nice to see Max, have a good one,”

“You too,”

You huffed out with amusement as you pointed the remote at the screen a certain calm filling the apartment as the light blinked away from the box in front of you. The sun was slowly setting on the streets of Monaco, a subtle signal that meant that your boyfriend would soon be returning home to you. Max would claim that home was where you were, but you could tell that the large penthouse was probably the closest alternative to the driver, it was a joint investment as a couple, the first of many and it was beloved by both of you.

Large windows that overlooked the high-end shopping district which curved with the positioning of the building, an oblong shape that influenced the soft edges of the entire apartment. The home was out of your Pinterest board, soft plush coaches and tall glass vases that littered every free surface, Max had claimed 2 of the 4 bedrooms, one of them being his office and the other being his specialist home gym. The third was saved for guests and the fourth, that resided on a separate floor; took over the entire area and was your shared bedroom. Luckily on his and your salary, the home was merely a drop in the ocean, along with the numerous pretty pennies you spent on furniture.

It was in other words, your baby.

Jimmy and Sassy slinked between your legs as you walked to the kitchen from your spot on the largest couch that was turned inwards to face the TV that was mounted within the ceiling, dropping down mechanically at the push of a button and retreating into the seemingly solid concrete at another. You had done exactly that, dismissing the piece of tech to show off the full-length balcony. Cooing at your fur-children you picked them up in one hand, “Come on guys, let’s finish dinner,” You kissed their heads, chuckling as they nuzzled into your face before letting them down on the floor in front of the sink when you went to put on a pair of gloves and fish out dinner from the oven.

The tell-tale chime of your elevator and the mechanical tone of the keypad informed you that Max was home, along with the cats going off to welcome their father from a long day of work,

“Hey guys,” you heard him greet the children whilst he kicked off his shoes and tucked them along with his jacket into the small cupboard that sat within the wall in the entrance hall. You turned away from the oven, placing the entire grill onto the kitchen island as you huffed happily at the dish within the Tupperware as Max walked further into the house and towards the kitchen, where you stood patiently, the soft sounds of the Vitamin String Quartet playing in the background.

“Hey, schat,” He murmured, eyes softening at the corners as he rushed to your side, tugging you away from the counter to wrap his hands around your and bury his head into your neck. You giggle at the tickle of his hair against your skin and bring your hands down to cover his that were wrapped around you, “Hello my love,” you whisper, turning your head slightly to kiss his forehead.

“You cooked,” He stated happily, smiling against you.

“I did.”

“I’m happy,” He confirmed, removing himself from your neck whilst keeping a firm hold on your waist, “How was work?”

“Same old same old, people want to invest in stocks, I do it for them. Very boring.” You rush through your day, recounting the odd events that went on in the office, “But I saw your interview, watched it on the archive.”

“Hmm,” He hummed, knowing that when you do watch the interviews, you normally do it to hear his voice and see his absurdly attractive post-race glow, not listen to the odd mechanical language and repeated statements of, “-push the car harder next race.” Or “-really disappointed this time.”

“Heard what you said about that tweet Daniel made,” You feel him kiss the skin behind your ear before snorting.

“What else could I say? Man doesn’t think before tweeting.” Max grumbled.

“Made me think-“

“Oh no.”

“Stop it.”

“Okay,”

“Anyway, made me think that I actually have never seen you blush.”

“I’m sure you have,” He assured you, untangling himself from you to get a chilled water bottle from the fridge behind you. You twist your body around, leaning back against the counter to watch his movements with squinted eyes.

“Hmm,” You tap your chin for a few seconds, “Nope, never.”

“Schat, it’s been almost two years,” He paused to crack off the top of the bottle, “I am positive you’ve seen me blush. And even if you haven’t, it’s no big deal.”

You huffed and crossed your arms childishly, “But I’m your girlfriend!” You reached out with your hands to grab his own slutty-man waist.

“Thanks for the reminder, had het anders niet geweten,” Max chuckled, allowing you to pull him by the waist to rest his abdomen just above yours.

“It’s a big deal Maxie, I’m meant to be able to make you blush,” You pouted up at him, scratching your nails up his spine, grinning as he shivered against your hold.

He took a final gulp from his bottle before minutely shifting to press harshly against a cupboard to reveal a hidden bin that popped out at his commend. Max dropped the empty plastic into the metallic cylinder and pushed the sliding contraption in again. He turned back to you, focussing on your large unblinking eyes and wet, pouting lips.

He held your face tenderly, kissing your forehead with his own, “S’okay schat, somethings just aren’t meant to happen.”

You pull away at his statement.

Like hell it won’t

“Nope, that won’t do,” You tug at his arm, guiding him into the separate dining room, a large area that was painted an off-white creamy colour, containing a brass sputnik chandelier that hung low against the white marble dining table which had at least 12 separate chairs tucked beneath its oval body. You pulled at the upholstered chair and dug your hand into the tactile Borg fabric before seating Max, who patiently trailed behind you whilst holding the separate doors open, allowing you to execute your plan perfectly.

You stood in front of the man, who was sat with his legs spread graciously in front of him with his large palms splayed against his slightly-less than normal skinny jeans. It was going to hard, yes. Harder than a diamond heist, to extract the long sought over blush from this well practiced stoic man. But you were determined.

Starting easily, you planted your hands on the arms of the chair and leaned forward, close enough that your noses were touching and lips ghosting over each other’s.

“What about this?” You whispered, eyes fluttering closed as you could begin to feel the small grooves and indents of his lips against yours along with his tongue licking at your bottom lip.

“Don’t think so, love.” He murmured back, laughing heartily when you groaned and pushed at his chest.

“Ok that’s it, take it off.” You folded your arms, tapping your foot impatiently.

“Woah, at least buy me dinner first?” Max’s eyes widened as you growled playfully and tugged at the hem of his branded red-bull shirt, “O-Okay okay, chill out you horny demon.”

“Good,” You huff, undoing the buttons of your light blue shirt, until you stood in just your bra and a long pair of silky lounge-wear pants, “We aren’t leaving here until you blush at least once.” You promised him, grinning manically when he stared at your chest.

You re-started once again, barely brushing your lips against the shell of his ear, smiling to yourself when his breath hitched and he groaned, “Anything?” You breathe out, licking slowly, lustfully at the sensitive skin between his ear and the nape of his neck.

“No,” Max denied, squeezing his eyes shut when you took the skin of his collar bone between your lips, sucking lavishly until you were sure of a dark blue love bite before moving inwards, littering the pale canvas with your marks.

“Come on Maxie, you know you want to,” You crooned moving further down, until your face was between his pecs and your hands were braced against the muscles, you dug your nails into his skin before dragging them slowly downwards whilst keeping your eyes locked with his, waiting for the victorious rosy tint to paint his face.

No luck.

“Maybe we should just give up? I can think of a lot of things I can do,” He just barely moaned out from between heavy pants whilst your mouth had made its way to his navel, leaving a wet trail in its wake. You shook your head slightly, flicking your eyes down to where your tongue lay flat against his stomach, “Are you fucking kidding me?” You complained, biting his abs.

“What? I can’t help it,” He defended, holding his arms up innocently before clenching his jaw shut when you began to fiddle with the button of his jeans.

“Yeah?” You challenge, getting up from the tiled floor to swing one leg to one side of his waist while the other sat on the opposite side, allowing you to straddle him and sit directly on his crotch whilst raising an eyebrow at his rolled back eyes.

“What about now Maxie?”

You winded your hips once. Twice. Until he came to hold your love-handles with a tight, possessive grip. Max leaned up, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, you whimpered when one of his hands slipped beneath your pants to snap the elastic of your underwear.

You pulled away, burring your hands in his hair and letting the soft strands flow through your fingers, “What about now?” You murmur, pushing yourself against his palm whilst arching your back. He hissed, smirking at your determination.

“Nope.” He removed both hands from your body to fold them behind his head and lean back, “Now what, schat?”

You slumped down and pulled at your bra strap contemplatively, “Dinner.” You stated simply, clambering out of his lap.

“That’s what I tho- wait why are your clothes on?” He asked you incredulously, pointing at the significant tent in his jeans.

“Max Emillian Verstappen I put a lot of effort into dinner tonight,” You scolded him with your pointer finger as you slipped on your shirt, leaving the buttons undone.

“W-what the-“ He spluttered reaching for your hand, “Seriously don’t do this,” he whined, adjusting his jeans with an uncomfortable expression.

“That’s what you get.” You shrugged, leaving him in the dining room, not before you bent down in front of him- swaying your hips suggestively as you collected his shirt from the floor and throwing it at him, “Don’t come out without your shirt on.”

The door slowly creaked shut, leaving Max still shirtless, flabbergasted at his inability to blush.

Well, not really.

He groaned loudly, balling up his shirt to hide the angry red flush that creeped up his cheeks and took over the entirety of his chest, ears and neck.

“HAH!” You called out, re-emerging from the door with a bang, “I KNEW IT.” You had your phone in your hand, displaying a perfect picture of his flustered state, the blonde was buried within his team’s shirt and was very obviously scarlet, “NOW THE WORLD WILL KNOW!” You shouted victoriously, jumping up and down in your spot, shirt still unbuttoned.

You squealed when Max jumped and growled at you, “Get back here, I’ll give you something to tweet about.”

📻 Kcccchh.... come in.... come in...translatiion available...over

📻 Kchh...Dutch....to english....over

heilige shit - Holy shit

Geliefde - Love [r]

mijn mooie vriendin - my beautiful girlfriend

dat zal niet lukken - that won't work

Mijn liefje - My darling

schat - Darling/Love/Babe [term of endearment]

had het anders niet geweten - wouldn't have known otherwise

[katemoneymartinsgf]

Caitlin Clark x Swimmer Reader

A/N : This has been unfinished in my drafts for a week. I’m just projecting atp.

…..



You stood quietly, watching as everyone gathered behind the blocks for the men’s 500m race. Your eyes followed the swimmers as they lined up, but your mind was elsewhere.

“How many until the 200 fly?” you asked your friend Cami, who stood beside you, slightly tapping her foot.

“This race, then a 15-minute break. The boys have their 200, and then you’re up,” she replied.

You nodded, nerves tingling in your stomach. Walking to the warm-up pool, you noticed a familiar figure getting ready in the lane next to you.

Abby Reed.

You and Abby had swum together your entire life—well, technically, against each other. Every club team, every meet growing up, she was always on the opposing side. Abby was an incredible swimmer, you couldn’t deny it, and for some reason, you were always second to her. No matter how hard you tried, she was a step ahead, and she never let you forget it. She had this hold over you, but no one ever truly looked into it. No one knew the self-doubt that gnawed at you every time you faced her.

Your fingers absentmindedly traced the block in front of you as you fought the wave of doubt. You needed to place at least 5th in prelims to secure a spot in finals. Fifth place—that’s all you needed. But all you could think about was her. Abby. In the lane right next to you.

A gentle hand rested on your shoulder, pulling you from your thoughts. You turned to see Cami, her expression encouraging.

“You’ve got this, dude. They don’t stand a chance,” she said with a grin.

They did. They all stood a chance, especially Abby. You knew Cami was just trying to be supportive, but you were thinking practically.

“Yeah, I’ll be back,” you mumbled, needing some space. You walked away toward the empty locker room. You didn’t mean to be rude, but you hated anyone talking to you before a race—especially now.

“Hey,” came a soft voice from behind you.

Anybody but her.

“Hi, Cait,” you sighed, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease just a little.

“Is this a bad time for me to say you’re gonna do great?” she asked, reading you perfectly, as she always did.

You let out a breath, the weight of the day pressing down. “Abby Reed is in the lane next to me. The gap between her and the person ahead of her is three seconds, and I’ve never beaten her. I don’t stand a chance. This isn’t even my main event. I can’t get started fast enough, and this is my last–”

“Okay, okay, slow down. Breathe,” she interrupted, taking your hand and pulling you to sit on the bench.

She knelt in front of you, her eyes meeting yours. “None of that matters. You can have the best swim of your life today, but you’re putting too much pressure on yourself. Don’t think about Abby. Don’t think about anyone but you. You’re so incredibly fast, but you’re stuck up here,” she tapped your forehead gently, “instead of just swimming.”

You exhaled deeply, leaning your forehead against hers. Caitlin had been your rock through everything. She had this way of making you feel like it was okay to let your walls down, even if just for a moment. You hated being vulnerable, but with her, it felt... safe.

“Thank you, Cait. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Honestly, the number of times I’ve kept you from crashing out should be rewarded,” she teased with a smile.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, feeling her melt into you instantly.

“Best reward,” she murmured as you pulled away.

“I love you.”

“I love you more. Now, go warm up. You’ve got 15 minutes before your race,” she reminded you, giving you a reassuring nudge.

You grabbed your goggles and stood up, but before you could walk away, she caught you by the waist and pulled you back for another kiss. This one was a little rougher, but the way she held you made it so sweet.

“Okay, now you can lock in,” she smirked, letting you go.

…

The whistle blew, signaling the end of the break. The men’s 200m fly was up first. You stood off to the side, watching the water ripple as the swimmers took their marks.

Fifth place—that’s all you needed. Just 5th. But as you stood there, every part of you screamed that it wouldn’t be enough if you didn’t beat Abby.

A familiar pair of hands settled on your shoulders, and you tensed for a moment before relaxing, realizing it was Caitlin.

“Remember what I said. Don’t personify the competition. Head down for as long as you can,” she whispered.

You nodded slightly, eyes still locked on the block in front of you.

“One more 50 for the boys. Y/N, get to your lane,” Cami’s voice broke your trance.

You turned back to Caitlin, locking eyes. Her steady gaze gave you all the reassurance you needed. She believed in you.

You walked toward your block, hand brushing hers until you were forced to let go.

“Swimmers, you may exit the pool,” the referee called, signaling the end of the men’s race.

You stepped up onto your block, glancing to your left. Abby was there.

“Good luck, Y/L/N,” she said, but you didn’t acknowledge her. Don’t personify the competition.

“Swimmers, take your mark.”

Beep.

The starting buzzer sounded, and you launched from the block, your body moving on instinct. You focused on the water in front of you, refusing to let yourself check the lanes around you. You didn’t think. You just swam.

The race was over before you even realized it. You hit the wall and looked up at the board.

1:57.48. Sixth place.

In any other circumstance, you would’ve been proud of yourself. But there it was—Abby Reed, 1:55.32, second place. Four places ahead of you.

A pang of disappointment shot through your chest. She’d beaten you. Again.

“Swimmers, please exit the water,” the announcer called.

You pulled yourself out and immediately walked toward the warm-down pool, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s okay. It happens...” Cami started, but Caitlin cut her off.

“Let her cool down. She’ll be okay.”

You were so grateful for her at that moment.

…

After warming down, you retreated to the locker room, seeking a quiet corner where you could be alone. The race kept replaying in your head. This was supposed to be your moment, your chance to prove you belonged here. And it was gone.

You heard soft footsteps approaching, followed by Caitlin’s voice.

“Red, yellow, or green zone?” she asked, her tone gentle.

It was your code. Red meant leave you alone. Yellow meant you were upset but could be talked down. Green meant you were okay enough to joke.

“Red... but I need you,” you whispered.

Without hesitation, she pulled you into her arms as you let the tears fall.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” she murmured, pressing soft kisses to your head.

“I suck,” you mumbled into her chest.

She pulled back slightly, cupping your face with her hands. “No, we’re not doing that. You are a talented swimmer. So what if you didn’t beat her today? That doesn’t make you any less amazing.”

“But if I can’t beat Abby Reed, how can I ever be considered good?” you questioned, voice cracking.

“Because…” Caitlin paused, gathering her thoughts. “Because you’re more than a race. You’re more than Abby Reed. You’ve been so focused on her that you’ve lost sight of what makes you great. You’ve got the talent, but you’re too caught up in her to see it.”

You exhaled shakily,still hiccuping over your tears.

“breathe my love” she instructed

You finally released a full breath her words slowly sinking in. She wiped the tears from your cheeks, pressing a kiss to your nose.

“Thank you,” you began, but she cut you off with a kiss.

“No need to thank me. Just remember, I think you’re incredible. But I’m not gay or anything, so don’t get any ideas,” she teased, making you giggle as she kissed you again.

You rested your head on her chest, taking a deep breath as her warmth surrounded you.

“Not to bring it up again, but if I had one more chance, I’d dust her,” you muttered.

“Keep that energy because… you’re in the finals,” Caitlin said calmly.

“What? How?” you asked, jumping away from her in disbelief.

“Third place DQ’d. You bumped up to eighth for the finals,” she explained, smirking.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I needed you to process everything first. You were too caught up in it. Now, you can go into the race with a clear head.”

“Caitlin Clark, you’re something else,” you said, kissing her passionately.

You pulled away, doing a little happy dance. “I’m gonna smoke her.”

Caitlin grinned. “That’s better.”

She leaned in close. “Now, go eat, stay off your feet, and get ready. I’ll be back after picking up some packages and dropping something off with Kate.”

“You got my pickles, right?”

“They’re in Cami’s cooler, with a lemon lime gatorade.”

Your heart warmed. To be loved is to be known, and Caitlin truly knew you.

You pulled her in for another kiss, then peppered her face with quick, playful ones right after.

“Remember when you said you weren’t gay…?”

“Shut up,” she says, pushing you away with a laugh, walking off with a teasing smile.

“I love youuu!” you call out after her.

“I love you… STAY OFF YOUR FEET!” she yells as she gets farther away.

...

! Cut to the race because I said so !

You hear your coach's voice as you walk behind the blocks. “You got this, Y/N. Head down, don’t breathe, don’t think—just swim.”

You nod, scanning the crowd with a sudden surge of fear. You need her here.

Finally, your eyes find Caitlin, standing with Kate and the rest of the Iowa basketball team. Your gaze locks with hers, and she nods, arms crossed around her chest as always. She’s just as locked in as you are.

You walk to your place behind the block. The announcers call out each swimmer’s name, but you try hard not to listen when her name is announced.

“Hey, Y/L/N… don’t embarrass your girlfriend. That would be a shame,” Abby calls out from two blocks away.

Your body freezes for a moment. Abby knew exactly how to push your buttons, especially the ones that made you feel like you weren't good enough for Caitlin. It's been a while since those thoughts crept in, but leave it to Abby to bring them back. What a bitch.

You glance back at the crowd, locking eyes with Caitlin once more. She sees the nervous look on your face but returns it with a stare that says, deal with it later. It’s crazy how the two of you could communicate without speaking. You nod again, pushing all other distractions aside.

“Swimmers, step up.”

You take your place on the block, just like you’ve done a million times before.

“Come on, Y/N. Outside smoke… you got this,” you whisper to yourself.

“Swimmers, take your mark.”

BZZZ

Before you know it, the race has begun. And in what feels like a blink, it’s almost over.

As you approach the final 10 meters, you put your head down and give it everything you have. Every ounce of strength left in your body goes into the last push. You hit the wall and immediately look to see if anyone has finished ahead of you.

Two swimmers… and one of them is Abby Reed.

The crowd erupts.

For a split second, your heart sinks, until you catch the same look of heartbreak on Abby’s face. You turn toward the monitor.

Y/L/N - 1st place. 1:54.27. Meet Record.

“No way…” you whisper to yourself. You glance up to see the entire Iowa swim team behind the blocks, cheering like crazy.

“And that is a new meet record, folks! Outside smoke never fails! The medal is yours, kid!” the announcer shouts over the mic.

You pull yourself out of the water, immediately engulfed by your teammates’ hugs. But there’s only one person on your mind.

Breaking free from the crowd, you head toward the stands. Caitlin is already making her way down to you.

You leap into her arms as she spins you around.

“I’m so fucking proud of you! Look at you—MY 200 FLY GOAT!”

“I love you so much. Thank you for always believing in me.”

She pulls you in for a deep kiss. “I love you even more,” she says between kisses.

This is the most public you’ve ever been with her. Cameras flash all around, and you know this will be all over social media by tomorrow.

But right now, nothing can take away from the high you’re on.

As the adrenaline from the race begins to fade, the weight of everything that led you here settles in. All the early mornings, the grueling practices, the moments of doubt—all worth it for this moment. But more than the medal or the meet record, what makes this feel so monumental is having Caitlin by your side. It wasn’t just about winning; it was about knowing that, no matter the outcome, she would be there, arms open, heart full. And now, in front of the world, there’s no more hiding, no more fear. You’ve always been enough for her—just as you are.

You pull back slightly, resting your forehead against hers, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. Caitlin smiles, that familiar sparkle in her eyes, and you feel your heart swell. This is where you’re meant to be—both in the pool and in her arms. As you stand together, the cameras flashing, the team cheering behind you, one thing is clear: the journey, the victories, the challenges—all of it means more with her by your side. And in this moment, everything feels exactly as it should.

[solxamber]

Desperate Confessions with: Riddle Rosehearts , Leona Kingscholar

Others: Jamil and Sebek

Riddle Rosehearts

It’s almost dark when you finally step out of the library. The entire campus is steeped in the quiet warmth of the setting sun, casting long shadows and filling the air with a golden glow. You spot Riddle just a few paces away, standing by the ivy-laden wall, seemingly waiting for you. His usual composure is absent, replaced by an odd stillness in his posture, a tension that you can feel even from here.

"Riddle?" you ask, concern coloring your voice as you approach him. He turns, and for a moment, he doesn’t seem like himself. His face is flushed, his gaze intense, almost… desperate.

“You’re here,” he says quietly, almost in relief, though the softness of his words belies a turmoil simmering beneath. "I didn’t expect you to come out this late."

You tilt your head, trying to read the unspoken thoughts in his expression, but he doesn’t give you a chance. “I… need to tell you something.” His voice is tight, as though he’s struggling against himself to form the words. His hands are clenched at his sides, and he looks as if he’s trying to steady his breathing. “It’s—it’s been too much lately, and I don’t think I can keep pretending I’m…unaffected by you."

For a moment, he closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they hold a vulnerability you’ve rarely seen. "You’ve haunted my thoughts, day and night. Every time I see you, I—I’m left wondering if I’ll be able to speak without… without feeling like my heart will burst. I feel like I’m losing control of myself whenever you’re near.”

His cheeks flush deeper, but he doesn’t look away. "I’m embarrassed by it. This—this lack of control.” His voice breaks, just a bit, and you can hear the self-criticism beneath his words. “I’ve spent my whole life restraining myself, and then you—” He takes a shaky breath. “You come into my life, and suddenly… I can’t.”

Your chest tightens at the rawness of his confession, at the deep-seated need he’s barely holding back. Before you can stop yourself, you close the gap between you, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him close.

Riddle’s breath catches, but he doesn’t pull away. His eyes are wide, a hint of disbelief mingling with hope as he gazes at you, unspoken words trembling on his lips. And in that moment, you realize that there’s no need for more words.

You surge forward, capturing his lips in a fierce, unrestrained kiss. It’s hard, almost desperate, and every ounce of feeling he’s kept bottled up seems to crash over both of you at once. Riddle’s arms wrap around you, and he clings to you as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

He kisses you back with the same intensity, almost a little shyly at first, but it quickly deepens into something far more passionate. His hand slips up to cup the side of your face, and you can feel his fingers tremble ever so slightly as he pulls you closer, kissing you like he’s wanted to for far too long.

When you finally part, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting together as you catch your breath. Riddle’s eyes are shining, his lips swollen from the kiss, his face flushed.

He looks at you with a kind of wonder, like he’s still not entirely certain this is real, and then, almost shyly, he whispers, “I didn’t… I didn’t know it could feel like this.” His voice is soft, reverent, as if he’s savoring each word, the remnants of his vulnerability lingering.

Leona Kingscholar

It sneaks up on Leona, this feeling he doesn't know what to name. At first, he thinks it's just irritation—that persistent gnawing that comes with your endless presence. You’re always around, talking, laughing, pulling him into things he swears he doesn’t care about. He assumes it’s only a matter of time before he finally snaps. But then you’re not there one day, and the world feels off-kilter.

He spends that entire afternoon restless, eyes flickering toward every entrance as if expecting you to walk through it. But you don’t. The gardens are too quiet, his naps too still, and he’s left with a strange emptiness that he can’t shake off.

The next day, you’re there again, and the weight lifts. He scowls when he catches himself relaxing, brushing it off, but it keeps happening. Days pass, and it’s clear—he misses you. This realization grates on him, bothers him in a way nothing else has. How could he, Leona Kingscholar, find himself so wrapped up in someone else?

Then, today, he’s back in his usual spot in the garden, the shade cooling his skin as he lounges, pretending to nap. He can hear your footsteps before he sees you, and he opens one eye as you approach, carrying a basket of food, smiling that soft, familiar smile of yours.

"Thought you’d like something to eat," you say, setting the basket down with that easy grace of yours that makes his chest ache.

And that’s it. That ache in his chest spills over, and he can’t hold it back anymore. It all comes rushing out, like a dam breaking.

"Why?" he says, his voice rougher than he intended. "Why do you keep coming here, even when I’ve given you every reason not to?" He’s sitting up now, leaning toward you, the intensity in his eyes making you blink.

He huffs, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you were a nuisance at first. Always hanging around, always in my space." His voice drops lower, rougher, almost as if he’s frustrated with himself. "But the truth is… I’m the one who’s a mess without you. You leave, and everything just… feels wrong."

There’s a pause, and he looks down, jaw clenched, hands clenched in his lap. "I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but I don’t care anymore. All I know is… I want you here. Always." He raises his gaze to yours, the desperation flickering in his eyes a vulnerability that catches even him off guard.

Your heart swells, and as his words sink in, a smile breaks across your face. Tears well up in your eyes, unbidden, but you can’t help it. Before you know it, you’re leaning in, cupping his face, and pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s as gentle as it is profound. The warmth of him, the rough texture of his skin against yours, grounds you, and you kiss him deeply, tasting the intensity of his feelings, the rawness he’s bared just for you.

As you pull back, his thumb brushes across your cheek, catching a stray tear. He leans forward, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his own lips brushing lightly against the salt of your tears. "Even that," he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble, "even the taste of you like this… I want it all."

And you hold him close, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your palm, realizing that this is where you both belong.

Masterlist

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒂 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒋𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔

so, I saw something similar on tiktok and wanted to write it, credits to the person who came up with it.

summary - being a new member of the largest superhero team, you'd think that things would go well, but everything is revealed when christmas rolls around.

warning - angst.

the gif and header I use isn't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

It was rare for the two teams to merge, but every December around Christmas time they would, and with you being the newest member of the Avenger gang. This would be your first-time celebrating Christmas altogether. You watched curiously as they all hung large socks along the fireplace, happy chatter filling the air. “What are those?” You tilt your head.

“Stockings.” You look at Natasha as she replies, “It’s a Christmas tradition where you put small presents inside the stockings of those you care for.” You nod, and your eyes light up. 

“Oh cool!” For the rest of the day you intently listen and observe to pick out the perfect things for them, and over the course of the next few weeks. You slowly begin to fill their stockings, your eyes would fall to yours and notice how empty it looked. But you had hope, there were still a few more days till Christmas and maybe they just haven’t gotten around to it yet. Except Steve walks in and you notice his hands are full, and how he puts a gift for everyone but you. It was as if you were invisible because he didn’t even look at you. “Oh…” 

You continue to splurge and buy everyone things they like, in hopes that you were wrong about them. You skip out of your room on the big day, excited for your first Christmas. When you enter the room, you notice everyone going to their stockings before their presents and expressing happiness with the items they received and with your own excitement, you head over to your stocking and it feels as though the world has stopped. Your stocking was still empty, you finally realised you really meant nothing to the team. You didn’t blame the X-men for not putting anything in because you had only just met them, but your own team? It hurt, you could feel the tears beginning to brim. 

You quickly blink them away before sitting down next to Jean and give her a soft smile, making sure to keep your emotions away from your face and thoughts. “How are you liking it here?” You gnaw on your bottom lip, turning your gaze to your team handing out their presents. 

“I don’t mind it, how about you? I heard this is your first Christmas?” You could see the questions lingering in her eyes, because anyone would question how you could never have a Christmas, but she never completely asks. 

You nod, “Yes, yes. It’s my first and I don’t know… It’s not what I thought it would be.” You stare off, not receiving any presents alongside the stocking. “I’m uh… I’m just going to go for a walk, I don’t feel so good.” You force a smile and get up, heading outside before you could break down in front of everyone. Once you head outside, you break down. You felt like you’d rather be back where you came from. At least your enemies didn’t forget about you. 

“They are all jerks.” You jump as you hear a gruff voice from behide you, you turn, locking eyes with the one and only Wolverine, a cigar between his lips and his eyes harshly set on you. “Not much of heroes when they brag about it every two seconds.” He pushes off the wall and moves closer to you, something catching your eye as the moonlight shines on his hand. 

You look and tilt your head, wiping your cheeks roughly, “What’s that?” Your mouth falls open when he pulls up a cute stocking decorated with glitter, filled to the brim with a small wrapped present resting at the top. “It’s so cute! Whoever it’s for is very lucky.” You give a soft smile, knowing no one would ever get you anything.

Logan shakes his head. “It’s for you, sweets. Those guys are arseholes, they don’t deserve someone as sweet as you on their team.” You feel your breath hitch as he growls, “Open it, honey.” He hands you the stocking and present, leaning against the wall and puffing on the cigar as he watches you open everything.

You gasp, “Oh my god! This is so beautiful, thank you!” You look at him with tears in your eyes as you open the present on the top, a small adorable wolf necklace sits inside the box. You move closer, awkwardly wanting to hug him but not knowing if that will cross a line. Logan raises a brow, placing the cigar between his teeth as he opens his arms. You launch forward and wrap your arms around him, not knowing how to express the feelings that are bubbling up inside. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, darlin’, now why don’t you look inside the stocking. I had Jean and the other women help choose what we thought you’d like.” You look shocked, wondering why a team that wasn’t yours would care more for you than the one you are currently in. Logan reaches up and wipes a tear that falls down your cheek, “We take care of our own, Y/n.” 

Your bottom lip juts out as it wobbles, and you slowly reach inside, sobs escape you as you find everything you like and some new things you’ve wanted to try. “Oh my god…” You feel like you are loved and wanted, but then an overbearing sadness erupts throughout you as you realise that you are stuck with people who don’t want you. 

“That is not true, Miss L/n.” You turn and notice the whole X-men team are there, giving you soft smiles. “I have ordered for your things to be transferred. As Logan said, we take care of our own and you, Miss L/n are one of us.” 

All you could utter are the words thank you. Maybe your first Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[mythicalninjas]

Hii! First I want to say I LOVE your fics. They're amazing!!

I saw your requests were open and came up with one. How about a jealous Raphael? Maybe reader was training with Leo once because Raph was busy. And he came in the dojo to see them laughing and getting along well, with reader who fell and fell on top of Leo they were just laughing it off. But Raph geta angry and drags reader away to fight about it and maybe some make up smut???

Awwn thank you! Happy to read that!

Rate/Warnings: +18, jealousy, anger, happy ending (make up smut)

Jealousy had always been a shadow that clung to Raphael like a second skin. It was something he tried to keep buried, but in moments like this, it reared its ugly head. The dim lighting of the dojo cast long shadows across the room, flickering slightly with every movement. Raph had been preoccupied all day, leaving his brothers to their training while he handled his own matters. But something had been gnawing at him, an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. It wasn’t until he wandered into the dojo that he realized why.

There you were, laughing—laughing—with Leonardo, the eldest brother. Sweat glistened on your brow, and the sound of your laughter echoed off the walls as you and Leo sparred. You had fallen, clearly tripped during your training session, landing squarely on top of him. For a moment, it was nothing but shared amusement, an easy, innocent moment between friends. But to Raphael, it felt like a dagger to the chest.

His blood boiled at the sight. The way you and Leo seemed so comfortable with each other, how naturally your body lay sprawled over his brother’s. The sight was too much. Without thinking, Raphael stormed into the room, his broad shoulders tense, and his face twisted into an expression that was far from friendly.

“Hey,” he growled, his voice low, eyes narrowing. “What the hell is goin’ on here?”

You scrambled off of Leo, confusion flashing in your eyes as you glanced between the two brothers. Leo, ever the calm and collected leader, simply raised an eyebrow, not yet catching onto what had set his hot-headed sibling off.

“We were just training, Raph,” you explained, brushing off the dust from your clothes. “You were busy, so Leo stepped in.”

“Training?” Raphael spat, his fists clenching at his sides. “Looked like somethin’ else to me.”

Before you could respond, Raphael grabbed your arm—not hard, but firm enough that it was clear he wasn’t asking. “We’re talkin’. Now.”

He dragged you out of the dojo without another word, Leo watching silently, his lips drawn into a thin line. The tension was thick as Raph pulled you into one of the side rooms, slamming the door behind him. The room was smaller, more intimate, and with each second, you could feel the heat radiating off of him.

“What the hell was that, huh?” Raphael snapped, his emerald eyes flashing with hurt beneath his anger. His breathing was ragged, his broad chest rising and falling quickly. “You think I wouldn’t notice? You think I wouldn’t care?”

You stepped back slightly, taken aback by the intensity of his reaction. “Raph, it was just training! Leo was just helping me out because you weren’t around.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe I don’t like the idea of you ‘n him gettin’ all buddy-buddy when I’m not lookin’,” he muttered, though now there was something softer in his tone. The edge of insecurity that he tried so desperately to hide.

“Raph…” You sighed, moving closer, your hand finding his. “It’s not like that. You know it’s not.”

He glared at the floor for a moment, jaw clenched tight, his large hand trembling slightly beneath yours. “I know, but… seeing you like that. With him. It just… it messed with my head.”

You could feel the heat of his jealousy simmering down, though the air between you was still charged. Your fingers slid up to his wrist, tracing the tense muscles there. "You don’t have to be jealous. You know I’m here for you, right?"

Raphael grunted, his body relaxing under your touch, but there was still an intense, lingering tension. Slowly, his eyes met yours, the fire in them shifting from anger to something else entirely. The air between you thickened, and you could feel his grip on your arm tighten, but this time, it wasn’t out of anger.

Without warning, he pulled you closer, his lips inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “You think I’m lettin’ this go just like that?” His voice was a low rumble, full of heat and unresolved feelings.

And just like that, the conversation shifted, the jealousy morphing into something far more primal, something that needed release. In the heat of the moment, the frustration, the possessiveness—all of it—boiled over, and Raphael’s lips crashed into yours, full of a raw intensity that made your knees weak.

His hands were everywhere, pulling you close, desperate to remind you exactly who you belonged to. Every ounce of his jealousy poured into that kiss, a bruising, passionate clash of emotions as he pressed you against the wall, leaving no room for doubt about how much he wanted you.

And in that moment, as the world around you disappeared, you knew one thing for certain: no one could ever make you feel the way Raphael did.

"You're... mine.", he growled, sliding his hands down your thighs slowly. Very slow... The way it feels you couldn't describe, but your body can.

Tongues intertwining, hands exploring each other bodies, moans feeling the room. The red-clad huge turtle moves his waist foward, pressing his hardness agaist you. "It is not the en', honey."

[delicatebarness]

cry baby | chapter eighteen

Summary: "Can we talk?"

Warning: It's a Bucky and Cry Baby-only chapter.

Word Count: 791

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A/N: My heart. Now do you understand why this had to be its own chapter? Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: @buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute | @lanabuckybarnes | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @softieekayy | @noonespecial90 | @hello-therree | @randomawesomeperson102 | @whoreforbarnes | @thejutvtsupport | @somnorvos | @cjand10 | @plasticbottleholder | @birdenthusiastez

For a moment, you hesitated, uncertainty gnawed at your mind as took in his demeanor and appearance. Yet, something compelled you to nod, stepping aside to grant him entry. 

Bucky stepped inside, his eyes boring into you as you closed the door and turned toward him.

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” Bucky’s voice was quiet, his eyes searching for answers you weren’t sure how to give. 

His question hung in the air as you took a deep breath the tension in the room began to amplify as you met his gaze. “Why does it matter?” you counted, your voice laced with an unexpected defiance. 

“Because I care about you,” he replied, his voice filled with frustration and something more vulnerable. “You’re my…” he paused to sigh. “You’re my friend, and I had to find out this way? In the middle of a bar fight?” 

Running a hand through your hair, you tried to collect your thoughts. “I didn’t think it was a big deal, James. We were just… enjoying ourselves.” 

Bucky’s expression hardened, his jaw clenched as he stepped closer. “You didn’t think it was a big deal? You didn’t think it ‘mattered’ to tell me you have a boyfriend? “ he questioned as his body loomed over you. “Everyone else knew before me… Steve, Nat… Sam! Why was I the last to know?” 

“It wasn’t some big secret,” you sighed, a feeling of guilt surging within you. “They just found out over time.” 

“It’s me, though,” Bucky insisted, his voice edged with hurt. “I thought we were closer than this.” 

“Closer?” you echoed, your voice softening. “Why didn’t you tell me about Leah?” you asked, a hint of hurt now evident in your voice. 

“This isn’t about Leah,” he snapped, his voice rising. “It’s about you keeping things from me!”

His raised voice echoed off the walls, an oppressive weight filling the room. You flinched at the volume, his words crashing down on you. You took a step back, his presence feeling suffocating. 

“James, try to understand,” you pleaded, desperation crept into your tone. “It wasn’t…”

“Stop calling me James!” he roared, reverberating around the small apartment. Your words seemed only to stoke the flames of his anger. His chest heaved with each ragged breath.

You pushed back against his anger. “I’m sorry, Bucky,” you began, your voice becoming steadier by the word. “But you disappeared for weeks without a word, and again, you didn’t tell me about Leah, either!”

If you had blinked, you would have missed the flicker of guilt flashing across his face before it was replaced again by anger. “That’s not the same thing,” he snapped, his voice sharp.

“It IS the same thing,” you insisted, you weren’t backing down. “You shut me out, Bucky. You left that night and didn’t come back, and then you came back and everything was different.” 

Bucky’s jaw clenched, for a moment it looked like he was struggling to find a response. His fists balled at his sides. “I had my reasons,” he muttered. 

Your frustration boiled over, the emotions you had bottled up for so long now began erupting like a tsunami. “What reasons could you possibly have to justify any of this?” you demanded, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. 

But no explanation came, instead, he turned away from you, his shoulders sagging. For a moment, the apartment fell silent. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

His admission only fueled your emotions. “You don’t know?” you repeated. “After everything we’ve been through, you owe me more than…” 

Before you could finish your sentence, he closed the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a desperate, frantic kiss. One hand found its way to your waist the other, to your face. He pulled you closer to him as if he needed to erase the distance. 

For a moment, you were lost. The sensation of his lips against yours, the taste of him, your senses became overwhelmed. 

As the kiss deepened, you responded, your hands reaching up his chest, clenching his shirt in your fists, pulling him closer. But, the doubts lingered at the back of your mind. 

When you finally pulled away, your breath became ragged as you gasped, struggling to make sense of what had happened. His gaze met yours, searching for something, anything. You couldn’t find the words to express the emotions swirling inside you. 

His eyes filled with remorse, sighing heavily. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his eyes beginning to well. “I never meant to hurt you.” 

You nodded slightly. “I know,” you replied softly, the weight of the evening washing over you. “But you did.” 

There were no easy answers, no quick fixes to mend what was lost between you.

---

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[sxfterhearts]

backstage visits

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ idol!jiung x non-idol!reader ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

♡ genre/warnings: fluff semi-inspired by love story, p1h (aka my fav p1h song!!) and a mini-continuation of neighbourly visits (but can be read as a standalone!)

♡ word count: 2,469 words

♡ summary: jiung's been acting weird and distant all week. but everything changes when you receive an mcountdown backstage pass in the mail...

♡ author’s note: hey guys! i've been thinking about this one for awhile. perhaps i should make it into a mini-series? pls let me know what you think (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

//

“She’s here, Jiung.”

“What?” Jiung gasped in shock. Turning to Jongseob, he asked urgently with firm hands grasping on his friends’ shoulders, “Where is she?”

“Dressing room 3, the one with the stage costumes.”

Jiung was about to run off, but turned around to quickly express his gratitude. “Thanks, man.”

Jongseob nodded with an understanding smile. “Don’t mess it up this time.”

Jiung shot him a nervous smile before disappearing into a blur of orange and white amongst the backstage hallways.

You were sitting on the couch in the middle of the quiet dressing room, eyes darting around nervously. You crossed, then uncrossed your legs a few times, uncertain.

You felt out of place. You’ve never attended a music show screening before, let alone been inside the building where the recordings took place. You were usually a self-assured, confident person, but striking, glittery costumes of all shapes, sizes and colours surrounded you, and you couldn’t help but to look down at your own clothes – just a normal t-shirt and jeans. Plain, like the rest of you.

Which is one of the reasons, if not the main reason, why you were so nervous right now. In the past few weeks since you visited Jiung in the hospital, you had undoubtedly gotten closer to your former-childhood neighbour-turned-popular K-Pop idol. You went over to their dorms a bunch of times to drop off food and side dishes that your mother sent for him, and took him out on gentle walks around the outskirts of Seoul. You even accompanied him and his mother for dinner when she came to visit him last weekend. 

But it was… for the lack of better words, getting a little bit confusing for you. On one hand, you knew that you two were clearly not together. Yet, on the other hand, it seemed to you like you were more than just friends. Which begs the question, what were you to him, exactly?

The past week since his mother’s visit had been odd. You understood that, as an idol, his schedule was hectic and unpredictable. However, when before he used to answer you within the hour, he started leaving more and more of your messages on read. It felt like you were talking to a wall. And the one time you did meet up for ice cream in the middle of the night after his dance practice, you could tell that his mind was elsewhere. It felt like he wasn’t even really there, and like he didn’t want to hang out with you, but was forced to.

That was on Wednesday. After gobbling up your ice cream, you made some stupid excuse about having to double-check something for work and left earlier than you anticipated. You initially thought that the two of you would take a stroll around the Han River, but given his state, you decided to just leave without another word.

Which was why, when you came home on Friday after work and found a ticket and backstage pass for MCountdown in your mailbox, you were stunned. You quickly searched up the show’s lineup, and sure enough, P1Harmony were performing on Sunday night. You weren’t entirely sure what it meant, and whether or not it was even a good idea to show up, but after talking to a few close friends about it, you made the decision to go. After all, what’s the worst that could happen, right? 

Which brings you to the current situation – phone lying idly by your side, teeth gnawing at your lips, and fingers fidgeting with the ends of a sequin dress hanging beside you. Why did he invite you here? Your mind began to spiral in the empty space, where only muffled instrumentals could be heard from the faraway performance stage. You felt like you were always lingering around the peripherals of Jiung’s life, never floating in the same orbit, let alone galaxy, as him. Because let’s be honest, until a few weeks ago when he let you slip in by the backdoor of his life, him, and his voice, were merely something you could only savour from behind a wall, or behind a screen. 

Was it, perhaps… Did he call me here to end it?

The door burst wide open at that moment, revealing a very out-of-breath, yet impeccably dressed and styled Jiung. 

Figures, you thought, as you scanned the boy in front of you from head to toe and rose to your feet. He had a blue knitted shawl thrown over a white long sleeve, and… what were those? Hand warmers? You never really understood fashion anyways.

Jiung took a few seconds to catch his breath and compose himself, not daring to meet your eyes lest they betray him for even a second. When he was rushing to see you before the performance, heck, even when he slipped the backstage passes into your mailbox, truthfully, he wasn’t really thinking. 

See, Jiung was new to this whole… feelings thing. He never used to acknowledge them, let alone think about, process, or talk about them to another person. Growing up, he learned that bottling things up was the quickest and most efficient way to deal with difficult emotions, and that it was the best way to ensure he got back into work. But for some reason, after you reappeared in his life, he started to realise that his default coping mechanisms weren’t that foolproof after all.

And now, he wants to take a big step towards working on this flaw of his. If he could just work up the nerve to look you in the eye…

You cleared your throat, somewhat uncomfortably.

His head shot up in alarm, like a deer caught in headlights. With wide eyes, he stared at you. You stared back at him. Both of you tried to remain expressionless, unsure of what the other was thinking. Both of you had so much to say, but neither had the guts to break the silence.

“I’m sorry I was an ass –”

“Do you hate me –?”

The two of you spoke in unison, overlapping voices filling the dressing room.

Jiung closed his eyes and took a deep breath upon hearing your words. “What I wanted to say was,” A heavy exhale. “I’m sorry. I was being an ass. And no, I don’t hate you.” He chuckled humorlessly. “In fact, it’s quite the opposite.” He muttered, more to himself than anything.

But you heard him. “Yeah,” You laughed softly, nodding. “Yeah, you kinda were an ass.”

“It’s just…” He was looking down at the ground, but his body unconsciously moved closer and closer, towards you, like there was a gravitational pull towards your entire being. “It’s… I didn’t know what to do.”

“About what?” You found yourself moving forward voluntarily, taking baby steps towards him.

“About…” He waved his hands in the air. “About all this. About us…”

Your face fell. You took a step back. “Oh.” You exhaled, feeling your heart sink into a bottomless chasm.

“It’s hard for me, you know? It’s confusing. I got confused.”

Your lips start to tremble. At first, you were so sure that nothing could be worse than absolute radio silence from Jiung. Turns out, this was worse, much worse. Actually hearing his voice utter these words to you were like daggers aimed at your poor soul. “Yeah, you know what? I should probably go.” You just wanted to get out as quickly as possible, and started to make a beeline for the door, but –

“Wait! Listen, please,” He pleaded, finally looking up at you just as you were about to walk past him and out of his life, again. He couldn’t let that happen. “Can you just… Hug me? Please? If that’s okay with you…”

You had so many questions swimming around in your mind but you chose to not think and just did as he said. “But you hate hugs,” You whispered, as your arms came around his waist and his wrapped around your shoulders. 

“Yeah, but, not really. I get less distracted this way.” Jiung muttered in response, and you could feel his chest vibrate against yours. It almost made you feel warm, almost. “Cos I have something important to tell you.” And the sinking feeling returned once more.

You hummed, indicating that you were listening and encouraging him to go on – even though a part of yourself knew what was coming and didn’t want this, whatever it was, to end.

“Y/N, you know me. You’ve known me for a long time. You know me, even before all of this. So trust me when I say, it is hard to deal with my feelings and my emotions. Like you said that time in the hospital, I am not good at dealing with these things. And it’s true, I do bottle them up. But…” He thought for a second, before continuing. “The reason I do it is because it was something that was modelled to me when I was younger, and it was all I knew, and that was how I coped. I avoid things – people, situations, messages, and I run away.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“The past few weeks have been really, really good. I really enjoyed it – all of it. The walks, the food we shared, and just, the time we spent together. I will cherish those memories forever. But…”

You gulped.

“But last weekend, when my mum saw me and asked me about it, I got scared. I don’t know why. She told me that it looked like I got my spark back again, like I was smiling how I used to before. And she asked, whether it was because of you, and what we were. And truthfully, I didn’t know how to answer her, because technically, we weren’t anything.”

You tried to struggle out of his grip at this point because it was too much. Listening to him was too much. But he only held you firmer; wrapped his arms around you a little tighter.

“And then I realised, I never really stop and think about these things. All my life, I just let all my feelings, the good, the bad, and everything in between – I just let them wash over me. And I never really process them, but I never really let them go either. And it wasn’t until the other day when I was walking along the river and I passed the fried chicken place that it hit me. Do you know what I was thinking about when I saw it?”

“What?” You grumbled into his shirt, feeling partially drained from the heavy emotions and anxiousness.

“I wasn’t even thinking about the chicken, or eating the chicken, or having the beer with the chicken. Or how good the rice cakes would taste. I thought, wow, wouldn’t it be perfect, if you were here with me, and we had chicken for supper together?”

“Hmm?” You were confused.

Jiung laughed. “God, I’m so bad at this. What I’m trying to say is,” He loosened his grip so he could face you, eye to eye this time, whilst still holding your body close to his. “It hit me then. I used to go about my life, thinking just about me, or my work, what I want to eat, or what I want to do. And ever since you came into my life, now, all I can think about is you. Everything reminds me of you. The chicken, the walks, a nice park, a good song I heard, a shirt that I saw… I see it, and I think – what would Y/N think of this? What would Y/N prefer? That’s what I want to know. And that’s what scared me. Because not only was it my feelings, but it was also you – your feelings and thoughts were outside of my control because… I can’t read your mind, and because it was heavily implied that if I ever broke your heart I would not be allowed back into my mother’s house, and, and…”

“And?” You asked gently, with a soft, encouraging smile painted on your lips. You understood, now.

“And it’s scary. Feelings are scary. They’re big, and they’re scary. But I want to be brave now, because I want to learn how to deal with them properly, and because I want to own up to them so I can treat you right.”

The pause brought about a silence which allowed his words to sink in. 

“Because,” Jiung pulled you impossibly close. You could feel his warm breath against your cheeks, and his thundering heart against his ribcage, mirroring yours. “Because in case it wasn’t super obvious, I really, really like you.” He said, letting out a shaky breath, lips turning upwards in a nervous smile.

You bit your bottom lip and giggled silently, meeting his vulnerable eyes with your cheeky crescent moons. 

“Why…” Jiung paused. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

You laughed in response, pulling slightly away from him but still firmly holding on. 

“What… Why?”

You shook your head before bursting into another fit of giggles. “You started it! You gave me the silent treatment. I’m just giving you a taste of your own medicine.”

“I… What? Y/N?”

You couldn’t help smiling at his shocked expression, staring at you in disbelief as the cogs in his brain turned ever so slowly. “Oh my god, Jiung, just shut up and kiss me already.”

“I –”

His eyes grew as wide as saucers as you pulled him by the collar, down to your height. Any words he had died in his mouth as your lips finally touched. His brain short circuited for a few seconds, trying and failing to register how soft your plump pillows felt against his, and the subtle sweetness of your strawberry lipbalm, and oh, oh, your tongue, and your hands threading through his orange hair (his stylist was going to give him an earful later), and oh – they’re moving down –

“Jiung!” A voice yelled from the other side of the door. “Ten minutes!”

“Shit,” He mumbled as you began to nibble on his bottom lip in fervour. Jiung let out a pained groan. “Y/N, Y/N, I have to… I have to go, I…”

“Hmm?” You pulled away, but not without a loud smooch and a thin string of saliva connecting both of your lips. You batted your eyelashes up at him, giving him the sweetest smile you could muster. 

“Five minutes.” Jiung looked at you sternly, but his wide smile betrayed him. “Five minutes, that’s all we get.”

“Plenty of time.” You reassured him before lacing your fingers with his and getting cosy on the couch. 

Needless to say, the stylists had their work cut out for them before he had to race on stage.