#it is the weight thing that really made me do this

[moonlightwritingf1]

At Her Mercy | LN4

💋 summary ━━━━━━━ For the first time in her relationship with Lando, Y/N takes charge in the bedroom, and Lando becomes submissive.

💋 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

💋 word count ━━━━━━━ 5.9k

💋 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (m receiving), fingering?, submissive Lando, creampie, hand job, strip tease, teasing

💋 author's note ━━━━━━━ I don't really like how this one turned out, but I hope you enjoy it.

Based on this request.

Y/N’s fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted the straps of her dress in the mirror. It was a simple black piece, not too revealing, but enough to make her feel confident—or as confident as she could muster. Her heart raced as she thought about what she was about to do. Tonight, she told herself, I’m taking control. It wasn’t just about the physical act; it was about proving something to herself, about breaking down the walls she had built so meticulously around her emotions.

She had been at Lando’s apartment in Monaco for the better part of the week. Their relationship was still new, fragile, and yet intense. Every touch, every glance, every word exchanged between them carried a weight she wasn’t sure she was ready to bear. But tonight, she was determined to push past her insecurities, to step into a role she had always shied away from.

Lando was in the living room, sprawled lazily on the couch, his attention half on the TV and half on his phone. He looked effortlessly handsome, as he always did, his boyish charm combined with a quiet confidence that both irritated and intrigued her. She took a deep breath, her pulse quickening as she approached him.

“Hey,” she said, her voice softer than she intended.

He looked up, a smirk playing on his lips. “Hey yourself. You look… stunning.”

She ignored the flutter in her chest, forcing herself to maintain eye contact. Stay focused. “I’ve been thinking,” she began, her tone deliberate. “About us. About… tonight.”

His eyebrows lifted, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Oh? What about tonight?”

She stepped closer, her hands resting on her hips in a gesture she hoped looked confident rather than defensive. “I want to change things up. I want to be in control.”

Lando’s smirk widened, but there was a glimmer of something else in his expression—something deeper. “Is that so?” he drawled, leaning back against the couch cushions. “And what does that entail, exactly?”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush, but she refused to back down. She moved to stand in front of him, her knees brushing against his thighs. “It means,” she said slowly, her voice low but firm, “that I’m in charge. And you’re going to do exactly as I say.”

His breath hitched, and for the first time since she’d known him, Lando looked… uncertain. But intrigued. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice rougher than usual. “I’m all yours.”

She didn’t hesitate. Sinking onto his lap, she straddled him, her dress riding up slightly as she settled against him. His hands instinctively moved to her hips, but she caught his wrists, pinning them to his sides. “No,” she said firmly, her eyes locking with his. “I’m in control now.”

Lando’s jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration crossing his face before it melted into something darker, more primal. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his tone dripping with submission.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected it to be this easy, for him to surrender so completely. But there was a fire in his eyes, a silent challenge that made her pulse race. She shifted slightly, grinding against him, and a low groan escaped his lips.

“Good boy,” she murmured, her voice a sultry purr that surprised even her. “You’re going to let me take what I want, aren’t you?”

His chest heaved, his hands twitching at his sides as if desperate to touch her. “Yes,” he rasped, his voice strained.

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear. “And what if I want…” she paused, her breath warm against his skin, “…everything?”

His eyes fluttered shut, a shudder running through him. “Then take it.”

Y/N’s heart pounded as she pulled back slightly, studying his face. His usual confidence was gone, replaced by a vulnerability that made her chest ache. She had always seen him as the one in control, the one who called the shots. But now, with his hands restrained and his body tense with anticipation, he looked… fragile. And it terrified her.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Do you trust me?”

His eyes snapped open, locking onto hers with an intensity that took her breath away. “Always,” he said without hesitation.

Her resolve wavered for a moment, but she pushed past it, her hands moving to the hem of his shirt. Slowly, she tugged it up and over his head, exposing his toned chest. She traced a finger down the center of his torso, feeling the muscles twitch beneath her touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

His breath hitched, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. “Y/N…” he started, but she cut him off with a touch to his lips.

“Shh,” she whispered, her voice firm but gentle. “I’m in control, remember?”

He swallowed hard, nodding silently. She could see the conflict in his eyes—the need to take over, to reclaim the dominance he was so used to, warring with his desire to submit to her. And it thrilled her.

Sliding off his lap, she knelt in front of him, her hands resting on his thighs. “You’re going to let me take care of you,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Lando’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, but he didn’t move. “Whatever you want,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

She held his gaze as she reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, slowly pulling them down along with his boxers. His breathing quickened, his body tensing as she exposed him fully.

“Look at you,” she murmured, her voice a mix of awe and possessiveness. “All for me.”

His chest heaved, his eyes dark with desire. “Only for you,” he choked out.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against his inner thigh, and he let out a strangled moan. “Shh,” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. “Let me take care of you.”

His body trembled beneath her touch, his hands gripping the edge of the couch as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. She could feel the tension in him, the way he was holding himself back, and it only fueled her determination.

“Relax,” she murmured, her lips trailing higher. “Let go.”

“Y/N,” he gasped, his voice breaking. “I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ve got you.”

And with that, she took him into her mouth, her hands gripping his hips to keep him still. His entire body tensed, a guttural moan escaping his lips as his head fell back against the couch.

“Fuck,” he choked out, his voice raw with desperation. “Y/N…”

She didn’t respond, her focus entirely on him, on the way his body responded to her touch, to her control. She could feel him trembling, hear the ragged breaths escaping his lips, and it only spurred her on.

“So good for me,” she murmured against his skin, her fingers tightening on his hips. “Just like that.”

His chest heaved, his hands gripping the couch so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Please,” he begged, his voice strained. “Don’t stop.”

She didn’t stop—not yet. Hovering above him, she took her time, savoring every inch of him, every flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. Her hand wrapped around his length, torturously slow, her thumb brushing over the sensitive tip before she leaned in, her lips parting to take him into her mouth. His hips jerked instinctively, but her free hand pressed firmly against his stomach, pinning him in place. “Don’t move,” she murmured, her voice low and commanding, the vibration of her words sending a shiver through him. “You’re mine tonight. Every part of you.”

Her tongue swirled around him, a deliberate, teasing motion that drew a ragged moan from his lips. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking him deeper, the warmth of her mouth contrasting with the cool air that brushed against his skin whenever she pulled back. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and the intensity in her gaze made him gasp. She wasn’t just doing this—she was owning it, owning him. Her lips traced a path along his shaft, her tongue lapping at the veins that throbbed beneath his skin, her every movement calculated to drive him closer to the edge.

Lando’s hands clawed at the couch, his knuckles whitening as he fought to stay still, to not buck into her. His breath came in short, desperate gasps, his chest heaving as he tried to hold himself together. “Y/N,” he choked out, his voice raw and broken, “please, I... I can’t...”

“Shh,” she whispered, pulling back just enough to let the cool air kiss his wet skin. Her fingers tightened around him, her thumb circling the sensitive head. “You’ll take what I give you. When I give it to you.”

He whimpered, his head falling back against the couch, his entire body trembling with the effort to keep still. His muscles coiled like springs, his hips twitching under her touch, but he didn’t dare break her rules. Not now, when she was in complete control. Her mouth returned to him with a deliberate slowness, her lips sealing around him as she sucked him deeper, her tongue teasing the underside of his shaft. His breath hitched, his body tightening as she pushed him closer and closer to the edge.

But just as he was about to tip over, she pulled away, her lips leaving him with a soft *pop*. His hips jerked, an involuntary whine escaping his lips as the sudden loss of contact left him aching. “Y/N,” he groaned, his voice strained and desperate. “Please, I need... I’m so close...”

Her hand stilled, her fingers tightening around him just enough to hold him back. She leaned over him, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “I’m not done with you yet.” Her voice was low, commanding, sending a shiver down his spine. “You’ll come when I say you can. Not a moment sooner.”

He groaned, his head falling back against the couch, his body trembling with need. “You’re killing me,” he rasped, his chest heaving.

Her lips curved into a smirk as she leaned back, her eyes dark with possession. “Good.” Her fingers trailed up his thigh, the light touch a cruel tease. “You’re mine tonight, Lando. Every part of you. And I’ve got plans for you.”

His breath hitched, his eyes locking onto hers, and for a moment, she could see the conflict in his gaze. The need to take control, to reclaim his dominance, warred with the desire to surrender completely to her. But when her nails dug into his thigh, just enough to sting, his resistance crumbled. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Anything you want.”

Her smirk widened, her fingers trailing back to his length, her touch featherlight but deliberate. “Good boy,” she murmured, her voice a sultry purr that sent a jolt through him. “Now, let’s see how much you can take.”

She rose from her knees, her dress cascading down her thighs as she stood before him. Lando’s eyes were wide, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as he watched her. His cock was hard, throbbing, and glistening with pre-cum, straining against his body as if begging for her touch. But she wasn’t going to give in—not yet. She was in control, and she was going to make him feel every second of it.

Her fingers slowly trailed along the hem of her dress, catching the fabric and lifting it inch by inch. She moved with deliberate slowness, her eyes locked onto his, watching the way his jaw tightened, his lips parting as he fought to keep still. The dress rose higher, revealing her thighs, her hips, the curve of her waist, and finally, the swell of her breasts. Lando’s hands twitched at his sides, his fingers curling into fists as he resisted the urge to reach for her.

She paused, the dress just barely covering her breasts, and tilted her head. “You’re not going to touch yourself, are you, Lando?” Her voice was soft, almost innocent, but the sharpness in her eyes betrayed her tone.

He shook his head, his breath hitching. “No. No, I won’t.”

“Good,” she purred, letting the dress fall from her fingers and pool at her feet. She stood before him, completely naked, her skin glowing in the dim light of the room. His eyes raked over her hungrily, his gaze lingering on the curve of her hips, the softness of her breasts, the way her body seemed to stretch out before him like a feast.

She stepped closer, her foot nudging his knees apart as she stood between them. His cock twitched, straining toward her, and she felt a surge of power rush through her. She loved this—loved the way he looked at her, loved the way he was completely at her mercy.

Her hands trailed down her body, her fingers brushing over her breasts, teasing the nipples into hard peaks as she watched his reaction. He groaned low in his throat, his hand twitching toward his cock, but she stopped him with a sharp look.

“I said don’t,” she warned, her voice firm. His hand froze mid-air, and he let it fall back to the couch, his fingers digging into the cushions.

She continued her slow descent, her hands sliding down her stomach, over her hips, and finally between her legs. She touched herself lightly, her fingers brushing over her folds, feeling the wetness that had already begun to gather there. His eyes were glued to her, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps as he watched her.

“You like watching me, don’t you?” she asked, her voice low and sultry.

He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “Yes. God, yes.”

She smiled, a wicked curve of her lips, and stepped even closer, her knees brushing against his. “Then watch.”

She slid her fingers deeper, exploring herself, feeling the way her body responded to his gaze, to the way he was practically trembling with need. She teased herself, her fingers circling her clit slowly, deliberately, drawing out the sensation until she felt the first sparks of pleasure ripple through her.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice hoarse. “You’re so beautiful.”

She didn’t respond, her focus entirely on herself, on the way her body was responding to her touch, to the way he was watching her. She could feel her wetness coating her fingers, could hear the soft, wet sounds as she moved against herself. She leaned back slightly, arching her back, letting her breasts thrust forward as she continued to touch herself.

“Lando,” she said, her voice breathy, “suck my nipples.”

He didn’t hesitate, his mouth latching onto her breast, his tongue swirling around her nipple as he sucked it into his mouth. She moaned softly, her fingers moving faster against herself as he continued to lavish attention on her breasts. His hands twitched at his sides, but he didn’t move them, his entire focus on her, on the way she was falling apart in his hands, on the way she was completely in control.

She could feel her climax building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in her belly, but she forced herself to slow down, to draw it out. She wasn’t ready to let go yet—not when he was so completely at her mercy.

She pulled back slightly, her fingers stilling as she looked down at him. His eyes were dark with desire, his lips swollen from where he’d been sucking on her breast, and she felt a surge of power rush through her.

“You’re so good for me,” she murmured, her voice soft. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

She stepped back, her fingers trailing down her body, over her stomach, between her legs, and finally to her folds. She touched herself again, her fingers sliding into her wetness, feeling the way her body responded to her touch, to the way he was watching her.

She stepped back slightly, her fingers gliding out from her wetness, leaving a glistening trail. Lando’s eyes followed her hand, his mouth already softening, lips parting instinctively. She smirked, holding her damp fingers inches from his mouth. 

“Open,” she commanded, her voice low and firm. He obeyed without hesitation, his tongue flicking out to taste her before she even brought her fingers to his lips. She pressed them into his mouth, and he moaned hungrily, sucking eagerly, his tongue swirling around her fingers as if he could never get enough of her taste. His eyes fluttered closed, lost in the sensation, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. 

“You’re so desperate,” she whispered, pulling her fingers away with a soft pop. His lips chased after them, a whine escaping his throat as she leaned back, leaving him wanting. 

She climbed onto his lap in one deliberate motion, her legs straddling him, her knees sinking into the couch on either side of his hips. Her pussy hovered just above his cock, her wetness already slicking his length as she pressed down lightly, letting him feel the heat of her without letting him inside. 

His breath hitched, his hands twitching toward her hips, but she caught his wrists, placing them firmly on the couch cushions. “Don’t,” she growled, her voice firm, and he immediately stilled, his fingers curling into the fabric beneath them. 

She began to move, rocking her hips back and forth slowly, the length of his dick sliding against her, the wetness from her pussy coating him entirely. Her movements were deliberate, teasing, each stroke making him harder, more desperate. 

His cock twitched beneath her, and she smirked, pressing down a little harder, the friction sending shivers up her spine. “Touch yourself, I dare you,” she taunted, her voice dripping with dominance. 

He shook his head, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “I-I won’t. I’ll behave.” "Good boy.” she purred, her hips grinding in a slow circle, her clit brushing against him with every movement. 

His eyes were glued to her, his gaze darting from her pussy to her breasts, her neck, her face, as if he couldn’t decide where to look, where to focus. “Y/N...” he whispered, his voice breaking. 

“Mine,” she said simply, leaning forward, her breasts brushing against his chest. She could see the way he trembled beneath her, the way his hands strained to touch her but stayed put. “You belong to me. Say it.” 

“Yours,” he choked out, his voice raw. “Only yours.” She moved faster, her hips rolling against him, the wetness between them creating a soft, obscene sound that only fueled her need. She was close, so close, the coil of pleasure tightening in her belly, her clit throbbing with each stroke against his cock.

 “Ah—” she gasped, her movements faltering as she felt her climax building, but she stopped herself, pulling back slightly. His hips jerked upward instinctively, trying to follow her, but she planted a hand on his chest, holding him still. 

“Patience,” she scolded, her voice cutting through his desperate whimper. She reached down, wrapping her hand around his cock, holding it steady as she positioned herself above him. He groaned, his head falling back against the couch, his hands gripping the cushions like a lifeline. She lowered herself slowly, inch by agonizing inch, the stretch of her pussy around his cock making her shudder. He was thick, filling her completely, the sensation overwhelming as she sank down onto him. 

“Fuck,” she breathed, her voice shaky as she paused, adjusting to him. His cock twitched inside her, and she smirked through the haze of pleasure, leaning forward to whisper in his ear, “You’re so big, Lando.” 

He moaned, his hands twitching again, but he didn’t dare move them. “Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Please what?” she teased, lifting her hips just enough to let the tip of his cock slide out before sinking down again. “Please... let me touch you.” She shook her head, her movements steadying as she began to ride him, her hips rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. 

“Not yet. You need to earn it.” He whimpered, his hips bucking slightly, trying to meet her rhythm, but she pressed a hand firmly against his chest, stopping him.

 “Behave,” she warned, her voice sharp, and he stilled immediately, his chest heaving with effort. “You’re so good for me,” she cooed, her voice softening as she picked up the pace, her hips grinding against him with every downward stroke. 

He felt incredible inside her, every thrust sending sparks of pleasure coursing through her body. She could feel him twitching, hear the way his breath was coming in ragged gasps, and it only fueled her dominance. She leaned back, her hands on his thighs for leverage, her pussy gripping him tightly as she rode him harder, faster. His cock was hitting that perfect spot inside her, the sensation undeniable as she felt her climax building again. 

“Lando...” she gasped, her voice breaking as she leaned forward, her hands gripping his shoulders. 

“Yes,” he whispered, his hands finally moving, but only to cradle her hips gently, not daring to take control. “Please, Y/N, come for me.” 

She moaned, her rhythm faltering as she felt herself tipping over the edge, her body tightening around him as the wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her head fell back, her mouth open in a silent cry as she rode out her orgasm, each gasp, each tremor making him shudder beneath her. When she finally stilled, her body still trembling, she looked down at him, her eyes dark with satisfaction. “You’re mine,” she whispered, her voice raw, and he nodded, his eyes glazed with want. 

But she wasn't done yet. Her hips rose and fell with purpose, each movement grinding him deeper into her. His cock pulsed, twitching inside her, and she could feel the tension in his body, the way he was fighting so hard not to thrust upward, to let her keep control. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest, her lips hovering just above his ear. 

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Her voice was low, smug, and she felt him shiver beneath her. He nodded, his chest heaving, his hands gripping the couch cushions like they were his anchor.

 “Yes,” he choked out, his voice strangled. “Please, Y/N...” 

“Please what?” She lifted herself slightly, letting just the tip of his cock slide out of her before sinking down again, slow and deliberate, watching his face twist in pleasure. 

“Please let me cum,” he whispered, his voice trembling, his eyes wide and desperate. His hands twitched, but he didn’t dare move them, didn’t dare try to touch her. 

She smirked, her hips rolling in a slow, torturous circle. “Ask properly.” He groaned, his head falling back against the couch, his jaw clenched as he fought for the words. 

“Please, Y/N... let me cum. I need it. I’m yours.” His voice broke on the last word, raw and unfiltered.

 “Good boy.” She leaned back, her hands resting on his thighs for leverage, and began to ride him harder, faster, her pussy gripping him tightly with every downward stroke. 

His cock hit just the right spot, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through her, but she kept her focus on him, on the way his body was trembling beneath her, on the way he was completely at her mercy. His hips jerked upward, unable to stay still any longer, but she stopped him with a sharp look, her hand pressing firmly against his chest. 

“Don’t,” she warned, and he froze immediately, his breath hitching as he nodded. 

“S-sorry,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “I’m trying, Y/N.” 

She smirked, leaning forward again, her lips brushing against his. “You’re doing so good for me,” she cooed, her voice dripping with sweetness. “But I think it’s time.” 

His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to say something, but she swallowed it with a kiss, her tongue sliding against his as she began to move again, her hips grinding against him with purpose. She could feel him unraveling beneath her, his cock twitching, his breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. 

“Let go, Lando,” she murmured against his lips, her voice firm but soft. “Cum inside me.” 

His hands finally moved, but only to grip her hips gently, holding her steady as his body shook with the force of his orgasm. He cried out, his head falling back, his eyes squeezing shut as he spilled into her, his release hot and intense, filling her completely. She moaned, her own body trembling with pleasure as she felt his cock pulse inside her, each wave of his orgasm sending shivers through her. She stayed on top of him, her hips still moving slowly, drawing out every last bit of his pleasure until he was completely spent, his body limp beneath her.

 “Good boy,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss him softly, her fingers brushing the sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. 

“You did so well.” He blinked up at her, his eyes glazed but still filled with devotion. 

“Yours,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but sure. “Always yours.” 

She smiled, her own heart swelling with a strange mix of power and affection. “Always,” she murmured, her lips finding his again. And in that moment, she knew neither of them would have it any other way. 

“Always,” he breathed, and she leaned down, capturing his lips in a searing kiss as she began to move again, her pussy still gripping him tightly. She wasn’t done with him, and he knew better than to object.

She stopped moving. Her body stilled on top of his, but the grip of her inner walls around his cock tightened, squeezing him with deliberate force. Lando groaned, his head tilting back against the couch, his hands instinctively gripping her thighs. But she didn’t let him take control—no, she was in charge now, and she would remind him of that.

“Ah—Y/N,” he choked out, his voice strained, his hips twitching beneath her as she held him captive inside her. She smirked, her lips curling into a small, satisfied smile as she leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest. Her hands slid up his shoulders, her nails lightly scraping his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

“Do you like that, Lando?” she purred, her voice low and teasing. Her hips shifted ever so slightly, the pressure of her pussy around his cock increasing just enough to make him gasp. “Do you like feeling me squeeze you? Knowing I could ruin you if I wanted to?”

He nodded frantically, his jaw clenched tight, his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Yes, Y/N, I—I love it. I love you.”

She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face, the way his pupils were blown wide with desire, the way his lips trembled as he struggled to hold himself together. “You’re so desperate,” she murmured, her voice soft but laced with dominance. “So eager to please me.”

His hands trembled on her thighs, but he didn’t dare move them, didn’t dare try to take control. “I am,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I’ll do anything for you, Y/N. Anything.”

She smirked, her hands sliding down to his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. “Anything?” she repeated, her tone teasing. “Prove it.”

With that, she lifted herself off him, her pussy sliding off his cock with a soft, wet sound. His cum leaked out of her, trailing down her thighs as she stood before him, her body glistening with sweat and arousal. She stared down at him, her eyes dark with satisfaction, as she brought two fingers to her entrance, sliding them inside herself slowly, deliberately.

“Fuck,” Lando breathed, his eyes glued to her hand, to the way her fingers disappeared into her wetness, the way she moaned softly as she touched herself. His cock twitched, semi hard and aching, desperate for her again.

She pulled her fingers out of her pussy, her arousal mixed with his cum coating her skin. She brought her fingers to her mouth, her eyes locking with his as she sucked them clean, her tongue swirling around the digits with deliberate slowness. Lando moaned, his hips jerking upward instinctively, but she stepped back, just out of reach.

She paused, her lips parting slightly as she tasted the mix of herself and him on her fingers. The salty tang of his cum mingled with the sweetness of her arousal, and she let out a low, throaty hum, savoring it. Her eyes hooded, fiiled with hunger, locked onto his, unrelenting. “You taste so good,” she murmured, her voice dripping with intent, each word deliberate, each syllable laced with control. She slid her fingers back into her pussy, slow and deliberate, feeling the heat of her own slickness coat them once more. The sound was obscenely wet, echoing softly in the room, and his breath hitched at the sight—at the way her body welcomed her touch, at the way her thighs trembled ever so slightly from the effort to keep herself upright.

Her gaze never wavered from his as she brought her fingers to her mouth again. This time, she took her index finger between her lips, sucking it clean with agonizing slowness, her tongue swirling around the digit, her cheeks hollowing as though she were savoring every drop. A soft moan escaped her, muffled by her fingers, but it sent a shiver through him nonetheless. When she finally pulled her finger free, her lips glistened and parted as she exhaled a shaky breath. Then she turned and walked toward the bathroom, her hips swaying with deliberate slowness. “Come on, Lando,” she called over her shoulder, her voice dripping with dominance. “Let’s take a shower.”

He hesitated for a moment, his chest still heaving, his cock semi hard and aching again, but he knew better than to disobey. He stumbled to his feet, his legs shaky as he followed her into the bathroom, where she was already turning on the water, steam beginning to fill the room.

She stepped into the shower, her back to him, and he followed, his eyes tracing the curves of her body as the water cascaded over her skin. She turned to face him, her eyes dark with satisfaction as she reached for the soap, lathering it between her hands before running them over his chest.

“How did it feel, Lando?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with dominance. “How did it feel to be completely at my mercy?”

He swallowed hard, his hands twitching at his sides as he fought the urge to touch her. “It—it felt amazing, Y/N,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “I—I love it when you take control. When you make me yours.”

She smirked, her hands sliding down his chest, over his abs, and finally to his cock, her fingers wrapping around him with deliberate slowness. “Do you want me to take control again, Lando?” she purred, her eyes locking with his as her hand began to move, stroking him with measured precision.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice trembling with need. “Please, Y/N, I need you. I’m yours. Always yours.”

She leaned forward, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and deliberate. “Good boy,” she whispered, her voice low and commanding. Her hand tightened around his cock, her grip firm yet teasing, her fingers sliding up and down his length with a slow, calculated rhythm. Her thumb circled his tip, smearing the bead of precum that had gathered there, her other hand cupping his balls, applying just enough pressure to make him shudder beneath her touch.

He groaned, his hips bucking slightly, but she held him in place with her free hand splayed across his chest, her nails digging lightly into his skin. “You’re doing so well, Lando,” she murmured, her lips trailing down his jaw to his neck, where she pressed a series of open-mouthed kisses, each one a spark of heat that made him tremble. Her hand moved faster now, her fingers twisting slightly at the base, her thumb brushing over his tip with every stroke, her grip on his balls tightening just enough to make him gasp.

“Ah—Y/N,” he choked out, his voice raw, his hands twitching at his sides. “Please,” he whispered, his chest heaving as he fought to hold himself together. She pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his, and she saw the desperation there, the raw need that mirrored her own. She smirked, leaning in to capture his lips in a searing kiss, her tongue sliding against his, her hand never slowing its pace on his cock.

Their kiss was messy, hungry, filled with the friction of teeth and lips and tongues. Her free hand tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her hips grinding against his thigh as she deepened the kiss, her hand stroking him faster, harder, her grip on his balls tightening with each passing second.

"Touch me," she commanded, her lips breaking from his, her voice a low growl that sent shivers down his spine. His hands moved immediately, trembling slightly as they reached for her breasts, his fingers brushing over her nipples, already hardened with arousal. He groaned, his thumbs circling her sensitive peaks, his hands cupping her breasts with a reverence that made her arch into his touch.

She moaned softly, her hand still working his cock, her strokes quick and firm, her other hand still playing with his balls, her nails lightly scraping the sensitive skin. She kissed him again, her lips and tongue demanding, her breath mingling with his as she pulled back just enough to whisper against his mouth, “Cum for me, Lando.”

With a strangled cry, he obeyed, his release spilling over her hand, his body shaking with the force of his climax, his face buried in her neck as he whispered, broken and breathless, “Yours,” he gasped out, his body trembling as the last waves of his climax subsided, his lips pressing weakly against her skin. He pulled back slightly, his chest still heaving, his arms wrapped loosely around her. His eyes were heavy-lidded but gleamed with something new—something mischievous, something utterly him.

“You’re fucking terrifying when you’re like this, you know that?” The corner of his mouth twitched, his voice still rough but laced with teasing. His hands slid up her back, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over her skin, still slick with water from the shower.

Her eyes narrowed, a smirk tugging at her lips as she stepped back slightly, her fingers trailing down his chest until they reached the base of his cock, still hard despite the release she’d just wrung out of him. “Terrifying?” she repeated, her voice low, her fingers tightening ever so slightly. “Is that a complaint, Lando?”

“No,” he breathed, his hips twitching involuntarily, his eyes darkening as she held him in her grasp. “It’s... god, it’s hot. You’re so fucking hot like this.” His voice trailed off, trembling slightly as he leaned into her, his forehead resting against hers. “But it’s not just that,” he whispered, his voice softer, more vulnerable now. “You’re everything. The way you take control, the way you *see* me—it’s like you’re the only one who’s ever really known me, known what I need.” His hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “You’re not just hot, Y/N. You’re... you’re my forever.” His lips brushed hers, barely a touch, but it was enough to make her breath catch. “And I’m yours.”

[xhyjin]

fights with toji! weren’t a common occurrence in your relationship with him, but when they did happen, you often found yourself shutting down—completely avoiding and ignoring his presence. you’ll admit it was a childish and selfish thing to do. “you should talk to him about your feelings” is what you tell yourself all the time, but you keep doing it, and it isn’t your fault! this is how you cope, and you can’t change it.

at first, he doesn’t really notice that you’re ignoring him. it had been a day since you two argued about a petty incident—him leaving the toilet seat up, causing you to fall into it late at night when you were too half-asleep to notice. he called it a “dumb thing to be mad about” and said there was “no need to argue,” but this had been your last nerve. you didn’t want to argue in the middle of the night, but you also didn’t want pajamas that were wet from toilet water, so you just walked off and changed into a different pair while he went back to bed, thinking everything was fine.

it was not.

he woke up, noticing you weren’t in bed. it wasn’t unusual, but it was definitely rare, you’re not a morning person and only wake up early when you have plans for the day. he shrugged it off and continued with his day, walking into the kitchen to see you making breakfast “good morning, princess,” he greeted, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around you. you didn’t answer, and he still didn’t notice, instead resting his full weight on you and inhaling your scent before letting go and heading to the couch to scroll on his phone.

you were mad at him, yes, but you still made him breakfast. he should probably hope you didn’t mix toilet water with his coffee, but you weren’t that petty. still, he didn’t notice. instead of talking about your plans for the day like usual, the two of you ate in silence. the more he didn’t notice, the more upset you got. he didn’t even notice the evident pout on your face! or the shift in the air between you two—a thick tension that, somehow, only you could feel.

it wasn’t until the middle of the day that, while you two were watching a movie, or at least he was, that you found yourself teetering on the edge of the couch, about to fall off as you sulked. you weren’t even mad about the whole toilet seat situation, but rather the fact that he hadn’t noticed you were ignoring him! you had enough and stood up, intending to go to your shared bedroom to sulk, but as you walked by him, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you down on top of him.

"you done being upset, baby?" he asks. so he did know, you think to yourself. he doesn't even let you answer before connecting his lips to yours in a passionate, yet playful kiss. he bites your bottom lip, causing you to squeal and pull away, and when you do, you see a smirk on his handsome face that makes you want to smack it off. "i'm sorry, baby. i promise not to leave the seat up again, and i'm sorry that because of my inconsideration, you fell into the toilet."

you sigh, looking away from his gaze as you sit on his lap, his arms wrapped securely around your waist so you can’t escape even if you wanted to. “come on, baby, please?” he pleads, reaching for your face and turning your chin toward him. his eyebrows are furrowed with a needy look as he asks, “do you want me to sit on the toilet with the seat up? would that make us even?” almost desperate, he suggests. at that moment, you finally smile and nod, half joking and half agreeing. “oh, my princess is back,” he sighs in relief once you stop ignoring him, making you giggle. you lay your head on his chest as he kisses your head all over.

[riqomi]

he's just a friend ˖ 심재윤

제이크 ˖ 𝑓em!r .. g. smut est. relationship ──── BOOKSHELF ( 4347 ) tw. mean dom!jake, raw sex (don’t be silly! wrap your willy), oral f. receiving, jealous!jake, let me know if i missed anything

the tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. jake stood in front of you, arms crossed, jaw clenched, eyes dark with frustration.

“you’re really gonna act like you don’t see it?” his voice was sharp, laced with something deeper—something possessive.

you rolled your eyes, exhaling a heavy breath. “jake, it’s not that deep. he’s just a friend.”

“a friend? you were laughing at all his jokes, touching his arm, letting him get all close to you—”

“oh my god, you’re overreacting!”

he scoffed, stepping closer until your back was against the wall. his warmth pressed into you, and despite the anger in his gaze, there was something else there too—something that sent a shiver down your spine.

“am i?” his voice dropped lower, huskier. his fingers trailed up your arm, slow, deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “tell me, do you let just anyone touch you like this?”

your breath hitched. the shift in the atmosphere was instant. the heat from the argument hadn’t dissipated—it had transformed into something else entirely.

“jake—”

he didn’t give you the chance to finish. his lips crashed into yours, demanding, hungry. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, letting you feel just how much this jealousy had affected him.

“i don’t like sharing,” he muttered against your lips before trailing kisses down your neck, biting just enough to leave his mark.

and tonight? he was going to make sure you remembered exactly who you belonged to.

every breath you took was mingled with the familiar scent of his cologne, a mix of cedar and something distinctly jake—it was intoxicating, grounding, as if he were the only thing that mattered in that moment. you could feel your heart racing, pounding against your ribcage, both from the thrill of his touch and the lingering taste of adrenaline from your earlier argument.

“jake… we shouldn’t,” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling slightly. you could feel the weight of his stare, a fierce intensity that made it hard to think straight. but the way his lips traveled down the length of your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses across your skin, made it difficult to remember why you were even resisting.

“shouldn’t what?” he breathed into your ear, his hot breath sending a thrill through you. “shouldn’t want you? shouldn’t make you mine?” the vulnerability masked by his possessiveness ignited something deep within you, something you knew you had to confront but was terrified to fully embrace.

“jake, you’re being—” but he silenced you once again with another fierce kiss, his lips moving against yours with a desperate urgency. you were lost in the heat, caught between the frustration and the undeniable chemistry that had always simmered beneath the surface. his tongue tangled with yours, coaxing you to forget your protests.

“you don’t get it,” he murmured against your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “i can’t stand the thought of someone else having you like this.” with that, his grip tightened around your waist—steady and possessive—as if he was trying to keep you anchored to him, a silent promise that you were his, and he was not about to let you go.

you felt like a moth drawn to a flame, aware of the danger yet unable to resist its pull. “i’m not a possession, jake,” you finally managed, your voice wavering as his fingers brushed the bare skin of your midriff effortlessly. the contrast between his firmness and the spark of tenderness in his touch made you shiver.

he pulled back for a moment, his eyes searching yours, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the storm of frustration. “i know you’re not,” he said softly, the roughness in his voice subsiding just a bit. “but when i see you with him—joking and laughing—part of me can’t help but feel scared, feel threatened. i… i care about you. a lot.”

your heart softened at the admission, his own walls beginning to crumble. you reached up, running your fingers along his jaw, feeling the contours of his face, the struggle etched in his features. “i care about you too, jake. but you need to trust me.”

his gaze flickered, and for a moment, you wondered if maybe you were getting through to him. but then, just as quickly, that fire ignited again. “trust, huh? what if i can’t?” he stepped back, just enough to create space, yet you could still feel the magnetic pull between you. “what if i’m not ready to let go of this? the thought of losing you…”

you could see it in his eyes—the mix of fear and desperation. it was raw, it was real, and it made your heart ache in a way you had never expected. “you won’t lose me if you let me in, jake.”

he searched your face, weighing your words against the tumult of jealousy and longing that swirled inside him. you could see the battle he was fighting, the internal struggle between claiming you and giving you the freedom you deserved.

then, with a sudden intensity, he surged forward, capturing your lips again with a passion that felt like both a plea and a declaration. as your bodies pressed closer together, you felt the resolve in him strengthen, his grip on you tightening. you melted against him, surrendering to the moment, the tension from seconds before dissipating into a heat that wrapped around you both like a cocoon.

in that silent space, you both knew: walls would crumble, trust would build, and no one could keep you apart—not when the bond was this strong and this real. together, you would navigate the chaos of emotions, and for tonight, nothing else mattered but the two of you—lost in a world that belonged only to you.

as the kiss deepened, you felt the heat radiating off jake's body, igniting a fire within you that had long been simmering beneath the surface. his hands explored your sides, fingers creeping under the hem of your shirt, brushing against your skin, causing your breath to hitch. you could feel your body responding, arching closer to him, craving more.

with a sudden urgency, he broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours. his breath was ragged, his eyes dark with desire. “i need to feel you,” he murmured, his voice a deep growl that sent shivers down your spine.

“here?” you whispered, glancing around the dimly lit room. the world beyond the walls seemed distant, fading away as the tension between you crackled like electricity.

he chuckled lowly, a sound that sent a wave of heat washing over you. “just us. only us.”

his hands slipped fully under your shirt, fingers splayed wide against your back as he pulled you against him, the warmth of his body radiating through the fabric. you could feel every inch of him pressing against you, every pulse of his heartbeat syncing with your own.

“jake, i…” you searched his gaze, wanting to communicate your own desire but the words escaped you, overtaken by instinct as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

he responded to your urgency, lifting you off your feet and pressing you against the wall, his strong body pinning you in place. you gasped as the cool surface met your back, contrasting sharply with the heat of his skin. there was no hesitation in his movements; he was feral, desperate, losing himself in the moment.

his lips were on yours again, hungry and demanding, while his hands roamed freely, exploring every curve, every inch of you. with a deft movement, he lifted your shirt over your head, tossing it aside without breaking the rhythm of your kiss. the cool air prickled your exposed skin, heightened by the warmth of his body.

“god, you’re beautiful,” he whispered against your mouth, eyes devouring you. you could feel his desire, an overwhelming presence that made your core tighten with anticipation. the moment hung heavy, electric.

“please,” you urged, feeling brazen in your want. it was more than just physical; it was a connection, a shared need that was raw and urgent. his gaze darkened, and without another word, he captured your lips again, claiming you as he pressed forward, his body a heat that enveloped you.

as he kissed down your neck, planting soft, passionate bites that made you gasp, you reveled in the closeness. your fingers found their way to the waistband of his jeans, exploring boldly, teasingly. he inhaled sharply, responding to your touch with a low growl, pressing you deeper against the wall.

“that’s it,” he murmured, “don’t hold back.” the command was both thrilling and intoxicating, driving you to continue exploring, your hands deftly undoing the button of his jeans. the way he inhaled, the catch in his breath as you slipped your hand inside, was enough to stoke the flames of desire between you.

as your fingers brushed against him, he exhaled sharply, his body responding eagerly to your touch. he thrust into your palm, groaning softly, his need spilling into the space between you. “just like that,” he encouraged, his eyes fierce and possessive.

but then, just as quickly, he caught your gaze and gripped your wrists, halting your movements. “wait…” he said, his voice husky, thick with desire and hesitation. “i want to take my time with you. to make you feel everything.”

your heart raced at his words, excitement blending with the thrum of want coursing through you. “then do it,” you urged breathlessly. “make me yours.”

a smirk danced across his lips as he lowered to his knees, his hands running up your thighs, heat pooling in your core as he slipped your shorts down. the sensation of his mouth brushing against your skin sent jolts of electricity spiraling through you, leaving you breathless.

“i want you to remember how it feels,” he murmured, as his lips feathered kisses against your thighs before they drifted closer to your center. “you’re the only one i want. always.”

with one swift motion, he pulled your body closer to him and wrapped an arm around your waist, his mouth finally making contact. a soft moan escaped your lips, unbidden, as his tongue flicked against you, teasing and exploring. the world outside faded, and all you could feel was the delicious warmth radiating from him.

your fingers tangled in his hair as he worked you into a frenzy, each flick and swirl igniting flames of ecstasy that coursed through your body. “jake, oh god, yes.” you could barely form coherent thoughts; every sensation felt magnified, heightened, as he lavished attention on you, relentless and insistent.

he looked up at you, locking eyes, the heat of his gaze making your heart race even faster. “you’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, sending vibrations through your body. “so perfect.” and with that, he dove back in, his movements growing more fervent, losing himself in you as you writhed beneath him, breaths coming in ragged gasps.

the pressure inside you built, spiraling tighter and tighter until you felt like you might break apart. “jake… i’m so close,” you cried, the words spilling from your mouth as he pushed you closer to the edge.

he responded with a growl, his fingers moving in perfect harmony with his mouth, forcing you ever closer. the world was nothing but the two of you, the heat between you igniting everything in its path.

with a final surge, you felt yourself tumble over the edge, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you surrendered completely. “jake!” the sound of his name escaped your lips in a breathless cry, your body arching against him as the world exploded in brilliant color.

as the tremors faded, he rose to his feet, a smirk on his face and a sparkle in his eyes that told you he hadn’t even begun to unleash everything he had in store for you. “i told you, tonight you’re all mine.”

your breath came in shaky gasps, the warmth of his body enveloping you as he pulled you close once more. “and i’m not done with you yet,” he growled, his voice filled with a promise that sent another wave of desire surging within you.

with that, you knew the night was far from over; there were depths to explore, sensations to uncover, and you were more than ready to take that plunge with him. as jake captured your lips again, you understood that this was just the beginning.

the kiss deepened, igniting the embers of desire that still smoldered between you. jake pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark with a mix of satisfaction and hunger. there was something primal in his expression, a fierce determination to worship you in ways that made your head spin.

“are you ready for more?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers racing down your spine. you could only nod, the words stuck in your throat as anticipation coiled in your gut, tightening its grip.

without breaking eye contact, he took your hand, leading you across the room. the atmosphere was thick with the scent of your shared desire, filling the space, wrapping around you like a silken cover. the walls felt like they were closing in, but in a way that excited you, igniting every nerve ending.

jake guided you to the edge of the bed, and you hesitated for just a moment, the reality of where you were settling in. but then that look returned to his eyes—fierce, possessive, and promising—and all doubt melted away. you could see the raw intensity that lay beneath the surface, the overwhelming need to bind you to him in every possible way.

“sit,” he commanded softly, a hint of mischief tugging at his lips. you obliged, your heart racing as you settled onto the cool sheets, watching as he stood before you, like a statue carved from fire and stone. the way he stood, his body taut with muscles, made you hunger for him in ways you hadn’t even thought possible.

he slipped his jeans down and off, revealing a body made for sin—every inch sculpted perfection. the sight of him took your breath away, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander hungrily. with each moment, the tension continued to build, an undeniable pull that drew you further into his heat.

he stepped closer, brushing his fingers along your arm, sending electric shocks through your skin. “you make me lose control,” he admitted, his voice a low whisper as he took a knee on the bed, our bodies just inches apart.

“then let go,” you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation. there was a daring spark in your eyes that he couldn’t resist.

with a predator’s grace, he closed the distance between you, crashing his lips against yours again. but this kiss was different—it held urgency, a promise of what was to come. you felt his hands exploring your body, reviving warmth where the cool sheets had made you shiver.

jake broke the kiss, his breath warm against your cheek. “tell me what you want,” he said, his tone a mix of authority and need, making your heart skip.

without hesitation, you let your desires spill forth. “i want you, jake. i want all of you.” you looked into his eyes, your intent clear. you could see the fire igniting behind those dark depths, and it only fueled your own longing.

“good,” he growled, moving back slightly to take in the sight of you. “because i’m going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before.” the primal promise in his voice sent waves of heat rushing through you.

jake’s hands moved down your body, unhooking your bra and letting it slide off your shoulders. he took his time, dipping his mouth down to place soft kisses along your collarbone, pausing to nibble and tease, taking joy in every reaction you gave.

“look at you,” he murmured, meeting your gaze with an intensity that made your heart pound. “so beautiful, so eager.” he continued his descent, his mouth moving lower, kissing along the swell of your breasts, savoring you as if you were the finest delicacy.

your breath hitched as he captured one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while his hand teased the other, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. the sensation was electric, and you couldn’t hold back the moans escaping your lips.

“just like that, baby,” he encouraged, his voice thick with lust, and your body responded instinctively, arching towards him, craving more.

he continued his descent, trailing kisses down your stomach, leaving a path of fire that made you squirm with need. when his fingers found the waistband of your shorts, he hesitated, looking up at you, his expression a mix of mischief and longing.

“is this okay?” he asked, his voice a seductive whisper.

“yes, please,” you urged, almost desperate. “i need you.”

with that, he removed your shorts with careful precision, taking in your bare skin with a groan that resonated deep within him. the feeling of being completely exposed under his gaze sent a rush of heat through you, a combination of vulnerability and primal desire.

jake leaned in closer, his breath hot against your core, teasingly lingering just a breath away. “you’re so perfect,” he murmured. “and i’m going to show you just how much.”

his mouth finally made contact, and you gasped—his tongue teasing your sensitive skin, swirling and flicking in a rhythm that had your back arching and your breath coming in quick, ragged bursts. you gripped the sheets, desperately trying to ground yourself, but the sensations were so overwhelming.

with each stroke of his tongue, he pushed you higher, further into the abyss of pleasure. you could feel the coil tightening once again, the sweet heat building and spreading throughout your body as you squirmed beneath him.

“jake, i’m so close…” you managed to breathlessly let out, your hands tangling into his hair as he continued to work his magic.

“not yet,” he replied, glancing up at you, eyes shimmering with undeniable hunger. “i want you to feel every second of this.”

he intensified his efforts, leaving you teetering on the edge, the pleasure great enough that you could hardly think straight. you felt waves of ecstasy ripple through you, threatening to pull you under, but jake wasn’t about to let go of you just yet.

suddenly, he pulled back, leaving you breathless and yearning. you were desperately hungry for him, for more of him—your body screaming for release but wanting his touch even more.

“jake, please,” you begged, your voice a soft whimper. the lust-filled look in your eyes fueled his fire, and you could see the passion flaring within him as he joined you on the bed once again.

“then it’s time i give you everything,” he growled, alignment shifting, his body hovering over yours with an intensity that made your heart race. he positioned himself at your entrance, the heat radiating between you palpable.

with a single thrust, he entered you, filling you completely in a way that made you gasp, your body instinctively responding to his. you could feel every inch of him as he stretched you, the sensation both overwhelming and exhilarating.

“god, you feel amazing,” he breathed, his face taut with concentration as he steadied himself.

it was as if the world fell away, leaving just the two of you, entwined in a primal dance of pleasure. he pulled back slightly, and then thrust deeper, the rhythm building steadily, like a tidal wave surging closer.

you surrendered to him completely, letting him take you higher, letting every sensation sweep you away. “more, jake,” you urged, the sound of your voice filled with need. “give me more.”

he responded with fervor, driving into you with an intensity that sent your senses spiraling. you could feel the heat pooling in your core, your body longing for that release that felt tantalizingly close yet just out of reach.

“just like that,” he grunted, his hands gripping your hips as he set a delicious pace, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. “you’re so fucking perfect… just for me.”

his words fueled the fire within you, and soon, you felt your body spiraling once again, that familiar heat swirling, growing, until it became almost unbearable. “i’m going to—”

“do it,” he urged, his voice smooth and coaxing. “let go for me. i’ve got you.”

with that, you tumbled over the edge, the waves crashing over you in an exhilarating rush, pulling him along with you. you felt yourself clenching around him, the pulsating waves of pleasure washing through you as you cried out his name, feeling completely and utterly alive.

jake followed right behind you, grunting your name as he released, filling you completely. the world spun around you both as you came down from your high, held tightly in each other’s embrace, the connection between you deepening in ways that words could never capture.

as you lay tangled in sheets and limbs, breathless and satisfied, you knew this night had transformed something inside both of you. whatever uncertainties you had faced moments ago felt small and distant, overshadowed by the bond you had forged in pure, unrestrained passion.

“always mine,” he whispered against your temple, pulling you closer as he finally let the tension of the night subside, leaving only warmth and a gentle sense of calm in its wake. and you knew then, that you were ready for everything that came next.

the aftermath of your passionate encounter left you both breathless, yet an enchanting peace settled over the room as quiet enveloped you. the air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat and lingering desire, but above all, there was a sense of warmth that made your heart swell.

jake shifted beside you, his fingers intertwining with yours as he pulled you closer. you nestled against him, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—a comforting lullaby that instilled a sense of safety and belonging.

“wow…” you murmured, still basking in the afterglow. the exhilaration of what had just happened began to settle, replaced by a gentle calm as you reflected on the intensity of the connection you’d just shared.

jake chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “i think ‘wow’ might be an understatement,” he replied, his voice laced with warmth and affection. the way he looked at you—those smoldering eyes now filled with adoration—made your heart flutter.

you smiled, feeling a blush creep across your cheeks. “i’ve never felt anything quite like that before,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. his fingers traced lazy patterns on your arm, each touch igniting little sparks of electricity that danced along your skin.

“neither have i,” he admitted, his gaze softening as he met your eyes. “i’ve never felt this way about anyone.” the sincerity in his tone sent warmth flooding through you, wrapping around your heart in a comforting embrace.

there was something undeniably special about this moment—the vulnerability mixed with a deep sense of intimacy that transcended desire alone. it was as if everything that had happened prior to this night had led you both to this very point, entwined in each other’s lives.

“i don’t want this to end,” you murmured, a hint of uncertainty creeping into your voice. jake tilted your chin up gently, his eyes locking onto yours with unwavering certainty.

“then it doesn’t have to,” he replied, the corners of his mouth lifting into a reassuring smile. “i want to be here with you, like this—always.” the weight of his words washed over you, a promise that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

he leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss that sent shivers cascading down your spine. it was tender and sweet, a stark contrast to the fiery passion that had consumed you both just moments before. you melted into the kiss, savoring the soft connection as it deepened, leaving you feeling cherished and adored.

as you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, feeling utterly content. “so, what now?” you asked, a playful glint in your eye.

“now,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “we enjoy every moment of this.” he stretched out his arms, pulling you onto him fully, allowing you to rest against his chest once more. you could feel his warmth envelop you, and it felt like coming home.

he chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through you as he nestled his chin on the top of your head. “we can talk, watch a movie, or just stay like this… feeling each other’s warmth.”

you glanced up, your heart swelling with affection as you caught his gaze. “what about breakfast? i'm definitely going to need breakfast after, uh, all that.”

jake laughed, a rich sound that filled the room and made you smile. “i promise to whip up something amazing. pancakes? eggs? both?”

“definitely both,” you said with enthusiasm, your smile widening at the thought.

“then it’s a plan,” he replied, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. you both lingered there for a moment, wrapped in each other’s warmth, savoring the intimacy of the moment.

as you lay together, gently teasing with whispered jokes and laughter, you realized that this was just the beginning of something beautiful—a connection entrenched in more than just passion; it was friendship, warmth, and the promise of what was to come.

and as the soft light of dawn began to filter through the curtains, you knew one thing for sure: you were ready to embrace every moment spent with him, side by side, with laughter and love leading the way. together, you would write the beautiful story of your lives, one day and one moment at a time.

remember my requests are open, feel free to send some !! hope u guys liked this one, im a sucker for jake. pls reblog it would help a lot <33

[alllovenohate7]

I’d always do anything for her. The one. The hardest thing is not seeing her everyday anymore and being able to talk to them about anything whenever we wanted. Not being able to just get a quick look to refresh the only beautiful thing in life and give me hope. Give me strength. And really just so I can look into her eyes. No words. No physical contact. I just wanted to look at the most stunning green eyes I’ll ever see. Cached in my memories are a perfect soul. Playing on repeat as it begins to rain in this quiet room. A good morning with a goddess’s smile receives a small token of my appreciation for her. I miss giving. I haven’t been able to tell her how beautiful she is. I miss her smile whenever I had a chance to remind her she looked beautiful. I made sure to remind her so she would smile. I never wanted to miss an opportunity or a chance to make her happy and make her smile. She was my first real everlasting crush and it stood firm until I fell. And I fell hard. Because I always had this feeling but now, now I was done. After this one moment that I won’t ever forget she was waking by me. Black boots, jeans, and a sweater following behind her as her hair waved with each step. The lights shining down as it god sent her. I looked at her in such awe as she walked by. As she took each step the feeling grew stronger and stronger. I felt it and I knew right away. I said to myself “wow” and I knew. My heart knew. I grew nervous. Her contagious laugh is so soft and pure, it would get me too. I miss asking, did I tell you how much you mean to me today? I miss being there to lift her up when she was down. I miss helping wipe away the tears of the strongest person I know. Shedding tears of the past I so desperately wanted to help rid of. I miss being supportive when others weren’t and didn’t want to be. I want to always be there when she was down and everything else is wrong. I want to be the one right thing in her life no matter what was going left. I want to keep her right. I want to keep her safe as she made when I was with her. Was I was with her everything feel alright. The sound of her voice could soothe me. It could heal me with just a few words. I miss talking about our future and plans being made to fulfill our dreams. I miss sharing every detail with her. I miss hearing empathy in her voice when she wanted to know if I was okay when if I wasn’t. She could give the strength and I mean strength that brings confidence with it. I want to give her everything she deserves and everything she desires yet leave nothing for myself. I want to be her crutch with her legs felt weak to carry it by herself. I want to take the weight off her shoulders and carry it as my own so she can feel free. Her presence would calm me while her spirit rejuvenated my soul. Did my heart find true love or did I let my guard down after years of healing an old wound. When she wasn’t around I felt empty. Nothing and no one person would ever come before her. There’s never been another name or person for as long I’ve loved her. Ever. The sacred meaning behind faith. I know the pain from this and I’d never do that to someone. It’s incredibly life altering and I don’t think it goes away, the real pain that follows it. I wish she could see herself through my eyes and know what I know. See what I see. And the truth in what she asks or thinks. In that moment though when I knew, I saw the next 50 years of my life and I see it with my best friend. I’d give it all up for her. More than most things in life, I miss exchanging I love you before we departed ways. It’s all I ever needed or had at times. Just to hear sometimes. To hold onto. Those three words that have an incredible meaning we don’t usually talk about. Words. Those few words have a powerful impact. Words have profound meaning and is the basis of all things. Those few words allowed me to know that I was real and that I existed. Just a few words can mean everything.

I’ll always do anything for her.

I love you.

♍️ ♉️ 🐝

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

When You Call Them Clingy| Hyungline Pt3

Hyungline x Gn!Reader

(i was supposed to release this yesterday but things came up im sor sorry its late but here you go!!! idk how i feel about this :/)

Bangchan

The night air was cool as you walked into the dimly lit bar, Felix by your side, his expression a mixture of concern and forced cheer. You had told Chan that you had plans- and wouldn’t lie to him- and that meant actually going through with your impulsive decision to make plans.

So, here you were, out with Felix, pretending that the weight in your chest wasn’t getting heavier with every minute that passed.

Felix had noticed, of course. He always did. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked, voice soft. "Maybe you can-"

You forced a smile, waving him off. “Yeah, of course. I need a distraction.”

But the more you drank, the more you realized it wasn’t a distraction at all. Every sip burned, and every moment you weren’t thinking about Chan consciously was just a moment your subconscious filled with the memory of his face. His voice. The way he had shut you out completely after you made such a careless comment.

Meanwhile, across town, Chan sat in the corner of him an Jeongin’s apartment, drink in hand, gaze distant. Jisung had been invited over as well to have a few drinks and relax, since Chan also felt uneasy with the excuse he had made. Both boys sensed that something was off, but neither of them asked, just quietly sipping their drinks.

Until finally they couldn't take it anymore.

“You good, hyung?” Jisung finally asked, watching Chan down another shot.

Chan huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing his face. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Jeongin raised a brow. “You sure about that?”

Chan didn’t answer. He just stared at the ice in his glass, swirling it absentmindedly. The alcohol was dulling the ache in his chest, but only slightly. He had been pushing himself to stop thinking about you, to accept that you needed space, but it wasn’t working.

Not when his mind kept replaying the way you had looked at him before you left. The way your voice had sounded too quiet when you said goodnight.

The way it had sounded angry when you called him clingy.

Did he really do too much? What if-

Then his phone vibrated.

Felix.

Chan frowned, answering quickly. “Lix?”

“Hyung,” Felix said, exhaling sharply. “I need you to come get Y/N.”

Chan sat up immediately. “Who? You're with Y/N?" 

Was Y/N originally planning to hang out with Lix?...I thought they had just made an excuse-

Felix hesitated, his voice tight. “Y/Ns…not doing great- won't let me help-" Chris struggled to hear over the noise of the bar.  "-keeps pushing me away, saying they don’t want me to be ‘clingy'- out of -mind and refuses to- help them- get home.”

Chan felt the words like a slap to the face. His chest constricted, at the thought of you being drunk out of your mind.

“I’ll be there in ten,” he said, already grabbing his jacket. “Send me the location.” He stood up abruptly and wobbled slightly.

Jisung and Jeongin exchanged a look before quickly standing as well. “We’re coming with you,” Jeongin said firmly. "I'll drive, you drank more than either of us."

(For legal purposes disclaimer: y'all do NOT drink and drive. it's dangerous and can have serious repercussions. always try your best to have a sober friend around as well, in case of emergency)

Jeongin snatched Chris's key's and they all hopped into the car.

You tended to worry him when you were drunk, and he wasn't sure what to expect.

The drive felt agonizingly long. The alcohol still buzzed faintly in Chan’s system, but the moment he heard Felix’s voice and heard that you were in trouble - or causing trouble maybe -he sobered up fast. His heart pounded against his ribs as worry gnawed at his insides.

The second they stepped into the bar, his eyes scanned the room until he found you. And his breath caught in his throat.

You were sitting at a table, arms crossed tightly over your chest, brows furrowed as Felix spoke to you softly as he patted your back. But it was clear you weren’t listening. Your eyes were glassy, and your lips were pursed like you were trying not to cry as you shook your head, then slamming it onto the table like an angry toddler.

Felix noticed them first, exhaling in relief. “Thank God,” he muttered.

Chan wasted no time. He was at your side in an instant, crouching down so he was at eye level. “Y/N.”

Your head snapped toward him, and for a moment, your expression flickered with something so raw, so vulnerable, that it made his chest ache. But then your lips wobbled, and you hiccuped, looking away. “Go away.”

Chan’s jaw tightened. “Not happening, baby. Come on, let’s get you home.”

You shook your head stubbornly. “No.”

"You're being a pain, Y/N-ie. To Felix of all people do you want to upset him?"

Chan glanced at Felix, who gave him a knowing look. Felix wasn’t upset- he understood. It wasn’t that you didn’t want help. You just didn’t want it from anyone who wasn’t Chan.

You still stubbornly shook your head so Chan looked at Jisung who nodded.

Jisung sighed, mocking anger and crossing his arms. “Y/N you're being difficult, we can do it the easy way or the hard way. Or do you want to make us upset and disappointed?”

The moment Jisung spoke, you immediately nodded, causing a chuckle from the boys. "Okay, I'll listen."

The boys had long since known Jisung was your first bias, and that was often used for leverage in situations like these, when you're brain was too fogged to do much other that realize you didn't want to embarrass yourself in front of someone you admired. 

Carefully, Chan reached out, his fingers grazing your wrist. “Y/N,” he murmured, softer now. “Ready now?”

At that, your whole body seemed to deflate. Your lips trembled, and your eyes welled up with tears. “I was mean to you,” you whispered.

Chan exhaled softly, still caressing your wrist. “I know.”

“I didn’t mean it.” You whimpered.

“I know,” he said again, this time even softer.

Your face crumpled. “I’m sorry.”

Chan sighed, his chest tightening unbearably. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

This time, you didn’t fight him. You let him help you up, let him guide you out of the bar, his arm steady around your waist. The moment you were outside, the cool air hit you, and your steps wobbled. Chan adjusted his grip, holding you closer.

“I miss you,” you mumbled into his shoulder. Wiping your snot on him.

Chan swallowed hard. “I’m right here.” He noticed your were wiping your nose on him and he rolled his eyes lovingly. "You need a tissue?"

“You were mad,” you said, your voice tiny.

“I was hurt,” he corrected gently. “But I wasn’t mad.” He helped you get into the back seat of the car. "Sometimes, we just have to learn to handle our emotions a bit better. After some thought, I know we both could have reacted in better ways. I should have told you how I felt, and you should have told me how you felt. I know you were upset and didn't mean it, but it doesn't take away any of the hurt Y/N. I 'cling' to you because I'm deeply in love with you.

Your fingers clutched at his sleeve. “Are you leaving me?” You said looking up at him with wide eyes.

Chan paused buckling you in. His eyes widened as he turned to look at your face fully. “What?”

“You’re not gonna leave me, right?” you whispered, your voice thick with tears. “I feel so bad, Chris. I don’t want you to go.”

Chan exhaled slowly. He wanted to be frustrated with you- wanted to tell you how much you had hurt him, how dismissing his care had stung. But looking at you now, your face scrunched up in guilt, your body trembling slightly from the alcohol and the weight of your emotions…he just couldn’t.

Instead, he finished buckling you in and slid next to you and pulled you into him, his head resting atop your head. “I’m not leaving you,” he murmured. “You’re stuck with me, okay?”

You sniffled against his chest. “Promise?”

His grip tightened. “Promise.”

Jisung and Jeongin exchanged a glance but said nothing. Felix let out a quiet sigh of relief as he climbed in the back with you two.

"You're not clingy." You said quietly on the ride back. "I was upset but you're not clingy."

Chan hmmed in acknowledgement, petting your hair.

You scooted closer to him, burying yourself into him even more.

"Can I be clingy though?" You muttered sleepily, eyes fluttering to a close.

"That's all I want." He murmured quietly, kissing the top of your head.

"I love you." 

"I love you."

As Chan held you close, feeling the tension in your body slowly begin to ease, he knew one thing for certain: no matter what, he wasn’t going anywhere. And so he squeezed you a bit tighter, clung to you.

And as you drifted off into sleep you realized- 

How could you ever think you didn't want this?

——————————————————————————

Minho

The moment you got home, you regretted running away. The sinking feeling in your stomach wouldn’t let up, and your mind kept replaying the scene over and over. The way Minho looked at you- shocked, maybe even a little hurt- made you feel even worse.

You curled up on your bed, hugging your knees to your chest, guilt weighing you down like a stone. He deserved to be heard. You had made a mess of things, and now, if you wanted to fix it, you had to be the one to take the first step.

The next morning, you gathered your courage and went back to his apartment. Your heart pounded as you stood in front of his door, staring at the keypad, remembering how easily you had let yourself in the night before. This time, you knocked.

A moment later, the door opened, revealing a very tired-looking Minho. His hair was disheveled, his eyes slightly puffy as if he hadn’t slept much. When he saw you, his lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across his face before he stepped aside wordlessly to let you in.

You hesitated for a moment but stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of his apartment. The cats lounged around lazily, their tails flicking as they acknowledged your presence. The silence between you and Minho stretched, thick with unspoken words.

You turned to face him, gathering every ounce of courage you had. “I’m sorry.”

Minho’s brows furrowed slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “For what exactly?”

“For everything.” You exhaled shakily. “For calling you clingy when you were just being sweet, for lashing out at you because I was feeling insecure. And for last night- for not even giving you a chance to explain.”

Minho sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really hurt me, Y/N.”

“I know.” Your voice cracked. “And I hate that I did. I-” You swallowed. “I saw you with her and I just- jumped to the worst conclusion....”

He studied you for a moment, arms crossed, his gaze softer now but still guarded. "So...that is what you thought." He said quietly.

You blinked and nodded. "I...know you wouldn't though. I was emotional and I...don't..." You swallowed, trying to blink back tears.

Minho sighed and crossed his arms as he leaned against the doorframe to the living room. “You should’ve asked instead of assuming.”

“I should have.” You nodded. “Who...was she?” You asked quietly, feeling your face burn from embarrassment of still being wary.

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “My old neighbor. I asked her to watch the cats.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

He let out a small sigh, then motioned for you to sit on the couch. You followed hesitantly, your heart still racing.

“I was planning something for us,” he admitted. “A trip. I wanted it to be a surprise, but I needed someone to take care of the cats while we were gone.”

Your breath hitched. “A trip?”

Minho nodded, his expression unreadable, but his jaw twitching. “Yeah. Because I love you, and I wanted to spend time with you. But then you called me clingy and started avoiding me, and I thought…maybe you didn’t want that.”

Guilt surged through you so strongly it made your chest ache. “Minho…”

He met your gaze, something raw in his eyes. “I know that I was the first one to...shut down or...seek space; but you were the one pulling away. I was just trying to hold on. And forget what you said...”

Tears pricked at your eyes. “I didn't mean that Minho. I know nothing can take those words back, but I truly truly didn't mean it.” you whispered.

"I don't..." Minho sighed. "I don't act...this way with others. I don't really like all the mushy stuff but with you...it's different. Its like...I have to do all that stuff because I love you so much that it physically pains me not to show you just how much you mean..."

"Min..."

"So when you said that it made me think maybe you didn't want my love. That maybe...it was a burden to you."

"It's not!" You shout, making Minho jump slightly. "It's not at all. If anything I'm the burden for making things so difficult."

"You'll never be a burden to me Y/N. You just need to tell me when things are getting too hard so I can adjust my love language during those times. So we can avoid things like this, hm?" He lifted your face to look at him, slowly rubbing his thumb over your cheek. You nodded.

"You can be such a pain when your irritated you know, that?" He teased, his eyes narrowing.

"I was scared that I showed you I don’t deserve how much you love me. And that...you...”

Minho sighed before leaning forward, cupping your cheek gently, as he crashed his lips into your to shut you up.

“You can be scared, but don’t shut me out. Let me be scared with you if you are. And for the record you have nothing to be scared for. I'm clingy remember? What makes you think I'll let you go?"

A tear slipped down your cheek, and he wiped it away with his thumb. “I love you, Y/N. Even when you’re being a pain.”

A small, watery laugh left your lips. “I love you too."

He smirked slightly. “So, you ready for the trip?”

You blinked. “You still want to go?”

Minho scoffed. “Of course. I planned everything. It’d be a waste not to.”

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise." He said wiggling his eyebrows. "A very special surprise."

You pouted. "But I wanna know-"

He shushed you again with his lips, pushing you back onto the couch, and Dori's napping spot much to cat's dismay.

His hand entwined with yours, for a split second he played with your ring finger.

"You'll know soon enough, jagiya." He mumbled against your lips, his hand falling from yours to wrap around you waste as he lay on top of you. "But I missed you so let me just be with you in this moment."

He pulled you into his arms, his embrace warm and familiar, as he cuddled into you, and told you about everything that had happened recently; and for the first time in weeks, everything felt right again.

——————————————————————————

Changbin

You barely had time to process before you were rushing outside.

He was turned away from you completely. Your stomach dropped, and your hands instinctively reached out for him. "Changbin, wait!"

But he didn’t even try to continue walk away. Instead, his shoulders shook. His breath came out ragged, and when he turned back to you, his eyes were glossy, brimmed with unshed tears.

Your breath caught in your throat. "Bin...?"

You ran up to him and you started apologizing. 

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to steal your proposal or anything. I just wanted to apologize for snapping and calling you clingy-"

He let out a broken laugh, tears threatening to teeter over the edge, running a hand through his hair before looking at you with an expression so raw, so utterly vulnerable, that it made your chest pound. "You really think I’m upset because of that?"

Your brows furrowed. "Aren’t you? I- I took this from you. I ruined everything. I was so horrible-"

He cut you off with a shake of his head. "No, Y/N. God, no." He took in a shaking breath.

And then the first tear slipped down his cheek. Followed by the next, then the next.

Your heart clenched painfully at the sight, and you stepped closer, unsure if you should reach for him. He was crying. You had made him cry. And the thought of it made your own tears start to well in your eyes.

"Binnie, I-"

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice wavered. "I’m not crying because I’m upset. I’m crying because I love you so much that it makes me hurt to think about how you blamed yourself for all of this. That you thought the way to make it up to me was by planning your own proposal."

He let out another unsteady breath, wiping at his face roughly. "I don’t care about the proposal going wrong. I don’t care that you were overwhelmed or that we fought. I don't care enough about any of that to want an apology. I thought I did but being here I don't. I care that you thought for even a second that I would want you to feel this kind of guilt. I care that you thought I wouldn’t love you just as much, even after everything."

The weight of his words crashed into you all at once.

Tears slipped freely down your cheeks now, your throat tightening so much it was hard to breathe. "But I- I hurt you. I said awful things, I-"

"Yes, but seeing this-" He gestured towards your home. "I know you didn't mean it. We all say things when we're upset."

"But I do it so much-" You cried out.

"And I still love you, Y/N," he interrupted softly, stepping forward this time. "I still want to marry you. I still want every version of forever with you, no matter how messy it gets. I didn’t propose tonight because I thought it had to be perfect. I proposed tonight because I was ready. And I still am."

Your lips trembled, a sob catching in your throat as you reached for him, hands shaking when they met his chest. "Bin..."

He exhaled shakily, his hands coming up to cup your face. His thumbs brushed away your tears, his gaze searching yours as if to make sure you understood. "Don’t ever think that a bad night, a bad fight, or a bad moment could ever change the way I feel about you."

Your tears fell harder now, and a broken laugh slipped from your lips. "You’re supposed to be mad at me, and make me grovel and apologize 1000 times; not saying the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard."

He chuckled wetly, pulling you against him, his arms wrapping securely around you. " While I think that would be a sight to see I forgave you the moment everything happened. And I appreciate the apology Y/N-ie, I really do. But I could never stay mad at you. Not when I know how much you love me back."

You buried your face in his chest, clutching onto him like he was your lifeline. "I do. I love you so much, Binnie. And I’m so sorry."

He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. "I know. I know, baby. We can move past now."

For a long moment, you just stood there, wrapped up in each other, breathing in the warmth and comfort that only he could provide. And then, in the softest whisper, he murmured against your hair:

"Marry me, Y/N?"

You pulled back slightly, blinking up at him through tear-soaked lashes. "You...You’re still asking? Even after all of this?"

His smile was small but so full of love it nearly took your breath away. "I wanted to hear you say yes."

A watery laugh bubbled out of you, and you nodded, gripping his shirt tightly. "Yes. Yes, of course, I’ll marry you."

He pulled the ring out of his jacket pocket and placed it on your finger, disregarding the box somewhere on the pavement.

And then his lips were on yours, warm and insistent, tasting of salt and relief and love. So much love.

 It was filled with every emotion under the sun, everything you could ever want and need.

And it made you pull him closer, cling to him a little more.

It wasn’t a perfect proposal.

But it was yours

Which made it absolutely perfect in the end.

——————————————————————————

Hyunjin

Hyunjin practically sprinted from your apartment, his heart hammering against his ribs. The cold air bit at his skin, but the chill was nothing compared to the ice creeping up his spine.

Where could you have gone?

He checked the usual spots first. The small park you liked to sit at when you needed air, the café down the street where you drowned your bad moods in sweet drinks, even the bus stop in case you had the ridiculous idea of running away from your problems altogether.

But you weren’t at any of them.

Panic fully bloomed in his chest. He couldn’t lose you—not like this. His mind was already spinning in worst-case scenarios, every single possibility sharpening his anxiety into something unbearable. He pulled out his phone and called again. Straight to voicemail.

“Come on, Y/N, pick up,” he muttered, frustration and worry bleeding into his voice.

Then, a thought struck him.

He quickly searched up convenience stores near your apartment. 

You tended to like to stress snack, and if you had wandered off, there could be a good chance you wandered into a place filled with snacks.

He tried calling again; even though he was sure you wouldn't answer becuase it seems your phone was off. 

But much to his surprise there was an answer.

"Hello?"

Hyunjin didn't recognize the voice, but it sounded like an older gentleman.

"Who is this? Why do you have Y/N's phone?"

"Oh, I see. Their phone died, so I'm charging it."

The man had given Hyunjin the address of the store and he took off in that direction, his long legs eating up the distance, barely noticing the way his breath came out in sharp puffs. And then, as he rounded the last corner, he saw you.

Sitting by the window, a snack in your hand, your eyes lost in thought.

Relief hit him so hard he nearly staggered. His chest rose and fell as he tried to compose himself, to shake off the raw terror that had gripped him just moments before.

You were okay.

But God, he wasn’t.

The door chimed as he stepped inside. You looked up, startled, and your eyes went wide as they met his.

“Hyunjin-”

Before you could finish, he was in front of you, his hands cupping your face, looking at you all around his warmth enveloping you entirely. His brows were drawn together, his eyes dark and searching.

“Do you have any idea how scared I was?” he said, voice tight. “I came back and you were gone. Your phone was off. I thought-” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I thought something happened to you. Why are you even at a store this far from your home?”

Guilt curled deep in your gut. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just- I tried going after you and then my phone died, and I had taken a wrong turn and-”

Hyunjin let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but it was too shaky, too broken. He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones.

“You don’t get to disappear on me like that,” he murmured. “Not after what you said. Not after the way you made me feel.”

Your stomach twisted. “Hyunjin, I-”

“No, let me talk.” His voice was soft, but firm. “You hurt me, Y/N. You made me feel like I was too much, like the way I love you is suffocating.”

Your lips parted, a lump forming in your throat.

“But that’s just how I am,” he continued, his fingers tightening slightly against your skin. “When I care, I care with everything. I don’t know how to be any other way.” His voice cracked. “And for a second, you made me feel like that wasn’t enough. Or maybe…too much.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. “Hyunjin, I never meant to make you feel like that.”

He searched your face, his own emotions laid bare. “Then why did you say it?”

"I was upset. But after some thought..." You swallowed, forcing yourself to confront the truth. “I think I don't like change. And being cared for this much is new to me. So, I was irritated, and I used it as an excuse to say something I had been thinking. Because I think I'm scared,” you admitted. “Scared that if I let myself lean into it too much, I’d get used to it. That I’d get used to you being there, and then one day maybe you wouldn’t be, so I shouldn't let myself get used to it."

Hyunjin stood there blinking.

“I thought pushing you away would make it hurt less if that ever happened, And after today I realized that I was wrong. And I'm sorry.” you continued, voice shaking. “I'm sorry all I did was hurt you instead of expressing how I felt. Whether about the rough days or anxiety for the future. There are no excuses...”

A heavy silence stretched between you before he finally spoke.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly. “Not unless you tell me to. And even then, I’d probably still find a way to stay and cling to.”

A nervous laugh bubbled up in your throat.

"I mean it, Y/N. More than I've meant anything before." He sighed. "I wanted you to grovel and I was going to be all dramatic and everything but...I guess you just make me way too soft don't you?" He kissed your forehead. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to cling to you. Even if you tell me not too."

You let out a full laugh now. “You’re persistent.”

“And you’re impossible,” he murmured, brushing a tear from your cheek. “But you’re mine. Right?”

You nodded, fresh guilt and love swelling in your chest. “I am. And I know I already said sorry but I really am. I’m so, so sorry, Hyunjin. For what I said, for making you feel like you weren’t enough. You are. You always have been.”

Hyunjin studied you for a moment before his lips quirked up just slightly. “You’re lucky I’m weak for you.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” you promised. “Whatever you want.”

His eyes sparkled mischievously. “Anything?”

You hesitated. “Yes?”

A full grin broke across his face. “Then you owe me unlimited cuddles for a week.”

You let out a relieved laugh, nodding. “Deal.”

And just like that, Hyunjin pulled you into his arms, burying his face into your shoulder, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

Because he didn’t.

——————————————————————————

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy

@suckerforv @nyang3racha @ashleylly @darling-imobsessed @changbinismymuscledaddy @artist2181 @minniesverse @monbrigh @20staaa @aeri-skzver @noannah @skysole @chanssmiles @depressedarlling

[caitified]

can you do bella fic based on the jersey retirement?

RETIREMENT

CAITLIN CLARK X READER

warnings:none!

you had never seen caitlin so locked in for something that wasn’t a game.

her jersey retirement ceremony had been planned for months, and while everyone—coaches, former teammates, even you—kept telling her she deserved it, that it was one of the biggest honors an athlete could receive, she had mostly just shrugged it off.

“it’s cool,” she had said a few days ago when you asked if she was feeling emotional about it.

and sure, that was technically true. it was cool. but this was more than that.

this was history. this was her legacy.

so you had expected at least a little emotion from her during the ceremony.

but of course, true to caitlin fashion, she took the whole thing in stride, standing at center court as they raised her jersey to the rafters, as carver-hawkeye erupted for her one more time, as her name was etched into iowa basketball history forever.

bella, on the other hand, had plenty of emotions.

“mommy, look!” she squealed, pointing up at the jersey. “it’s you!”

caitlin grinned down at her, lifting her up so she could get a better look. “sure is, b.”

bella gasped. “everyone’s looking at you today!”

you laughed, reaching out to smooth bella’s curls. “they’re celebrating mommy, baby.”

bella blinked, clearly confused. “for playing basketball?”

caitlin smirked. “for being the best at basketball.”

bella turned her head to you. “is mommy the best?”

you smiled. “the best there ever was.”

bella hummed, considering. “i think auntie kate’s good too.”

caitlin gasped dramatically. “bella, oh my god.”

you barely contained your laughter as bella grinned mischievously, clearly enjoying the reaction she got out of her mom.

but even as caitlin kept up the act—laughing, teasing, acting unbothered—you knew her too well. you saw the way her eyes lingered on her jersey, the way her fingers tightened slightly around bella’s waist, the way her jaw clenched just a little too hard every time the crowd chanted her name.

she wasn’t letting herself feel it. not really.

but you knew it would hit her later.

—

it was after the ceremony, when it was just the three of you in the car, that it finally started to settle in.

caitlin had been quiet the whole ride, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. you didn’t say anything, just let her sit in it.

bella, on the other hand, had no such restraint.

“everyone was looking at you today, mommy!” she said again, kicking her feet in her car seat. “like, everyone!”

caitlin huffed out a laugh. “they sure were, b.”

bella giggled. “it was funny.”

you smiled. “why was it funny, baby?”

bella scrunched up her nose, thinking. “’cause everyone was cheering and looking at mommy and saying her name and i was like, ‘that’s my mommy!’”

caitlin glanced at you, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

you reached over, squeezing her hand. “that’s your biggest fan right there.”

caitlin exhaled, shaking her head slightly. “crazy.”

you studied her for a moment. “you okay?”

she nodded, but her grip on your hand tightened. “yeah. it just… it’s a lot.”

you squeezed back. “i know.”

she swallowed hard, staring at the road ahead. “it’s just… that place gave me everything, you know?” she said quietly. “basketball, the best years of my life, you—” she glanced at you, then back at the road, “—and now i’m here, driving home with my wife and my daughter, and it’s like… this is where it all led me.”

your chest tightened.

she wasn’t one to get sentimental, not like this. but you knew exactly what she meant.

basketball had been everything to her. it had shaped her, had made her into the person she was today. but what she had now—this—was what mattered most.

you lifted her hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “i love you,” you murmured.

caitlin exhaled, like she had been holding it in all night. “love you too.”

bella, completely oblivious to the weight of the moment, clapped her hands. “i love you toooo!”

both you and caitlin laughed, the heaviness easing just a little.

caitlin glanced at bella in the rearview mirror, shaking her head fondly. “you’re crazy, kid.”

bella beamed. “just like you, mommy!”

and caitlin had to laugh, because really—how could she argue with that?

[gh0stly-mp3]

do me a favour

michael kaiser x gn!reader

synopsis: you finally decide to stand up for yourself and put an end in your toxic relationship with kaiser

tags: music fic, song fic, angst, kaiser is an asshole

warnings: break up, hurt no comfort, toxic relationship, mature language

a/n: hey! i'll be less frequent (cause i have to live), but one or two times a week i might post something! see y'all! - btw requests are open :)

masterlist.

The rain outside seemed to match the storm inside you, and as the minutes passed, it felt like every drop falling from the sky mirrored the tears falling from your eyes.

Kaiser is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with that look in his eyes. It’s the same look he used to give you when (he thought) he knew what you were thinking. The one that made you feel like you were under a microscope, always being judged.

You can feel the familiar tension in the air, that awful, charged feeling that always came before a breakdown. The kind of breakdown that left you both bruised, but never quite broken. Not until now.

"I’m not playing anymore" - You say, your voice shaky. - "It’s over. And honestly, I don’t care what you think about it. I don’t want this anymore."

Kaiser doesn’t say anything right away. He just stares at you with that look you know all too well — the one that always made you feel small, as if you were nothing more than an accessory to his life. But today, you won’t be that. Not anymore.

“Is that what you think?” - He raises an eyebrow, voice smooth, but the seriousness in it’s clear. - "You really think you're better off without me?"

It’s almost laughable, how easily he dismisses everything.

"Do me a favor and stop flattering yourself" - You reply, standing still, even if your heart feels like it's being torn apart. - "I’m better off without pretending to be someone I’m not just to please you. Without you thinking you're the only thing that matters."

Kaiser takes a step closer, his eyes scanning your face, as if looking for any sign of weakness. But you’ve made your decision. You won’t break this time.

“Oh, so that's how it is, hm? Now I’m the bad guy here” - He’s taunting now, but there's something in his voice that catches you off guard, something that almost sounds... frustrated. - "Maybe it’s you who doesn’t get it."

“Save it, Michael” - You whisper. - “I can’t keep pretending you care when all you do is tear me apart. This... us... it’s over.”

His expression shifts again, but it’s not the anger you expect. Instead, there’s a flicker of something darker — a mixture of frustration and something else. Maybe it’s regret. But it’s fleeting. His complex smirk returns almost immediately. - "You’re making a mistake, you know it."

You look away, unable to meet his eyes. The tears sting the back of your eyes, but you won’t let them fall. Not for him. Not this time.

“I’m not” - You reply. - “You’re the one who’s been making mistakes all along. You just never cared to admit it."

Kaiser steps back, running a hand through his hair. He’s trying to regain his composure, to return to that untouchable version of himself, the one that never showed weakness. But even now, there’s something there — something you almost wish you could have held on to. Something that might have meant more, if only he had let it.

He pauses, and for a fleeting moment, you think you might see something shift in his eyes. But then, that mask is back. His expression hardens, and the Kaiser you’ve known — the arrogant, invincible version of him — is back.

“Fine" - He says with a sharp exhale, the word almost like a challenge. - "Do me a favor." - His voice softens just enough for you to catch it. - "Tell me to go away."

You finally turn to face him, holding your ground. The weight of the moment presses on your chest, but there’s no turning back now. Kaiser stands there for a moment, looking at you like he's trying to find something in your expression — some trace of doubt, some spark of the person he used to have under his control. But it’s gone. You’ve made your choice, and he made his.

"I already did."

He stares at you for a long moment, trying to process what you just said. Maybe it’s the realization that you’re finally strong enough to walk away. Maybe it’s something he’s never fully allowed himself to acknowledge: that he’s lost you.

"Fuck off, Michael."

The finality of the words cuts through the silence. And this time, you turn your back without hesitation. You know he’s not going to chase you this time. He doesn’t need to. This is the moment that was always going to come, the one you both avoided, but now it's here. And you won’t look back. He had forced you to be cold.

You turn away before you can hear him say anything else, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. There’s nothing left to say. You’ve given him everything — your love, your time, your heart — but you won’t let him break you anymore.

Curiosity had once pulled you in, made you think you could unravel all the pieces of Michael Kaiser. But now, you understand. The truth is simple. He had always been too much of a mystery to solve, and in the end, it was that mystery that kept you trapped in a cycle of longing, pain, and false hope.

Later that evening, as the rain continues to pour outside, you sit in your room, the weight of the past few hours pressing down on you. The silence is overwhelming, but there’s something good about it now. It’s not the quiet that suffocates; it’s the quiet that heals.

"Perhaps 'fuck off' might be too kind." - You think to yourself, remembering everything he has done to you all along. But now, you’ve learned that walking away doesn’t always mean losing. Sometimes, it means saving yourself.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Yet, you cannot. Because you can’t find the damn book anywhere. You are sure the compilation of histories of Old Valyria Daemon had given you has to be in your rooms.

Honestly. If I lost my book, my favorite book,my favorite book gifted to me by my father, my favorite book gifted to me by my father because he said I was the only child of his who could inherit it, I would fucking crash out and be inconsolable for life

You feel torn. Cregan and you are getting along now, but you still hesitate going to him with your troubles. Not only you had leftover guilt even though you have both chosen to move on from your rivalry, you also prided yourself on being independent. 

Your pride will be the death of you. Unfortunately I feel you. I'm going to write a song about this

Asking him or anyone for help always makes you feel uncomfortable. You didn’t want others to perceive you as weak. 

Still. What if he thinks less of you for being careless with your things? Or if he thinks you are being overly sentimental to get this worked up over a book? 

Girl

Worse, what if he thinks you are accusing him of stealing? 

GIRL STOP YOURE JUMPING INTO LAVA FOR NO FUCKING REASON?????

[...] to love is to be humbled, it seems. 

Stealing this. it's so fucking stupid of her what the fuck

“You always may, wife.”

THE WAY I SCREAMMMMMMMED

“I enjoy how my colors look on you.” Cregan rumbles, a pleased smile forming on his face. Today, you are wearing one of the warmest dresses you own, in a pale gray. It’s made of velvet, and you enjoy how it feels over your skin. You had commissioned it after you arrived at Winterfell, using the generous pocket money that Cregan allowed you. 

“You.” And it’s said with such disarming honesty, you do not know what to say.

NRJDSJSNN RIZZLER ALERT

Secretly, it pleases you that he remembers what you had been reading last week.

Not be. Me at cregan after this

This is my cats kitten btw.

“I cannot find it.” You whine, losing your battle with the tears. “My book. It’s really important that I find it.” 

I would simply cry too. Bestie....

“Shh… I know. I have been unkind to you.” [...] “I took your book.” 

🧍‍♀️ he fucking what? I don't... I don't know how I feel... I'm upset ????

While grief and self-doubt do not chase him as much as they chase you, he is still a widower with a wife who despised him at first. 

Let's be broken together

The nerve of those Hightowers knew no bounds. What was next? Demanding a Sept be built in Wintertown for those false gods of theirs? 

HAHAHHAAHAHHHAHA FALSE GODS IS SO FUNNY GOES HARD

And if that wasn’t enough to make his day terrible, during the afternoon Cregan had received an outraged Sara. Apparently, for some unknown reason, she had received an offer to become Lady Cerwin And for another unknown reason, it was the most terrible fate. Ever. 

SKKSJSNSJ SARA GIVE IN TO YOUR PLOT STOP STRESSING UR BROTHER

“I think I will place my princess here. And a dragon here.” You explain, as if you are building some great castle. Rickon stares, transfixed by you. Cregan understands the feeling all too well. He remembers the weight of you in his lap, the warmth of your skin against him, your smell. He has been unable to get the memory out of his mind in days. 

HALA MY STARKS ARE LOVING EACH OTHER I

You feel nerves creep up on you. Cregan never summons you. When he wants your company, he simply appears near you or waits for a meal to invite you to spend time with him. 

HE SIMPLY APPEARSSSSS JWKKSKSKSKA I WANT HIM I WANT HIMMMM DKKDKDMS

When you step inside, it is as if you are stepping inside your storybook. The walls are covered with tapestries depicting some of the prettier illustrations, priestesses wearing amethysts, dragons of shining ivory, lovers holding hands. 

BESTIEEEEEE HE WAHHHHAT

“You did this… for me?” Your hands tremble as you set the table alight. All the known world, on display for you. In a war table. It is only then that it registers.  

.... I know that she's emotional and in disbelief but

???? NO BESTIE HE DID IT FOR HIS UNCLE WOULD YOU FUCKING BELIEVE???? GIGGGGILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

You have been blind, you realize, as you look at your book come to life in this room. The man who had given it to you had shown you that one could form a family with a widow and cherish their sons as if they were your own.

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 DAEMON BEING A GOOD DAD BLUEPRINT MAKES ME SO SOFT DAEMON MY SHAYLAAAAAAA

“Dear Jacaerys, I want you to know that I am completely, perfectly, incandescently happy…”

MR DARCYYYYYY?????

IM GLAD THAT SHES FINALLY SPOKEN TO JACEEEE

CRISTIII THIS WAS INCREDIBLE ARE YOU KIDDING MEEE????? IM SO HAPPY SO PROUD OF YOU FOR FINISHING YOUR SERIES. ME SOON TORMENTED SPIRIT PLEASE END FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GOOD SHE STILL GOING

I lovveeee cregan so much I love the surprise so much I LOVE HOW YOU ENDED IT. IM SO SATISFIED. MY PETTY ASS ALL FIGHTS TO HAVE AN ANGST ENDING WHEN THERES ANGST BUT YOU SWAYED ME AND I WANT THEM ONLY TO HAVE FLUFF FOREVER AND EVER AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH BECAUSE WHO ELSE COULD DO THAT BUT YOU. AM I SO VERY GREEDY TO ASK MORE? ANYWAY TAG ME NEXT FIC OK OK I LOVE YOU BYE AHHHH

Summer (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

A/N: I can finally wrap up my romcom! Big romantic gesture ahead. Check the masterlist of this series here, if you are new. And to my lovely, lovely readers, thank you for staying wityh me during this madness.

Warnings: My anxious introverted reader being anxious (Shocker) Cregan has self-doubts. Mature language.

YOU ARE HAVING a terrible day. It surprises you because that doesn’t happen as often any longer. Today, you would rather not talk to anyone, much less Cregan, whose hovering would only serve to make you more anxious. Today, you want to crawl under the covers with your comfort book and pretend to be dead. 

Yet, you cannot. Because you can’t find the damn book anywhere. You are sure the compilation of histories of Old Valyria Daemon had given you has to be in your rooms.

You have pulled open all your desk’s drawers, checked the bedside table twice, checked the bed, even beneath it. Not even your chest with linens was spared. It’s nowhere. 

With little choices left, you have begun searching the nursery too, but haven’t quite mastered the courage to search Cregan’s solar. You remember taking the book alongside you to read as you kept him company sometimes, but do not recall leaving it there. 

You feel torn. Cregan and you are getting along now, but you still hesitate going to him with your troubles. Not only you had leftover guilt even though you have both chosen to move on from your rivalry, you also prided yourself on being independent. 

Asking him or anyone for help always makes you feel uncomfortable. You didn’t want others to perceive you as weak. 

Stop. You are being silly, you tell yourself. It’s not like you are about to ask him to solve your life, you only will inquire if he has seen your book. 

Still. What if he thinks less of you for being careless with your things? Or if he thinks you are being overly sentimental to get this worked up over a book? 

Worse, what if he thinks you are accusing him of stealing? 

You let out a groan. You are overthinking. Your bad days often include a lot of anxiety, and today it is a bad day. A terrible one, that will be worse if you don’t find your beloved book. Determined, you march to Cregan’s solar and knock on his door. 

“Aye?” He calls out, northern accent on full display, and you can’t help that your knees get a little weak.

“Cregan? May I come in?” Suddenly, your bravery and determination have deserted you. Your voice comes out squeaky as a mouse. By the Fourteen Flames, to love is to be humbled, it seems. 

“You always may, wife.” You wince at being addressed as such. You suppose it’s a good thing he isn’t calling you by your full title any longer. 

Pushing open the door, you step inside. Cregan is seated on his desk, a frown on his face. He is squinting at some maps, in the way he sometimes does. His frown softens when he sees you, standing on the door. 

“I enjoy how my colors look on you.” Cregan rumbles, a pleased smile forming on his face. Today, you are wearing one of the warmest dresses you own, in a pale gray. It’s made of velvet, and you enjoy how it feels over your skin. You had commissioned it after you arrived at Winterfell, using the generous pocket money that Cregan allowed you. 

You had to give it to the man. No matter how annoying you had been at first, he had never been tight-fisted with your allowance. 

“Thank you.” You feel your cheeks heating up, and fight the urge to fan your face. What you don’t manage to fight is the urge to preen under his gaze. 

Cregan chuckles. You narrow your eyes at him. Is he mocking you? He lifts his hands in surrender, attuned as he is to your moods. 

“Apologies. It’s cute, that’s all.” 

“The dress?” 

“You.” And it’s said with such disarming honesty, you do not know what to say. You search his face, yet his expression is so open, so fond, no hint of mockery can be found. It’s…  Cregan must be thinking of her, for sure. That expression doesn’t mean anything. “What were you here for?”

You clear your throat. 

“Um. I was… I lost my book.” 

“What book?” Cregan asks, shifting his maps aside. He is clearing his desk, you realize. “The one about the conquest?” 

“No, not that one.” Your voice turns shyer still. Secretly, it pleases you that he remembers what you had been reading last week. “It has a brown leather cover and the title is in gold.” 

“The one in High Valyrian?” And his tone is casual. Far too casual. You begin to worry that your book might have met its end. You look him in the eyes, but find little there. Cregan has an impeccable blank face. He gives nothing away. “Check the selves. Maybe it is there.” 

You turn around and begin doing so. But the more titles you check, the more nervous you become. Cregan is an organized man, his books are carefully separated by subject. The servants know to keep to his order, when he rarely leaves them lying around. 

Your book would stand out. You know it. A tight knot of anxiety begins to settle on your stomach. As you reach the lower shelves, you feel tears gathering in your lash line. You cannot believe you are about to cry over a book. 

Cregan will never love you. He will go right back into thinking you are some soft southron, with no spine. No one cries over books. He will think you are ridiculous. 

Despite your back being to him, he seems to sense something is wrong.

“Love? Is everything alright?” 

“I cannot find it.” You whine, losing your battle with the tears. “My book. It’s really important that I find it.” 

You hear him get up, and walk closer to you. He hugs you from behind, holding you to him. 

“Shh… I know. I have been unkind to you.” You are confused about his words, but not enough that you reject the comfort of his embrace. Cregan is warm against your back, and smells faintly of parchment and leather. There is something herbal clinging to his skin, too. His smell and his size make you feel safe. He is tall enough that his form covers yours completely.“I took your book.” 

You flinch. Your hackles begin to rise. Your sadness leaves, clouded by absolute wrath.  

“What?” 

“I wanted to gift you something. It’s being copied by the Maester as we speak. I wanted it to be a surprise, I know how much you love it.” He nuzzles your neck, and it pacifies you slightly. The prospect of a gift entices you, especially if it is a copy of your favorite book. Perhaps Cregan will have it nicely bound.  “I regret it now. Knowing how much you love it, I should have known it would upset you.”

“I wanted to read it today.” You complain, still sad. It has been an awful day for you. “I do not feel so well.” 

“Of course, sweetling.” Cregan drops a kiss to your crown. “I’ll have it delivered to you. Would you mind lending it to me tomorrow? You can recall it anytime during the day if you need it, like now.” 

“Alright.” You whisper, softly. Cregan gathers you in his arms again, and moves the two of you to the loveseat. There, he settles you in his lap. He takes of his cloak and drapes it over you. This way, you are fully surrounded by his warmth and smell.

He calls a servant. True to his word, the book is back in your hands in less than half an hour. You spend the rest of the afternoon reading in his lap. 

Suddenly, your bad day doesn’t seem so bad. 

WHEN HE FEELS like an inconsiderate brute, Cregan tries to think happier thoughts. While grief and self-doubt do not chase him as much as they chase you, he is still a widower with a wife who despised him at first. 

Often, gazing upon Rickon or you is enough to help him feel more settled. More at peace with himself. His son is well adapted enough, he reasons, as he sees him run around the courtyard. You do not despise him, he thinks, as you curl by his side. 

Today, neither is working. Rickon and you are together, a picture that normally would serve to pull him out from his brooding. Of course, since Rickon is on the floor wailing, it isn’t quite working. 

Cregan has a headache. The pain is spreading from his jaw, towards his cheekbones, and from there turning into sharp icicles that feel like they are being stabbed in his skull. 

The day has been long. He had ridden out at dawn to deal with some wildings near Wintertown, and then had to answer his correspondence. The dammed Greens would not stop pestering him to switch sides and hand you over, alternating between threats and flattery. 

As if the Starks were some miserable turncloaks who betrayed their oaths. As if Cregan would just hand over his wife to some usurping cunts. 

The nerve of those Hightowers knew no bounds. What was next? Demanding a Sept be built in Wintertown for those false gods of theirs? 

And if that wasn’t enough to make his day terrible, during the afternoon Cregan had received an outraged Sara. Apparently, for some unknown reason, she had received an offer to become Lady Cerwin And for another unknown reason, it was the most terrible fate. Ever. 

Rickon keeps screaming. He has been that way for a while. Cregan had been alone with him, watching him play on the rug with his blocks, when he had started crying and wouldn’t stop. 

Cregan had tried picking him up, rocking him, walking him back and forth, but nothing helped. One of the servants must have heard and alerted you because you had appeared looking disgruntled.

You had been in the middle of your quiet time, as Cregan enjoyed calling it. Awkward Princesses who hated socializing needed time to recover from hearing petitions during the day. He had realized so when he started teaching you to pass judgement. 

As the time for Cregan to march south to defend your mother’s claim became more imminent, he was giving you more and more responsibilities in Winterfell. That way, you would be prepared to hold the North when he left. Prepared to protect his Kingdom and his son. 

“Tower! Tower!” Rickon wails, as you pick him. Your face is as tired a Cregan feels. His head is heavy. He cannot stand Rickon screaming any longer. By the gods, Cregan is a terrible father. He cannot even calm his son when he needs him. After his many attempts to calm him down were unsuccessful, he had just set him down. 

“What’s the matter, sweet boy?” You ask, holding Rickon close to your heart. Rickon continues to cry. You meet Cregan’s eyes over his son’s head. 

Cregan shrugs. He is unsure of what triggered the tantrum. 

“Shh, all is well. I get overwhelmed too, sometimes.” You say, and Cregan gets the feeling you are talking to him and not to Rickon. “But we can’t rebuild your tower if you are getting all wiggly.”  

This is about the building blocks, Cregan realizes. He feels like a terrible father. A failure. 

Bennard’s words come to mind once more. How can you govern the North if you can’t govern yourself? You failed.

Your swordsmanship is poor, and you still are a pup crying for your parents. You cannot rule. 

He had heard a variation of those words for years, every time he had tried to push his claim. And look, Cregan knows he is not a poor swordsman, and he has tried his best to rule. Men don’t cry, but he does it occasionally. Rarely. His tears never dry out, no matter how old he grows, but it is the only thing of Bennard’s words that came true. That isn’t so bad, is it? 

You have settled on the floor, Rickon on your lap. He still cries, but he has stopped shrieking. You have started building a tower on your own. 

“I think I will place my princess here. And a dragon here.” You explain, as if you are building some great castle. Rickon stares, transfixed by you. Cregan understands the feeling all too well. He remembers the weight of you in his lap, the warmth of your skin against him, your smell. He has been unable to get the memory out of his mind in days. 

It would be pleasant, a session of cuddling with his wife, were it not for the circumstances that lead up to it. All Cregan’s fault. 

“A shame you want to keep crying and won’t help. I suppose I shall have to ask your father to play with me.” Your eyes are coy. You give Cregan a glance, and his lips form a smile despite himself. Of course you would try bribery. 

Of course, it works. Rickon picks up the first block, still sniffling. 

“No! Father isn't a Princess. You are!” 

“You are right, Rickon.” You agree, as if it were the most natural thing. “Silly me. He is a wolf. We should build him a Wolfswood.” 

And so, Rickon forgets his tantrum, settled by your gentle touch and encouraging words. And Cregan’s heart soars. 

“MILADY, LORD STARK wishes for your company.” One of the serving girls says, eyes downcasted. You pause in your perusal of the granary, making a quick note on your ledger. As the Lady of Winterfell, it falls to you to ensure the castle has supplies enough for winter, or so Cregan says. You find the Northern’s obsession with the season a bit much, but considering little grows here, you too would feel better knowing you have enough grain if something happens. 

“Right now?” Considering he had been the one to send you on this errand, it confuses you a little. He must have known taking stock of the granary would take you all day. 

“As soon as you can come. It’s not urgent, but he wishes to see you soon.” 

You feel nerves creep up on you. Cregan never summons you. When he wants your company, he simply appears near you or waits for a meal to invite you to spend time with him. 

You can’t help it. War and grief had frayed your nerves. These days, you feel like everything could be a sign of bad news. 

It’s not urgent, you repeat to yourself. It’s not urgent, it’s not urgent, you chant in your head, but your steps towards the inside of Winterfell are hurried. 

The castle is unusually quiet. The maid guides you to one of the unused wings of the castle, one near Cregan’s rooms. You have never asked, but you know these were the rooms his uncle used to inhabit when trying to usurp him. The man had never dared taking the lord’s rooms from Cregan, lingering near instead, a feeling you understand too well. 

Your husband is a formidable man. You wouldn’t want to cross him, either. 

The serving girl hesitates when the two of you reach a big oaken door. 

“What is it?” You ask her, with a frown. “Why do you linger?”

She doesn’t answer. She simply shoots you a shy smile. Annoyed at her shyness, you push the door open yourself. Your breath catches. 

When you step inside, it is as if you are stepping inside your storybook. The walls are covered with tapestries depicting some of the prettier illustrations, priestesses wearing amethysts, dragons of shining ivory, lovers holding hands. 

The room is decorated in understated creams and golds, the furniture made of the finest woods. Despite the themes of the decoration, it is clearly meant to be a Lady’s solar, even if not attached to your rooms. 

There is a soft, woven carpet that cushions your every step. It is made of pure white fur, to combine tastefully with the rest of the decoration. You can already tell it will feel like heaven on your bare feet, even through your boots. It must have cost a fortune. 

Near two, giant windows, a low table sits. It holds a vase very familiar to you, shaped in the form of a dragon. It is filled with winter roses, though you had seen it before in Dragonstone, full of your mother’s favorite flowers. 

There is a fireplace, as it is customary in almost all the rooms in Winterfell. On its mantle, small toys and mementos from your childhood sit. Near the fireplace, a small sitting area awaits, with comfortable looking armchairs and loveseats, and a low table in which a tea set, painted with Valyrian motives, rests. 

There is a desk in a corner, much bigger than yours, and a small bookshelf, that resembles the layout Cregan has in his own solar. It has sparse books, but all of them are in High Valyrian. Your favorite book has a place of honor, right in the middle of the highest shelf. 

Yet, the true star of the room lies on the back of it. There is a huge round table, like the one from your stories, made of sturdy wood, that resembles the one from the war room from Dragonstone. Not only are the Seven Kingdoms featured, but also Essos, Sothoryos, the Summer Islands and even Great Moraq. Cregan is in the middle of lighting the table, struggling with how one is supposed to do it. 

“How..?” You babble, astonished. To assemble this… You understand now why he had needed your book so many times. The time and care put into building this room, so delightfully whimsical yet honoring your culture at the same time… Your eyes prickle with tears. 

“We can send it back.” Cregan says, alarmed by your tears. “If you…” 

“No!” You say, with an energy that surprises you. You take the candles from his hands and begin lighting the table the proper way. “This is… My home. And my book.”

Cregan’s face is uncharacteristically unsure.

"I hoped it would remind you of where you came from. Of whom you are. A Princess of Dragonstone. My Princess.” 

“You did this… for me?” Your hands tremble as you set the table alight. All the known world, on display for you. In a war table. It is only then that it registers.  

Cregan is willing to go to war for you. Kill in your name. Lay the whole world at your feet.  You have to grip the back of one of the chairs as to not fall down, knees weak. 

“I know you are far from home. And I haven’t… We haven’t always been on the best terms, but you never shied away from your duties. I wanted to give you something that was about you.” 

“I never thought you saw me.” You whisper. “I… I owe you an apology. For everything. For insulting you, when I arrived, for speaking of Lady Arra, for… For not seeing you either, at first.” 

You have been blind, you realize, as you look at your book come to life in this room. The man who had given it to you had shown you that one could form a family with a widow and cherish their sons as if they were your own.

Daemon wasn't a kind man, but he was loyal to family. You were far kinder. If he could do it, and be happy, so could you.

“There is no need to apologize to me.” Cregan gathers you in his arms, and presses a kiss to your lips. His own are chapped from the cold, yet the only thing you feel is his warmth. And for two people as different as winter and summer, you find that your bodies do understand each other. 

It takes Cregan but a week to convince you after that. The first letter you write in your new desk begins as it follows: 

“Dear Jacaerys, I want you to know that I am completely, perfectly, incandescently happy…”

[shivunin]

Breath and Bone

After Rook is injured in the Crossroads, a spell gone wrong makes the injury dramatically worse. With Rook unconscious, Lucanis must help her reach the Lighthouse and safety.

(Lucanis Dellamorte/Rook Ingellvar | 6,360 Words | AO3 Link | CW: broken bones, implied past child abuse)

“It's never enough being one. Why do I hope to contain you: always undoing and undone; every place you touch me changes shape.” —Robert Fanning, “Song of the Shore to the Sea”

“Nice one, Rook!” Lucanis shouted from the other side of the clearing. 

Rook, stepping back from the fresh corpse she’d just driven her spellblade into, did not have the breath to respond. The Crossroads was a dizzy thing, ridden with a resonant hum. When she fought here, she could feel it all through her, as if the place was singing in her bones. It was easy to get lost in that rhythm. It was especially easy when she was fighting like this, Venatori swinging blades everywhere she turned, no space at all to breathe or strategize.

A missile hissed as it passed her, and Lenore summoned a barrier just as a second might have hit. Somewhere behind her, Bellara shouted something she couldn’t hear. Days like this invigorated some of the others, she knew. After battle, Taash or Davrin seemed energized, as if the adrenaline rush of combat clung to them a little longer than the act itself.

It wasn’t like that for Lenore. Death was a familiar friend; killing was an entirely different creature. She had long since accepted its necessity. That didn’t mean she loved the fight. Quite the contrary, in fact. If there had been any other path for them, she would have taken it a hundred times over by now.

She ducked nimbly, drawing a miasma of death from the ground to drive the nearest foes back. They choked and gagged at its touch, so familiar to Lenore, and staggered away from her. 

The field had been whittled down somewhat. As she watched, Bellara waved her arms to draw the attention of an assailant. When the warrior turned to fight her, Lucanis appeared behind him as if from the air itself and drove a blade neatly between his ribs. 

This! This was what she’d been working toward! It was so heartening to see that their group combat practices were paying off, that their techniques and strategies were interlocking so effectively. She would have to bring this up to both of them later, because it deserved to be pointed out. She would—

Something struck her leg, midway between her knee and her ankle. There was an ominous crack somewhere in that region and an answering swell of pain. She’d made the first, most basic mistake in combat and taken her attention from her enemies. Luckily for her—for all of them—her instincts had been honed by the constant fighting, too, and she reacted without thinking. Lightning arced from her hand and spread, striking the one who’d hit her and spreading to the two behind him. One toppled immediately, arms splayed, eyes hollow. The other shook, caught in place as the power coursed through them, and crumpled to the ground a moment later. 

“Nice try, filth,” said the one before her, and swung his blade at her again. 

Not good. She could barely put weight on her leg, which would dramatically hinder her maneuverability. The pain was getting to her already, crawling from her leg to her chest and choking her lungs. She couldn’t think straight; needed to do something to fend him off. Something—

He swung again, and her shield flickered into existence just before the blade would have connected with her forehead. Her reserves had been drained by the lightning, and they drained further as he added a second hand to the hilt of the blade to bear down on her. 

Lenore gritted her teeth. Her head felt fuzzy, her face clammy. She hadn’t the strength to hold him off now. She barely had the breath to hiss between her teeth, let alone call out to one of the others for help. Healing magic was out of the question—she’d never had the knack of it. 

None of them could heal, really; up to now, they’d mostly been working around this with potions. Not for the first time, she wished she’d formed the sort of bond with a spirit that might’ve given her this skill. Alas, her talents lay elsewhere—her hands had always been for death, never life.

Wait. There was an idea. 

In the Necropolis, inhabited skeletons often encountered the sort of damage that cracked a bone or two. There were spells to mend them when this sort of thing occurred, and materials to patch missing pieces if necessary. She’d learned those spells when she’d been an apprentice, but hadn’t needed to call upon the knowledge in years. 

Her bones were still covered in living tissue. It would be risky to try this herself, but she had little choice. In a moment, he’d break through her barrier. If she could just remember—

“Give in to me,” the Venatori demanded. “Kneel!” 

Lenore panted with effort and dragged the words from her memory. The shield dimmed around her, bright where it touched the blade and nearly insubstantial everywhere else. She had so little energy left. This would take most of it; she’d only have one shot at patching herself up. She had to make it count. 

“Rook’s hurting!” Bellara yelled somewhere beyond her. 

Rook tensed, sucked in a breath, and spoke the words of the spell. Several things happened in quick succession: 

Devoid of the power it took to sustain it, her shield faltered and the sword broke through. Lenore ducked to her right, taking her weight off her injured leg, and hammered the base of her staff into the Venatori’s throat. 

As she moved, the spell took effect. Pain swelled within her and broke like a wave, the bone in her leg mending itself over and over again until it had multiplied itself enough to break through the skin. She screamed without knowing it, without really hearing it, as if the pain itself made a tunnel from her leg to her throat and poured itself forth from there. 

Bolts laden with electricity shot from somewhere in the distance, hammering into the unbalanced Venatori’s back. He stumbled, nearly tripping over one of the many spurs of bone now projecting from Rook’s leg. 

“Rook,” Lucanis shouted from what seemed like a great distance, “hold on!” 

She’d no idea what she could possibly be holding on to when the whole world was shuddering like a freshly reanimated corpse, but she tried anyway. She must have fallen at some point in the chaos because her hands scrabbled at stone and dirt now, not thin air. If her leg hadn’t hurt so badly that it eclipsed all other feeling, her head and tailbone would no doubt be aching from the impact.

The Venatori, now bleeding profusely, staggered to his feet. Behind him, a violet blur felled first one, then another of the remaining Venatori who stood between Lucanis and Rook. There were few of them left, which was probably good. It still wouldn’t save her if she fell to this one right now. 

Her staff had fallen behind her. Rook dragged herself backward, scrambling for it. Her hands were slick with something and they moved slower than they should, as if the air itself was more viscous than it ought to be. Every time she tried to grasp the smooth wood, it slid away from her. A flash of teal and brown flickered at the corner of her eye: Bellara was running toward her from the other side of the clearing. Even as she identified her friend, another Venatori darted into Bellara’s path and blocked her from view. 

Only five left now. If she just held out—

The violet blur spread tenebrous wings and shot closer, impossibly fast. Fast enough? It was hard to say. Everything looked—felt—so very strange. Her head pulsed in time with the wound in her leg.  The Venatori lifted his sword and swung, a blow that would connect precisely with her breastbone. At last, at last, her hand wrapped around the polished wood of her staff, though it fought to slip from her grasp.

Unbidden, her mind began to recite, in clinical and removed tones, precisely what would happen to her body when the blow connected: if her sternum did not collapse, one of the sternocostal joints would. The force of the blow would penetrate her chest, likely striking her heart. If it did not, it would certainly rupture the pleural cavity and steal her breath away. The latter would not kill her immediately. She’d tended plenty of corpses that’d taken at least one more blow to die after this precise strike. If she hung on for long enough, one of the potions the others carried could still heal her. If not…

If not, she’d already shown Emmrich exactly where she wanted to be buried. 

Behind the Venatori, Lucanis—or maybe Spite—struck down two more Venatori; they fell before him like sheaves of wheat before the scythe. She might be impressed at his accuracy and speed if she weren’t possessed by mortal terror. Perhaps Emmrich would be able to coax that thought from her corpse after she—after— 

The blade whistled through the air, a silver gleam meant for her heart. At that precise moment, Lenore finally grasped her staff and summoned another barrier. It failed almost immediately, but held just long enough to arrest the sword’s motion in midair. The Venatori grunted and lifted the sword again. 

This had to be it; she had nothing left, not even a drop of magic.  Rook took the staff in both hands (it was so heavy; so heavy that she almost couldn’t lift it, though she’d been wielding it for months now) and held it over her chest. It was a poor shield, especially when she was shaking so hard she could barely see straight, but it was better than giving up entirely. 

“For Razi—” the Venatori began, but the word was cut off abruptly. 

Between one blink and the next, the air was filled with that purple glow, illuminating her attacker from behind. Even now, Rook held her staff in shaking hands, warding as best she could against whatever blow may yet come. It wasn’t necessary; already, blood trickled from her attacker’s mouth, still open to speak a syllable that would never come. 

When his body dropped, it fell to the side and away from Lenore. Lucanis stood behind him, his face like stone. Spite’s wings spread from his back. His knife dripped blood onto Rook’s boot. She looked at that instead of her—instead of the bones branching above it. 

There was no clever comment, no regards from the Crows. Instead, his eyes held hers. 

“Can you walk?” Lucanis asked, eyes gleaming with the telltale sign of Spite’s ascendance though it was undeniably his voice she heard. 

“No,” she managed through gritted teeth. 

Behind him, Bellara shouted as the last of the Venatori fell. Lucanis must have seen her leg by now; his face grew more grim, eyes pinched at the corners. She could hardly look at it herself, though she could see the jagged, pale sections from the corner of her eye. 

Lucanis stepped closer and crouched, neatly blocking her view of whatever she’d done to herself. Without meaning to, she reached for his elbow and squeezed, far harder than she would have under any other circumstances. She couldn’t have said what kind of comfort she sought then; there was nothing he could do for her and both of them knew it, though he was already reaching for the vial at his belt. 

“Bad idea,” she told him, lifting a hand to clear the sweat from her brow and realizing at the last minute that mud, blood, and something green dripped from her hand. She used her elbow instead, though it wasn’t much cleaner. When she drew her arm away, new red streaked over the fabric. 

“Why?” Lucanis asked. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and lifted it to her forehead, carefully dabbing at something there. His face was so very grim. She did not like it; did not like that she was the cause. 

“What I did—” gorge rose at the back of her throat. Lenore swallowed and tried again. “Healing is the problem. It might make it worse. Unless you’ve got something for—for pain or sleep…”

“No,” he told her, tucking the vial away. “Only this. Can you bear it until we reach the Lighthouse?” 

“Don’t have much choice,” she said. Bellara rushed into view, face already paler than usual. 

“Rook, that looks really bad,” she said. “What can I—is there anything I can do?” 

Lucanis rested his hand over Rook’s at his elbow and looked up at Bellara. 

“I am going to carry her back. Can you find something to keep her leg stable?”

“I—yeah. Yes. Give me just—give me a few minutes. I have an idea.” 

Bellara darted off again, flitting from body to body. After a moment, she perched near the collapsed pile of metal that’d once been a guardian of the crossroads. Something pulled Rook’s attention to a pile of rock floating past and she watched its slow, gentle path across the sky. It was not engrossing; it was something she had seen dozens of times by now. Nonetheless, she could not look away. For a moment, every other sound was drowned out by the rush of her blood in her ears.

“Rook?” Lucanis said. “Rook. Can you hear me?”

It took some effort to unclench her teeth. Lenore nodded instead, turning her head to look at him. He’d leaned closer while she’d been distracted. He reached for her hand now, apparently unbothered by the muck still caking her palms. 

“Hold on,” he said. “As tight as you need to. I am here. I will stay.” 

At last, she managed to part her lips. Her mouth was dry, but she didn’t dare reach for her waterskin. Any movement felt like it could upset the delicate balance she was maintaining. An ounce more pain and she would be lost. 

“I will pass out,” she told him as clearly as she could manage. 

His hand tightened around hers—surprising, since she had his hand in a vice grip and couldn’t seem to unclench her fingers. She hadn’t expected him to hold her back. Sweat dripped into her eyes, stinging as she blinked it away. 

“When you lift me,” she clarified. “It’s—going to jostle the–the wound. I won’t be awake. That’s good. You can move faster if you aren’t worrying about my comfort.”  

“I understand,” Lucanis said. “Don’t try to talk. Rest now; we will do what we can.”

“Stupid,” she told him, and took in a shaky breath. Bellara was moving toward them again, something golden in her hands. “My fault.”

“Leave it,” he told her. “You can blame yourself later.” 

“Got it,” Bellara said, skidding to a halt beside them. “This will hold your legs in place. There’s a bit that should keep anything from hitting the, um—pieces directly. I’m going to put this on now, okay?”

“Wait,” Rook said. The adrenaline was wearing off; she was thinking less and less clearly, the pain echoing and magnifying with each passing moment. “Tell—tell Emmrich—the spell is the one for—for mending bone. He’ll know—so stupid, tell him I’m sorry—”

“I’ll tell him, I promise,” Bellara said, her voice soothing. Briefly, she rested a hand on Lenore’s shoulder. “I’m putting the brace on now, alright? I’ll be as quick as I can.” 

She couldn’t help the noise she made when Bellara reached under her leg to fasten the brace. Without thinking, she turned and pressed her face against Lucanis’s knee to muffle the cries, uncomfortable as it was. All the while, his grip on her hand held steady. 

“I know, I know, I know,” Bellara chanted, her voice strained. “Almost done, just a little more—sorry!—almo—”

Between one syllable and the next, the universe blinked.

Now, the wind rushed through her hair. They were no longer in the same clearing. Instead, the Crossroads sped past on either side. The ache in her leg had intensified, though she could feel from the tight band around her thigh that the splint was still in place. 

“How close?” Lucanis asked. 

“We approach the requested destination, Dweller,” the serene voice of the Caretaker responded. 

Warm leather curled more tightly around her shoulders and the scene resolved itself into something that made sense. Lucanis held her at the prow of the rowboat, one foot braced on the bench before them. She turned her head to see him better and found him examining her already, his face solemn. 

Something about his chest looked odd, but it took her a moment to place it: he’d removed the blade and all the vials from his armor there. Why? Nothing made sense. 

“I’m sorry,” she told him, and his brow furrowed.

“For what, Rook?” 

What could she say? She turned her face into his chest instead, closing her eyes for a moment. It would be easier, she decided, if the world would just stop spinning. 

“It was a stupid mistake,” she mumbled against his chest. 

“You’ve said that,” he told her. “More than once. I will tell you again what you told me after Weisshaupt: we all make mistakes, Rook.” 

She tried to hold onto his words, but they scattered to the winds. His grip on her shifted slightly, his hand curling around her shoulder. 

“Look at me, Rook. You have to stay awake. You have a concussion. That’s why you aren’t thinking clearly.”

Staying awake was a singularly unattractive prospect. Everything hurt; the dizziness was only getting worse and she’d made the mistake of looking at her leg again. Just the sight of it, bone jutting from her leg in three directions and curling in on itself like the horns of a halla, was enough to make her stomach lurch again. 

“I’m sorry,” she told him. 

Through his armor, she could hear his heartbeat. 1, 2, 3, she counted, 1, 2, 3—like a waltz, played in double time. She couldn’t remember why she was apologizing. Had she played a waltz for him before? She’d played for him—for all of them—but she couldn’t remember—

“I’m sorry,” she told Lucanis again, and the grim lines branching from the corners of his eyes deepened. She wanted him to never let go of her; when she turned her face into him again, the world felt quieter.

“Don’t apologize to me, Rook,” he said, and the universe blinked again. 

|

It was quiet in Rook’s room, for which Lucanis was grateful. There had been far too much noise in the infirmary from when he’d carried her there to when Taash had brought her here. Neve’s sleeping spell yet held her; Rook’s face was still, though the space between her eyebrows remained faintly creased. If the spell had not failed when Taash had rebroken her leg and Davrin had set it, Lucanis did not think it would break in the face of too much noise. Even so, he was relieved that she was here, in her own space, and that the others had gone away for a time. 

“Why does she still sleep? Wake her up,” Spite said from the head of the settee she slept on, peering down at Rook’s drawn face. 

“Waking will hurt her,” Lucanis told him. “Her leg is still broken.”

“Then fix it, if it’s broken,” Spite said. 

Lucanis ignored the demon and leaned forward, glancing at Rook’s leg. The cold spell had reduced some of the swelling, though it was still visible under the second brace Bellara had brought her. The damage was clear beneath the metal and leather: her skin gone red and purple around the break, sliced to ribbons where the new growth had speared through it, dried blood still caked in the creases of her ankle where Lace hadn’t quite washed all of it away.

Like most Crows, his knowledge of healing was limited to the most basic necessities. In a fight, it was better to remove your opponent from the battle than to stop moving and patch up your fellows. He had studied certain medical writings in training, but only to better identify the weak points of his opponents. At most, he might’ve been able to bandage her wound long enough to get to safety, or perhaps offer one of the potions he kept on hand. In this—the bone jutting from her skin, the way she’d cried out when he’d lifted her from the ground, the tear tracks still visible on her cheeks now—in this, he’d been of no use at all. 

Even now, he was not entirely sure what she’d tried to do. Emmrich’s explanation had mostly been different versions of a horrified “why that spell” or “what an incredibly inadvisable course of action.” Lucanis had not disagreed with either statement, but he had not found them especially enlightening either. The necromancer had undone her spell, at least. He was glad of that.

“She smells all wrong,” Spite said, still peering at Rook. “All wrong.”

All the long way back to the Lighthouse, Spite had been uncharacteristically helpful. He had slipped beneath Lucanis’s skin seamlessly, as he once had in the early days in the Ossuary. He had done nothing but help speed them along, pushing their body faster than Lucanis might have been able to alone. It had seemed that they were, for once, of one mind, one mission: bring Rook somewhere safe and get her the help she needed. Everything else had been peripheral. 

It was…quiet now that the others were gone. This was a relief. It also meant he had far too much time to think. He might almost—almost—be grateful for the distraction Spite provided now. Whenever he turned to look at the fish, the water behind him, his stomach turned and his hands shook. As long as he faced forward, he could still pretend to ignore it. 

“Wrong,” Spite repeated. “Blood and elfroot and pain. Not like Rook.”

Lucanis sighed. He had not enjoyed carrying her back, though he would do it a hundred times over if she ever had need of such assistance again. It had been a fraught thing, willing her eyes to open again even though she would go on apologizing to him every time they did. He had a great deal of experience trying to hold still, but it had been worse to know that every involuntary shift of his body had caused hers pain. 

He had not liked carrying her, but it had been—he had felt—something to hold her pressed against him, to wrap her in his arms. She had clutched him to her, hands snarled in the belts at his chest, face pressed into his body. He had wished, on that long ride back, that he could curl himself around her and shield her from what she’d done, though it was a useless impulse. 

Useless and foreign besides; he had never felt such a thing before and did not know what to do with it now that he had. 

Now, his hand rested beside hers on the bed, close enough that he could feel the faint movements of her body when she breathed in and out. When Emmrich had finally deemed it safe, Lucanis had administered the healing potion to her himself. He’d slid a hand under her neck to tip her head back and ease its passage into her throat. Though he was no longer touching her, he could still feel the memory of the softness of her skin against his palm. 

Once, he had watched Rook tune her violin on one of the balconies outside the main tower. She’d struck a tuning fork against her knuckles and held it between two elegant fingertips, eyes closed to listen. The tone had spilled out into the air long after she’d touched it, humming until she finally set it aside to turn the small knobs at the top of her instrument. 

Lucanis supposed he did not feel so very different than that tuning fork now. The touch of her skin still hummed inside him, though he had long since let go. He could not help wondering if he should reach for her hand now, if only to still that hum. 

 “She needs to rest and heal. Then, she will smell like herself,” he told Spite.

Spite crouched, his nose an inch from Rook’s. Slowly, Lucanis’s smallest finger brushed against Rook’s.

“She should smell of incense,” Spite told her, as if to remind her. “Leaf-rot. Rosemary. The rest is wrong.” 

“She doesn’t smell like rotting leaves,” Lucanis said, as he had a dozen times before. Spite bared his teeth. “I don’t know why you always say that.”

“You’re wrong. She smells of sweet rot. Always. Only Rook ever does.” 

What use was there in arguing? It hadn’t swayed the demon yet, though they’d had this argument more than once. Lucanis shifted in his chair and found his hand resting against Rook’s. Should he let go? Leave? Work on finding a healer in Treviso they could bring her to? 

Her hand was so still, soft and cool in his.

When he had been a boy, there had been an illness (he could not recall what it had been; a fever, perhaps) and a dark room, bed hung with dark cloth. It had not been in Villa Dellamorte, but the home his parents kept. It had been—warmer, he thought. Less marble, more carved wood. One night, Lucanis had lain in the dark, ill and horribly lonely, and he had woken to find his father’s hand in his. What a comfort it had been, to know that he was not alone in the dark with his pain. 

Lucanis ignored Spite and curled his fingers around Rook’s. There were calluses on odd places near the first joints of her fingers. Musical in origin, he supposed, not caused by her staff. He had not seen them before, but now he could feel scars across her palms, across the backs of her hands. Where had she gotten them? He wondered if she would answer, should he ask.

It had seemed…foolish, potentially dangerous to hold her hand in most of the places they’d visited. What if one of them needed to draw a weapon? Precious seconds might be wasted in untangling themselves from each other. Beyond that, she would be a target if anyone knew that he wanted—that he thought—

“You will make sure she’s fixed,” Spite said, voice abruptly louder, and he leaned across the bed to put his face near Lucanis’s. “She won’t stay like this. It isn’t right.”

“Yes,” Lucanis agreed. “Neve is looking for a healer who can help. Emmrich has already undone the worst of whatever she did to her leg.”

Spite had been with Lucanis for more days than he’d been able to count, but he still had difficulty reading the demon’s expressions. He did not even know if they were facial expressions or if that was just how his mind interpreted Spite’s existence. On someone else, he might have thought the narrowed eyes and sneer meant displeasure. On Spite, it must have been approval instead because the demon winked out of existence a moment later. It was a relief when he was gone, as if some imperceptible background noise he never really heard had finally ceased.  

“Don’t worry,” Lucanis told Rook in the ensuing silence. “The others will find somebody to help. I’ll wait with you until they do. It’s not like I was sleeping anyway.”

She would have laughed at that. She liked to laugh, his—Rook liked to laugh. 

Her hand didn’t move in his. Still, he did not think he was imagining the growing warmth in her palm. Lucanis reached for the cup of coffee he’d set aside and sipped it without letting go of her. Whatever came next, he would be there. 

Even if nobody else had heard it, he’d made her a promise.

|

The first thing Lenore felt when she woke was the warmth wrapped around her hand. 

Pain followed quickly, but she’d been braced for that. She had not been braced for comfort and was less sure about what to do with it. 

“You’re awake,” Spite said, and Rook opened her eyes to look at him. 

The demon sat in a chair beside her bed, one foot propped on the seat while the other rested on the ground. He was the one holding her hand, of course. 

“I am,” she answered, studying him. “Did Lucanis fall asleep there or did you walk him here?”

Not what she was asking, really. What she meant was, which one of you decided to wait beside me while I was out? It would have been harder to ask that; harder still to admit to him how much she wanted to know. Better to sidestep it entirely. 

“Here,” Spite replied. “He promised. To stay.”

“And you didn’t want to make a run for it while everyone was distracted?” 

The ache in her leg was…significant, but better than she remembered in her awful, cluttered recollection of the moments following her injury. A cautious glance downward revealed only the usual quantity of bones. Nothing twisted past her shin, bones projecting outward and curling around each other like halla horns. She almost wished she believed in a god so she could thank them. 

“He promised,” Spite replied, as if it was the obvious answer. 

“Does Lucanis know that you keep his promises?” she asked, smiling at him. 

Spite smiled back slowly, each side of the mouth creeping up in turn, as if testing himself to see if he could. 

“No,” he said. “Are you. Fixed?” 

Mentally, she felt along her body. Her head felt better, she thought, though her leg was a miserable tangle of pain. The rest of her was stiff, as if she’d been lying still for a very long time.

“Not all the way. Something still hurts down there. But better than earlier, yes.” 

“Good. Your pain. Was wrong.” 

Wrong?

“Did it bother you to carry me around?” 

Rook thought to push herself up, try to sit, but thought better of it. She’d have to let go of his hand if she wanted to move and it hardly seemed worth it. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had held her hand. Actually—now that she was thinking about it, she couldn’t remember a time when anyone living had held her hand for longer than the time it took to lead her where she was supposed to be.

“No,” Spite replied at once, and looked as if he would go on. Abruptly, his face went blank and Lucanis blinked himself awake. 

“Rook,” he said. “You’re awake.”

“So are you,” she said. 

Now that she was awake, he would take his hand away. She was certain of it. She held very still so he wouldn’t notice that they were still holding onto each other. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked. His forehead creased as he leaned closer, shifting until both feet rested firmly on the ground. 

“I’ve been better,” she said, but he did not laugh. “Feeling a little stupid. I feel like I should apol—”

“Don’t, Rook,” Lucanis said, lifting the hand that wasn’t holding hers as if to halt the words. “I think you’ve apologized enough. If I never hear you say ‘I’m sorry’ again, it will be too soon.”

“Did I? I don’t remember that.”

“Hm,” Lucanis said, the corner of his mouth twitching. Some strong emotion suppressed; not a smile, she thought. “Emmrich called it…perseveration. He said that those with head wounds often repeat phrases or thoughts, and you’d happened to choose that one.”

“You disagree?” Lenore asked. 

His thumb traced something on the back of her hand, slow and soft. She repressed a shiver at the sensation—so comfortable, so easy. It was like they touched each other casually all the time, which they certainly did not. He had made his interest clear—clear enough for her, at least—and yet they had still remained largely hands-off until now. 

“These marks on your hands,” he said, and paused. “I have seen others like them.”

“Have you?” 

The urge to snatch hers back and hide it under the blankets was immediate, the effort to ignore it not inconsiderable. Lucanis lifted his own hand, angling it so the light shone over the scar tissue there, criss-crossing his knuckles and the back of his hand in straight, silvery lines. Thicker than the ones on the backs of her hands, yes, but mostly the same.

“You are not a Crow,” he said. “You were not trained the way I was. Emmrich’s hands are largely unscarred. Those are very old—before you left the Necropolis.”

“Correct on all counts,” Lenore told him, and turned their hands so hers was pressed against the blanket and out of sight. 

He watched her for a moment, free hand settling slowly on the cot beside her leg. She wondered what he’d read in her face. She wondered what he wasn’t saying nearly as much as she hoped he wouldn’t keep talking about it.

“You do not have to apologize to me,” he said at last. “I was glad that I was the one with you when you fell.”

“You shouldn’t have had to carry me back,” she told him firmly, shifting her weight onto her elbow. Her grip tightened on his hand. “I’m meant to look after myself better than that. I should’ve—”

“Stop,” Lucanis said, squeezing her hand in turn. “Stop. I would do it again.” 

He was so very close—she hadn’t noticed him getting closer—and she still felt so awful, so grateful, and his hand was so warm in hers—

“Lucanis,” she murmured, as if speaking too loud would ruin something precious and fragile, “I think I’m going to kiss you.”

Lenore hadn’t been touched or held in so long. She had almost—almost—convinced herself that this didn’t bother her, that she didn’t care. She’d been wrong, though; she cared a great deal. Cared like a plant cared for watering, like strings longed for a bow. Before she could change her mind or retreat from him again, she was lifting her face to his and kissing him.

|

Lucanis could count on one hand the number of times he had kissed somebody, and nearly all of them had been in the process of completing a contract or training for the same. They’d all been more or less the same to him, the experiences blurring together into the same dull sensation, all duty and never desire. 

This—Rook’s face upturned, her soft mouth pressed to his—was like none of those other times. He hardly had time to recover from the shock of it before she was pulling away again, eyes searching his face. Too fast; not enough time to understand. He needed more.

On instinct, he reached behind her and cupped the back of her neck as he had before, carefully pressing her close to him once more. Her lips were soft and surprised under his, as if she had expected him to pull away. When he kissed her, she made a surprised sound and squeezed his hand.

 Had he worried that it was Spite, not Lucanis, who wanted to kiss her? Had he somehow believed that touching her would quiet the hum of fascination under his skin? All ridiculous, all incorrect; this was something entirely different. His hand fit at the back of her neck perfectly, as if it had been shaped precisely for this. He was barely kissing her, but the faint pressure of his mouth against his was almost overwhelming. He was already touching her, already holding her to him, and yet he was hungry for exactly that—as if the touch by its very existence required more of itself, required more of him. 

Too much. He withdrew, though he didn’t let go of her yet, and found her eyes still closed, her lips softly parted. 

What was he to do with this? He wanted to press his thumb to the pulse beating at her throat, wanted to lift her from the bed and hold her again, wanted to kiss the hand he held in his until—until what? 

“You should rest,” Lucanis told her, his voice so quiet he found himself surprised he’d said it aloud at all. 

Rook nodded once, eyes still closed, and pressed her lips together. When she moved, he could feel the shift of her spine under her skin. Would it feel the same if he held her hand while she moved, while she played her music for him, when she drew magic from the Fade? Would it feel the same with his hands around her hips, or her—

The thought was strange enough, foreign enough, that he let go and climbed to his feet. For a moment, Rook held very still, face still tilted. Lucanis took a step back, lest his hands betray him and reach for her again. 

“You’re still healing,” he told her, and took another step back when her eyes fluttered open. Her eyelashes were so fine against her skin, her eyes so warm and soft in the pale light of the water. He wanted to look closer. Instead, he stepped back again and wished he had something to do with his hands. Anything that would remove the sensation of her hand in his, her mouth so sweet against his. 

“I’ll check on you later,” he went on. “Somebody needs to start dinner, and a note from Teia and Viago arrived while you slept.”

“Lucanis,” she said, her voice soft and quiet. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Thank you. For staying, I mean. Both of you.” 

“Of course, Rook. Anytime,” he said, and slipped from the room before she could take him up on the offer. 

“Coward,” Spite hissed. 

Lucanis, striding briskly away from the door so he would not turn around and open it again, found he could not disagree.

[arixella]

Caught in the Tide

╰┈➤ pairing: Ace x female! reader

a/n: hey guys ik its been a minute, Ive been doing a lot of school and extracurriculars so ive had no time to write, plus I also just got sick sooo yeah but im trying to become active again!

summary: When a casual friends-with-benefits arrangement between you and Ace deepens into something more, both of you are caught in the tide of intense desire and unexpected feelings, unsure of where it will lead.

wc: 2.9k

contains: suggestive with a lil extra spice 🌹

It had always been simple between you and Ace—no strings, no questions, no emotional attachment. You were both free spirits, wandering the seas, finding solace in the brief, fleeting moments you shared. It started one night, on the deck of the Moby Dick, where neither of you could deny the spark between you. One kiss turned into another, then another, until it became a regular occurrence—nothing serious, just physical. You'd both laugh it off afterward, acting like nothing changed. But things had begun to change, and Ace was the last to admit it.

"Hey," you said, sitting next to Ace by the rail one evening, the sun sinking beneath the horizon. You both had just come from one of those late-night rendezvous. It was always like this: you shared a quiet, intimate moment, and then moved on like it was nothing. But tonight, Ace was unusually quiet, his gaze fixed on the vast ocean.

You nudged him lightly. "You good?"

He blinked and looked at you, a small, almost apologetic smile pulling at his lips. "Yeah, just... thinking."

"About what?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ace scratched the back of his head, avoiding your gaze. "You know... nothing important."

You stared at him for a moment. The look on his face was different tonight, hesitant and distant. Something you hadn't seen before. It made you feel uneasy, like you were on the edge of something, but you couldn't tell what.

"Ace..." you started, your voice softer. "What's going on?"

He finally met your eyes, and for a brief moment, you saw it—the vulnerability in his gaze. It was almost like he was struggling with something, fighting with himself. "I don't know," he said, almost too quietly for you to hear. "Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about... us. About what this really is."

You blinked in surprise, leaning back slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Ace hesitated, scratching his jaw as though searching for the right words. "You’re not like the others. You know that, right?"

You frowned, the weight of his words sinking in. "What do you mean by that?"

Ace took a deep breath, looking down at his hands, unsure of how to express the shift in his feelings. "This... this thing between us—it was supposed to be casual, no emotions. But..." He trailed off, biting his lip. "But it's not like that for me anymore."

Your heart skipped a beat. It was one thing to hear someone admit they had feelings for you; it was another thing entirely when it was Ace.

"You don’t need to say anything," he quickly added, his voice laced with the familiar, playful tone. "I just—I’m not sure how to handle this. I’ve never been good at it." His usual cocky demeanor was slipping, and it left you speechless.

You stared at him for a moment, your mind racing. So, this was it—the moment things changed. The moment you both had been avoiding.

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm, a gentle touch that made him pause. "Ace... I’m not sure how to handle it either."

He looked up at you, and this time, there was no playful smirk, no teasing remark. Just raw honesty.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he said, his voice softer than usual. "I don’t want this to complicate things between us. But... I think I’ve already made things complicated."

For a long time, there was nothing but the sound of the waves crashing against the ship, a steady reminder that the world was turning, whether or not you two were ready for it.

You took a deep breath, letting the moment stretch between you like a thread. Then you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want things to stay the same either."

Ace looked at you, his eyes searching yours for confirmation. You could see the uncertainty in his gaze, but there was something else too—a glimmer of hope.

Without saying another word, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his, feeling the warmth of his breath mix with yours. It was different this time. There was no rush, no fleeting moment. Just you and him, standing on the edge of something new.

When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his. "Maybe we’re both a little lost," you murmured.

Ace chuckled softly, his hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer. "Maybe. But at least we're lost together."

The moment was charged, alive with unspoken words and emotions neither of you had fully acknowledged before. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Ace didn’t know what to expect, but he didn’t mind. He had no plans, no expectations. For once, it wasn’t about the next fight or the next adventure. It was about the present, about the warmth of your presence, and the realization that he wanted more of that. He wanted you.

"You know..." Ace broke the silence, his voice carrying the usual warmth but with an edge of vulnerability. "I never thought I’d get caught up like this. I’m not good with relationships. I’ve always thought it was better to keep things simple." He glanced at you, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But with you... it’s different. I can’t ignore it anymore."

You exhaled slowly, processing the depth of what he was saying. "I get it, Ace. I’ve never been good at it either. But... I think I’m starting to feel the same way."

The air between you and Ace was thick with unspoken words and raw desire. Every touch, every kiss seemed to ignite something deeper inside both of you, something that neither of you could hold back anymore. Ace’s hands were everywhere, moving over your skin with an urgency that matched your own. You were no longer just two people caught in a casual arrangement—you were two souls tangled together in a desperate need for more.

His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, his breath warm and ragged against your skin. "You’re driving me insane," Ace groaned, his voice low and filled with hunger. His hands slid down your body, pulling you even closer, the heat between you growing with every passing second.

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers threading through his messy hair as you pulled him back to your lips. "I think we both are," you whispered, your lips brushing against his. "I can’t stop thinking about you."

Ace’s eyes darkened with that familiar fire, his fingers tightening around your waist as if to pull you closer still. He pulled back slightly, his breathing shallow. "Are you sure? Because I don’t think I can stop either."

His words were a challenge, and you could feel the heat rising between you, a magnetic pull that you couldn’t deny. "Then don’t," you answered, your voice barely above a whisper, but with an intensity that made his pulse quicken.

Without another word, Ace captured your lips once more, this time with a fervor that matched the storm inside him. His hands roamed over your body, taking his time as he explored every curve, every inch of your skin as though he were trying to memorize it. You didn’t stop him. You didn’t want him to.

His lips trailed down your neck again, the sensation making you shiver. "I’ve never been this close to losing control," Ace muttered, his breath hot against your skin, his fingers moving to trace the edge of your shirt. "I’ve never felt like this before... with anyone."

You could feel his hands trembling as they slid under your shirt, caressing your back, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "Then don’t fight it," you whispered, your voice thick with desire, a challenge of your own. "Let go."

It was all the invitation he needed.

Ace’s lips found your collarbone, his mouth pressing against your skin in a series of heated kisses that made your heart race. His hands slid lower, expertly undressing you piece by piece, as if every layer of clothing was a barrier he couldn’t wait to tear down. And you welcomed it. You welcomed him.

When your shirt finally came off, Ace didn’t hesitate. His hands found your chest, his touch rough but gentle in the same breath, his eyes never leaving yours as if searching for any sign of hesitation. But you weren’t about to pull away. You wanted this. You wanted him.

He groaned low in his throat, his fingers grazing over your sensitive skin, making you arch into him, craving more. "Damn," he muttered, his lips trailing down to your chest. "You don’t know what you do to me."

You gasped as his lips found a sensitive spot just beneath your ear, his hands now roaming freely, memorizing every inch of you. "Ace..." you breathed, your voice barely a whisper as his mouth moved lower, his kisses growing hungrier, more urgent. "Please…"

Ace paused for a moment, looking up at you with an intensity that took your breath away. His hands were on your thighs now, fingers sliding up your legs, sending shivers down your spine. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly, his breath heavy with desire.

You bit your lip, trying to regain some composure, but the tension in your body was overwhelming. "You," you said simply, your hands pulling him closer, urging him on.

The moment those words left your lips, Ace’s restraint snapped. He pulled you toward him, his lips finding yours once again, this kiss fiercer than before, driven by pure, unrelenting need. There was no teasing now, no hesitations. Just the overwhelming urge to lose yourself in each other.

His hands moved swiftly, undressing you completely, and in return, you did the same, your fingers trembling as you pulled off his shirt and pants, revealing the toned body you had seen only in passing but never truly had the chance to admire up close. Now, with him inches away from you, your hands roamed over his chest, your breath catching in your throat at the feeling of his hard muscles beneath your touch.

With a growl of frustration and desire, Ace finally took control, his lips trailing down to your chest, his tongue flicking over your sensitive skin, drawing a moan from your lips. You couldn’t hold back anymore—every touch, every kiss was driving you wild, and you knew you were on the edge of losing yourself completely.

"Ace... please," you whimpered, your hands pulling at his hair, urging him on.

He responded with a hunger that matched your own, pushing you back against the railing of the ship, the cool night air suddenly feeling like a distant memory as his body pressed against yours. Every inch of your skin seemed to hum in response to his touch, your body alive with sensation.

"I need you," Ace murmured, his lips moving against your neck as his hands slid down your body, pulling your legs around his waist. "I want to feel all of you."

And as he finally slid into you, both of you gasped at the sensation—the slow, deliberate stretch, the overwhelming feeling of being connected in a way neither of you had ever felt before. It was more than just physical. It was a raw, unfiltered connection. A promise, perhaps, that nothing would ever be the same again.

As the night wore on, you and Ace gave in to each other completely, no longer fighting the attraction that had been building for so long. The waves crashed beneath you, the ship rocking in time with your bodies, as you both found your release in the most intense way.

When it was over, you lay together, breathing heavily, tangled in each other’s arms. The world seemed to stop, the weight of what had just happened settling over you both.

Ace kissed your forehead gently, his hand caressing your back as he pulled you closer. "So, now what?" he asked quietly, his voice softer, his earlier intensity still lingering in the air.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest. "I guess we’ll figure that out together."

He chuckled, his fingers gently tracing circles on your skin. "Yeah, I guess we will."

♡♡♡

© 2025 arixella | please do not plagiarize or translate any of my work without my consent.

[dragqueenstarscream]

Kinda back

Been feeling kinda shit but the puppies are thriving

HUGHHH idkidkidkidk

I just need Optimus comforting me after this shitty relapse

(the puppies opened their eyes today)

-🫀

(hey, i'm glad the puppies are doing alright! here's some soft tfone optimus for you.)

tfone optimus x reader

contains: angst, fluff, optimus being a sweetheart, really this is just a short fic where optimus gives his human some comfort it's not too complicated

some days, you were certain optimus could read your mind.

maybe he really could. if soundwave could be telepathic, it wasn't too much of a stretch to say optimus could be, too. but maybe it was simpler than that. maybe, it was just that optimus knew how to read you like a book.

you couldn't hide anything from him. if you were planning a surprise for him, he'd figure out that you were up to something. if you wanted to say something but changed your mind, he'd ask what was on your mind.

and if you felt like garbage, he'd know without having to ask.

that was probably why, when he returned to iacon tower, he went straight to your room rather than getting himself some energon.

you were buried beneath your blankets with a pillow over your head, trying to shut out the rest of the world. to anyone else, you might've looked asleep, but not to optimus. he knew you too well by now.

he didn't say a word as he made his way over to your bed. he merely crouched down and gently laid one massive servo over your still form, just enough to let you know that he was there.

you didn't bother moving as you felt him resting his servo over you. this wasn't what you needed. not right now.

"hey," optimus murmured. "are you alright?"

you shook your head, not in the mood to talk much.

"did something happen?" optimus asked.

"i don't wanna talk about it," you grumbled. "not right now."

optimus nodded and pulled his servo back. "that's alright," he said. "i won't pry if you don't wanna say anything."

"thanks," you mumbled. things were a bit too much to open up without feeling like hell all over again.

"need me to get you anything?" optimus asked. "food? water? more blankets?"

"i just need sleep," you admitted. "haven't been able to."

"i'm sorry," optimus said quietly. he rested his servo over top of you and started to gently massage you with his thumb. the pressure felt almost like that of a weighted blanket, sinking into your muscles, allowing your eyes to drift shut.

"keep doing that," you murmured. "that helps."

optimus chuckled and said, "alright, sweetspark. if that's what helps you get your recharge."

he readjusted his position, sitting cross legged on the floor, before resting his huge servo over your body again. a content smile formed on his face as he returned to massaging the length of your torso.

"i'll be here for you when you wake up," he promised.

"thanks, optimus," you whispered, the faintest smile on your face as the the giant autobot lulled you to sleep.

[nameless-jamie]

DO YOU MIND?

Glimpse Into the Future - Jamie Tartt x fem!PA reader

Masterlist

TW: cursing, jealousy

It was supposed to be a normal day—a quick photo shoot for the team’s upcoming campaign. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a group of talented athletes, some lights, a few cameras, and a whole lot of media attention.

But, of course, with Jamie Tartt involved, nothing was ever just normal.

Y/N was heavily pregnant, her belly swollen with Baby Tartt as she entered the studio, feeling every inch of the weight and the tiredness she had been carrying around for the past few months. Despite how uncomfortable she was, she had insisted on coming in. She couldn't leave Jamie alone with the media circus that was always drawn to him, especially not now while she was extra pregnant and feeling particularly useless in her job as Jamie's assistant. Jamie, the father of her child and her boss was more like her assistant these days... They weren’t married yet, but she loved him—a lot. She wasn’t going to relax at home when Jamie was out there in the spotlight or working his ass off on the pitch.

But there was something about this day. The air was thick with tension, even though no one would have known it unless they’d been paying close attention. That’s when she noticed her—the photographer's assistant.

Yup, the photographer's assistant had been hanging around the team for the entire shoot, a young woman with a wide smile and eyes that roamed a little too much over Jamie as he posed for the photos. Y/N could see it in the way the woman looked at him, the flirty glances, the playful comments. Her pregnant brain was immediately on alert and her jealousy level spiked.

Y/N felt the stir of irritation brewing in her chest, something she knew she could only partially blame on the hormones. The assistant was clearly flirting with Jamie, oblivious to the fact that Y/N was standing right there, her pregnant belly a clear indicator that Jamie wasn’t single. She probably didn't know Jamie that well; must live under a rock. Jamie Tartt's baby announcement went viral.

"Great, just what I need today," Y/N muttered under her breath, though she couldn’t hold back a little evil smirk. Oh, this was going to be a little fun.

The assistant leaned in too close, hands on her hips, flashing a grin at Jamie. "So," she purred, "you got any plans after the shoot? You could show me around the city, maybe grab a drink?"

Jamie—being Jamie—flashed a cocky smile and leaned back against the prop, crossing his arms in a way that screamed I'm not impressed. "Nah, I’m good. Got a few things to do, y'know."

"Oh?" The assistant raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "What could you possibly be busy with? The shoot's nearly over." Her eyes flicked over to Y/N and the rest of the team shooting glares at her, then back to Jamie. "You sure you don’t wanna... have a little fun after?"

Y/N’s hand tightened on the edge of the chair she was sitting in. Did she really just say that?

The assistant was definitely testing the waters now. Y/N was sure now, she didn’t even know she was Jamie’s girlfriend. Not that it would have stopped her, or so Y/N thought. But her semi-sexual comment crossed a line, and Y/N—well, she was done playing nice.

"You know, sweetheart," Y/N’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, "maybe you should be more focused on your work than flirting with people who are clearly taken."

Y/N wanted to give her statement a little more gusto by standing up from her chair and walking towards them, but her big belly made it really hard to stand up on her own, so Sam had to help her up.

The assistant’s smile faltered for a split second before she gave a tight laugh looking down at Y/N pregnant state. "Oh? Who's the lucky guy? He must be someone important if you're sitting around the club and giving out orders like that." She gestured to Y/N’s protruding belly.

The comment stung more than Y/N wanted to admit, her job was always something Y/N was proud of and now she was just viewed as some pregnant lady, that had no business 'chilling' in a football club. But she wasn’t about to let this girl think she could walk all over her.

Jamie, who had been watching the whole thing unfold with a bemused expression, was finally ready to step in. His lips twitched into a smile, but it was clear he wasn’t enjoying the exchange. He knew Y/N wasn’t the type to let anyone disrespect her, especially not when she was carrying their child. And he doesn't want her to get all riled up because the stress is bad for the baby.

Just as he was about to open his mouth and tell the girl off, she put her hands on his arm and squeezed his biceps. "Wow, you're really strong, Jamie."

"Do you mind keeping your hands to yourself?" Y/N snapped, feeling a surge of protectiveness rush through her. “And, by the way, it’s not very polite to flirt with someone who’s clearly not interested in you."

The assistant's grin didn’t fade immediately. Instead, she leaned in further, ignoring the obvious tension in the air. "Oh, I get it," she said, raising an eyebrow. "You got knocked up by a footballer or maybe a coach, huh? That's why you feel so important up in here and try to tell me what to do."

Y/N’s blood boiled, but before she could respond, Jamie stood up straighter, the playful grin never leaving his face. He crossed his arms, looking the assistant dead in the eye. “Yup,” he said proudly, his voice full of cocky amusement as he pointed toward Y/N's belly. “I did that. I’m the footballer who knocked her up proper.”

The assistant’s face dropped, realizing she’d made a mistake by misjudging the situation. Jamie looked at Y/N with such adoration in his eyes that it made her heart skip a beat. His protective proud dad side was showing, and it made her love him even more.

Y/N raised an eyebrow at the assistant, her tone cutting. “Next time, you might want to keep your comments to yourself. And remember who you’re talking to. Maybe google Jamie Tartt before you flirt with him, because you'll definitely see my face on your feed, bitch.”

Jamie chuckled, wrapping an arm around Y/N's waist, and pulling her close. "That’s my girl," he whispered, placing a soft kiss on her cheek.

The assistant quickly muttered an apology, realizing she’d overstepped her bounds, and hurriedly disappeared to finish her tasks elsewhere.

The team, of course, had been watching the whole exchange with rapt attention.

Roy, who had been quietly observing from the side, chuckled. “That was bloody brilliant, Y/N. 'You'll definitely see my face on your feed, bitch', gotta remember that one.”

Dani clapped his hands. "Oh, mama bear is fierce!"

Isaac, unable to resist, added, "Should've seen your face, Jamie. You looked scared for a second there, mate."

"I was scared for the girl. Even pregnant she would've fucking rocked her off her socks, mate." Jamie laughed.

Sam laughed, nudging Jamie’s shoulder. “No one messes with Y/N, huh?”

Y/N gave a mock half-bow, feeling the weight of her pregnancy a little more now. “Glad I could entertain you all. Next time, I’ll just throw a chair or something.”

Jamie wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "Nah, babe. You handled it perfectly. And for the record—" he grinned mischievously, "I’m definitely not interested in anyone else. Especially when I’ve got you and Baby Tartt. By the way, I could've totally handled it without you stressing yourself so much."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, feeling her heart swell with affection. "Good answer, Tartt. Didn't see you handling it, though."

He smirked at her sassy answer, he honestly did not expect anything else. "Well, you didn't even give me a chance."

Y/N just rolled her eyes and puckered her lips for a kiss. Which Jamie obliged to do quickly.

The shoot continued, but Y/N couldn’t help but feel a little more confident about her place in this world—she wasn’t just Jamie’s assistant. She wasn’t just his girlfriend. She was the mother of his freaking child. And there was nothing that anyone—bitch assistant or otherwise—could say to change that.

And when Jamie leaned in to kiss her, his lips soft and tender against hers, she realized that this was exactly where she was meant to be.

[onebadassunicorn]

Love Lies

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pining, angst

word count: 2.5k

Taglist: @motheroffae @tele86

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

********

Chapter 3

The morning light was just beginning to filter through the hallways of the House of Wind when Cassian stepped out of his room, stretching the stiffness from his limbs. The house was quiet, save for the distant rustling of wind against the cliffs. He hadn’t been able to shake the uneasy feeling from the night before—the way Azriel had stormed in, frantic and confused, demanding to know where you were.

Cassian had told himself he’d talk to Az first thing in the morning, get to the bottom of what was really going on.

But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Azriel stepping out of Elain’s room.

Cassian froze.

Azriel looked like hell—his hair disheveled, dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders tense as he rubbed a hand over his face.

But none of that mattered.

None of that changed the fact that he had just walked out of Elain’s bedroom.

“What the fuck, Az?” Cassian’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and filled with fury.

Azriel blinked at him, his face unreadable. “Cassian—”

“No,” Cassian snapped, striding toward him. “You don’t get to say my name like that. Like I didn’t just see you leaving her room. What the hell are you doing?”

Azriel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not what you think.”

Cassian’s blood boiled. “Then explain, because from where I’m standing, it looks like you spent the night in there while your mate is missing!”

Azriel’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t do anything,” he ground out. “I couldn’t sleep, and she made me tea. I fell asleep, that’s all.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes, studying him. “And you think that makes it better?” His voice was low now, dangerous. “You think it’s acceptable to sleep in another female’s bed while your mate is gone?”

Azriel didn’t answer right away, and that hesitation—that brief pause—infuriated Cassian.

“Do you even know where she is?” Cassian demanded, his voice rising. “Do you even care?”

Azriel’s expression flickered, something clouding his hazel eyes. “She needed space,” he said, voice quiet.

Cassian laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Space? That’s what you’re telling yourself? That she needed space?” He shook his head, stepping closer, his wings flaring slightly. “Az, she left. She didn’t just need some fresh air—she left your home and hasn’t come back. And you—” He gestured toward Elain’s door. “—are sleeping here.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “She didn’t tell me where she was going.”

“Maybe because she knew you wouldn’t care.”

Something snapped in Azriel’s expression. “That’s not fair.”

Cassian let out a bitter scoff. “Not fair? You have pushed her aside while you spent all your time with Elain. We have all noticed. And now you’re surprised she’s gone?” He shook his head, eyes dark with fury. “You told me she was fine. You said you two were working through things. But the truth is, you didn’t even notice she was hurting, did you?”

Azriel’s throat bobbed, his gaze shifting, as if the weight of those words had finally landed.

Cassian’s wings rustled as he took another step forward, lowering his voice. “She needed you, Az. And you weren’t there.”

Silence hung heavy between them.

Azriel looked tired.

He looked lost.

But Cassian had no sympathy for him right now.

Not when you were missing, not when Azriel had spent the night with Elain instead of finding his mate.

“You need to fix this,” Cassian said, voice rough. “Because if you don’t? You’re going to lose her for good.”

Azriel’s hands were shaking at his sides. But he didn’t argue. Didn’t fight back.

Because deep down, he knew Cassian was right.

Azriel stood there, Cassian’s words hanging heavy in the air like a blade pressed against his throat.

She needed you, and you weren’t there.

You’re going to lose her for good.

The worst part—the part that made his stomach twist, that sent a sickening wave of nausea through him—was that he wasn’t sure if that mattered to him anymore.

Or did it?

He clenched his fists, staring at the ground as something ugly clawed at his chest, something he couldn’t quite name.

Because you had been his mate.

His future.

His home.

He should have cared, should have been breaking apart with the thought of losing you.

But when he thought of you, all he could summon was guilt.

Exhaustion.

The weight of expectation.

When he thought of Elain, though…

He exhaled sharply, shutting his eyes.

Elain was gentle.

Soft.

A light in the darkness.

With her, he felt… at peace.

Like he wasn’t constantly failing, like he wasn’t drowning.

With you, it had become too much.

The arguments, the pain, the demand for something he wasn’t sure he could give anymore.

And yet…

Something inside him twisted.

Because despite all of that, despite Elain, despite everything—why was there still a hollow ache inside his chest?

Why did his throat feel tight at the thought of you being gone?

Why was there a part of him—some stubborn, buried part—that did care if he lost you?

Cassian was still watching him, waiting for an answer.

Azriel clenched his jaw, forcing himself to breathe, to push past the storm raging in his mind. Cassian’s words echoed over and over—accusations, truths, things Azriel didn’t want to face.

But in the end, it all came down to one thing.

He loved Elain.

The realization settled over him like a weight, heavy yet… freeing.

He wasn’t lost. He wasn’t confused.

He knew now.

What he felt for Elain wasn’t just admiration, wasn’t just a sense of duty—it was love.

Real love.

The kind that soothed, that healed, that didn’t leave him constantly battling, constantly feeling like he wasn’t enough.

With you, it had been fire and passion, but also weight—so much weight.

Expectation.

Tension.

A bond that felt more like chains than fate.

But with Elain… it was easy. She needed him, but not in a way that drained him. She didn’t demand his darkness, didn’t ask for pieces of him that he no longer wanted to give.

And maybe, just maybe, that was why he had let you go so easily.

Because deep down, he had already chosen.

So he met Cassian’s glare, his voice steady as he finally spoke.

“She left,” Azriel said, his tone unreadable. “And I’m not going after her.”

Cassian stiffened, his wings flaring slightly. “What the hell are you saying?”

Azriel exhaled. “I don’t love her anymore.” He swallowed. “I love Elain.”

Cassian’s expression twisted in disbelief, in fury. But Azriel didn’t stay to hear whatever his brother had to say.

He turned and walked away, leaving the conversation, leaving the fight, leaving you behind.

Because in the end—whether it was right or wrong—

He had made his choice.

*****

The night you left Velaris for good was quiet. The city that had once been your home, your sanctuary, now felt foreign—like the echoes of a dream you had long since woken from. The streets were empty, save for the occasional flicker of candlelight in distant windows. You walked in silence, the weight of your final decision pressing into your bones, into the hollow space where your heart used to be.

You had come back only to retrieve the last of your belongings. You had planned it carefully, making sure Azriel wouldn’t be home—because you couldn’t bear to see him.

Because there was nothing left to say.

But you hadn’t expected to find a final note waiting for you on the nightstand.

Your breath hitched as you picked up the piece of parchment, as your fingers trembled while unfolding it. You recognized his handwriting instantly—the sharp, precise scrawl you had once traced with reverence, with love.

But as you read the words, that love—whatever fragile pieces still remained—shattered into dust.

I’ve been thinking.

I’m letting you go for good.

I don’t love you. Not anymore.

Your hands clenched the parchment, your entire body frozen.

You’ve become a different person. Too selfish. Too childish. Honestly, an embarrassment with the way you’ve acted about Elain.

A choked sound escaped your throat.

The Cauldron got it wrong.

I love Elain.

I was meant to be with her.

Your vision blurred as you tried to breathe, tried to process. But the words kept slicing deeper, twisting into you like blades made of shadow.

Hopefully, you’ll find someone else.

I don’t wish you any ill will.

But I never want to see you again.

The paper slipped from your fingers, fluttering to the floor like the last dying leaf of autumn.

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe.

Because there it was.

The last nail in the coffin.

The final confirmation that you had truly, utterly lost him.

That he had never loved you the way you had loved him.

Your knees hit the floor before you even realized you were falling. The sound of your own ragged sobs filled the empty room, bouncing off the walls like a cruel, twisted symphony.

He never wanted to see you again.

You were an embarrassment to him.

He no longer loved you.

He loved her.

Your mate, your mate, had thrown you away like you were nothing.

You didn’t remember how long you stayed there, broken and shaking on the floor. But eventually, you forced yourself to stand. Forced yourself to wipe your tears, to gather the last of your things with numb, mechanical movements.

You didn’t leave a note. Didn’t leave anything behind except the shattered remnants of who you had once been.

And then you walked out the door, into the night, into the unknown—

And never looked back.

*****

You wandered from court to court after that, never staying in one place for too long. But there was no solace in the endless cities, no comfort in the new faces and unfamiliar lands.

You drank. Gods, did you drink.

You drank until the world blurred at the edges, until your body was numb, until the memory of his voice, his touch, his rejection faded into the haze of oblivion.

But it was never enough.

Because every night, when the liquor wore off and the darkness settled in, the pain came crawling back—merciless and relentless.

You had thought about searching for someone, anyone, who knew how to break a mating bond. But the truth was, part of you wondered if it was even worth it. If you were even worth it.

Because how did you heal from something like this?

How did you move on from being told you were a mistake?

How did you survive when the one person who was supposed to cherish you, protect you, love you unconditionally—

Had thrown you away like you were nothing at all?

You didn’t have an answer.

And you weren’t sure you ever would.

*****

The silence in the River House was deafening after Cassian finished speaking.

He had called a meeting, had needed to tell them—because what he had heard from Azriel, what he had seen, didn’t make any sense.

Not when he had spent years watching Azriel love you more than he had ever loved anything else.

And now?

Azriel was saying he didn’t love you anymore?

That he loved Elain?

It was as if the entire world had tilted off its axis.

Feyre was the first to speak, shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite believe the words that had just left Cassian’s mouth. “No,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “That’s not possible.”

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, his wings rustling behind him. “I wish it wasn’t. But that’s what he said.”

Rhys leaned forward, his violet eyes sharp with something dark. “He just decided he doesn’t love her anymore? Just like that?”

Cassian exhaled harshly. “It wasn’t like he was struggling with it. He was certain, Rhys. He told me he wasn’t going after her. That he loved Elain.”

A heavy silence followed his words, each of them trying to process the impossibility of it.

“I don’t understand,” Mor murmured, her golden hair falling over her shoulder as she rested her head in her hand. “Azriel—he worshipped her. We all saw it.”

Feyre nodded, her throat bobbing. “Do you remember when we were in the Illyrian camps last year? And one of the warlords made a comment about her—about mating bonds being just another form of possession?” She swallowed hard. “Az lost control. I’ve never seen him like that. He would’ve killed that male if Rhys hadn’t stopped him.”

Amren scoffed, shaking her head. “That male was three seconds from death. The only reason Azriel backed off was because she asked him to.”

Mor’s expression darkened. “And the year before that, when she fell off her horse during training? Az refused to leave her side. He carried her all the way back to Velaris, wouldn’t even let the healers touch her at first.”

Cassian nodded. “He’s never let anyone so much as look at her the wrong way. But now he doesn’t care?” He leaned forward, his voice rough with disbelief. “This is Azriel. The same Azriel who couldn’t go five minutes without touching her. The same male who would have burned the world down for her.”

Amren’s silver eyes flickered. “Something is wrong,” she said, and the certainty in her voice sent a chill through the room.

Rhys steepled his fingers, his expression unreadable. But they all knew him well enough to see the storm brewing in his gaze. “Well, I know I had said to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I don’t buy it,” he finally said. “I refuse to believe Azriel’s love for her just vanished overnight. Something isn’t right.”

Feyre’s lips parted, something stricken in her expression. “Do you think… do you think something happened to her?”

The thought settled over them like a heavy shroud.

Rhys nodded once, decisive. “We need to find her.” His power crackled in the air, the gravity of his authority settling over the room. “She’s been missing for days. No one has seen her. Azriel may not care, but I do.”

Feyre crossed her arms, her worry now shifting to something else—something terrifying. “She’s out there, alone. What if she’s hurt? What if she’s—”

Rhys’s jaw tightened. “I’m contacting the other courts,” he announced, already rising to his feet. “If she’s left Velaris, someone will have seen her.”

Feyre exhaled. “What if no one has?”

Rhys’s violet gaze darkened. “Then we search the world until we find her.”

And none of them—not a single one—acknowledged the bitter truth sitting in the air between them.

That the one person who should have been searching for you, the one person who should have cared more than anyone else—

Wasn’t even trying to find you at all.

Chapter 4

[jungwnies]

wrong time, right person - carlos sainz (1/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : carlos sainz x fem!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : years after a bitter breakup, you and carlos sainz reunite unexpectedly. old wounds resurface, but so does undeniable love. will history repeat itself?

୨ৎ : genre : romance, angst, humor, drama ୨ৎ : tws : mild language, arguing, friendships ending, bantering, suggestive humor, mentions of alcohol consumption. ୨ৎ : wc : 952

part one | part two | part three | part four

Spain was never supposed to feel like home.

You were just an exchange student, a stranger in a country where the language tripped you up, where conversations flowed around you like a current you couldn’t quite swim in. The other students were nice, polite even, but distant. They smiled, but no one really saw you.

Except for him.

Carlos Sainz wasn’t just friendly; he was relentless. He talked to you like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he had made it his personal mission to make you feel at home. The first time he sat next to you at lunch, he didn’t ask the usual "Where are you from?" or "How do you like Spain?" Instead, he stole a fry from your plate and smirked.

“You always eat this little?”

It took you a second to process what he said, your brain scrambling for the right words. When you did, you narrowed your eyes and stole a fry right back.

“Mind your business.”

He laughed, loud, unapologetic. And just like that, best friends.

He made Spain feel like home. He dragged you to local karting tracks, shoved a helmet on your head, and laughed until he was breathless as you struggled to drive at half his speed. You sat on the asphalt after his races, drinking cheap sodas and listening to him talk about his dreams; Formula 1, podiums, championships. You still remember the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his father, the legendary Carlos Sainz Sr., how he wanted to make him proud.

“You think I can do it?” he asked once, voice quieter than usual.

You scoffed, nudging his shoulder. “I think you’re already doing it.”

And you were right.

He climbed the ranks, and you were right there beside him, just like he was there for you. Modeling started small, with local gigs, small shoots. but soon after, your face was showing up in magazines, whispered about in the industry. The first time you booked an international job, Carlos picked you up and spun you around like it was his victory too.

“You’re gonna be famous,” he said, grinning. “I’m gonna see your face on billboards, aren’t I?”

It was fun, easy, and natural, until it wasn’t.

The higher he climbed, the further away he felt. The more you succeeded, the less you seemed to talk. At first, it didn’t feel like a big deal. You still sent texts, still FaceTimed when you could. But slowly, the missed calls turned into silence, and suddenly, you were watching each other’s successes through headlines instead of in person.

Then, he made it to Formula 1.

And you? You were stepping into high-fashion modeling.

The night it all fell apart wasn’t supposed to be anything special. Just another call that went unanswered. Just another missed "good luck" before a race. But this time, Carlos called back, and he called back angry.

“You don’t even care anymore.” His voice was sharp, cutting straight through your exhaustion.

You blinked, phone pressed to your ear, the weight of his words settling deep into your chest. “What?”

“You heard me,” he snapped. “You missed my race. Again.”

Your stomach twisted. “Carlos, I had a show. You knew that.”

“Right, right,” he said bitterly. “Another shoot, another runway, another excuse. Siempre tienes una razón, ¿verdad?” (You always have a reason, right?)

Heat flared in your cheeks. “Excuse me? Don’t you dare act like you’re the only one with a career! I support you, Carlos, but I have my own dreams too.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t the kind that made your heart feel light, it was sharp, hollow, cold. “Support? ¿Eso es lo que llamas esto?” (Is that what you call this?) “Because it feels a lot like you just don’t give a damn anymore.”

Anger burned hot in your chest. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” His voice dropped, quieter, but somehow even more dangerous. “Entonces dime, when was the last time you actually showed up for me? When was the last time you watched me race, not through a screen, but actually there?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because the answer was obvious. And it wasn’t one you wanted to say out loud.

Carlos exhaled sharply, like he had been hoping, hell, borderline begging, for you to fight him on it. But you couldn’t.

He scoffed. “Eso pensé.” (That’s what I thought.)

Tears burned behind your eyes. “This isn’t fair, Carlos. You’re always traveling, I’m always traveling! What the hell do you expect me to do?”

“I expected you to care.” His voice cracked. Just slightly. But it was enough to break you.

Your breath hitched. “You think I don’t?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, and that hurt worse than anything else.

Because Carlos always knew. He always understood you, always read between the lines, always saw you even when you felt invisible to everyone else. But now? Now he wasn’t even sure.

The silence stretched between you like an open wound.

And then he said it.

“Quizás sea más fácil así.” (Maybe it’s just easier this way.)

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. “What?”

His voice was flat, emotionless. Like he had already given up. “Maybe we’ve just been holding on to something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

You felt something inside you shatter.

Carlos had been your best friend. Your person. Your safe place. But now he was just...just nothing.

“I don’t have time for this.” Your voice was quiet, raw, aching. “I have an early flight.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Por supuesto que sí.” (Of course you do.)

Neither of you apologized.

Neither of you fought for it.

Neither of you said goodbye.

Carlos left for another race. You left for another shoot.

Neither of you looked back.

Until you were given no choice...

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

[universefcb]

↬❥Calm drawing

Hector Fort x Fem!Reader

sy: After a fight with his mother, you ask to paint his tattoo.

a/n: I really hope it's what the person asked for, and I apologize if there are mistakes, English is not my native language.

Based on this request

warnings: Cute, cute, cute, cute. Did I say cute?

He ran his hands through his hair, taking deep breaths to try to calm himself, but the anger still throbbed inside him.

“This isn’t going to end well…” he muttered to himself, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Hector?” His girlfriend’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

He opened his eyes and saw her sitting on the bed, a sketchbook open on her lap and a worried expression on her face.

“What happened now?” she asked, putting the notebook aside and sitting on the edge of the bed.

Hector snorted, throwing himself into a chair in the corner of the room.

“The usual. My mother thinks she can decide everything for me. Who knows what's best for me, as if I were still five years old.”

“Did you guys argue about your career again?”

He nodded, running his hand over his face.

“She thinks I’m wasting my time. That I should be focusing on other things. I’m just trying to do things my way.” She sighed. She’d heard variations of this outburst countless times before. She knew Hector didn’t talk much about his feelings, but when he did open up, it was always about this—the weight of expectations, the need to prove himself.

She stood up and walked over to him, crouching down beside him. Hector and his mother had a great relationship, but their fights over the boy prodigy's career were straining their relationship.

“Do you want to take your mind off things for a bit?” She smiled, caressing her boyfriend’s hands.

“What do you mean?” He looked at her, confused.

She smiled and stood up to grab her paint box from the dresser. Then she pointed at his arm.

“Can I paint your tattoo?” Hector raised an eyebrow. Letting a sideways smile appear on his face.

“Paint my tattoo?”

"Yes. Just for fun. Who knows, maybe it will help to ease this tension?” He hesitated. The tattoo on his arm was something important to him, a symbol he carried with him. But at the same time, the idea seemed so absurd that it almost brought a smile to his face.

“As long as you don’t do anything stupid,” he said, crossing his arms and she smiled in satisfaction.

“Trust me.” Hector let out a surprised sigh as you sat on his lap, making the gaming chair move back a little. And you separated the paints and brushes.

“What are you going to do?” he asked, watching her open small bottles of ink.

In a slow movement, he brought his hand to her waist, squeezing it lightly.

“I haven’t decided yet. I’ll improvise,” she replied, dipping a brush in the blue paint.

The first touch of the cool ink on his skin made Hector shiver slightly, but he soon got used to it. She started with light strokes, filling in the details of the tattoo with soft colors. Little by little, the image on his arm began to take on new life, transforming into a vibrant mix of blues, violets, and golds.

Hector watched the process in silence, feeling his anger slowly dissipate. Her touch was careful, almost therapeutic. With each stroke, he felt his muscles relax.

“How’s it going?” he asked after a few minutes.

“I’m not done yet. It has to wait,” she said, focused.

He smirked. His fingers traced lines on her thigh, making her shiver. Hector threw his head back, feeling a little calmer.

“Who would have thought that painting my tattoo would be your favorite pastime.” You laughed, adjusting yourself against his body, making the chair move again.

“You’re my canvas now. You should be honored,” she joked.

Hector laughed, shaking his head which was still thrown back.

After a while, she stepped back to examine her work. Using a cloth, she made small adjustments, ensuring that the colors blended perfectly.

“There! Now you can look.”

Hector raised his arm and examined the transformed tattoo. Before, it was a monochromatic and serious drawing. Now, it was a true watercolor work of art. The colors flowed organically, giving it a new dimension.

“Wow…” he muttered, impressed.

“Did you like it?” She smiled, satisfied.

“It’s amazing. I never thought I would like this, but… I guess it did me good.”

She rested her head on his shoulder.

“Sometimes we need a little color to remind us that things aren’t just black and white.”

Hector looked at her, and for a moment all the weight of his argument with his mother disappeared. Maybe she was right. Maybe life didn’t have to be so rigid, so full of pressures. Maybe, every now and then, you needed to let someone add a little color.

He smiled before pulling her by the neck and placing several kisses on her lips.

“I love you so much,” he whispered against her lips, and she laughed lightly.

“I love you too, my player.” She ran her hands down his torso, stopping at the bottom of his belly.

He pulled her into another kiss, this time slower and wetter. His tongue entwined with hers, in a beautiful fight for space and a desire to explore every corner.

Their lips parted and they laughed, pressing their foreheads together, just standing there enjoying each other's breathing.

Your like is important and helps me a lot. Don't be a ghost reader!

[snoozify]

CRY FOR ME

L - O - V - E or hatred

Jinx x Ex Reader

Warnings: angst. Ooc Jinx. Revenge. Jinx gets what she deserves. Small make out. Happy ending for Y/N, but no happy ending for Jinx.

A/N: this fic is based off the song Cry For Me by Twice

As you kneel on the floor, your hands clutching desperately at the fabric of her shirt, sobs rack your body. “Please,” you choke out, your voice raw with desperation. “I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t leave.”

Jinx crouches down to your level, her icy blue eyes scanning your tear-streaked face with something that almost looks like amusement. Almost. Then she smiles soft, almost pitying as she reaches out, her fingers brushing against your damp cheek. For a second, you lean into her touch, craving the warmth, the familiarity. But then she speaks.

“I’m tired of this,” she murmurs, her tone light, almost casual. “Tired of you.”

Her words slice through you, sharper than any blade. Your breath catches, your grip on her tightening. “Jinx, don’t- don’t be like this. Let’s just talk, please,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

She exhales sharply, already standing, already slipping away. “I’m done talking,” she mutters, turning toward the door. Her fingers hover over the handle for only a second before she glances back at you broken, desperate, still hoping. And that’s what makes her smile widen, just a little.

“You really need to learn how to let go.”

The door creaks open, the night air rushing in, cold and indifferent. But Jinx isn’t finished. She tilts her head, eyes flickering with something unreadable before she delivers the final blow.

“Goodbye, Y/N.” Her voice is almost sweet, almost mocking. “I wanted to end this on better terms, but you’re such a damn crybaby.”

Then the door slams shut behind her.

Silence.

It crashes into you, suffocating in its finality. The echoes of your own sobs are the only thing left in the space she abandoned, filling in the void she left behind. Your mind replays everything the fight, the cruel words, the way she looked at you like you were nothing. And yet, you still can’t figure it out.

What did you do to make her so heartless?

You hate her for this for the way she tore you apart with a smile on her face, like it was nothing. Like you were nothing. You tell yourself the missed days of school have nothing to do with her, that you just needed a break. But deep down, you know the truth. You couldn’t stop crying. You couldn’t even pull yourself together long enough to pretend you were okay.

Your body aches, every step feeling heavier than the last, and you hate yourself for letting it get to this point. As you walk into school after days of hiding away, your eyes scan the halls, wondering if they know. If she made sure they knew. Jinx probably told the whole school, just to twist the knife a little deeper, just to make sure you felt as miserable as possible.

The moment you step inside, you feel the weight of their stares. You tell yourself it could be because you missed so much school but you know better. It’s the breakup. The whispers, the stolen glances, the way people watch you like you’re something tragic. You want to disappear, to turn around and run, but you can’t. You’re already here.

Then there’s her. Every class you share, every hallway you pass through, she’s there untouched, unaffected. And when you finally walk past her, risking a glance in her direction, she doesn’t ignore you. She laughs. A short, careless chuckle before looking away, like you were just another joke. Another stupid, pathetic thing she got bored of.

And that’s what breaks you all over again.

You knew this was coming. You knew Jinx wasn’t the type to leave things quietly, to let you lick your wounds in peace. But somehow, the reality of it stings more than you expected.

The laughter lingers in your head, playing on a loop as you push through the day. Every classroom feels suffocating, every hallway a battlefield. People whisper when they think you’re not listening, stealing glances like you’re some tragic cautionary tale. And Jinx she thrives in it. You see it in the way she lounges at her desk, the smirk that tugs at her lips when she catches you looking. Like she’s daring you to say something.

But you don’t.

You keep your head down, moving through the day like a ghost. Avoiding her is impossible, she’s everywhere. And the worst part? She wants you to see her. To see that she’s fine. Better than fine. Like she’s never even thought about you since she walked out that door.

At lunch, you sit alone, picking at your food, stomach too twisted to actually eat. Across the cafeteria, Jinx is with her friends, laughing, carefree, as if none of it ever happened. And when her eyes flicker to you, just for a second, she grins.

Not a friendly grin. Not even an I’m sorry grin.

A cruel one.

And that’s when you realize she wants you to suffer. She wants you to cry for her.

You don’t understand why she’s not affected by this breakup like you are, why are you the only one crying, the only person suffering and why was she so happy seeing you like this. You want her to feel the same pain you did you want her to cry for you the same way you did for her

You want her to feel every tear that’s fallen, every sleepless night, every single moment where you’ve been drowning in this pain, wondering what went wrong. It’s not enough that she’s walked away. You need her to feel it.

You need her to break. You need her to feel the sharp sting of regret just like you do. You want to see her cry for you the way you’ve cried for her, every second, every day since the breakup. You need that moment where she realizes she messed up, when she realizes she let you go and that nothing feels right without you.

But it’s never going to happen, is it?

She’s already moved on, it’s like she’s never even cared. And that cuts deeper than anything she could have said. Every time you see her laugh, every time she glances at you with that smug smile, it’s like a slap in the face. You’re not even worth a second thought to her.

But I’ll make her regret it, you think.

If it’s the last thing you do, you’ll make her regret throwing you away. Because even if she’s not crying now, you’ll make sure she does. You’ll make sure she feels every ounce of pain you’ve been carrying around.

And maybe then, she’ll understand what she lost.

—

Days drag on, and Jinx seems to be having the time of her life, completely unfazed by the breakup. You watch from a distance as she laughs, jokes, and moves on with ease, while you’re still drowning in the aftermath. But you’ve had enough of being the one who hurts. If she wants to play this game, then you’re ready.

You know exactly what you need to do to make her feel what you’ve been feeling. If she thinks she can walk away and live her life without any consequences, she’s wrong. You’ll make sure she knows exactly what she lost, and this time, it’ll be her who’s left wondering where it all went wrong.

You’re done being the one left broken. Now, it’s her turn.

You start by changing your wardrobe, wearing clothes that are bolder, more revealing things you never dared to wear while you were with Jinx. At first, you tell yourself it won’t make a difference, that it’s just a small change. But then, you see her eyes follow you across the room, her gaze lingering just a little too long. She doesn’t say anything at first, but the way her jaw tightens and the flicker of irritation in her eyes is enough.

It pisses her off. You can tell. And that's exactly what you want. Every time she glances at you, it’s like she’s trying to figure out why you're so different now, why you're finally doing the things she never let you do before. The shift doesn't go unnoticed by her, and it’s starting to get under her skin.

You start playing the game getting closer to the girl Jinx’s been talking to since the breakup. It starts off harmless enough, just casual compliments, but soon enough, you're leaning in, dropping hints, making it clear you’re interested. You can see the way the other girl responds, how her smiles grow a little wider, how she seems to look for more from you. And you give it to her more compliments, more attention, until it’s no longer subtle. You're throwing yourself at her, and the girl can’t help but fall into it.

The tension builds, and one afternoon, the two of you find yourselves in the janitor’s closet. Your lips are on hers, hands tangled in her hair, the weight of the situation sinking in. And then you hear the sound of the door creaking open.

You pull back, just enough to see Jinx standing in the doorway, frozen, eyes wide, and lips pressed into a thin, tight line. You glance at her, unbothered, and smirk. “Jeez, Jinx, knock next time,” you say casually, turning back to the girl in front of you and going right back to kissing her, ignoring the storm you’ve just unleashed.

You can see it every time you pass by her Jinx is pissed, and it’s impossible to miss. Her jaw clenches, teeth grinding together as you walk past, and you almost enjoy the way her whole body tenses up. She huffs under her breath, her gaze narrowing as she watches you with barely contained frustration. You catch snippets of the things she mutters to herself, words you can’t quite make out, but you can feel the venom in them.

It’s like a game now. Every encounter, every time you catch her eye, you feel the tension crackle in the air between you two. Her control is slipping, and you’re enjoying the way it gets to her. You walk by with your head held high, letting her stew in her anger, knowing exactly what’s eating at her.

Every time you see her, the look in Jinx’s eyes gets sharper, like she’s trying to cut through you with nothing but her glare. It’s clear she’s on the edge, and you can feel it in the air whenever she’s near. But you don’t back down. If anything, it only fuels the fire. You start to notice the way she clenches her fists when you pass, or the way she bites the inside of her cheek, trying to hold herself together.

You’ve got her exactly where you want her, and it feels almost too good. You’re not the one breaking down anymore. She is. Every time you see her, she’s a little more unravelled, and you can't help but watch it happen. You don't even have to do much; your mere presence is enough to send her spiraling.

But when you see her at lunch, sitting with her friends, you can’t ignore the way she’s staring at you now. It’s not the same intense, angry gaze it’s something else, something deeper, almost pleading. It’s like she wants to get close again, but she’s too proud to make the first move. You can feel her frustration radiating, but you stay distant, not giving her the satisfaction of seeing you weaken.

You're in control now, and you wonder just how far she’ll go to get under your skin again.

“Y/N, can I talk to you?”

You freeze at the sound of her voice, that familiar lilt you once found comforting now carrying a weight you can't shake off. You turn, and there she is Jinx. Her face is a mess of frustration and regret, but there's something else too. You can see the red around her eyes, the faint traces of tears like she’s been fighting something all on her own. For a moment, a twisted part of you wants to smile, but you don’t. Not yet.

“What do you want?” You can’t hide the cold edge to your voice as you meet her eyes. Your steps are deliberate as you walk toward her, not giving her the luxury of your softness this time.

She looks around at the busy hallway, glancing at the people walking past. It's like she’s checking for witnesses, making sure no one can hear the crack in her voice as she speaks again. “Can we go somewhere more private?”

You eye her, studying her face, wondering what game she's playing now. The expression on her face is raw, like she’s been fighting with herself. You hesitate but then decide to follow, sensing something real beneath her usual bravado.

Jinx leads you down the hallway, towards an empty classroom, the silence between you thick and charged. When she opens the door, you follow her inside, and she locks it behind her with a soft click. The action feels like a finality, as if there’s no going back once that door is shut.

She exhales deeply, letting the air out of her lungs like she’s carrying a weight she can't bear alone anymore. You can see her shoulders tense as she faces you, the vulnerability there for just a second before she tries to mask it.

"You wanted to talk. So talk," you say, your voice cool, controlled, masking the churn of emotions you’ve been holding in since the breakup. You watch her, not giving an inch, waiting to hear her side of the story if there is one.

Jinx’s gaze flickers to the floor for a second before meeting your eyes, and for the briefest moment, it feels like she’s on the edge of saying something real, something meaningful. But then, that familiar mask she wears starts to form again.

“I... I don’t know how to start this.” Her voice cracks, the confidence she usually wears like armor slipping for just a moment. She takes a step closer, but you hold your ground, arms crossed, unwavering. “I didn’t expect it to hit me like this,” she continues, her eyes searching yours, looking for something. Maybe an excuse. Maybe forgiveness.

You bite your lip, trying to stay composed as she speaks. “You didn’t expect what?” The words slip out before you can stop them. You know she’s not going to give you the closure you want, not in the way you deserve. But maybe, just maybe, hearing it from her will give you some kind of twisted satisfaction.

Jinx sighs heavily, her shoulders drooping under the weight of her words. She looks at you, almost defeated, her usual bravado stripped away. “I didn’t expect to miss you this much,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper, the raw honesty making your chest tighten for a moment. “Seeing this new person, being with them... it’s genuinely made me realize the person I lost. The one I took for granted.”

Her voice falters just a little, as though she’s testing the waters, trying to see if she can get through to you. Her eyes search yours, pleading for some kind of understanding, some kind of softness. But you don't let yourself soften. You can't.

You don’t say anything at first, letting the silence stretch between the two of you. You stand there, unmoving, letting her words fall on deaf ears. It’s not that you don’t hear her it’s that you’ve heard this same thing before, too many times. It’s the same pattern, the same lies wrapped in a different package, and you won’t let yourself fall for it again.

“You’re not sorry,” you finally say, voice firm, cutting through the tension that’s started to build. “You don’t miss me, Jinx. You miss the control, the comfort. The idea of me, not me.” Your words are sharp, as much of a warning to yourself as they are to her. “You’re just desperate. That’s why you’re standing here, saying all these things, hoping I’ll let you back in. But I’m not buying it. Not this time.”

Jinx flinches at the harshness of your tone, and you can see her trying to muster some kind of defense, some way to explain away her actions. But the cracks are showing. The cocky exterior she’s spent so long perfecting is slipping, and for a moment, you almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

Her lips part like she wants to say something, but the words get stuck in her throat. “You don’t get it,” she finally mutters, almost to herself. “You don’t get how much I’ve fucked up. How much I’ve lost.”

You shake your head, letting out a sharp breath. “No. You don’t get it, Jinx. You lost me the moment you chose to walk away. And no amount of regret or desperation is going to change that.”

The silence between you grows thick, but you hold firm, unmoving. She might be sorry now, but it doesn’t matter. You’ve moved on, and there’s nothing she can do to take that away from you.

And then, just when you think you’re walking away from it all, you hear it the sound you’ve been bracing for. The one thing you’ve been waiting for, hoping for, despite yourself. The thing that makes the small part of you, the one that used to care so much, freeze in place.

Jinx’s shoulders tremble, her breath hitches, and then the tears start to fall.

At first, you feel your heart drop. You freeze, watching as the girl who used to hold your heart in her hands crumbles before you. It’s a sight you never wanted to see, but now that it’s here, you’re not sure how to react. She’s not the same person, not the one who used to laugh and joke her way through everything. She’s raw, broken, and for a split second, you wonder if you made the right choice.

But then you remember you were the one crying first. You were the one left behind, the one who felt like they couldn’t breathe. The one who had to pick up the pieces of their life after she walked out the door. And as much as you hated to admit it, there’s something about seeing her suffer that hits different now.

Because it’s not just the sight of her pain it’s the fact that she’s feeling the same exact thing you did. That realization hits you with a wave of satisfaction, something you didn’t know you needed until now. You watch as the tears roll down her cheeks, her face contorted with regret, with something that resembles what you felt in the days following the breakup.

For a brief, selfish moment, you feel a sense of relief. She’s not untouchable, not immune to the hurt she caused. You wanted this, whether you admitted it to yourself or not you wanted her to feel the weight of what she did to you. And now she does.

You stand there for a moment, conflicted. Part of you wants to offer comfort, to step back into the familiar role of the person who made it all better. But the other part of you, the one that’s been holding it all together, knows better. She doesn’t deserve your sympathy not after everything she put you through.

So, you stay silent, just watching her, letting the tears fall without offering a hand to wipe them away. You tell yourself it’s the closure you need, the last bit of satisfaction you’ve been searching for in this whole painful mess.

"Y/N, I’m sorry," she chokes out between sobs, her voice thick with desperation. "I didn’t mean to walk out that night. I didn’t mean to act like I didn’t care about your feelings. I’m sorry for making you feel like shit."

Tears spill down her face, unchecked, her breath coming in uneven gasps. She looks so small like this, so unlike the person who turned her back on you that night, leaving you alone with nothing but pain and unanswered questions.

You step closer, watching her carefully, letting her sit in the weight of her own guilt. Her hands twitch at her sides, hesitating, before finally gripping your waist uncertain, almost afraid. But you don’t move away.

Instead, you cup her face in your hands, your thumbs brushing against the wet trails of her tears. You wipe them away, just like you did before before she left you shattered, before she made you question if you had ever been enough.

"I’m sorry," she whispers again, her voice cracking. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry-"

You lean in, lips hovering just above hers, teasingly close. You hear the way her breath catches, see the way her lashes flutter, the way her entire body tenses like she’s bracing for impact.

But she doesn’t deserve tenderness. Not yet.

So instead of giving her the softness she craves, you take.

Your lips crash against hers, hard and punishing, swallowing whatever sound of surprise escapes her. She gasps against your mouth, and you take advantage, deepening the kiss, sliding your tongue past her parted lips. The moment she moans, you seize control, gripping the back of her neck and pulling her impossibly closer.

The kiss is messy, all heat and desperation, filled with the anger you never got to unleash and the hunger neither of you want to acknowledge. Your teeth catch her bottom lip, tugging sharply, and she whimpers a sound that sends a thrill through you.

Your hands move, exploring, roaming her body with a possessiveness that makes her shudder beneath your touch. She melts into you so easily, so willingly, her body pliant and eager against yours. Her fingers dig into your waist, her nails biting through the fabric of your clothes as if she’s trying to ground herself, to hold onto something solid in the chaos of this moment.

And then just as her knees begin to go weak, just as she starts to lose herself in you, you stop.

You pull away, leaving only a thin strand of saliva connecting you.

She blinks up at you, lips swollen, pupils blown wide with want. Her breath comes in uneven pants, her entire body trembling from the sheer force of what just happened.

But this time, she doesn’t get to be the one in control.

You watch as the tears continue to stream down her face, her lips trembling, her breath uneven. The sight of Jinx so broken, so vulnerable should make you feel something close to sympathy. But it doesn’t. Not after everything. Instead, a slow, satisfied smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you tilt her chin up with a single finger, forcing her to look at you.

“Jeez,” you murmur, voice dripping with mock concern. “You are such a crybaby.”

The words hit her like a slap, and you can see the flicker of recognition in her watery eyes. It’s the same insult she threw at you the night she shattered your heart and walked away without a second thought.

The same word that made you vow to make her suffer the way she made you suffer. Now, it’s her turn to feel the weight of it, to know what it’s like to be the one left aching.

As you turn to leave, there’s no hesitation in your steps, no lingering doubt. The weight that once sat heavy in your chest feels lighter now, replaced by something cold but satisfying. It was never about winning her back it was about making her feel the way she made you feel. About ensuring that, for once, she was the one left drowning in regret, lost in the emptiness she created.

You reach the door, resting your hand on the knob before pausing. Something inside you tells you to look back one last time, and when you do, you see her Jinx, still standing in the dimly lit classroom, shoulders shaking, silent tears streaming down her face.

She looks so different from the girl who walked away from you that night, so different from the one who laughed while you suffered. Now, she’s the one who’s breaking.

A bitter smirk tugs at your lips as you take in the sight. “Goodbye, Jinx,” you say, your voice eerily calm, steady in a way it never was when you were the one begging. “I hope we ended this on good terms.”

And with that, you walk out, leaving her behind just like she once did to you.

Tags: @otterluver05. @halle5s. @vienwood. @grosspube.

Ⓒ︎ seulszn