#it’s just not even a surprise to me anymore

[motorsportbarbie13]

Aftermath - Chapter 2

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make nothing into something for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

warnings: this chapter contains language and descriptions that illustrate abuse (mental and emotional). lando is abusive, full stop but like many survivors of abuse, it takes reader a bit to claw herself out of this. as a survivor of abuse myself, I am doing my best to give this story line the most respect and care that i can. please don't engage with my work if you find any of the topics triggering. my sincerest apologies for not putting this in the warnings at first. lando is, once again, an absolute asshole in this. sorry bubs. swearing. i'd also like to point out that this is a character i am writing, i in no way am insinuating or implying the real lando is like this in any way. pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader word count: 4k

Chapter 1 Master List

“You didn’t have to walk me home, you know. It’s only a few blocks.” You tell Max as you press into his side, shivering against the cold breeze of the Monaco night. It had been warm when you left the apartment earlier that evening but now the air held a chill that had you wishing you had taken Carles up on his offer to drive you back home. 

Around you, the city buzzes, a hive of activity on a Friday night but the extent of your world consists of only you and Max. 

“Of course I did. It’s late and cold and there was no way you were walking home alone.” 

“Max, we live in Monaco, I’m perfectly safe.” You joke but secretly, you’re glad Max had offered to walk you home. 

You’d never admit it but you liked being around him, his demeanor had always been calming to you and tonight, your nerves were frayed more than usual. It was probably thanks to the whispers you had heard at the gallery, asking not so quietly where Lando was as you walked around and spoke to the guests. He had never showed up and while you were disappointed he hadn’t showed, you weren’t quite surprised either. There had been something in his tone when you left that evening that had anxiety curling your gut before you even stepped out of the apartment. You hated to even think it, but you somewhat suspected he had never planned on showing up to the show at all that night but you wouldn’t ever put a voice to those thoughts.   

“Fine then.” Max huffs, but there’s no venom in his voice. “Maybe I just wanted to spend some extra time with you, okay? I feel like we never see each other anymore.” Max lets the unsaid end of that sentence hang in the air: ‘Because you’re with Lando now.’  

Your heart aches at the truth of his words. A lot of your friendships had taken a hit over the last three years. You hadn’t meant for it to happen, but your circle had shrunk significantly since you had started dating Lando and it shocked you how you never had realized it until now. It had started small, with Lando saying he just wanted to spend the weekend only with you while he had a rare weekend off and then slowly morphed into him only wanting to spend time with his friends so if you wanted to see him you had to spend what little time you got with him with his friends as well. Slowly, your friends stopped calling and inviting you places because the answer was always the same: ‘sorry, Lando has plans this weekend and I’m going to tag along with him!’ Or just a straight up ‘no, not this time.’ 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, biting your lip as guilt creeps up your neck. “It’s been a rough year.” 

Max hates the regret that courses through him. He shouldn’t make you feel like this, shouldn’t voice his opinion of what he sees happening in front of him. He can’t help the frustration that bubbles to the surface when you talk like that though. He knows exactly where it comes from and it kills Max knowing that there is one person solely responsible for dimming that sparkle you’ve always had. 

Max stops in the middle of the sidewalk, causing a few tourists to shout in surprise when they have to dodge the Dutchman’s tall frame. A frown finds itself onto his face as he looks down at you. Your heart stutters to a stop, you’ve seen this look before and it has the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. 

“I hate when you do that.” He can’t help himself, he’s kept his peace for far too long but the fact that  Lando missed tonights show has been burning a hole in his chest all night and the embers were about to flare to life. 

Panic squeezes at your chest. Around you, people are shooting glances your way as you both stand in the middle of the crowded sidewalk. You only have a few moments before someone notices it is you and Max Verstappen and start taking pictures. Pictures that will inevitably show up on some gossip instagram account and cause you more trouble than they’re worth. 

“Do what?” Despite your desire to not be seen arguing with Max, you can’t help the question that slips out. 

“When you apologize for things that aren’t your fault. Anyone with eyes can see who the problem is in your relationship and it’s not you, Dovie.” Max’s words come out more harsher than they intend and he knows he’s approaching a line that probably shouldn’t be crossed tonight. 

You can’t bring your eyes up to meet Max’s heated gaze but you can feel him looking at you. Those blue eyes you used to think you could get lost in when you were younger. Before everything changed. Before you met Lando and he swept you right off your feet. 

“Charles told me about the apartment.” Max confesses. Maybe if you know you have others supporting your decision to leave, it’ll make it easier. He hopes that his support would mean something to you.

Your stomach plummets to your toes, cheeks burning red with shame. “Charles should keep his big mouth shut.” You bite out, fists working themselves into a ball at your sides. 

Max’s eyes narrow at your outburst. There was the fire that you’d been missing. Something in Max heaves a sigh of relief, you’re still in there. You’re on the cusp of getting that fire back and Max can almost see you reach for it deep in the pit of your belly. You’re so close to the edge and Max knows you well enough to know when to back off.  

“I’m sorry.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I won’t press. I just wanted you to know that I miss you.” 

Max momentarily wonders if he’s gone too far when he sees tears well up in your eyes. His heart squeezes at the thought of being the one to make you cry. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” You sob, no longer caring who sees you or what could possibly make it back to Lando. “I know you’re friends with him and I shouldn’t put you in the middle of our mess.” 

Max’s brows knit together in confusion. The fact that you would question his loyalty to you over Lando simply baffles him. “I’ve been in your life longer than I’ve known Lando and you’ll be in my life long after he’s gone.” Max lets that last sentence hang in the air, the prophecy of his words clinging to your skin. 

“Max.” You whisper, floored by the fierceness of his tone and the sincerity of his words. 

Panic claws at him. He’s gone too far, revealed too much. He can’t do that with you now, not when you’re already so fragile. You don’t need that from him and he knows it. Back off, something in him orders and alarm bells clang to life. 

“All I’m saying is,” Max keeps his tone deliberately light. “If you need a friend to talk to, I’m here. Always.” 

You nod, appreciating how he backed off when he saw you panicking. 

Max takes your elbow before turning you around, pointing you in the direction of your apartment. “Come on, let’s get you home, okay?” 

As Max walks you the rest of the way home, Lando is still set up in his gaming room playing Tarkov with Max on his stream. As they begin another raid, Lando notices Max’s stream start to pick up at a much faster pace than it’s been running all evening. He’s been streaming for hours now, since before you left the apartment and while he knows the opening should be wrapping up right about now, he has a hard time caring. Those things are always so boring and he never understands the art, even if it is nice to be photographed out with you and your brothers. 

“What is this link everyone’s spamming chat? You all know if you start spamming, we’re going to mute you.” Max asks, frustration evident in his voice. 

Lando glances over at the chat screen on his second monitor and sees his name flying by along with what looks like an instagram link. He knows he shouldn’t click on dodgy links but curiosity gets the best of him because at the same time the chat starts to explode, so do his notifications from Instagram. “The fuck?” He mumbles, ignoring Max who is reading the chat as they come in. 

“First Verstappen steals your championship, now he’s stealing your girl? Chat, what the fuck are you all on about?” 

Lando can feel the heat rising in his face and he’s instantly thankful that he’s got his video off. He mutes himself quickly too before texting Max, who is desperately trying to regain control of the chat. The link finally opens and Lando nearly drops his phone. He’s been tagged in a series of photos that show you and Max walking out of the gallery together, then you two stopped in the middle of the sidewalk embracing with you clearly looking upset, and then a final one showing you two walking away together. 

Anger flares bright and sharp in his chest as he looks at the photos. You’re making him look like a fool, galavanting around town with the likes of Max Verstappen late at night, especially after all he went thorough with Max last season. What the fuck were you thinking?

“Alright, chat I think that’s going to be the end of the stream tonight. This is why we can’t have nice things!” 

Max ends the stream without a second thought, knowing that Lando is going to be incandescent with rage after seeing those photos and reading all the comments. 

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source First he steals the championship, now it looks like Max Verstappen is making a play for @/lando's girl. Uh ooooooh... user9928 I mean, she looked pretty upset in the other pictures I saw leaving the gallery. Lando didn't show to support her so... user298 paddock bunnies gonna bunny >>>user223 she's literally known Max almost her entire life??? user110 this isn't a thing...her and Max have been friends for YEARS. Leave the poor girl alone user1008 lando's loss, she's amazing. user918 idk but if my girl got caught getting a kiss from another guy, I'd go scorched earth >>>user028 SERIOUSLY I am floored by the people defending her??? Like??? >>>user928 maybe if Lando showed up for his girlfriend, Max wouldn't have had to step in and comfort her...?

As Lando struggles to come to grips with what he just saw, you and Max are standing in the lobby of your apartment as you desperately search for your keys. “Fuck, I think I forgot my keys upstairs.” 

“Just give Lando a call, I’m sure he’s still up.” 

You shrug, cheeks heating. “He sometimes gets tunnel vision when he’s streaming and forgets to check his phone.” You admit, not wanting to go more into detail because you know how bad it’ll sound if you have to tell Max that sometimes Lando will completely ignore you while he’s streaming. What you also don’t tell him is that this has happened to you before and all three times, you’d had to spend the night at either Jade or Charles’ house because he had been on stream so late you had nearly fallen asleep in the hallway. 

Max levels a glare at you, unable to believe what you’re saying. “Well, lets both go up then and maybe we can get his attention by knocking.” 

Anxiety ripples through you as Max starts off towards the elevators, giving you no other choice but to follow him. It’s a quiet ride up to your floor as you fidget with the hem of your shirt, unable to even attempt to make small talk with Max. You know the facade of your entire relationship is about to be lifted right in front of one of your oldest friends and you don’t quite know how to make it stop. 

When you raise your hand to knock, your heart hammers in your chest so wildly you momentarily worry Max is going to be concerned for your health. Much to your surprise, it only takes a few short moments for the door to swing open so fast you nearly stumble back. 

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Lando spits when his eyes land on Max. The venom in his voice is so shocking you need to take a step away, unintentionally stepping closer to Max, which seems to set Lando off even more. Rage flares in his eyes at your proximity to his on-track rival. 

“That’s a wild way to say ‘hey man, thanks for walking my girlfriend home in the dark because I couldn’t be bothered to show up to her art show’ but you’re welcome.” Max grits out, taking one step closer to you as if he might need to get between you and Lando. 

Tension hangs thick between the three of you as Lando seethes where he stands in the door. 

“Max, it’s okay.” You whisper, shame lighting a painful spark of fire deep in your chest. This was going to get out of control so quickly. 

“No, it’s not and you know it.” Max turns back to Lando now, eyes blazing with a level of anger that is miles more intense than the look Lando is giving you. “And why the fuck are you coming at her so hot? All I did was walk her home.” 

Lando scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Because this was just posted by almost a dozen gossip accounts and was being spammed all over Fewtrell’s chat while we were streaming.” 

You take the phone Lando is brandishing in your face and go pale. The carousel of photos in the new post are pretty damning, you have to admit but you would have thought that your boyfriend of all people would know better than to blindly believe a series of grainy photos above trusting his own girlfriend. 

“Lando…” You sooth, arm reaching out to touch his elbow. You wince when he pulls away from you. “You of all people should know how those things are twisted. Max was just walking me home and we were talking, that’s it.” 

“But why was he hugging you?” He shows you the third picture of Max hugging you after you had started crying out on the street. You had to admit you were kind of impressed with how fast those photos got out, but it was Monaco after all and you hand’t exactly been discreet when you were upset with Max. 

“Because she was upset you didn’t show up for her. Again!” Max shouts and you flinch.

 The words slice a fresh wound across your heart. The fact that Max knew that this wasn’t the first time upsets you more than you think it should. You’re not entirely sure why Max’s opinion of you matters so much but you’re not quite willing to examine those feelings yet. 

Lando’s glare swings away from you and back onto Max. “Because I’ve been to a million of them and they’re all the same. Same pretentious people pretending they have taste. Once you’ve been to one you’ve been to them all.” 

The words that come out of your boyfriend’s mouth have you audibly gasping, hand flying to your throat. “Lando.” You whisper, pain and shock coursing through your voice. 

You swear you feel a brush of fingertips on the small of your back but the touch is so light and so quick you think you’ve imagined it. 

Something flickers behind your boyfriend’s eyes then and it’s almost like he realizes he’s gone a step too far. His shoulders sag and he shakes his head. “I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry baby.” Lando reaches for you and before you can step away, he pulls you into his chest. He doesn’t miss the way you stiffen in his embrace though and neither does Max. “Please come inside and we can talk about it alone, okay?” He whispers, glaring at Max, clearly dismissing him. 

The way his arms used to feel around you was comforting, you’d seek his affection when you were anxious or upset and he would always take care of you but somewhere along the line, the affection you craved stopped being handed out so easily. Now, you craved it but only because if he was touching you it meant he wasn’t mad at you and maybe this time it would be different. Every time he showed you this kind of affection you hoped that this would be the time he would change. 

It never was. 

“Thank you for walking me home, Max. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.” 

Worry lines crease the spot between his brows as he frowns. Everything in his body is screaming to put up a fight and not let you go inside with Lando. He knows if Charles were here and had just witnessed what he had, there was no way Lando would be leaving this building in anything other than a body bag but he wasn’t Charles and he didn’t have any entitlement to you. He wanted to fight but you weren’t his to fight for. 

“Call me if you need anything, okay Dovie?” 

Lando’s arms tighten around you at the nickname. He hates it and Max knows it. “She won’t need to, I’ve got her.” 

“You sure about that, mate?” Max asks, one brow tipping up in question. 

Without waiting for a reply, Max turns on his heel and walks towards the elevator. In his pocket, his fingers curl around his phone because the moment he gets out of the building he knows exactly who he’s going to be calling: Charles. 

As soon as Max leaves and your behind closed doors, the mask slips again. 

“What the fuck were you thinking, walking home with Max fucking Verstappen? And hugging him?” Lando is pacing the floor of your living room as you stand there, helpless to say anything against his raging. 

It’s usually like this when he gets angry with you and you’ve gotten good at being quiet while he rages. You have to let him work out all the anger and eventually you know he’ll calm down and apologizes for losing his temper. You’ve seen this before and you know exactly what to do, how to humor the angry beast that has surfaced once again. 

“Lando, it wasn’t like that and you know it.” You fight to keep the exasperation out of your voice, knowing that would just set him off even more. “I was alone, my brothers were going in the opposite direction, and Max offered. That’s it! It was completely innocent.” Despite yourself, you try to reason with him.

“You should have just gone home with your brothers then instead of putting yourself in that position.” He snaps and you glare at him. 

“You would have rather me not slept here at home tonight than take an offer from a friend to walk me home? All because you didn’t follow through with what you said you’d do?” 

You know you’re pushing him and Lando doesn’t like to be pushed. Your conversation with Charles two weeks ago flickers through your mind. How you deserve better and it strikes you then that everyone but you can see it. Everyone around you, everyone that loves you can see how bad he is for you, how poorly he treats you and how much you’ve changed since you started dating him. 

You supposed that if you had changed for the better, maybe everyone who loved you wouldn’t have anything to say. Don’t people change for the people they love all the time? You were sure they did but you weren’t sure you liked the change you saw in yourself anymore. You couldn’t fight it, this change that felt like you were wearing shoes that were three sizes too small for your feet. Like you had outgrown yourself in a way that wasn’t okay and you somehow needed to find your way back to who you were before Lando. Before he broke you. 

“And avoid you causing social media chaos that I’m going to be dealing with for weeks now?” Lando sneers, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down his nose at you. “Yeah, absolutely.” 

You laugh, cold and bitter, as you shake your head. “Thats real nice Lan, real nice.” 

“I’m just saying. Now the rumor mills are going to start up again. Whenever you’re at a race, people will be watching to see if you’re with Max again. Or maybe next time it’ll be Lewis. Or maybe you want to go a bit younger? Get a ‘friendly escort home’ from one of the rookies? I’m sure Franco would love to try his hand with you. My girlfriend, the paddock bunny being passed around.” 

The ache in your chest grows as he chooses his words carefully, barbed and sharp as glass, so they hit their intending target, cutting through you like butter and causing mortal damage.

“You don’t have to be so mean.” You whisper. “I’m sorry that the pictures hurt your feelings and were taken out of context but you don’t have to be so mean.” 

Tears threaten to spill and you will them to stop, knowing that will only fuel Lando’s fire. He loves when he upsets you like this, when he gets to tell you what a drama queen you are. Just like your brother, he would say, always whining and crying on the radio about how Carlos wasn’t being a team player and letting him win when he didn’t deserve it. 

“If I’m not the one to give you a reality check, then who will? Your entire family has coddled you for your entire life and you think you deserve some level of respect that you haven’t earned. If you deserved that kind of respect, you would have gone home with your brothers or walked home alone. People who deserve respect don’t put their relationships in jeopardy because they’re afraid to be alone at night.” 

“Put our relationship in jeopardy?” You laugh again, rolling your eyes at the audacity of what Lando is saying. “Lan, you really are being a bit over dramatic here, don’t you think? I’m sure the PR department at McLaren will take care of this by the next race, no big deal.” 

Lando laughs, dark and bitter as he takes a step towards you. You have to fight the urge not to flinch when he gets closer to you. Deep down, you know he’d never raise a hand to you but it’s hard to remember that when he gets in your face like this. “Now you expect McLaren to clean up your mess?” He hisses. “God, you really are a spoiled little girl, aren’t you?” 

“I’m just trying to find a solution to the problem that I seem to have caused.” You snap back, courage flaring in your chest as you stand up a little straighter. Max’s words from earlier play back in your head: ‘anyone with eyes can see who the problem is in your relationship’. “What if I come to the next race? If the two of us turn up in the paddock together, that will help quiet the rumors, don’t you think?” 

Lando narrows his eyes, “So you can get more attention from Max? Absolutely not. I’ll have McLaren handle this, okay? Just forget about it.” 

You want to scream at his solution because it was the same exact thing you had literally just suggested and been laughed at. But that was the way Lando was. If it wasn’t his idea, it was the worst thing you could have suggested. As long as it was his idea though, it was brilliant and the perfect solution to everything that was wrong. You should have anticipated this coming but you knew it was useless to fight with him. 

All at once, your body is overcome with this total wash of exhaustion. Total mental and physical exhaustion grips at your throat and you sway on your feet. “I’m going to go to bed.” You choke you. “In the guest room.” You tack on before turning on your heel and walking away from the fight like you do every time. Lando always gets the last word and as he stands there alone in the living room he feels like he’s won this one. He’ll have to call Sophie in the morning to get her to start working on damage control but for now? For now, he’s sure you realize your mistakes and you won’t put a toe out of line like that for a long time. 

Little does he know that all he’d done tonight was push you past your breaking point. 

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[prlssprfctn]

Damian wakes up, startled. He doesn't remember what he saw in his dreams, and he is not sure what caused him to feel so anxious, but he knows what to do. The routine is easy and comforting; he just needs to find his brother Jason. So, he goes.

His bare feet against the cold floor is soundless, making no sound, and he keeps rubbing his eyes until he sees one of the doors open. It must be Jason. He always keeps the door of his room open, just in case.

There is a dim light in the room, a small lamp on the desk, where the stakes of paper are stored, and Jason is here, as tall and huge as always, tapping on his feet in an attempt to concentrate, while twirling a pen between his fingers. He is either reading or working on something else: writes down memories, afraid of them slipping away due to the Lazarus Pit hammering in his temples all the time.

Damian yawns and steps closer, tapping on his back.

'Akhi Jason,' he calls hoarsely. The body freezes, almost surprised — he is not supposed to; Jason hears him from the corridor, even if he is the most soundless kid in the whole world. 'I want to sleep.'

He never says he sees nightmares or that he is scared — just that. It always works.

Expect, this time it doesn't.

'What did you say?' Brother asks, his voice sounding so unusually stiff.

'Jason,' he repeats, more irritated this time. 'I said, I want to—'

When Jason turns around, Damian instinctively staggers back, his eyes widening.

The man in front of him is not Jason.

And for a second, Damian is panicking, until-

Until he doesn't remind himself that he is not home anymore. He is in the Wayne Manor, with his father.

With his father that looks exactly like his brother, only older, without scars, marring his face, and without a white streak that makes him look like a bird.

'Damian,' his father calls, slightly shaken. 'How do you know Jason?'

He swallows down. He is not supposed to tell about his brother. They instructed him not to.

But father has a familiar desperation in his eyes, the same one Jason had, when he was pacing around the room, muttering something incoherent, the cut out from newsletters photos of Bruce Wayne with Tim Drake in his hands, and-

And Damian shrugs.

'He is my brother,' he says, almost too innocently; because if he is going to be clueless about it, then what others will have to tell him? 'He stayed with a grandfather. It is a shame.'

Almost as if he doesn't understand what all of this implies.

'I was sleepy,' he adds. 'And got confused. My apologises, father. I shall return to my bedroom.'

Bruce stares, stares, and stares. And then, rubs his face with his hands, exhausted.

'I'll tuck you in. Let's go,' and a second later, with his voice sounding so familiarly small, just like how Jason's sounded when he first acknowledged him as his brother, he adds: 'Can you tell me more about your brother, Damian?'

And Damian tells him, of course.

He is not surprised to see the result of his work the next week.

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 7 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: If he's so bad, then why do you crave him so much? You crave him enough to let him be your first.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, scars, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, smut, oral sex, (rough) sex, penetration, unprotected sex, degradation kink, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

You didn't know what real desire feels like, until you felt it.

Until you felt him.

And you wanted him, as much as you hated him.

The moment his lips crashed against yours, it felt like nothing you had ever felt before.

Sure, you had been kissed before. Once.

The loser has to seduce the shy girl.

But that didn't count. Or even if it did, it didn't matter to you. Because nothing that happened before that kiss seemed to matter.

A part of you expected his kiss to be gentle - he had made a promise to you after all - but there was hardly any gentleness in his touch.

The first second after your lips met had been a soft, tentative caress. Gentle and careful, as if to test the waters. You lay stiffly underneath him, unsure what to really do. You almost felt awkward, but that didn't mean you wanted it to stop. Quite the opposite.

The gentleness felt...almost forced on his part. You already knew he wasn't the soft type, but for you, he tried.

Until he didn't. And eventually his mouth took control of yours.

You didn't mind.

His lips moved against yours more urgently, the tip of his tongue caressing your lower lip and trying to part your lips, demanding entry.

When you finally gave in to his silent demand, slowly and carefully, he took full advantage of that and slid his tongue in your mouth, participating in a sinful dance with your own.

You were still stiff, still shy, still...unsure. And he felt it.

He pulled back, just enough to murmur against your lips. "Open your mouth wider for me, princess."

Princess. That was new. At least you weren't Hana anymore. Or at least not in that moment.

You reluctantly obeyed and with a low groan you felt his tongue push deeper against yours, harder, more demanding.

You almost gasped in surprise, but again, you didn't mind.

It felt so...

So...

And you were still stiff. A part of you almost felt like burying yourself under a pile of non-existence for being so complicated.

But again, he didn't seem to get angry or even frustrated. Instead he slowly pulled his hand back and tipped your chin up with his fingertips.

"Stop thinking so much. Just do whatever feels right. I promise you, I'm not going to laugh or hurt you. I promised you something and I meant it." His voice was softer than you had ever heard it before and it made something inside of you break.

You wanted him. You wanted him so terribly and the thought scared you like nothing else.

God, when he was being gentle like this, you wanted him even more. It made you go near insane with desire and heartbreak, because you could never have him. Could never have this version of him.

He was the man who kidnapped you, not your lover.

The man who slapped you, not the man who kissed you.

But, shit, he kissed you. And you wanted nothing more than exactly that. Maybe even for the rest of your life.

You were always a romantic at heart.

Hopeful and yet hopeless.

"Okay." You whispered softly and nervously nibbled on your lower lip. "I...I just..."

"I know." He whispered and gently ran his thumb over your cheek. "But that's what I'm here for. I'll guide you."

The next thing you realized was how he pressed you against his wardrobe. You had no idea how you even made it across the hallway and to his bedroom, but somehow you did.

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, leaving you helpless and at his mercy. But you didn't care.

In fact it made you want him all the more.

The sounds he made while his tongue delved deeper into your mouth made the dampness between your legs increase tenfold.

His hands slowly slid down your arms and over your shoulders, until he reached your waist and then he stopped. His touch was so gentle, almost careful, like he was touching a delicate bird and was afraid it might fly away.

"Turn around." He whispered against your lips. You hesitated for a second, but eventually obeyed, with a slowness that almost made him growl in frustration.

His fingers found the zipper of your dress, impatiently tugging at it, when-

He exhaled in even more frustration when he felt your hand reach for his wrist, stopping him in his attempt to skillfully and swiftly undress you.

"What?" He bit out.

You opened your mouth and closed it several times. How would you tell him? Should you? Or should you just show him?

You were almost sure he was going to be so repulsed that he'd go and find himself a second girl in no time.

The thought made something inside of you die.

"Can I just...lie on my back?" You whispered.

He frowned, but he was a clever man and he immediately caught on the fact that something wasn't like it was supposed to be. But since he was something akin a gentleman who'd only beat you, not force your clothes off you or rape you, he had never seen you naked before. And suddenly you felt incredibly insecure.

"What is this about?" He asked in a softer tone. "Are you nervous?"

"Yes." You said quietly. "But that's not the reason."

Instead of answering, he tilted his chin down and his lips met the back of your neck. The shiver that punched through your body and the sound that left your lips were both feral.

"I know." He whispered. "But I'll make you forget about it soon."

"You...You don't understand." You finally gasped out. "It's...You won't want me any longer."

That made him pause and he slowly pulled his head back. His frown got deeper and there was something else in his expression now, something like confusion and a hint of anger.

"What are you talking about?"

You fought with yourself, trying to come up with something to say, something to do, something to explain, but no.

Instead you simply released his wrist.

His frown stayed in place, but eventually he began to move again and you felt his fingertips tickle the skin of your back when he moved to pull the zipper down. Another hard shiver ran through your body and you closed your eyes. Your forehead tightly pressed against the wardrobe, you waited. Waited for him to recoil in disgust. To push you away and call out God, it was all for nothing.

But the call never came.

Instead he was silent for a long moment and you felt his gaze burn holes through your body.

"Who did this?"

He sounded calm - no, like he was desperately trying to stay calm, maybe for your sake. You couldn't yet tell if he was repulsed or if maybe he was trying to act like he wasn't.

The faint trace of the scar was subtle, but still evident, even after all these years. A cruel reminder that you would never be free of your past. Of the pain. Sometimes you felt like you were made of pain far more than of flesh and blood.

"My mother." You said very quietly, unable to open your eyes yet.

His fingertips followed the contour of the scar in a touch so soft that you barely even felt it. But you did feel it. It immediately made you shiver and gasp.

That was nothing.

The moment you felt his lips brush over the skin of your back, slowly following the same line, you inhaled sharply. Breathlessly.

There was not enough air to breathe.

Your hands were pressed against the wardrobe tightly and you felt your legs shake.

This was enough to make your mind go hazy and your head dizzy. If this already drove you insane like that, you couldn't tell if you'd even be able to have sex with him. Or if you'd slowly float off into non-existence.

This was better than life.

A soft whimper came over your lips the second his tongue flicked out to taste your skin.

"Oh God." You moaned breathlessly.

Good, you thought with the little mind you had left to think. Good. He isn't repulsed.

"Your mother." He whispered, without ever stopping his ministrations. It made you tense, but you listened in silence. "Your mother. Is she still alive?"

You kept your eyes closed and nodded.

A low hum came over his lips.

"Good."

A slow frown formed on your face, but you didn't dare to speak now. You wouldn't have done anything if it risked to stop him from what he was doing.

"And that man? Your neighbor? Is he still alive?"

You slowly shook your head.

"Too bad." He whispered against your skin. "I would have loved to take care of him.”

That made your head perk up and you looked over your shoulder, looking at him with something that was equally horrified as it was…admiring.

“What are you talking about?” You whispered softly.

He nodded. “What do you think? You’re my girl. I take care of my girl. And no one gets to hurt you. No one besides me.”

His words sent a warm shiver down your spine. You knew it wasn’t exactly healthy or…good. But it felt good. And you couldn’t help but feel that certain warmth in your body increase.

The way he spoke of you, with such possessiveness, it awakened something in you of which you never before knew you had that in you.

“But they hurt me in the past.” You whispered, as though this was a normal conversation.

“Doesn’t matter”, he whispered back, “they still hurt you. And anyone who did, will pay.”

You wanted to respond, wanted to express anything, but you didn’t have the time. He spun you around so swiftly and effortlessly that you immediately forgot what you had even been talking about. You stumbled backwards until your legs hit the bed and then he slowly pushed you back. Gently, like everything he did that night.

Gently.

Your heart skipped several beats as you stared up at him like that. Your hair was messy and your face flushed, your lips still swollen from the greedy, demanding kiss and your dress hung loosely around your shoulders. But your eyes, your eyes, they held a special kind of expression that night.

Hunger.

It was hunger.

A hunger you hadn’t ever felt before. So powerful, it was all-consuming. Your mind was occupied with him, unable to focus on anything else than his delicious smirk. The one you had grown to…

Oh God, don’t even think that.

“You look so beautiful.” He whispered in a husky voice. His hands wandered up to slowly undo his tie. The sight was enough to stir even more desire in you, forcing you to shift on the bed, your impatience growing. Your heart was aching with how handsome he was.

If only you could have him like that every night.

He slowly pulled the tie off and it fell to the ground, before he slowly moved to undo the buttons of his shirt. That was when you realized that you would either sleep with him that night or die.

Because that was how it felt.

Like you would die without him. Crumble and suffocate.

Your eyes followed the movement of his hands as he slowly shrugged his shirt off, revealing his chiseled, marble chest. The sight made your brows furrow and you did something oh-so cheeky. You bit your lip. You had to, otherwise you would have probably moaned.

“What is it, sweet girl?” He purred as he slowly moved onto the bed, hovering right above you. “Do you like what you see?”

You closed your eyes when his hot breath kissed your ear. Then you nodded and bit your lip again.

“Good.” He breathed. “Then show me something I’ll like as well.”

He hooked his fingertips under the material of your dress and attempted to pull it down, when…

He hesitated. For a moment you were almost sure you had done something terribly wrong again and you were about to get punished. You held your breath and expected him to swing his fist at you.

“Can I?”

Your eyes widened almost comically in surprise. Your mouth fell open and you nodded.

The sight of you so surprised and speechless made him laugh.

God, what a beautiful sound.

If only you could hear it every day.

If only, if only, if only.

Your heart ached again. But you quickly pushed these thoughts aside. Now wasn’t the time. You could mourn your non-existent, fantasy relationship by the time the next morning came.

That moment was for you and him.

And right then, he was there. And he was real.

And he was gentle.

He pulled the dress down torturously slow, his gaze eagerly following every inch of skin that was revealed.

You felt so naked, so exposed, so…so warm under his gaze.

You swallowed thickly and kept your focus on his eyes the whole time. It was like he suddenly was a different person.

A husband type of guy.

You closed your eyes, forcefully trying to suppress these kind of dangerous thoughts. But it was impossible. You were immediately certain.

You were in love with him.

And it didn’t matter how many water bowls he’d make you lick on the floor, how many degrading names he called you and how many marks he gave you.

You were in love with him.

Your eyes shot open and you looked at him with something akin to pain, but your confusion grew when, for probably the first time, he didn’t immediately met your gaze. His gaze was fixed on your body, firm and yet soft, like glue. He didn’t move it away, just kept it roaming up and down your body. It was enough to make you shiver.

“God.” He whispered huskily. “God, you’re perfect.”

He slowly looked up to meet your eyes again and when he did, the tiniest frown grew on his face.

“What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Am I going too fast?”

You just stared at him, unable to say anything. The way his eyes were soft, the way his voice was, the way he seemed so concerned.

And there we go again.

You felt tears well up in your eyes and you tried desperately to swallow the lump in your throat.

His expression immediately darkened, mixed with surprise and something else. He immediately sat up, moving his hips away from yours.

“You’re not ready.” He said stiffly. “You don’t want to. Fuck, I should have known.”

He attempted to get up and, judging by his reaction, probably flee, but he stopped when he felt your hand on his wrist, holding him back.

“No”, you gasped out quickly. “No, don’t leave. Please.”

He stared at you, his expression troubled. “But you…”

“I want it.” You whispered. “I really do.”

He shook his head. “No.” He said firmly. “Listen, I won’t punish you when you say no now. I don’t want it to be like this. The thought of doing this, when you don’t really want me, it…”

“I do!” You propped yourself up onto your elbows and nodded quickly. “I do.” You whispered. “That’s not why I’m crying. I was just…”

You briefly closed your eyes, before you continued.

“I’m just complicated.”

He didn’t seem all too convinced, but the frown on his face signaled that he wouldn’t try to run off again.

“Yes.” You whispered softly. “I was just overwhelmed. But I want it. Please, don’t…Don’t go now.”

His frown deepened, but he slowly leaned back down.

“You don’t have to do this.” He said quietly. “You don’t have to endure this, to please me. Not this.”

You slowly shook your head. You couldn’t tell him the real reason.

That you were grieving the relationship you could have had with him, in another time, another universe. That you felt like you were falling in love with him…or that you already were.

You opened your mouth to come up with another excuse, but when words failed you yet again, you did something else. You tilted your head up and your lips met his. Soft and tentative, careful and gentle, but it was you who kissed him.

Bold girl.

He hesitated for a moment as if to make sure you really meant it.

It truly surprised you how much he seemed to care about your consent. So far, a small part of you had always believed he’d snap once he got impatient enough and he’d just take what he wanted, not caring if you cried or begged or pleaded.

But that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

And still you couldn’t help but ask yourself if this was solely about the promise that he made you. Because somehow, under all his insanity, there was something like an honorable man. A man who kept his promises.

But you tried your hardest to lock these thoughts out.

To lock any thoughts out.

Tonight was about you and him.

The moment you felt his tongue part your lips again, that was exactly what you thought about.

You and him.

Him.

And suddenly the whole world seemed to fade into nothingness, because all that mattered was the way his tongue felt against yours and the sound that left his lips when you wrapped your arms around him. Your hands slowly wandered up the skin of his back, up to his shoulders. You tried to touch every inch of him and memorize it in your mind, just in case you never got to feel him like that again.

You were pretty sure you were doing something wrong, because you had no idea what you were doing, but you tried to listen to his words and just do what felt right.

He finally pulled your dress off of you, leaving you almost bare, in nothing but a pair of panties. The cold air hit your skin and you felt another shiver run down your spine.

And another one when his hand ran up your stomach.

And another, even harder, one when he gently cupped your breast in his hand.

You were a shivering, stuttering mess underneath him and all you could focus on was the way his hands felt against your skin – warm and gentle, soft and yet demanding.

He moaned against your lips as he gently squeezed your breast in his hand, before he slowly moved it further up to your shoulder, then down your arm. And eventually, oh God, eventually he took your hand in his. He intertwined your fingers and pressed your hand down against the mattress with a gentleness that equaled a breath of air.

He ground his hips down against yours, a movement that made a flash of electricity shoot through your veins. He was so hard. Hard and ready to ruin you.

And God, you wanted him to.

“Are you nervous?” He breathed without even stopping to kiss you. You tried to pull your head back to speak, but he didn’t let you and that was enough to make you moan as well.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“Just relax.” He murmured softly. “Let me take care of you, my sweet, darling girl.”

He slowly withdrew from the kiss, which immediately left you craving more, but you had no time to think about it, because the next moment you felt him press gentle kisses all over your neck. Your head lolled to the side and you exhaled a soft sigh. You didn’t even stop shivering any more.

You wanted to pull him closer, you wanted to beg Please don’t stop, but your lips didn’t obey. Your nervousness was far more powerful than you initially thought.

As if on cue, he pulled his head back, looked down at you and whispered: “If I do something you don’t want, tell me, alright?”

You managed a weak nod, silently begging him to continue.

He put on a cocky smirk and went back to kissing your neck, ever so slowly making his way further down. Just when you thought he couldn’t do anything to make you feel better than that, you felt his lips brush along your bare breast and his tongue darted out and left a slow, lazy path over your hard nipple.

You had no idea you could make such sinful sounds.

“P-please.” You whimpered.

He grinned victoriously. “Please what, sweet girl? Please stop?”

“No!”

He laughed and shook his head. “Don’t worry, sweetness. Just lean back and let me do the rest. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”

He resumed his actions and you fell back against the pillow, your eyes shut. Only then you realized how tightly you had your arms wrapped around him. One of your hands slowly wandered up and down his back again, while the other one tangled in his soft hair. You let out a soft sigh when he moved over to your other breast, doing the most wicked things with his mouth.

You were so breathless and constantly gasping for air, it left your mouth dry.

And then it got even harder to breathe.

He slowly kissed his path down your stomach, making you shiver and writhe in anticipation and agony.

“Oh God, what are you doing?” You whispered breathlessly. You wanted to call out his godforsaken name, but he didn’t have one. So instead you ran your hand through his hair again.

He hummed against your skin as he teasingly licked a slow path down your stomach.

“You’ll see, princess.” He whispered softly.

By the time he reached the edge of your panties, you were no more than a puddle. A helpless mess, desperate over everything he did.

Over him.

He took the material of your panties between his teeth and slowly tugged them down.

“Oh, God!”

You had a feeling like something inside of you was throbbing.

You had been wet before. Felt that nervous twitch, whenever the bad, wicked thoughts entered your mind.

But nothing ever came close to this.

When he slowly freed you of your underwear, you were sure you were about to faint, until-

Fucking hell.

He used his teeth the entire way and when he finally managed to pull them off, he bit down on them and you were sure you saw his tongue dart out. You lay there like a statue, your eyes wide and your cheeks flushed as you witnessed how he tasted the piece of lace that had just covered your soaking wet, most private part.

All you could do was stare, your mouth wide open, as you felt the dampness slowly turn into a pool of arousal.

He slowly pulled them out of his mouth and tossed them aside, his eyes fixed on your own eyes.

He hummed out a soft: “I knew you were delicious.”

You opened and closed your mouth several times, but all that came out was nothing.

He smirked again, but it wasn’t even close to mocking. It was more something like…

Satisfaction.

“Are you ready for me, princess?”

Another weak nod later, you felt him lean closer. The second his hot breath hit your core, you let out a needy, breathless whimper.

You had no idea what that felt like, but judging from the way simply his breath on you felt…

“Keep looking at me.” He whispered. “I want to see your eyes, when I taste you.”

And then you finally felt it. His mouth enveloped you in a way you had only ever seen in videos and you reaction came the same instant.

You tried to keep your eyes open, but they fell shut as if on cue.

And the moment you felt his tongue against you, you were done for.

He began to slowly move it, circle your clit and gently suck on the sensitive skin.

Any semblance of composure left your body and you moaned. And moaned. And moaned.

“Oh…Oh God.” You breathed out, instinctively tightening your hand in his hair.

He let out a soft moan when you did and the sound made you moan in response. The soft vibrations of his humming against your skin nearly made your eyes roll back. You wanted to look at him. But God, it was hard to even breathe.

You didn’t know how he did it. But he did things to you, things that made you feel a tightness in you, like it was all too much and also not even close to enough.

He kept running his tongue over your wet folds, again and again, going from gentle and slow to hard and quick. But the way he sucked on your skin was what made you tremble and ache from the inside.

You were close, you could tell. And you didn’t even need to imagine the most heinous things for it.

“Oh God, please, please, oh God, please!”

He didn’t make any attempts to tease you or stop. He grasped your thighs tightly and propped your legs over his shoulders, pulling you even closer. He hummed again and moved and moved and moved and-

“Oh God!”

You inhaled sharply, tensing up so painfully hard. And then you became still. The pleasure rolled over you in hot waves, as a warm, white light overshadowed everything else in your mind.

You never before came so hard in your entire life.

When you finally, slowly came back down from your high, you carefully lifted your head from the pillow, only to find him already staring up at you. He ever so slowly pulled his head back and looked up at you in awe.

And you stared down at him in fascination.

The devil took over your body, because you suddenly felt unable to wait any longer. You needed to feel him. You impatiently reached for him and pulled him back up, until you felt him pressed against you again.

His hardness achingly straining against his pants, pressed against your warm wetness.

“That was so…God, that was so…”

His lips curved up into a slow smile, but he seemed just as breathless.

Did he get even harder?

You let out a shuddery breath and crashed your lips against his again. He felt so warm on top of you, so safe, that you momentarily forgot that you were so scared of him at times.

You forgot that he kidnapped you and you forgot that he slowly broke your soul.

He also made you Hotteok and he made you cum, didn’t he?

Effortlessly.

You needed him. And you were going to die if you didn’t feel him soon.

“Are you still sure?” He breathed and leaned down to nip at your earlobe.

You nodded breathlessly and bit back another moan.

“I am.” You whispered softly.

And the next moment, you felt his hand slowly reach down. Heard his belt unbuckle and fall to the ground. The sound made something inside of you ache with even more impatience.

You used the small moment to look up at his face. His hair was a mess and his eyes were focused on your body, while he reached down and slowly pushed his pants down. When he felt you staring at him, he met your gaze and raised his brows.

“What?” He murmured.

You suddenly realized you had never seen him so…vulnerable before.

He was still confident, still in control. But something about the way he looked and spoke had softened to an extreme degree. It was like sex was something important to him.

Maybe he wouldn’t just fuck you once and then instantly get rid of your body.

Maybe he would actually keep you around.

And you couldn’t tell if that was good or bad.

You stared at him for a long moment, then you shook your head.

“Nothing.” You whispered. “I’m just…”

“Nervous?”

You nodded.

He hummed softly. Before you could look down to catch a glimpse of him in his bare form, he gently tipped up your chin and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

“We can still stop.”

“I don’t want to stop.” Your voice sounded more confident now. More like someone you didn’t know, but slowly grew to like.

He looked at you for a long moment, before he eventually released your chin. You slowly tilted your face down, your gaze following the sharp contour of his hard body.

He didn’t seem bothered at all by your staring. If anything, he seemed curious. Like he hadn’t been admired like that in long.

Your gaze stopped on his hardened length, thick and long enough to ravage you and throbbing. He was obviously more than eager, but he held himself back without flinching. You were almost disbelieving of such calmness.

You licked your lips as your gaze slowly glided back up to meet his eyes. The look in them hadn’t changed. Determined and ready. But still soft.

You knew at some point he would snap back into that other persona, into the cruel and scary man that he so often was.

But all you saw now was this softness.

And that was all you cared about.

It looked like he was about to ask again, to make sure again, but the look in your eyes stopped him.

You were nervous. And trembling. And even a tad bit scared.

But you were no less determined than he was.

He slowly pressed himself closer, slowly rubbing himself against you. A soft whimper came over your lips and he seemed to have to hold himself back from making any sounds.

He reached up his free hand and gently cupped your cheek. And then he slowly pressed forward.

Carefully. Gently. Inch by inch.

His eyes stayed focused on yours the entire time, checking your reaction.

The moment you felt him press against you, press inside you, you exhaled a small breath.

It was…

Painful. Mostly painful.

You bit your lip to suppress the hiss of pain which still found its way past your mouth. He hesitated to move forward, but eventually continued.

“Does it hurt a lot?” He whispered.

It was more of a pressure, feeling as tight as a coiled spring, ready to snap.

“Yes.” You whispered. “But I don’t want you to stop.”

He clenched his jaw and slowly pushed forward. It was like he was two people at once. One wanted to be careful and gentle and not hurt you, while the other one seemed all too eager to thrust forward and ravage you like a beast in heat.

But he held himself back.

You were sure it was just for tonight.

But he did it. For you.

And you needed him even more, because of that.

A sharp pain shot through your body and you released a soft sound, a mixture of a moan and a sob. But a few seconds later the pain finally dissolved. And then you felt something else.

“God, you’re so tight.”

He slowly began to move again, going slow and careful at first. You felt more and more of him, until you finally felt all of him.

Your nails dug into the skin of his back and you inhaled sharply when he thrust into you harder than before.

Something was off, you could tell. He clenched his jaw tightly and stared down at you with furrowed brows.

And suddenly it hit you.

He was holding himself back for your sake, you knew that.

But you had no idea how hard it was for him to hold himself back.

He had promised you a sweet, gentle, loving first time and that was what he wanted to give you. But what you saw behind his eyes was something akin to pain. He wanted to go harder. He was desperate to.

He was obviously desperate to do many things.

“You can go harder.” You whispered, almost reassuringly.

He shook his head.

“It’s alright.” You whispered again. “The pain passed.”

“That’s not the problem.” He whispered as he rolled his hips against you deliciously, forcing a moan over your lips.

“Then what is?” You breathed out.

“If I go harder now, then I can’t stop. I won’t.” He whispered and gently cupped your cheek in his hand again.

Almost involuntarily, you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, before you met his gaze again. Now you were filled with even more determination.

“Yes, you can.” You whispered, sounding almost firm. “Go harder. Just a little.”

He seemed unsure, but eventually he did. He moved harder against you, more urgently, but not quite rough yet. Still, his eyes fell shut and a moan fell from his lips.

A particular hard thrust as well as his reaction caused you to moan in return and close your eyes as well.

His head fell forward and he buried his face in his your neck. His harsh breaths made you shiver and sigh.

“I made a promise to you. And I’ll keep it.”

That made you gently tangle your hand in his hair again and pull back, just enough to look at him.

There was something in your eyes that made him pause.

“What?” He murmured breathlessly.

You looked up at him with wide eyes and whispered: “I want you to fuck me.”

His brows furrowed. “I am-“

“No.” You breathed out. “I want you to fuck me the way you want.”

He stared down at you for a long moment.

“But I might hurt you.”

You bit your lip and shook your head, gently cupping his face in your palms.

“I said, fuck me.”

And immediately something in his expression changed. A part of the lunatic who had murdered a man came back. It was scary, really.

But you weren’t scared.

You were fascinated.

And oh, you were aroused.

He started moving harder against you, thrusting deeper into you and then he released a low growl.

“Are you giving me orders”, he breathed, “or are you begging me?”

You gasped for air when he thrust into you even harder. The ache between your legs got worse, the need deeper. And his pace more and more punishing.

“Begging.” You gasped out. “I’m begging you.”

“Then beg me.” He hissed. As if to emphasize his point, he began to move even faster against you.

“Please.” You moaned out.

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.” You whispered breathlessly. You felt your face flush so hard, it was almost painful, but for the first time in your life you didn’t care. You said the word, because you wanted to say it. And you let him fuck you, because you damn well wanted to.

And suddenly the spell was broken.

“Fuck. Oh God. Please. Fuck me.”

The harder he moved, the more intense that feeling inside of you became.

You never came before from the feeling inside of you, only ever by stimulating your clit.

This was new, it was intense, it was insane, it was-

“Who are you?” He hissed out in a voice that was near furious.

“Your girl.” You gasped out without hesitation. “I’m your girl.”

“Good girl.” He leaned his head down and gave you a long kiss, his tongue pressing into your mouth aggressively while he began to pound even harder into you.

Before you could protest (as if you would have) he pinned your wrists down against the mattress. You were completely at his mercy, you belonged to him and you were in love with him.

You were fucked.

“Who are you?” He bit down on your lip hard enough to draw blood.

You let out a pained moan and pressed your hips up against his.

He moaned into your mouth. “Good girl.”

Then he grabbed your thigh and yanked your leg over his waist, pressing himself even deeper into you. His movements were bordering on aggressive and your moans became louder and more and more breathless. Just like his own.

That was what had been missing back when he pressed into you so gently and carefully.

And you realized you never wanted to miss it again.

“Who are you?” He breathed out again.

“Your girl.” You gasped out.

He hummed and leaned down to bite down on your neck, only to soothe the bite with his tongue a moment later. “That’s right. My cumslut. My good girl. My whore. My princess.”

Each and every word that left his lips made you feel more and more wicked, more desperate to feel him deeper and harder, which you did.

He moved against you with a fervor that bordered on painful and you loved every second of it.

It was painful. But you suddenly realized what you never knew before.

There was a good kind of pain. It existed.

“Are you close, princess?” He breathed before he bit down on your earlobe, causing you to release a soft whine.

You tried to speak, but all that came out was moan, after moan, after moan. So you simply nodded.

He growled in response and pressed your wrists down even harder.

“I’m going to make a mess of you, princess.” He hissed. With a few quick, rough thrusts more, you felt your eyes roll back and your back arch off of the bed and against him.

If what you felt earlier had been an orgasm, you needed a new word for this.

The feeling was so hard and intense, it was almost unpleasant by how fucking good it was.

You wanted to cry and scream out his name, but all you could do instead was dig your nails into his skin, hard enough to scratch down to his blood.

He growled again and started moving so furiously that you felt like you were being torn apart, until you finally felt him twitch and throb inside you. The sounds he made were good enough to almost make you cum again and you watched with half-lidded eyes as he rode out his release, giving a few deep thrusts into you and releasing deep inside you.

Your body was still twitching and writhing underneath him. He kept his eyes closed and rested his forehead against yours. When he tried to pull back, you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“Wait.” You whispered breathlessly. “Not yet. Just…Can we just stay like that? Just for a moment?”

He slowly opened his eyes and met your gaze and to your great surprise…They were still soft. Even more so than before.

“Of course.” He whispered and buried his face in your neck. He slowly lowered himself back down on you, just enough so he wouldn’t crush you.

You were both breathing heavily and your hands were warm and damp with sweat.

“Was that alright for a first time?” He suddenly whispered.

And you did something that you hadn’t done in a while and you had been sure you wouldn’t ever again.

You smiled.

“Yes.” You whispered. “It was perfect.”

He pulled his head back and raised a brow. “Not too rough?”

You shook your head.

He hummed as he observed your smile for a moment.

“I held myself back.” He murmured. “I can’t be gentle next time.”

You looked at him with a soft expression and nodded.

“I know. I remember your words.”

He reached out a hand and gently touched your cheek.

“You should know one thing, darling.” He suddenly whispered.

Your eyes widened and you listened intently. Still, a part of you expected a low, painful blow.

But you couldn’t tell if it ever came.

His words left you torn.

“I’ll never let you go."

___________________________________________

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If I forgot anyone, please let me know and I'll fix it!

[shybluebirdninja]

Bite-Sized Betrayal

Summary: When Logan realizes your blowjob is too good to be a “first-timer” move, he launches a full-blown “detective mission,” trying to uncover the truth of your “so-called innocence.”

Pairing            : Logan Howlett x Gf!Human-reader

Note                : Fluff, suggestive themes

Logan’s jealousy is always kinda… cute. For a guy who’s survived literal wars, he’s got no clue how to handle feelings that aren’t anger or fighting. And now? Oh, you had him in a real mood.

It all started when you decided to surprise him with a little something extra. Y’know, testing out that thing you read about online. A blowjob. Logan being your first—and let’s be real, only—boyfriend, you thought you were doing okay. More than okay, apparently, because halfway through, he completely froze.

“Whoa, whoa, babe,” Logan said, pulling back with a hand on your shoulder, eyes narrowed. “That was a little too good.”

You sat there, blinking up at him, wondering what the hell he was talking about. “Uh… thanks?”

But he wasn’t letting it go. The Wolverine squinted at you like he was analyzing every moment of your past life. “No way you’re that good at this without practice.”

Now, let’s be real here—you know Logan. He’s got this whole rough-and-tough exterior, but the second something doesn’t fit into his perfectly controlled world, he turns into a paranoid mess. And today? That paranoia was locked and loaded.

“Logan…” You started to say, but the man was already up, pacing like he was solving some kinda murder mystery. He ran his hands through his wild hair, muttering something under his breath.

“Who was it?” he suddenly growled, turning to face you like you had just admitted to world domination.

“Who was what?” You blinked, trying so hard not to laugh.

“The guy,” he said, jabbing a finger in your direction. “Who taught ya? Some douchebag in college? Or maybe that asshole at the bar last month—you did talk to him for a bit.”

Now, it’s one thing to have your tough boyfriend jealous, but this? This was next-level ridiculous. You sat back, biting your lip to stop yourself from bursting into laughter. “Logan, babe, what are you talking about? You’re literally my first.”

He narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it. “Don’t gimme that, darlin’. No one’s that good the first time.” He crossed his arms like he was about to grill you with hard evidence. “I’ve been around the block, ya know.”

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. The laughter came out before you could stop it, making Logan scowl even harder.

“This isn’t funny,” he snapped, pacing again. “I’m serious. I’m startin’ to think you’re hidin’ somethin’.”

“Logan, for the love of—” You wiped away the tears of laughter, finally getting up to stand in front of him. “I’m not hiding anything! You’re my first boyfriend. You know that.”

“Yeah, but that move—” He pointed vaguely toward the couch, still frowning. “That was some professional-level shit.”

You couldn’t stop giggling, and it only made him more irritated. He ran his hand down his face and groaned. “Alright, tell me the truth. You’ve been Googlin’ this stuff, haven’t ya?”

You almost doubled over. “You think I Googled how to give you a blowjob?!”

“Well, I don’t know!” Logan growled, frustration dripping from his voice. “Maybe you did. I’m just sayin’… that was too good to be natural.”

“Logan,” you said through fits of giggles, “I’m not some secret blowjob expert, okay? Maybe I’m just, I don’t know, naturally talented?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly still unconvinced. “Nah. Somethin’ doesn’t add up here.”

You threw your hands up, finally losing your patience. “Okay, so what are you gonna do, Sherlock? You gonna interrogate every guy I’ve ever spoken to? ‘Hey, did she happen to give you a blowjob once upon a time?’”

Logan actually looked like he was considering it for a second, and you lost it all over again. This man, this absolute idiot, was serious.

He huffed, crossing his arms again like he’d already decided on his next move. “Look, babe, I just don’t like not knowin’ things, alright?”

“Oh my God, you’re jealous because I’m good at blowjobs. That’s what this is about.”

Logan’s cheeks actually flushed. He muttered something about it “not being like that,” but you knew better. This was the same guy who once picked a fight with someone for glancing at you in a diner. Of course, he was jealous.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Logan sighed. “Alright, fine. Maybe I’m a little jealous. I just… don’t want anyone else takin’ credit for somethin’ we’re supposed to figure out together.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “You mean you don’t want anyone else getting the benefits of my natural talent?”

Logan shot you a look but didn’t say anything, clearly trying to figure out how to navigate this weird conversation. Finally, he huffed again. “Alright, fine. But for the record… there’s a right way to do it, and I could show ya.”

You raised an eyebrow, biting back more laughter. “Oh, you’re gonna give me a lesson now?”

He nodded, dead serious. “Damn straight. Been around long enough to know what works and what don’t. Consider it… proper education.”

[batfsm]

I wrote a fanfic for this but I now need a title…and a summary.

Warnings: I don’t say outright in the story, in my opinion, but i imply a lot of child abuse and sexual assault to children. So be careful please.

I do speak of death and drugs but only in passing.

The story is under the cut. It got away from me. I just wanted to write about Jason and Tim running from Bruce and next thing I know Dick and Alfred are in it, Leslie is mentioned as is Jim, Roy, Lian, Oliver, Damian, and Talia. (Cass and Duke are implied.)

I hope you enjoy @ky-landfill. I’m putting it up tomorrow on my AO3 so I’ll edit in the link then. (Hopefully a name and summary also. Especially a title.)

Edit: Figured both out.

Meetings

Summary: A sound had Jason dropping the tire.

A sound had Jason dropping the tire he just took off and reaching for Tim who came willingly.

Tim climbed onto Jason’s back as the older boy started to run, a move they had practiced for hours until they got it smoothly, and Jason gripped his tire iron harder as he moved faster.

A body suddenly dropping in front of him had Jason sliding to a stop and crunching a bit.

Tim peeked over Jason’s shoulder and felt his eyes widen. Other than that the only other reaction was his tightening grip on his elder brother’s shoulders.

Jason glared as he shifted a bit more to hide Tim and lifted his tire iron. “Leave us alone!”

Batman glared. “Why did you take my tires?”

“None of ya business. We aren’t anymore, so let us go.”

“You’re coming with me.” Batman I growled.

“Fuck off, you big boob!” Jason shouted before rushing Batman.

The man was so surprised that he couldn’t stop the hit to his abdomen. As Batman doubled over, Jason ran past as fast as he could.

[They wouldn’t be found for a week and it wasn’t by Batman. Robin, who came back to visit Agent A and was reluctantly patrolling with Batman, though he was internally glad to be home, ran into Tim by accident.

Tim, when faced with one of his heroes, just stared as he had at Batman before grinning and asking Robin if he wanted to come meet his big brother.

Robin, who was told about the story by a mulish Batman, grinned brightly and agreed.

The young boy led the way to their hideout only to find Jason struggling against a man. Robin didn’t even blink as he took the man down and then fussed over the two boys.

Tim clung to Jason who clung back as Robin looked around and then called Agent A who came to pick the boys up and take them to dinner and then Doctor Thompson’s clinic to be looked over.

As Leslie looked the two civilians over, Agent A snuck out and back to the hideout where the downed man was just coming around.

(Commissioner Gordon ended up with a man beaten up and files full of evidence against the man and others hurting children. Jim Gordon took pleasure in slapping charge after charge on the man and the others, including more police officers who he had thought were not corrupt.)

When Agent A joined the trio, Batman was with him. (Bruce had gotten his own hits in when he saw files on Dick and Roy. Oliver had been alerted and was hunting down the men and women in Star City that were a bit to interested in children, especially his son.) Batman, who had found the files and most of the evidence, dropped to his knees and hugged the three boys. He silently vowed to do better in his relationship with Dick and to keep a close eye on the two younger boys and where they would be placed.

Batman redid the vow months later to include all his children when he finally admitted to Alfred and himself that Jason and Tim were best left with the family.

Jason and Tim, like Dick, was the best thing that happened to him.

All his children, present and future were.]

[Roy and Oliver’s arguments in the future would never get as bad as they should have been because Oliver followed Bruce’s example opened up to his son. Roy would be able to fall back on his dad when he started to get addicted and would have the support he desperately needed from the start. Lian would grow and never die since she was with her dad and grandpa all the time and not just Roy.

The whole family would be happier.]

[Jason, by way, never became estranged from the family. He does die but Talia puts him straight into the Pit and then takes him home with Damian.]

Fuck off, you big boob!

[persicipen]

𑑛 “ARMOUR-CLAD HEART” ﾉ MYDEI. HONKAI STAR RAIL

gn reader ﾉ words 0.9k ᯽ mydei teaches you some self-defence. reader is not made for fighting and rather weak. an awkward display of affection from mydei’s side lol ﾉ no proofreading, we die like kremnoans ᯽ FLUFF ﾉ GENERAL CONTENT ᯽

You hear a displeased click of his tongue — nothing surprising given your stance and previous pathetic tries at blocking his fist — and take a step back with your face embarrassingly hot. His fake hit was nowhere near fast nor strong, just a mere presentation of where such an attack would come from and land at the end.

“You’d be dead within a second on the Strife’s battlefield. Or perhaps should I even say that a mere thug would get through your defence with little to no preparation?” Mydei’s gaze moves all over you in a judging way, and it takes your every strength not to look away.

“I’m not made for battle! You wouldn’t see me anywhere near it. It’s just way too hot today to focus.”

Another loud “tch” escapes his lips, now much more annoyed and agitated than before, as if he has already completely given up on any hope for you. A blazing sun over the terrace is no excuse to stop the lesson, or perhaps it’s precisely because of its presence.

“Surely someone with an ill intent would wait for you to be comfortable and well prepared for their arrival, am I correct?” He snickers in a sarcastic tone, leaving a short pause to give you another opportunity to oppose him.

But again, this time not only is his attitude towards you harsh and insulting, but his words make complete sense, and they burn with embarrassment even more than the scorching heat that surrounds both of you.

Maybe you’re simply spineless and will forever be even under his tutoring. You bite your lip, trying not to appear weaker than you already are, knowing very well that there will be absolutely no use in defending yourself anymore. But it doesn’t matter now. What does he plan to do next?

Your body tenses up out of reflex only seconds before his warm palm wraps around your arm, turning you around effortlessly while pressing your back against his own chest. An uncontrolled gasp leaves your mouth as you are left immobilised in an instant and the forced proximity feels even hotter than midday, yet the one behind you pays no mind to it, completely focused on keeping you in place.

“Most people would assume you cannot get out of this hold unless you’re physically stronger than the aggressor.”

You feel every slight breath he makes pressing harder on you. Not to mention how his voice sends pleasant shivers down your spine by being so close to your ear. All the discomfort disappears the second a faint memory reappears in the most unexpected of places. The way he holds you reminds you of something entirely different from sparring.

Curse your mind, it doesn’t help to focus at all and it’s especially shameful when Mydei’s not affected; calm and composed, with a fiery spark running along the red marks on his body.

“You’ll most likely always have a free hand or two. Instead of wriggling them mindlessly, use one to press on the bottom of your opponent’s nose or even punch them. The nose is always sensitive, even under the slightest pressure.” He eases the grip around your body and demonstrates what he just said and although he doesn’t apply force at all when bringing his knuckle above your cupid’s bow, you squirm involuntarily in an attempt to escape.

But since he never lets go of your other arm, there’s nowhere to run.

“Now, try it yourself.” Yet instead of waiting for your move, his hand — armoured in golden claws, a trap for your smaller palm — grabs yours and brings it behind towards his face. You peek over your shoulder, a little afraid.

To add on top of everything, he is as serious about this sparring lesson as ever, not paying attention to the closeness between your bodies. The red lines decorating his chest seem brighter than usual, with sweat glistening along his collarbones and hair dishevelled by the breeze.

Your heart skips a beat in anticipation when you are almost certain he’s about to kiss your fingers instead, but in the last second, he inches away and brushes them against the underside of his nose. “Here. Remember this.”

“I’m sure that my enemy won’t navigate my hand towards their weak spot.” A shaky sigh of disappointment escapes your lips.

He chuckles lowly at your comment, raising the corner of his mouth in a sardonic smile.

“You’d rather aim blindly than focus on where and what to attack? You’ve just earned the disapproval of the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos.” He moves in front of you, abruptly pausing all physical contact. “Be thankful that I’m not only willing to teach you how to defend yourself but also for that I will protect you with my own strength as long as you’re near.”

He pushes a damp strand of hair out of your face, the lightest touch of his bare finger causing more tingles to travel down your spine. At the same time, he flinches when realising what he has done and lets his hand drop to his side; the victorious glint in his golden eyes changes to bewilderment. His armour rattles at the subtle gesture of humanity and betrayal of his emotionless posture.

“We’ll practice again until you gain the approval from me. Do not expect me to be lenient.” The heat spreading on your cheeks becomes a problem only after Mydei finishes the sentence and moves away with haste, surely caused by his discomfort.

A gentle breeze runs through the illuminated terrace and cools your skin. You watch him walk away without turning around (you wish he would). This feeling of shame mixes with admiration and unadulterated curiosity to stir up something completely bizarre in your heart.

A pomegranate-sweet infatuation with the prince.

[kdollikesthighs]

One way ticket: part 1

Itzy Yeji x m reader This is the first part of a mini-series I'm trying out to get me back into writing by myself. This part is all fluff, no smut here yet. Later parts will have smut, so stick around for that? Word count: 2,344

The faint mumblings of the station’s announcement system were humming in the background. The air was cool and carried the metallic tang of distant rain. The kind of atmosphere that makes you think about the bittersweet moments in life. You tightened your grip on the handle of your suitcase, plastic handle digging into your palm as you checked the train schedule for the third time that evening. Despite what your anxiety was telling you, you weren't running late. In fact, you had arrived an hour earlier than you needed to—anxious, restless, and uncertain about the journey ahead. The train would be here any minute now.

The one-way ticket in your pocket felt heavier than its weight in paper should have allowed. The destination printed on it was one you had hoped never to return to: the town where everything had started—and where you had left everything behind. But here you were, standing on this station platform, waiting for the train that would take you back.

The overhead speakers crackled to life, announcing the imminent arrival of your train.You adjusted the strap of your backpack, your heart beating faster with every passing second. The platform wasn’t crowded, but there were enough people milling about to make you feel uneasy. Couples whispered to each other, families struggled with their luggage, and a few solo travelers stared blankly at their phones.

That’s when you saw her.

At first, it was just a fleeting sense of familiarity, a trick of the mind in a sea of strangers. This wasn’t your hometown, she wouldn’t be here. But then she turned her head, and your chest tightened as recognition hit you like a freight train. Yeji.

She was leaning against one of the station’s old iron pillars. Her hair was loose, flowing down her shoulders in soft waves, and she wore a grey sweater over a simple white shirt and black jeans. She looked… as pretty as when you left. Like a memory brought to life, sharper and more vivid than you could ever remember.

For a moment, you thought about turning away, pretending this couldn’t be real. But then her eyes met yours, and there was no escaping it anymore. Her expression froze, her lips parting slightly as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. You felt the same.

She recovered faster than you did, her posture straightening as she began walking toward you. Your feet, however, seemed rooted to the spot.

She only voices a single word, but it's the way she says your name that cuts through any illusions you had of avoiding your past. It was a sound you hadn’t heard in years, yet it struck a chord deep within you.

You cleared your throat, trying to mask the chaos inside. "Yeji. Hi."

Her pace slowed as she came to a stop a few feet away. Up close, you could see the subtle changes time had made to her face. She looked… more mature, more assured. The playful energy she used to radiate was still hiding in there, but it was controlled now, grounded in a way that made her seem even more beautiful.

"I can’t believe it’s you," she said, her tone equal parts surprise and apprehension.

You managed a forced smile. "Yeah. Me neither."

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken words and memories that neither of you seemed ready to confront. Yeji was the first to break the tension.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her head tilting slightly as she studied you. Her voice was softer now, almost hesitant.

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. How much you had the right to reveal. "I… I’m heading back to town. For a while."

Her brows knitted together in a faint frown, shock ever present on her face. as if those were the last words she expected you to say. "Back to town? Why?"

"My aunt," you said, the words feeling heavy in your mouth. "She passed away. I’m handling the arrangements and everything."

Her expression softened, and she looked down briefly before meeting your gaze again. "I’m sorry. She was always so kind to me."

"Yeah," you said, your throat tightening. "She was."

Another silence stretched between you, and you couldn’t tell if it was more awkward or painful. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, glancing toward the train that had come to a stop behind you.

"Are you taking this one?" she asked, nodding toward the train.

"Yeah," you replied, confirming your destination. "Last one heading that way tonight."

"Same.”

You weren’t supposed to be surprised at this. For all you knew, she still lived where you left her. You couldn’t help but be shocked nonetheless. You were about to spend the next several hours on the same train. Together. Your stomach churned at the thought. This wasn’t how you’d imagined seeing her again, if you ever saw her again at all.

She glanced down at her ticket, then back at you. "Well… I guess we’d better get on."

You nodded, though your feet felt like they were moving on autopilot as you followed her toward the train. 

The compartment you entered was relatively empty, its rows of seats illuminated by the harsh overhead lights. Yeji walked down the aisle and chose a seat by the window, setting her bag on the floor beside her. You hesitated, not sure if it was alright, before sitting down in the seat across from hers. It felt like the most natural thing to do, and yet, your heart was pounding as if you’d just committed a crime.

The train gave a low groan as it began to pull out of the station, the rhythm of the wheels on the tracks quickly settling into a steady cadence. It was the one thing keeping you calm. You stared out the window, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts you couldn’t untangle.

Yeji broke the silence again. "So… how have you been?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Uh… I’ve been okay. Busy, I guess. Work, life. You know how it is."

She raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"

Ouch. She had all the right to call you out. You winced at her response. "Right. Sorry. That was…"

"Generic?" she interrupted, her lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. It was performative. She wasn’t going to take any of your standoffish bullshit.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair halfheartedly. "Yeah. Generic."

She nodded, her gaze drifting toward the window, clearly disappointed. For a while, we sat in silence, the sound of the train’s wheels filling the void again. You couldn’t help but glance at her, noticing the way her fingers tapped lightly against her knee, a habit you remembered all too well. She was nervous, too. Uneasy, even.

"I… I didn’t expect to see you," you admitted, taking your responsibility to break the silence this time.

She turned back to you, her expression distant. Her guard was up. "Neither did I."

The weight of her gaze made it hard to breathe, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but think about all the things you wanted to say. But the words wouldn’t come. You wouldn’t allow them to come. You had no right. Instead, you looked away, focusing on the blur of the dark countryside outside the window.

She sat across from you, leaning slightly against the window, her chin resting on her hand as her gaze followed the passing darkness outside. The faint glow from the overhead light illuminated her features—the soft curve of her cheek, the sharp line of her jaw. She was both familiar and unfamiliar, a memory brought vividly back to life.

“So,” she continued, not letting another silence fill the void between you. “How long are you staying?”

You hesitated. You didn’t have the answer to that question. “I’m not sure. However long it takes to handle everything with my aunt’s estate.”

She nodded but didn’t look at you. Her fingers played idly with the strap of her bag, another one of her habits you remembered all too well. It struck you how surreal this was—sharing a train compartment with her after all these years. You were two people carrying the weight of a shared past, both of you struggling with how to unpack it.

“And after that?” she asked. “Are you planning to stay?”

You shook your head with uncertainty. “No. I… I don’t think so.”

Her eyes drifted downwards slowly as her tensed shoulders slumped ever so slightly. She turned to face you, her brows furrowing slightly. “So it’s temporary.”

“Yeah.”

Yeji studied you for a moment, her dark cat-like eyes sharp and assessing. It was unnerving how easily she could see through you, even now. She didn’t say anything, just nodded and went back to looking out the window. You could feel the distance between you two grow, as real and unyielding as the space separating your seats.

After a while she spoke up again. Her tone was casual, almost offhanded. “You’ve changed.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Have I?”

“Yeah. You’re quieter.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Maybe I’ve just run out of things to say.”

She gave you a look—half amused, half skeptical. “That’s hard to imagine. You used to talk my ear off.”

“Things are different now,” you said, shame undermining your volume.

Her expression shifted, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something. But she stayed silent, staring out the window again. The train slowed down as we approached a station, and the sound of the brakes screeching filled the air.

You wanted to ask her about her life, about what she’d been doing all this time, but the questions felt intrusive, like prying open a door to a room you no longer had the right to enter. Still, the curiosity gnawed at you. She was here, sitting across from you, and you couldn’t ignore the pull she had on you.

“What about you?” You asked finally. “How have you been?”

She shrugged at your question, her fingers still toying with the strap of her bag. “I’ve been fine. Busy. Work keeps me on my toes.”

You nodded, unsure how to respond. The conversation felt stilted, like you were two strangers making polite small talk. But you weren’t strangers—never were. There was too much history between you.

“And what about…” you hesitated, unsure if you should even go there. “What about everything else? Family, friends?”

Yeji glanced at you, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Like a sense of reassurance that you still remembered everyone you left. “Everyone’s good. Life goes on, you know?”

“Yeah, it does,” you said, though the words felt hollow. Life did go on, but it had a way of leaving certain things behind—people, memories, opportunities.

The train picked up speed again, the lights outside streaking into a blur. The silence between you stretched out, not quite comfortable but not unbearable either anymore. You could feel her presence like a magnet, drawing you in despite the invisible wall she’d built around herself. You wanted to break through it, to reach her, but you didn’t know how.

“So, you’re back for your aunt,” she said, her voice cutting through your thoughts. “That must be hard.”

“It is,” you admitted. “She was… she was always there for me. One of the few people I could count on.”

Yeji’s expression softened, and she nodded. “She was a good woman. She always made me feel welcome, even when…” She trailed off, her gaze dropping to her hands. “Even when things weren’t so great between us.”

You swallowed hard, the guilt washing over you. Your aunt had adored Yeji, treated her like family. She was devastated when you left, upset you’d leave this life behind for stupid reasons, but she never stopped sending letters for birthdays. Trying to maintain contact.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice crumbling. “She had a way of making people feel that way. She cared, you know? A lot."

Yeji didn’t respond, but you could see the emotions playing across her face—nostalgia, sadness, maybe even a hint of anger. You wanted to say something to make it better, to bridge the gap between the two of you, but you didn’t know where to start.

The train entered another tunnel, and the lights in the compartment flickered slightly. In the brief darkness, you could feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. You wanted to reach out, but you held back. You didn’t think you had the right—not after everything you’d done.

When the lights stabilized again, Yeji was looking at you, her expression wavering. Her voice grew quiet, almost pleading. “Do you ever think about it?”

“About what?”

“About what could have been. If things had gone differently. If you hadn’t left.”

The elephant in the room. You never gave her any explanation before, and you struggled to find the right response now. Did you think about it? Every damn day. But saying that out loud felt too raw, too vulnerable. 

“Yeah,” you said finally. Maybe it was time to be vulnerable. After removing yourself from her life without being able to forget her, that was the least you owed her. “I think about it.”

She nodded , her gaze dropping to her lap in understanding. “Me too.”

The confession hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. For a moment, it felt like the years of distance and silence had melted away, leaving only the two of you and the fragile connection you’d once shared. But the moment passed, and the wall between you was back. There was nothing you could say.

The train rumbled on, carrying you closer to a destination you weren't sure you were ready to face. But for the first time in years, you felt a flicker of hope—fragile and tentative, but real. And you knew that no matter what happened, you couldn’t let this chance slip away. Not again.

[milla-frenchy]

Close-up

8k7 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist Summary: Joel receives a script that takes him back to the memories of your love story. He realizes that out of protective instinct after the break up, he has not been honest neither with his own feelings nor with you Warnings: 18+ mdni. ex lovers reunited, angst, mostly Joel pov, Joel can act cold out of defence mechanism, he has trouble accepting his own feelings, pining, slow burn, pet names (sweetheart, baby), semi public sex, just the tip, soft!joel, oral (f), piv, creampie. Pic for mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions. 

a/n:  this is written for @jolapeno 's dear-uary challenge (prompt here) thank you for this challenge Jo, and it was such a cool prompt 😍😍😍 Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing and for reading this one soooo many times 🥹😘💕 @/saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

I sent you a script, tell me what you think tell me more just read it, trust me

The informal messages between Joel and his agent, Will, were usual. They had known each other for a long time, they were friends, and Will had always found him perfect roles. 

So as always, Joel trusted him- even though the first page of the script, delivered to him by a courier, was not completely filled, making him wonder why. 

In the evening he put his cup on the coffee table, and lay down on the sofa, a soft light lamp behind his head. With his back leaning against the cushions, shirt, jeans, bare feet. Always the same ritual, always the same setup, when he was about to read a new script.

He started reading it, taking a sip of coffee from time to time, until his heart leapt in his chest as he got to a particular scene. 

He closed it and took a moment before rereading the first page, with the name left blank. 

It could only be you. 

That was the only explanation for getting a script without the name of the author on it. And there was no way the scene he had just read, so familiar, so intimate, could be coincidental. Or could be written by anyone else. He grabbed his phone and sent a message to his agent, unable to contain his annoyance.

that’s fucked up, Will

*Will calling*

“Yeah,” he grumbled as he picked up, without even trying to hide his feelings, then he got up to pace the room.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking, Joel. But she’s a great writer and actress, you know it. We’ve been looking for a good drama movie for a long time. This one’s perfect.”

“It’s… damn, Will, it’s our story, ok? Or a part of it, I don't know. Anyway I can’t play this. Can’t play me.”

“Joel, listen to me and think about it. No one would know. And it can be therapeutic.”

“Thera… jesus, you gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Joel sighed as he hung up and threw his phone on the couch. 

Why the fuck would Will do something so stupid and inconsiderate, giving him a script from you? 

At the beginning of his career, his agent sent him one project for a movie in which you were expected to play too. Joel confessed that you two had been together, and added “you don’t bring her up. Ever,” to end the conversation. So Will never did. 

Until today.

He sat back down on the sofa, resting his forehead on his fist, resisting the urge to throw the cup of coffee across the room. He was surprised by his own reaction, his nervousness. His anger. Barely able to control his emotions, he felt so weak, like his heart was about to tear in two again, swallowing him whole. He was affected, years later, as if it happened yesterday.

So, sure, a long time ago he asked Will not to talk about you anymore. But they might have been  friends, his agent might have known about you, but he didn’t know the details. Didn’t know how profoundly the break up had hurt Joel, how much you had gotten under his skin, back then.

And in Will's defense, it wasn't like you never saw each other again, at parties or ceremonies, under Will’s gaze who thought that it wasn't that bad, after all. It was years after your separation, now having the job that both of you dreamed about, talked about, sweaty young adults in a messy bed where he had just made you come.

Will wasn't aware that it was actually that bad. 

Because he didn’t know the way Joel looked at you, when you were together. He didn't know how sweet and caring Joel was with you. He didn’t know how much he loved wrapping his arms around you, and having you curl up against him. 

He didn’t know how Joel used to hold you firmly against the mattress, hands on your hips, lapping at your cunt to make you come again. Because he always wanted more, always wanted to give you more.

He didn’t know that pushing his cock in you was the sweetest, most intense sensation he’d ever felt. Even now, years later, he never felt something like that again.

Will didn't know any of that, had no idea how intense it had been. Because the only thing Joel told him was “you don’t bring her up. Ever.”

The first time you saw each other again, was in a place full of actors, agents, writers and directors.

You couldn't believe he was here, a few steps away from you. Of course, you knew you'd cross paths one day, but suddenly he was closer to you than he had been in years and you felt your heart racing. He was even more handsome than he was back then, if it was even possible. You knew what he looked like, you watched all his movies. In need of his voice, his smile, his gestures, his laugh. In need of him. 

But seeing him for real- not through a screen but in the same room, not some character but Joel, the man you loved more than anyone else, the man you would still call “the love of your life” in your thoughts -, was breathtaking, almost surreal. 

So you approached him, without overthinking it, but as soon as he saw you he gave you a subtle but firm shake of his head. The message was crystal clear - he didn’t want to talk to you, didn’t even want you around. 

It stopped your hesitant steps in their tracks, and the shy smile you had the courage to build instantly disappeared, and your gaze fell to the floor. Trying to control your breathing, to fight back the tears you felt welling up. 

If you had looked up right away, you would have seen guilt sweep through his eyes. But when you finally raised your head, seconds later, he was on the other side of the room. The only thing you could see was his back, which he undoubtedly presented to you deliberately, as if his glare hadn’t been enough to make a point.

All evening, you struggled to keep conversations going, to concentrate, to think of anything other than his dark stare, furrowed brows, and the way he shook his head at you without any hesitation. For years, you had been wondering what he had thought of you, after those years. You just got the most brutal answer to that question. 

The second time, a journalist had done some research and discovered that you attended the same university, graduated the same year. He took the opportunity to bring the subject as Joel was walking by. He probably hadn't seen you amongst all those people, because you were sure he would have gone the other way, otherwise. You didn’t have much choice than to kiss, feigning a friendly closeness that had never existed between you. You had been lovers, then strangers. No in-between. 

His scent, so familiar, invaded your nostrils. He always wore the same perfume, the one you had given him for a birthday. It surprised you but you didn't have much time to think about it, as he ended the hug quickly.

Joel's eyes were shifty when you looked at him, a fake smile plastered on his lips. Which could probably seem real for people who didn't know him, but not for you. Not even years later. You answered the journalist's questions as best as you could, until Joel leaned towards to give you a hug that was as neutral as his eyes on you, cutting off the questions. Then he walked away, leaving you facing the journalist who was delighted with the exclusive material and oblivious to the unspoken scene that had happened in front of him.

Joel thought back to those two evenings, after he’d hung up on Will and before he’d put the script away in a drawer. He needed to regain control of his emotions, and to do that he couldn't continue reading your words, at least for now.

He went to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee, and despite him trying, his mind wandered to lazy mornings where he would get up to make two coffees and then come back to the bedroom. He’d put them on the nightstand, before cuddling up to your warm body under the sheets, hearing you moan gently. Sometimes you would fall asleep in one of his shirts, and he loved smelling his scent on you, as if you were marked by him, somehow. It always made him feral, possessive. He didn’t know he had that side in him, until you.

You'd always grab his hand to kiss the tip of his fingers, before sliding them along your folds, feeling his cock harden against your ass and your pussy starting to drool. He would make you come with his digits, his lips against your ear, caged in his arms, then he'd slide his cock between your thighs and your soaked folds, just in time for your last spasms to squeeze his tip. Sometimes he would keep fucking you like that, lying behind you, and sometimes he would roll you on your back, taking his place between your thighs. Until he’d come, grunting, growling, his hair disheveled, and you often fall back asleep, his cock softening inside you, the cups of coffee cold on the nightstand.

He shook his head to think about something else and to resist the urge to take the script out of the drawer. Instead, he took a sleeping pill and went to bed.

The next morning he woke up groggy. He put on a t-shirt and sweatpants, poured himself a cup of coffee, and put aside his good resolutions. He didn’t need the script to think about you, anyway. Time never healed his wounds, he never forgot you or the pain he had felt when you’d left. His thoughts were always hurtful, possessive and raw.

Even years after the break up he couldn’t help but think about you when his wrist fucked his shaft. Even sometimes when he was in a relationship. He hated himself for that but couldn’t help it. He missed your cunt, your hands, everything. But he couldn’t accept the idea that he was simply missing you. 

He always thought that your bodies were made for each other, and you always breathed the same words. He knew you meant it, his cock buried in you, his eyes fixed on yours rolling to the back of your head and his ears filled with your moans, barely able to tell his name.  

Until it was over. 

He knew it could happen, you always told him that you'd have to leave for California one day in hope to live your dream, that you couldn’t do it in Texas. But he brushed it off, not wanting to believe it, not wanting to think about it. He hid it in a corner of his mind, until he had no other choice but to face reality. Until it hit him. That day, he realized that he wouldn’t get to wrap his arms around you for the rest of his life.

He lay down on the couch and started to read. And the more he read the script, the more he realized that you wrote only the moments that had really happened. 

The story, background, was slightly different, probably so that no one could ever make a connection to the two of you. But the moments were real, and it made him dizzy.

You wrote that dance in your small apartment, first for the both of you, that you rented after graduation. You worked as a waitress and Joel was a barista, and you two went to as many castings in Austin as you could, dreaming every day about being actors.

That night you put on some music and danced. He kissed your hand and looked at you. He felt warm. He loved you so much that his heart was aching. He made you spin and you laughed, and it was like a spring breeze in the apartment, filling his lungs with fresh air. When you stopped twirling you brushed his hair and then kissed him. 

The writing was pure and vivid and as he was reading your point of view he felt like his ribcage was suddenly too small to contain his heartbeats.

Over the next two days, he took the script out of the drawer regularly. Slowly touching the paper that already bore the marks of repeated handling, him  lying on his couch, taking his time before opening it. 

He read it all, and the sweetness, the sensitivity with which you described your moments moved him profoundly. The person he had loved, cherished, cradled in his arms, wrote that. 

All the intimacy, the love and care you both felt for each other were there. For several years he made everything to forget the good moments, to focus only on the ending to feed his bitterness, but the fact was that there had been so many beautiful moments. And he could read them, feel them again. Couldn’t deny them anymore.

Your words were so familiar, so true to your love story, that his anger slowly gave some place to something else: nostalgia. Finally allowing himself to miss you and what you two had. He was still wondering why you had written the script and sent it to him, but now he was ready to learn the answer. And he wanted to look you in the eye when he’d ask you this question. But he wasn't sure how he’d behave, when you met. Didn't know if bitterness or nostalgia would fill his heart.

So after two days of silence, Joel picked up his phone and sent Will a message.

Ok, set up a meeting

Because of your busy schedules you could meet only in two weeks. The delay was driving him crazy. 

He made a copy of the script, his copy, which he filled with annotations, dates. Underlining moments or words erased from his mind, out of grief, anger or self-protection.

He got hard several times, while reading some scenes. And sometimes anger would come back to creep into his thoughts, whispering to him that you never should have sent it to him, when your separation had been so painful for him. 

And Will was not the only one Joel said “you don’t…. ever.”

To you, it’d been “If you leave… you don't call me. Ever.”

That morning, as he got used to doing several times a day, he grabbed his copy of the script. He had handled it so much that the sheets were already damaged, some pages peppered with annotations. 

As he was reading, he remembered how you had loved to run your fingers over his jeans when you were watching a movie on your little couch. Playing with him, your hand going higher and higher, just to hear his breathing slow down, just to hear him murmur a needy and low “sweetheart, what are you doing?”, making you smile widely. Knowing that he would manhandle you two seconds later to be under him, pulling your panties to the side and pushing his thick length into you. He remembered the feeling of your breasts against his chest, how you whimpered in his neck while he was fucking you hard and deep. 

He was nervous the morning of the meeting. He took a shower, hoping to get rid of the fatigue and headache from the lack of sleep the night before. He put on a shirt and jeans and grabbed his car keys, put on some music when he started to drive, trying to change his mind, but it didn’t work, he was still anxious. He parked near the building. Once inside he found the meeting room and knocked on the door. He heard you say “come in” and took a deep breath before twisting the handle.

You were alone, sitting in a chair, and he quickly pushed aside the thought of how pretty you were. Joel immediately noticed your hands, pressed together nervously, before you stood up to greet him. He stopped when you walked towards him and your smile faded like that time.

“Wait,” he said, his hand raised in front of him, as he was trying to control his emotions. “I just… Why did you send it to me?” he added without any preamble, his tone harsher than he intended. 

“Oh… ok. Straight to the point, huh?” you said, sitting back down, and removing an imaginary crease on your sleeve, eyes lowered to the desk.

“I never…” you started to say, before stopping and taking a breath. “I think I needed to write our story down.” 

Joel’s sigh stopped you. You tried to keep a low and calm tone, not to show your anxiety. You knew that facing him wouldn't be easy. He had given you a glimpse of his coldness after the situation with that journalist.

“Joel, please, listen to me.” 

You looked at him, and yet you had no idea how his name, escaping your lips, tore his heart apart. He never thought he’d hear it again, and the familiar intonation made him shiver.

“I honestly think it would make a great movie,” you said. “And you must think so too, since you’re here.”

“I don’t know why I’m here, honestly. Except that I want to know why.”

“Would you have preferred to discover it once the movie was out, your role played by someone else?”

His gaze on you, dark and possessive, made you freeze.

“No, I really wouldn’t have appreciated our story, my life, played by someone else, Jesus,” he growled.

He put his hands on his hips, a stance you’d seen him do dozens of times before, searching for words, and then he sat in a chair, pinching the place just above his nose with two fingers. Trying to stop the headache that was threatening to come again. It had started off badly, and he knew it was his fault. He was too stubborn, too cold.

“Who do you have in mind for the female lead?” he asked finally.

“Well… me,” you answered, without lowering your gaze that time.

“You?” 

A part of him, that he thought was gone the day you had left, woke up with a groan. He couldn't imagine the movie being made, you playing... well, you, and him being played by another man. It was unthinkable and made his jealousy and possessiveness stir painfully in his chest.

Unlike you, he hadn't watched your movies. He tried though, when he saw your face on a movie poster for the first time. He went to the cinema, but he walked out of the theater the moment that actor leaned toward you to kiss you. He couldn't stand to see someone kiss you, when he couldn't do it anymore.

“I’m the best person to play this character, aren’t I?” you said softly, interrupting his thoughts. “Just like you’re the best one to play the male lead. Look, I know you’ve been rumored for a role like this for years. I know you’re not opposed to it. So why not?”

“Because it’s not about playing a role here,” he sighed. “It’s playing in front of a camera, things we said, did, years ago. Intimate things that belong to us.”

“I changed some things, no one has to know it’s autobiographical,” you started to say, before he quickly cut you off. 

“I know it is. And so do you.” He walked over to the window to stare at the buildings in front of him. “When you leave someone, you don’t do that. It’s unhealthy,” he said, almost softly. Resigned. He turned to you before adding, “Why stir up something that died years ago?”

He didn't expect to face the sadness that clouded your face, and once again guilt seized him. You were sad, upset, and despite the bitterness he’d been feeling for years, he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Joel… I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you anymore,” you answered, standing up and walking towards him. You stopped a few steps away to respect his boundaries, before you'd see his body stiff. “I left because I had to follow my dream, and it wasn’t working in Texas. And you wanted to stay in Austin, to take care of Tommy. We ended it because a long-distance relationship would have been too painful, because I didn’t want us to be unhappy, barely seeing each other, not being able to feel each other often enough. So I left. And I told you all that. You knew it, you knew why.”

You took a breath, after formulating what was oppressing your heart, waiting for him to answer.

“Playing with feelings is dangerous,” he said in a low voice.

“This isn’t a game, Joel. I'm not playing. I’m sure it would make a great movie. And maybe we need to express all that, even years later.”

“Do you remember what I told you that day? The last day?”

“Of course, I do. You told me not to call you. You told me that if we had to meet again… then it would happen. Well, it's happening, Joel.”

He looked at you, confused, and headed towards the door, brushing past you lightly as he passed. 

Just before leaving, without looking at you, he said in a low voice, “my agent will give you my answer in a few days.” 

Once the door closed behind Joel, you remembered the day you left. 

In tears in your car, your boxes in the back, eyes fixed on the rearview mirror where Joel’s silhouette was getting smaller and smaller. Until you could no longer discern his clenched fists, his stone face. Until he was only a small dot, until he wasn't in your life anymore.

At that moment you were wondering if you had made a mistake. You kept wondering for years. To be honest, you still weren’t sure you made the right choice that day. You followed your dream and succeeded, but it cost you the love of your life.

You didn't know what to think about the meeting. It could have been worse, he could have left after two minutes of being there, you knew it. You could have said more, too, but you didn't want Joel to withdraw more into himself. And for sure, you couldn't have told him that you always thought of him when you were in someone’s else’s arms. That you tried not to let jealousy invade you when you thought of his personal life, knowing that you had no right to be. You gave up on that when you had left.

You knew what he thought, how he reacted. Now he needed time to process everything, and you just had to wait for his agent to contact you. You couldn't do more.

Joel got to his car in a blur. He realized where he was only sitting behind the wheel, too many emotions swirling in his head. Years without seeing you and it had gone by at the speed of light. He blamed himself for being cold, blamed himself for not being cold enough, and he was even more lost than before he saw you. He started to drive, the feeling of having mishandled things weighing more and more on his shoulders.

He took another shower when he got home, as if it could wash off his remorse and regrets, the words exchanged playing over and over in his mind.

“Joel… I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you anymore.”

“I had to follow my dream. You wanted to stay in Austin. To take care of Tommy.”

“You knew it, you knew why.”

Did he really start to believe that the events had happened differently, after you left? Had he really done it, to the point of omitting certain things, because he needed someone to blame, to keep moving forward? 

Had he really been that guy? Blaming you when there was no one to blame, just life and the choices that go with it, that we all have to do?

Had he really denied for years that you had left with a broken heart, too? That he had told you to never call him, after those wonderful years together? He felt like he was waking up with a monstrous hangover, and guilt gripped him. Truth is he let you down, and reality was hitting him hard.

Because you were right, you didn’t leave just like that. He didn’t want to acknowledge it for years, kept sweeping it under the rug, but deep down he didn’t forget it. 

And you were right, he hadn’t been able to prioritize your relationship. Couldn’t prioritize himself either. He had always been protective of his brother, but it reached another level when he came back to Texas after being dismissed. Tommy wasn't the same, and Joel knew that he would have constantly wondered if his brother was okay if he had left for California with you. Worried that he could be in jail after a fight, with no one to bail him out. Or that he could be drunk in an alley, alone, spending the night there. Or worse.

“I can’t leave Tommy here alone, with all his drinking and partying,” he told you, expression determined.

“But you need to think about your future, our future too, Joel,” you replied desperately.

Joel had probably hoped that you wouldn’t have left, that you’d have chosen him, until the end. And you probably hoped the same thing, too. 

Right person, wrong time. Fucking sad, but so banal.

So to forget that he was as responsible for the breakup as much as you were, he let his pain turn into anger, and he never let nostalgia set in, or his feelings show up. 

And everything blew up when you sent him that script and he started reading it. It was impossible to continue to deny the obvious, to keep thinking that his feelings were stronger than yours and that’s why you had left. It was impossible to forget that he had told you, “If you leave… you don't call me. Ever.” That he was the one who had cut everything off, once and for all. To protect himself, of course. But still.

So once you were gone, he did what he had to do, he took care of Tommy. Except that he started going to bars with him, at night. Drinking less than him, but still way too much. He took sleeping pills when he was obsessed with your absence, tired of squeezing your pillow way too tight in his fist, his jaw clenched with anger. He moved to a new neighborhood because he couldn't stand living in that apartment anymore where everything reminded him of you. 

When they were children and then teenagers, Joel and Tommy’s father taught them to work with their hands, and it helped them to find jobs on construction sites. And that he finally pulled himself together and helped Tommy the way he had to. It took him months, but he did it, and his parents would be proud of him, of them, if they saw their sons.

He worked hard, kept doing castings when his work allowed it, and eventually it paid off, even if it took time.

He thought about it all, and realized he needed to see you again before deciding on the movie. Needed to behave normally, to let go of his mask. So he asked his agent your number, then texted you:

it’s Joel. Are you still in LA?  I have some questions about the script can we meet again?  I am. When do you wanna meet? tomorrow night, my place? I’ll cook Sure!

He took a deep breath as he sent you his address. He let his emotions take over on purpose, to dispel the bitter taste in his mouth since you saw each other. Now he had to trust them.

The next day he started to cook during the afternoon, the dish that he hoped was still one of your favorite. He knowingly chose to invite you over to his place, to keep his mind occupied at least while he was busy in the kitchen. 

Once the dish was in the oven, he did a running session on his treadmill and showered. 

Anything to keep his mind busy.

You arrived right on time, a bottle of wine in hand.

“You still like the white?” you asked.

He did. Some things never changed.

As you approached the kitchen it smelled so good that you stopped there.

“Still one of your favorite meals?” he asked.

It was. 

You tried not to show that you were moved. Acts of service had always been his way of showing that he cared, and you weren’t expecting that when you showed up.

You sat down on a high stool in the kitchen and he opened the bottle of wine. You had a few sips, silently. Neither of you really knew what to say, at first. Then everything set into place, naturally, instinctively. A little shyly at first, bringing up things from your respective pasts, or present. You asked him how Tommy was doing, and he told you he was fine, that he was engaged to a woman named Maria and that they were going to be parents soon. You were happy for Tommy, sincerely. You had always liked him.

Joel was trying to act normally, to not pay too much attention to the ease with which you were chatting. How easily he opened up to you, telling you about his years in Austin, then his first ones in LA. His first roles, his doubts.

He was glancing at your hands when you weren’t looking at him. At your hair. 

He loved to see your eyes shine when you were talking about something that was important to you.

But above all, he loved to see them sparkle the first time he made you smile, that evening. It hit him, how much he missed it. Making you smile. 

His emotions were so familiar that his heart was beating a little too fast, like a horse freed from its reins.

And suddenly he wondered how he had been able to spend so many years without you by his side, when you had always been his sunshine, liberating his grumpy, reserved nature. 

A part of his brain told him that he was smiling a little too much, but he felt more alive during those moments with you than he hadn’t been in so long. 

Whether in a relationship or not.

And then he felt the atmosphere change, felt that you got nervous, an impression confirmed when you began to scratch your thumb. A habit that dated back years ago, and he'd always take you in his arms, kiss your thumb and tell you that he was there and that everything would be okay. Today, for the first time he couldn’t do all that.

“Are you ok?” he nevertheless allowed himself to ask.

“Yeah, it’s just… listen, I know you wanted to ask me about the script, but ehm... there’s something you need to know.” You took a deep breath before adding “there won’t be any movie if you don’t want to do it. If you’re not comfortable with it. I’m not saying this to put pressure on you, it's just… I just want you to know that your choice is completely free. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it, for whatever bad reason.”

“I appreciate that you’re telling me this, thank you,” he said, in a tone you couldn’t quite define, half defeated, half tender. “Listen, I wanted to apologize.”

“For what, Joel?” you asked questioningly.

“Yesterday. I didn’t really know how to handle all of it. Honestly, I’ve been overwhelmed by a lot of emotions since I read the script. Including anger.” He didn't expect to tell you that, but the need was too much to bear. He needed to make things right.

“I know. I expected it to be complicated, after our two previous meetings,” you said, without animosity or bitterness. Just being factual.

He raised his eyebrows, as if to apologize, before continuing. “I wanted to apologize for that too. My attitude.”

“That’s your way of handling things, it always has been, I should have known. But I appreciate it too, thanks Joel.”

He nodded, then added “do you think we’ll be able to do it?”

“To do what?”

“Work together. To be coworkers on a movie?”

He saw your eyebrows furrow slightly, as you took the time to think before answering.

“Well… the evening’s going pretty well, right? You haven't shook your head at me yet, to show me the door.”

“Ouch!” he replied exaggeratedly.

“Too soon?” you asked, lips curled into a smile.

“A little,” he laughed.

He enjoyed it, that little moment. You’d had so many of them before. 

“Aren’t you afraid of what might happen?” he wanted to ask. 

“Aren’t you afraid of reliving things, that I’ll fall madly in love with you again and that the scenes we’ll shoot, my acting, will just express the reality of my feelings?” 

But he couldn’t ask you that.

He wanted to ask you if you had sent him the script because you still had feelings for him, but he couldn’t say that either.

“It’ll be a low budget movie. I mean, if we do it,” you said. There’ll be some outdoor scenes but not that many. Not many other actors either. It won’t be a long shoot.”

He nodded and said, “can I give you my answer in a couple of days?”

“Of course,” you smiled. “Thanks for the meal, it was delicious,” you said as you stood up. “You can text me if you have any questions.”

He thanked you and you complimented him on his house as you put your coat back on. His taste hadn’t changed. The rooms were simply decorated. As you walked toward the front door you glanced inside one of the rooms, and saw a table with a wooden sculpture on it.

“Oh my god, Joel? You still do the carving?”

“Oh… well… yeah. I never stopped.”

“Can I?” you asked.

“Sure,” he opened the door and you slipped through the gap, brushing past him lightly as you passed and you had goosebumps at the familiar scent. Still the perfume you had gifted him once. Reassuring. After all these years, instantly, it was there. Enveloping you. 

You approached the table and leaned over a piece he was working on, admiring the figurine that was being carved. A rodeo cowboy on a bucking horse.

“Wow, Joel… you were already very good at this back then, but now it’s incredible. The level of detail is mind-blowing.”

You looked at the shelves, covered with other sculptures. You approached them: bears, deer, wolves, rabbits.

“This is really amazing, you’re so talented. And… Do you still play guitar?”

“Sure,” he answered, nodding at a guitar case. “I usually play in the dining room. My guitars are over there. This one needed a little TLC. I just got it back. It’s… well it’s the one you gave me.”

You looked at him, unable to hide the surprise on your face.

“You kept it?” you asked, trying to hold back your emotions.

“ ‘ course I did.”

You nodded, your throat tight.

“I should go, it’s getting late,” you said. “Tell me about the movie, ok?” You looked at him hesitantly, but when he leaned towards you and wrapped his arms around your torso, your eyes closed at the feeling, so familiar, before you pulled away, told him good night and left.

Driving your car, you replayed the images of the evening in your mind. Of course, you had felt his gaze on you several times during the evening. And sometimes you could see Joel again. Your Joel.

Did he think about you as much as you thought about him? Did he suspect that you had sent him this script in the hope of getting back in touch with him? Did he know how much you missed him, all those years?

You had wondered so many times if he had been thinking about you. You thought about the hug, as comforting as before. You missed him so much.

Two days later, he texted you

“I’m in”

He kept looking at his phone after sending the message. The read indicator appeared quickly, then the writing bubble.

“Great, I'm so glad! I’m sure it’s gonna be amazing!!”

He hoped it would be. Hoped it wasn’t a mistake. 

He had to leave LA for several weeks for a shooting, and the organization of the film was put in place.

You sent each other a few messages in the next few days. Then the messages became more and more regular, while remaining purely friendly.

Several months later, the day before the shooting started, he knocked on your trailer to say hello.

You had rehearsed some scenes with the crew, and everything was ready.

The less emotional scenes were shot in the first few days. He didn’t ask for it, but he was glad. Every night he came back to his trailer, played the guitar, and thought about you. 

Seeing you every day was a very strange thing that he had trouble to define. He was happy to see you every day, to see the person you had become. And sad that you were no longer his. Filming these moments with you was like constantly reopening a wound that had never really healed.

That night, he took out the script, and reread the scene planned the next day.

EXT. THEIR APARTMENT -- EVENING He parks downstairs at their apartment, it’s dark. He knows she’s back from a week at her parents’. He’s eager to get home and see her again, he’s missed her. He quickly climbs the outside stairs and unlocks the door. INT. THEIR APARTMENT -- EVENING He puts his keys on the hall cabinet, takes off his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack. We follow him as he walks in the apartment, until he sees her in the doorway of the dining room. He smiles, we see love in their eyes as look at other. HER Hey baby He goes to her, they kiss, he takes her in his arms. She closes her eyes. HIM I missed you, baby. He brushes her cheek with his thumb. HER I missed you too. She takes his hand and leads him to their bedroom.

He stopped reading there, before the next scene, that was the most intimate, the one that made him anxious just to think about.

“I missed you, baby,” he said the line. He brushed your cheek with his thumb, like he had done so many times before. His eyes were fixed in yours. He wondered if he was imagining what he was reading in them.

“I missed you too.”

You took his hand and you headed out of the frame.

“Cut, it was perfect, guys! Go get ready for the next scene.”

He picked up his water bottle and took a sip. He felt dizzy.

You were both wearing underwear and bathrobes. Waiting to shoot the scene.

“Ok guys, you’re ready? Great, let’s go.”

The scene was a close-up of both of your faces during a sex scene, at night. You lay down on the bed first, after taking off your robe. He took off his too and lay down between your thighs.

“Is this ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s ok,” you smiled.

“Action!”

You started to kiss, tongues quickly brushing against each other. His hands cupped your cheeks as he rolled his hips towards you slowly, careful that your crotches wouldn’t touch. 

It was overwhelming to feel you against him, your breasts against his chest, with only your bra between the two of you. It was a whirling moment, to kiss you in such an intimate scene, playing something that you had lived for real before. He groaned and slid his hand to the back of your neck to hold you as close as possible against him.

He felt you shift slightly, turning your hips to face his. He wanted to ask you what you were doing but he couldn’t. He was half hard from the moment he laid against you but now his cock was hard as steel. You pushed your pelvis forward and the tip of his cock nestled at your entrance, pointing against his boxers.

He could feel your wet panties through the fabrics.

“Don’t stop, baby,” you recited your line, and he growled.

He couldn’t believe you would act like that while shooting a scene, couldn't believe you were using him.

He pulled away to look at you and you murmured an unscripted “please.” Eyebrows furrowed, he nodded slightly. His fat head found its way, and his tip pushed your panties in.

It was hot, filthy, forbidden. So unprofessional, but he couldn’t stop. He recognized your moans, and the small team around you probably thought it was perfectly faked, when it was music in his ears. The music he thought he would never hear again. 

Your hands tightened on his biceps as you came. So quickly. He felt your walls squeezing his tip and he almost forgot to move, forgot the script, forgot you were shooting a scene. He pulled out, afraid he would come too, and faked his orgasm, neck tense and veins bulging, your hands caressing his hair at the back of his neck.

You said the next line “I love you, baby. I missed you so much.”

“I love you too,” was his.

“Cut!! That was amazing, great job!!”

There was a pounding on your trailer door as you got out of the shower. You quickly threw on a bathrobe and went to open it.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he growled.

“Keep your voice low Joel, damn… Come in.”

You closed the door behind him, searching for the right words, pressing your hands together. 

“I, huh…” you stammered.

“No! No, talk to me. Tell me. You can’t… you can’t do that and stay silent.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” he chuckled.

“Having you so close to me, against me… I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry. It was overwhelming.”

“Everyone could have seen, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking, that’s the point, Joel! And they didn’t see, anyway.”

“Jesus christ you can't do that. You can’t just use me like that.”

“I know, Joel. I know, I’m sorry. It’s just…”

“What?”

You sighed, and that time he didn't try to rush you. You felt him soften, giving you time to find your words.

“I miss you, Joel.”

“No, don't…  Please, don’t say that.”

“I missed you the second I left and it never stopped.”

Hearing the tone of your voice and reading your eyes, this time he had no doubt that you really meant it. And he felt all the tensions in his body relax, as if he were freed from everything that had been oppressing him for years. You approached him slowly, eyes raised to his, and you slid your hand into his, and his large palm gently closed over it. You caressed his cheek with the other, and for a moment he shut his eyes, pressing his face against your hand.

“I miss you,” you said again and he rested his forehead against yours. He gently rubbed his nose against yours, before kissing your lips softly. He heard your breathing hitch for a moment, then you moaned slightly as you pulled away, just to look at him, Joel, not the actor, for the first time in years. He pulled you closer to him and brushed his tongue over your lips, as if asking for permission to push inside. Greedily, you slid yours to his, licking his tongue and lips, until he crashed his mouth against yours. His hands rested on your waist while yours moved up his back, pressing your bodies together. You whined when you felt his hard cock pressed to you.

You pulled away from him again, just to look at his face, and he wanted to pinch himself, just to be sure you were not some dream that would leave him disillusioned and alone when he woke up.

You took his hand and led him to your room.

“Undress me,” you said.

He pulled on the knot of your bathrobe slowly, making the two sides of the garment part, revealing the curve of your breasts that he caressed with his fingertips.

Your chest rose quickly as your eyes were plunged into each other, until he lowered them to your pussy. His heart was beating so fast that for a moment he was afraid it would explode.

He raised his gaze to yours, silently asking if you were okay.

“Yes,” you said. As if you knew he would want to hear it, that a nod wouldn't be enough.

He slipped his hands under the fabric of the robe and slid it down your shoulders. It fell to the floor, leaving you naked. So vulnerable, and yet you were the strongest woman he ever knew, following your dream by leaving for a city where you didn't know anyone. And made your dream come true.

But now you were here, in front of him. So pretty, so sure of yourself, of your desires.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said in a low voice.

He pulled you back, guiding you with his hands on your hips as he kissed you, until the back of your knees touched the bed.

“Lie down, sweetheart,” he said. The nickname was so familiar in his mouth, so normal. You did as he asked, moving back until your head rested on the pillow as he watched you, still standing at the end of the bed. Then he took off his t-shirt, unbuttoned his jeans and got rid of them and his boxers.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied. “Haven't felt better in a long time, actually.”

“Me too,” he added, laying on the bed, his hand caressing your inner thighs that he kissed, then he spread them with his hands.

He ran his thumb over your folds, covering it in your wetness until he reached your clit and gently rolled it under his finger. You moaned, spreading your thighs wider. 

He leaned down, his shoulders taking possession of the space between your thighs, the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils. He licked a long stripe from your drooling hole to your clit, then placed his hands on the inside of your thighs, pressing your knees against the sheets, and you willingly let him do it, your hands sliding into his hair. He pushed his tongue into your cunt, growling against your folds. He never thought he would taste you again and an overwhelming feeling was running through his whole body. You were leaking into his mouth, down his throat and he pressed you against him, greedy for what you were giving him as your hips rolled towards him. His nose brushed perfectly against your clit, like it always did before. You clung to his hair as your moans were getting louder and louder.

"I'm so close, Joel," you murmured, hands lost in his curls. "Please, baby, please." 

“Take what you need, use me, sweetheart.”

“Oh my god, Joel… I’m gonna… I’m coming, fuck!”

He didn't let go of you, leaving his tongue buried in your pussy and his nose against your clit, gripping  your waist with his hands, as if they were in their natural place, your flesh welcoming them.

“Joel…” you whimpered.

“Another one, please, baby. Let me give you another one, ok?”

“I’m not sure if I can… I don’t know if I can,” you panted.

“Lemme try, ok?”

“Ok,” you whispered.

His tongue left your pussy, licking your puffy folds before teasing your swollen clit. His middle finger slid along your folds before he pushed it in you gently, immediately adding a second digit. His fingers pumped into you, making your wetness flow down to the sheets. He kept you pressed against the mattress, as he had done so many times, drunk on your taste and smell. His cock ached but he resisted the urge to grind himself against the bed, afraid of not being able to hold back and come on them.

“I can feel you clench on my fingers, you’re gonna be a good girl and come again for me?” he asked, before swirling his tongue over your clit again. “Thought about it so often,” he added, still pumping your drooling cunt with his thick fingers, then licking and sucking your clit.

“Yes, fuck yes,” you whined, just before you came on his diggits, clit pulsing against his tongue.

He crawled over to you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and smashed his lips against yours, your wimpers now disappearing between them.

“I wanna suck your cock, Joel,” you breathed against his lips, but he shook his head. 

“Sweetheart… I'd love it too but I’m gonna come the second you’ll take me in your mouth,” he said. “And I really need to feel you around my cock. All the way this time, not just the tip. You’re ok with that, baby?”

“Of course, need to feel you too.”

“Damn you’re so pretty,” he said, and kissed you.

He grabbed his cock in his hand, the tip leaking, swollen and red, and nestled it at your entrance, pausing there for a moment before thrusting in. 

“Oh fuck…” you whined, making him stop.

“No, no no, don’t stop, I’m ok. Need all of you, please,” you whimpered.

Like years ago, he would give you everything you needed from him. So he didn't stop until he bottomed out. 

“Shit,” he groaned, feeling his balls tightening, ready to explode. He was struggling so hard not to come, but his breath was hitching with every thrust since he felt your pussy around him. 

You kissed, hips rolling towards each other softly and slowly. He loved to feel you around him again, and again he thought that your bodies were made for each other. He was sure of it more than ever. He slid his arms under your shoulders and you licked his neck, right at his pulsating point, then kissed the thin and delicate skin crossed by its veins.

“I won’t last, baby, I’m sorry…” he panted.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, taking him deeper.

“It doesn’t matter, fill me, Joel, please, just like before,” you begged, making him grawl, and he placed his thumb against your clit. It was enough to give you soon another climax and you pulsed around his shaft, digging your fingers into his skin as you came once again. He thrusted in a few times before burying himself, balls deep in your cunt, and shot his cum into your core, filling it to the last drop, his forehead against yours.

“Fuck, sweetheart….”

“I know,” you breathed. “Just like before.” 

For a few minutes both of you were panting loudly, waiting to catch your breath.

Then you caressed his cheek and he kissed you until he pulled away and lay down facing you.

“Come here, baby,” he said, welcoming you against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, the way he always liked it so much. You stayed like that for a few minutes without talking. He just wanted to feel you against him, to hear you breathe slowly, to feel your skin against his. 

“I should have left with you,” he said suddenly.

You straightened up to look at him then said softly, “hey, no, don’t… Don’t hurt yourself by thinking that. You did what you had to do, and so did I. And we met again, like you said back then,” you added, and kissed him, then curled up in his arms again.

“We did,” he agreed, brushing your hair delicately. “So, that script?” he asked. “Was it to… like… get me back?”

“Of course it was,” you smiled against his torso, and he kissed the top of your head. 

“I’m happy you sent it to me, sweetheart.”

Thank you for reading 🙏

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[cvnntagious]

:: babydaddy!matt finally confronts brat!reader about her sudden distance, but it doesn’t quite go as expected

conversations like these were hard for matt, to say the least — he hated to feel like he was overstepping boundaries you'd so carefully set in any way, but he had to. everything was going so well between you two. for it to all suddenly slip between his ringed fingers like water? he couldn't just sit back and let you push him away like this.

with the silence in the living room, save for the cartoon mazzy had fallen asleep watching beside matt, he felt a familiar yearning in his chest. now had to be the time. he was done psyching himself out of words like he had the past week now.

standing from his spot, careful not to wake the sleeping toddler, matt practically tip-toed over to your bedroom. your head snapped up when you heard the three soft knocks on your door frame, assuming it was matt getting ready to tell you he was heading home for the night, like had become recent routine. matt then cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets in a brief moment of silence. "you're gonna have to tell me what's wrong eventually, " he finally spoke up, heart pounding in his eardrums like they never had before.

"what?" was your immediate reply, playing dumb as your deadpan facial expression remained unwavering.

matt's eyebrows immediately furrowed, knowing you were just playing games with him now. he couldn't be too upset though, or else he'd never get to the bottom of all your weird behavior. "baby, is it something i did?" he questioned, completely disregarding your clueless act, "we can talk this through; we always do. you just have to tell me what's wrong."

the way you looked at him - like he were some sort of lunatic standing in front of you - he couldn't say it didn't hurt. always being 'mr. fix it' was getting exhausting, and for probably the first time since he met you, matt began to wonder if it was all really worth it. all the games you played, tugging at his heart strings and using your guys' child to manipulate him... there had to be something more out there, right? was driving him crazy fun for you?

a clear desperation wrote itself all over matt's face, his expression as he stood so timidly in your doorway making you want to crawl out of your skin. “matt…” you trailed off, shifting your seated position in your bed.

“what?” he replies, voice coming out in an almost whine-like manner. he felt this insatiable sense of dread wash over him, like he somehow knew what you were going to say before you even said it.

but when you remained silent, he just couldn’t take it anymore. “y- y’know what, forget i even said anything,” he finally breathed out, an empty feeling at the idea of giving up so easily — there was nothing else he could do, though. he knew how you were: if you didn’t want to talk, you simply weren’t going to. that’s what he told himself.

and he began to turn away, one hand clinging to your doorframe as if it were telling him he needed to stay. “matt, come sit.”

he stopped in his tracks, ears practically perking up at the sentence. his head instantly snapped in your direction, bright blue eyes widened in surprise when they caught you patting the empty space of your bed in front if you. he almost didn’t believe it, all the negative emotions that had once rushed through him in painful waves seeming to instantly subside as a glimmer of hope fluttered in his chest.

maybe that was stupid of him, but this was a real step for you two. a big one, he was sure of it. he wasted no time in taking a few steps across the room to reach you, carefully sitting in front of you. watching as matt bit the inside of his cheek in anticipation, a nervous habit he’s had all the time you’ve known him, you took a deep breath to prepare yourself.

matt was so ready. he needed to know what was wrong, eyes eagerly scanning your face at the idea of you finally opening up to him after all this time. “you know you’re a great dad, right?” you muttered, your words much different than what he’d expected.

that caught him off guard, a small twitch in his features telling you he was a bit confused. he wasn’t sure what mazzy had to do with any of this. you two were co-parenting just fine, always have been, whether you were on good terms or not. but he kept quiet, silently urging you to explain yourself.

“and you’re so loving–full of emotions that…” you paused, trying to think of the right words.

somehow, matt was catching on, no longer so pleased with the idea of you ‘opening up’ to him anymore. it was like you’d taken him on a roller coaster he didn’t sign up to ride, and he hated that. “…that i can’t handle.”

right, he knew that. matt knew you were never fond of his big emotions, always telling him he can be too much at times. and he understood. he never wanted to put whatever he was feeling onto you. he wasn’t, though; he knew he wasn’t. so what’s all this about?

it took a moment for matt to think up a response, sighing a bit before he cleared his throat. “i don’t get what that has to do with you acting all weird. i’ve only been trying to keep us together… as a family,” he opposes, shrugging a bit to seem less caught up about this than he actually was.

too quick for matt’s comfort, you nodded, a small hum following. “does that apply to the sex, too?”

almost taken aback, his mouth opened as if he were ready to say something, but nothing came out. “you suck at no strings attached, matthew. i know what you’re thinking every time you come around,” you added, each word like a barbed blade stabbing at an open wound. was this too cruel? no, it couldn’t be—you were only telling him the truth, and god, did he need to hear it. “you think that whenever we’re sleeping together, we’re on ‘good terms’, like it’s grounds for fixing everything and becoming one happy family where your daughter’s parents are happily in love.”

you had him there and he knew it, but for you to just sit and tell him all his efforts are for nothing so easily? he knew there had to be something more to it. you weren’t telling him something. “but when we’re not-”

“it doesn’t work that way. now go home, matt”

and don’t ever say matt was in denial because he’s not… at least, that’s what he told himself as he did the walk of shame from your apartment to his car, that nagging feeling of yearning he’d felt earlier somehow worse now.

w/c : 1.1k

a/n : there will be no part two

-love, your grandma cvnty ☆!

[bweeeb]

PUPPY EYES

Synopsis: When Pedro doesn't take you to the awards ceremony for his new movie, your relationship starts to go downhill with the thought that maybe you're too young to give him everything he needs.

Warnings: nothing major, angst, couple with problems, Pedro and you are 26 years apart.

Career, projects, new movies, memories, and that topic that always left you unsure—was it negative or positive anticipation when people brought up relationships?

It wasn’t news to anyone that five months ago, when you and Pedro made it official that you’d been secretly seeing each other for a year, people started digging into every little detail. And a few months ago, the age difference between you two didn’t bother anyone in your social circle. Both of you were adults who knew exactly what you were doing with your lives.

Even your parents, who had initially been surprised by the man 26 years older than you, eventually came to accept your choice. So it shouldn’t bother you or anyone else anymore.

"So, I don’t think you’ve ever openly talked about your relationship with Pedro Pascal after making it official. Is it okay if we discuss it?"

The podcast host smiled at you, and you let out an embarrassed laugh, shrugging.

"Why not?"

"How did you two meet?"

"We worked on the same movie, so we were constantly together on set. One thing led to another."

"And you never thought, like, ‘Wow, he’s way too old for me,’ since there’s a significant age gap?"

"Twenty-six years, isn’t it?" Another host interrupted.

"Didn’t he say in an interview that he wouldn’t date anyone with more than a 20-year age difference? Doesn’t that make you curious about what changed?"

"Well, when we met, I didn’t think much about it, and I don’t think he did either. Yes, he mentioned that he wouldn’t date someone with a 20-year age gap. But I’ve always had a thing for DILFs, and he’s definitely one. One thing led to another, without either of us realizing it."

Your cheeks flushed as you spoke honestly, your eyes briefly catching your publicist’s approving thumbs-up from behind the glass.

"I think it’s much more about connection than anything tangible, you know? Our age difference is almost unnoticeable in our day-to-day life now."

"Pedro is, what, around 50 years old? Let’s not pretend it’s entirely unnoticeable." One of them chuckled, and you narrowed your eyes, frustrated at how your words were twisted.

"You’re young, clearly with the body of a 23-year-old, while he’s middle-aged. I think people are just curious about what made you stay." The other one chimed in, leaning toward the mic. You smiled politely, glancing between the camera and the hosts.

"Maybe the real question is what makes him stay. He had a firm opinion, and suddenly, it changed. Pedro has the purest and most beautiful soul in the world. He laughs at his own dad jokes, he shows me things I’d never imagined because he’s from 1975, and he’s a man with a capital M who treats me like the last rose petal in the universe. So, honestly, if he ever agrees to do an interview with you, maybe you should ask him what makes him stay.

"After the podcast aired, what you thought would be a calm discussion turned into a social media battleground. People twisted your words and intentions.

"A man taking care of a child—what nonsense."

"Really, ask him why he stays because she’s unbearable."

"Did she call his jokes ‘dad jokes’? Who does that to their boyfriend? RUN, PEDRO!"

"She’s just after his money."

"The most boring woman in the world is with the hottest man alive. How does that even happen?"

"She has nothing to offer him. Relax, ladies, it won’t last three more months."

"Dakota Johnson seemed interested in him; I wouldn’t be surprised if he ditches this corn husk for her."

"If I knew he was into younger women, I’d have listed a hundred better options than Y/N."

"Wait, guys—he didn’t even take her to the Gladiator premiere. How serious do you think this is?"

It was exhausting. Even though you avoided reading the comments, they popped up everywhere, and all the therapy you’d done to maintain a stable mental health seemed to be slipping through your fingers. But Pedro couldn’t know, so you plastered on a sweet smile whenever you saw him, even as doubts began to creep in.

Maybe you really were the worst option for him. Maybe someone older, with similar experiences, would be better. Someone more mature, less bubbly and silly.Sitting in the car, you stared blankly out the window as Pedro talked about the Gladiator premiere—the one you hadn’t attended because you weren’t invited.

"Hey, are you okay?" It wasn’t that you weren’t listening. You just didn’t have much to say, so you let him keep talking.

"Yeah, I’m fine. Go on."

Your smile didn’t falter, and you silently thanked yourself for being a good actress.

"No, you’re not fine. What’s wrong?"

"Of course I am. It must’ve been surreal, babe. Even Dakota Johnson was there, right?"

"Yeah, but what’s wrong with you?" His eyes left the road momentarily to glance at you. You shook your head.

"Nothing. You’re just imagining things." You leaned over, cupped his face in your hands, and pressed a kiss to his lips before pulling away.

"Eyes on the road, old man."

"Okay, but I thought I was your daddy."

He exaggeratedly rolled his eyes as if offended. You loved that about him—the way he was so expressive and dramatic, some might call it embarrassing, but you found it endlessly entertaining.

"You know when you’re my daddy," you said with a mischievous smile, swallowing the rising bitterness in your throat. That night was the last time you slept at his place. Over the following days, you insisted on being dropped off at home, and Pedro didn’t argue. He simply observed your strange behavior.

At first, he thought you might be pregnant and unsure about what to do. But then he remembered you weren’t the type to hide something like that. He considered that maybe you were overwhelmed with your new projects, but you usually loved talking about them. And then, his thoughts landed on your relationship. Had he done something wrong? He couldn’t pinpoint anything.

Five days later, the two of you were at a dinner with friends. Everything was going well until it wasn’t.

"Hey, Y/N, why didn’t I see you at the premiere? I thought I’d catch a glimpse of you in a glorious dress," Lux, Pedro’s sister, asked.

Your cheeks burned, and your heart raced with nervous discomfort. Were you supposed to admit you hadn’t been invited? No. Your mom had taught you better than that.

"I…" A nervous laugh escaped your lips as you shifted uncomfortably in your chair. You didn’t dare look at Pedro beside you, though you could feel his guilty puppy-dog eyes on you. You wouldn’t give in.

"I had some things tied up with the script for the movie. It was a hectic week."

In reality, the script had been finalized, and even if the writer had faced complications, you’d have found time to support your boyfriend and contribute new ideas to the director.

"Ah, really? What a shame. I hope everything’s okay now," Lux said.

"Oh, it’s all sorted," you replied, forcing a smile.Your smile faltered briefly when Pedro’s hand tried to find yours under the table. Clearing your throat, you stood up, announcing that you needed to use the restroom.When you returned, Pedro was chatting with one of his friends, and you were grateful he was too preoccupied to bring up the earlier conversation.

"Wow, did you do something with your hair? It looks blonder, or is it just me?" Hazel, one of Pedro’s friends’ girlfriends, asked politely.

"Yeah, I did. Amelia’s amazing," you replied.

"Oh my gosh, give me her number, please. I need something this stunning."

"Of course, I’ll even book you an appointment if you want."

"It’s impressive how an older man managed to snag someone as beautiful and sweet as you," Lux teased. Normally, you would’ve laughed it off, but everything felt different that night. You chuckled falsely, smiling as you’d been doing all week.

"Oh, come on, stop that," Pedro said, sounding uneasy. He could sense your odd mood.Of course, you were acting strange.

Everything had been strange lately.

Later, in the car, your gaze rested on your hands in your lap while you felt Pedro’s eyes boring into the side of your face.

"Honey—"

"If we could not talk about this now, I’d be much happier. Can you just take me home?"

"You know I want to—"

"Pedro."You turned to him, tired of pretending. Your voice was tense, and he immediately understood how serious it was. You never called him by his name. "Stop." Your tone wasn’t angry or annoyed, just lifeless. That terrified him. Women didn’t usually scare him. At nearly 50 years old, he thought he’d learned to handle these situations.

"I’m sorry, okay."

His gaze returned to the road, while you looked out the window, waiting to get home.

As you were arriving, you realized he wasn't taking you to your house but to his instead. Closing your eyes, you let out a sigh and covered your face with both hands.

"What are you doing?" The words came out muffled as you felt him slow down.

"Going home."

"This is the way to your house."

"My house is your house, darling."

"You know what I mean," you whispered, exhausted.

"I thought you didn’t want to go. That it would be too much pressure for you, that... that you wouldn’t want people talking."

You heard him lament, and biting your lip, you sniffled. You tried hard not to act childish in the situation, looking up and taking a deep breath, reminding yourself not to let the tears fall.

"I know," was all you managed to reply before your voice broke.

"I... I just need to think for a bit."

"Think... right. Think about what?"

"Can you please take me home?" Pedro nodded at that and drove to your building. For the first time, he felt a strange haze between the two of you.

"Thank you." Even in the awkwardness, there you were, sweet as ever. Pedro could never deny how much he appreciated that about you—the way you always thanked everyone for everything. You were so pure. "Anytime." You opened the car door and stepped out, but before you entered the building, Pedro got out and called after you.

"I'm sorry. And I love you." That’s what he said before you turned to look at him with sad eyes—the same expression you wore when you thought he had forgotten to pick you up for a date, only to find out he was planning a surprise trip to Chile.That night, Pedro went home with his tail between his legs. When Lux called him in the morning, he couldn’t have felt worse.

"You look like one of the infected from The Last of Us. Gross."Lux teased as Pedro rubbed his face with his left hand."What do you want?"

"Wow. Rude."

"Sorry, I didn’t sleep. Just tell me why you’re calling me at six in the morning."

"I was thinking about how you said Y/N was acting strange, and I agree. Last night, she was quieter than usual. Pero luego empecé a preguntarme: ¿la invitaste al estreno? Porque se puso muy rara después de que lo mencioné y estaba revisando los comentarios..." ( But then I started wondering—did you invite her to the premiere? Because she got all weird after I brought it up, and I was checking the comments...)

"Ya te dije que no revises los comentarios. La gente está loca". (I already told you not to check the comments. People are insane.)

Pedro rolled his eyes, sighed, and collapsed onto the couch, exhausted. You and Pedro had talked about ignoring online negativity countless times. Neither of you usually cared about it. You weren’t starting now, were you?

"Lo sé, lo sé, pero se están portando fatal con ella. Y al no invitarla, la gente pensó que la estaban dejando de lado". ( I know, I know, but they’re being awful to her. And not inviting her made people think you were sidelining her.)

Lux sounded worried, almost angry.

"Eso es ridículo. Yo nunca haría algo así. Ella lo sabe. "(That’s ridiculous. I’d never do that—she knows that.)

"La compararon con Dakota Johnson. No es justo, son completamente diferentes. Dijeron que te cansarías de la 'niña'. Sabemos que es más madura que la mayoría de las mujeres, pero aún es joven". ( They compared her to Dakota Johnson. It’s not even fair—they’re completely different. They said you’ll get tired of the ‘kid.’ We know she’s more mature than most women, but she’s still young. )

Pedro propped his elbows on his knees and sighed. You had never acted immaturely. You never made rash decisions or threw tantrums over small things. You never picked fights or complained about work or friends. People didn’t know anything about your relationship—how could they?

"¿Crees que está preocupada? "(Do you think she’s worried)

"La mujer está intentando mantener la compostura y alejarse antes de que la abandones, como todos han estado diciendo". (The woman’s trying to hold herself together and pulling away before you ditch her like everyone’s been saying.)

Lux sighed and continued,

"Deberías haber escuchado cómo habló de ti en ese podcast. Nadie más sería así, no como ella. Haz algo. ( You should’ve heard how she talked about you on that podcast. No one else would be like that—not like her. Do something. )

Fuck. Pedro thought. He’d be stuck working all day, knowing you were likely asleep now. As the day went on, you ignored his missed calls. Not as an act of immaturity but because you needed personal space. You planned to talk to him eventually, but your phone felt like a weight you couldn’t bear. Instead, you threw yourself into work, ensuring every detail was perfect.Later, your group decided to go out for dinner, and you joined to keep your mind occupied. You loved them all but remained mostly a listener. Exhausted from a sleepless night, you struggled to follow the conversation, though you smiled at their stories.After dinner, you excused yourself to the restroom. As you washed your hands, you overheard two women talking in mocking tones.

"Do you think it’s a PR stunt?"

You frowned, listening as the other responded,

"It must be. I mean, it’s all over the news, and she’s playing the sad little girl role."

"Yeah, right? He used to call someone 25 a kid, and now he’s with a 23-year-old? Ridiculous."

"Did you see the photo of him with Dakota at the bar?"

"What? When?"

"Today, about an hour ago. She was kissing his cheek, and even if it’s for the movie, I doubt it. They weren’t even working."

"Think he’ll trade her in?"

"She won’t last ten days."

You grabbed your phone and opened Twitter. The first thing you saw was the photo of him and Dakota. He had that drunken smile on his face as she wrapped her arms around his neck. You weren’t the jealous type, fully aware of how PR worked in Hollywood, but it still stung.You washed your hands, turned to face them, and said,

"At least I’m more than a nameless extra without a single line. The only roles your venomous tongues will land you are in adult films, and not the Pearl kind—cheap, disgusting ones. Have a good night.

"With that, you left, hailed a cab, and went home. Fighting back tears, you repeated to yourself, Don’t cry. It’s just a picture. You ignored him all day, so stop acting like this.But for the first time, you cried over something like this.

Your head ached, and with the tip of your nose red, you picked up the phone and called him—without thinking too much, without wrestling with your thoughts. You just did what you felt needed to be done.The first call went straight to voicemail, and even though the thought of not wanting to humiliate yourself for him crossed your mind, you ignored it, knowing you were the one who had lost ground first. On the second call, your phone was answered, and the muffled sound made you swallow hard—he was out of the house.

“Hey.”

Your voice came out low, and you heard some murmurs on the other side, blending with loud conversation.

“Hello?”

A woman’s voice called from the other side, and you grimaced. “Uh, hi. Is Pedro there?”

“Uh, he’s kind of busy right now,” she said.

“Busy…” you repeated softly. “Who are you?”

“Carly.”

Carly? Who the hell is Carly? you thought immediately.

“Then tell him I called, Carly.”

“And you are…?” The mocking tone in her voice irritated you, and your expression was far from pleasant.

“A friend. Tell him a friend called.”

“Great.” She hung up without saying anything else, and you wrapped yourself in your own cocoon of blankets that didn’t warm you like Pedro did.Suits was playing on TV while you avoided going to bed, eventually falling asleep without even realizing it. Around 3 a.m., frantic knocks on your door startled you awake, making you look warily down the hallway. The doormen usually informed you of anyone coming to your floor.

Cautiously, you peeked through the peephole and saw him there, rubbing his face with his two hands, five times bigger than yours. You stopped, stepped back from the door, and sighed before opening it. Once you unlocked the door’s security latch, you looked at him and almost closed it again upon seeing your reflection, still wearing his shirt.

“It’s late. What are you doing here?” Your voice came out softly, and you saw Pedro stammer as he raised his hand in a nervous tic.

“A friend?”

“What?”

“Why did you say you were just a friend, sweetheart?” Pedro asked, stepping forward. You didn’t step back, only shrugged and gave a disheartened smile

.“She said you were busy. I thought it would be more… convenient than saying something else.”

“You’re something else. You’re my girlfriend. And my fiancée. And my wife. And I don’t care if you want to be the mother of my kids when I’m a hundred years old.”

He’s so drunk, you thought.

“How much tequila did you drink, Pedro?”

“The whole bottle.” He laughed, moving closer and gently touching your face. He’d always been gentle; being drunk didn’t change that.

“Please don’t tell me you’re breaking up with me.”

“I won’t say anything to you while you reek of cheap booze and cheap women.” You closed the door behind him and stepped away, heading to the hallway and your closet to grab a towel and clean clothes for him.

“Take a shower. If you sober up, we’ll talk.”

Pedro knew what you were thinking—that he’d gotten mad, drunk with his friends, and gone out with women named Carly. But he hadn’t done anything other than stare at the karaoke machine, hating every second he wasn’t there to mock what he was hearing.

“Everything’s cheap,” he laughed, following you.

“You know what isn’t cheap, Pedro? My patience. I haven’t slept well in over a week, and now it’s almost four in the morning, which means it’s been twenty minutes since you showed up at my door, and I don’t know why the hell you’re not naked yet.”

Your words left your mouth, and Pedro smiled at you.

“One day without you, and I forget how hot you are when you’re bossy and sleepy,” he slurred, making you laugh softly as you turned on the shower and pushed him into the bathroom.

“Don’t fall in there, please.”

Fifteen minutes after you pushed him inside, your eyes were heavy, and the strange way your body associated his presence with a different kind of rest annoyed you. Without realizing it, you fell asleep on the couch, wrapped in your blanket. It was as if your body said":

— Oh, it’s okay; Pedro’s home, so we’re safe,— but was your heart safe?When he saw you asleep there, the tequila had only left him dizzy—nothing a cold shower couldn’t fix. He approached and carried you to your room without thinking twice, whispering as he looked at your face:

“I’m so sorry, my preatty little thing.”

He laid you on the bed, and as he was about to leave, he heard you murmur:

“Stay. Please.”

Without hesitation, he lay beside you, pulling you against his chest and wrapping you both in a cocoon where it was just the two of you.

“Have you ever thought that maybe I’m not the right person for you?” you murmured, burying your head in his neck and feeling his hands trail up your back.

“Have you ever thought that maybe I’m not the right person for you, sweetheart?” he emphasized, and you sighed.

“I’m scared of losing you when you realize I’m too young, too naïve, and haven’t even experienced half of what you have.”

“I don’t even know why you’re thinking that. I’m the one who’s old. You’re perfect, intelligent, hot, and extremely talented—a young woman who fell into the arms of an old man like me.”

“Yeah, but I think maybe one day you’ll want someone your own age, someone like Sarah or any of your exes. I think it’s okay if you get bored of me, start feeling ashamed, and—”

“Stop. Stop that.” Pedro cupped your face, pulling it from his neck and making you look into his eyes. Your hands rested on his chest as you stared at him, and with a disheartened smile, Pedro caressed your face, clearly upset. When had your relationship reached such a fragile state?

“I didn’t take you to the premiere because the press is cruel. They’d talk about you, probably reinforce the rumors, and talk about me—call me a disgusting creep. I was going to take you, but all of our advisors told me not to risk exposing you in a bad light. I… I would never feel ashamed of you, for God’s sake. Look at you. A woman of any age wouldn’t hold a candle to you in a million years.”

Sniffling, you climbed onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. Pedro sat on the bed, hugging you back, his hand resting gently on your waist.

“You don’t need to worry about anything. Whatever was written about you was a lie. God, I don’t think I even know how to live without you by my side anymore.”

You laughed, and a smile appeared on his lips.

“You don’t need to worry either. Other men lost their appeal the moment you wanted me.”

“That’s good, sweetheart.”

His hand traveled to the back of your neck, his large fingers running through your hair.

“And who was Carly?”

“A friend of the group.”

" And why did she have your cell phone?"

" It stayed on the table because I focused on looking at it for five to five minutes waiting for you to send me a message. "

“And the photo?”

He knew what you were referring to, and when he took it, he hadn’t expected it to reach you before you two made up—if you made up.

“It was to promote the movie, sweetheart. Dakota’s engaged.”

He brushed your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“Hmm, alright.” You looked at him, tracing your fingers from his hair to his beard until they stopped at his mustache.

“Stop looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes. It makes you irresistible.”

“Like this?”

He did it again, and you laughed, kissing his lips immediately after.

“Mm-hmm, like that.”

You murmured against his lips as he smiled at you, and you whispered,

“I love you.”

“I love you more, sweetheart. Just you.”

Pedro pulled you close, laying you back against the soft mattress, kissing you as if it were the last moment of your lives. At least, that’s what both of you hoped.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

I apologize if there are any mistakes in this writing. I didn't proofread it with the best eyes.

Requests are open

[margeoww]

Hiii, could you maybe write a Toto Wolff fic, where he’s super busy with work and stuff and forgets their anniversary or the reader’s birthday and she is like so close to leaving him, but he like can’t live without her and promises to be better?? Like very angstyyyy but with a happy ending. <333

The Time We Almost Lost

pairing: toto wolff x fem!reader

summary: when Toto Wolff forgets one of the most important days in your relationship, his world begins to crumble as you decide you can’t keep being an afterthought.

warnings: Angst with happy ending!!

a/n: sorry for making this so short 💔

The silence in your shared home had become suffocating, its weight pressing down on you with every passing second. Once, this space had been alive, a sanctuary of shared laughter, quiet moments of intimacy, and conversations that stretched long into the night. Now, it was a hollow reminder of everything that had changed.

Your birthday had come and gone, unacknowledged by the man who once made it his mission to make every moment feel special. The once-vivid memories of his handwritten notes, surprise dinners, and whispered promises had faded into a distant ache. The untouched cake sat on the counter, mocking you with its cheerfulness, its candles still perfectly intact, waiting for a celebration that never came.

You had told yourself you wouldn’t cry. But as you sat alone, your hands clasped tightly around a glass of wine, the dam broke. Silent tears fell, their warmth streaking your cheeks as you stared into the empty room. How had you let it get this far? How had you become invisible in the eyes of the man you loved?

When Toto finally came home, it was well past midnight. You heard the soft jingle of his keys, the door creaking open, and the familiar rhythm of his footsteps in the hallway. A pang of anger shot through you, sharper than the sadness you’d been nursing all night.

He hesitated at the doorway to the bedroom, his tall frame silhouetted by the dim light from the hall. —Liebe? —he called softly, his voice laced with exhaustion.

You sat on the edge of the bed, your robe wrapped tightly around you, the charm bracelet you’d bought yourself resting in your palm. The anger you felt earlier was a simmer now, dull but present.

—I came home as soon as I could. —he started, his tone cautious as if he already sensed the storm brewing. —I know I’ve been…

—Busy? —you interrupted, the bitterness in your voice slicing through the air. You stood, fixing him with a glare that made him stop in his tracks. —Go on. Tell me how you’ve been busy.

Toto sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. —You know how much is going on with the team right now. I don’t want to make excuses, but…

—Then don’t. —you snapped, cutting him off again. —Because I’m tired of hearing excuses, Toto. I’ve been patient. I’ve tried to understand, but last night… Do you even realize what yesterday was?

He stared at you, confusion clouding his features. And then it hit him. His eyes widened, and his shoulders slumped as he whispered. —Scheisse.

Your chest tightened at the confirmation. —That’s it? Scheisse? —You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. —You forgot my birthday, Toto. You didn’t call, didn’t text, didn’t even notice when I didn’t say a word all day. Do you even care anymore? Or am I just… someone who happens to live here?

His face crumpled at your words, guilt etched into every line of his features. —Of course, I care. You’re everything to me.

—Am I? —you challenged, your voice trembling. —Because it doesn’t feel like it. I’ve been putting in all the effort, waiting for you to remember I exist, hoping for scraps of your time. But I can’t do it anymore, Toto. I can’t keep feeling this invisible.

He stepped closer, his hands outstretched as if reaching for you would keep you from slipping away. —Please, don’t say that. I know I’ve let you down, but I…

—You’ve let me down for months. —you interrupted, your voice cracking. —This isn’t just about last night. It’s about every night I’ve spent eating dinner alone, every morning I’ve woken up to an empty bed, and every time I’ve wondered if I’m even a priority in your life anymore.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his usually composed demeanor cracking under the weight of your words. —You are a priority. —he said, his voice breaking. —I’ve been so caught up in work, in trying to keep everything together, that I didn’t see what it was doing to us. To you. But I see it now. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.

You folded your arms across your chest, trying to hold yourself together. —Words aren’t enough, Toto. I’ve heard them before, but nothing ever changes. I need more than promises. I need you to prove that I matter to you.

He nodded, his jaw tightening with determination. —I will. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just… don’t leave me.

The vulnerability in his voice, the raw emotion in his eyes, shook you to your core. You wanted to believe him, wanted to trust that this time would be different. But the wounds he had left weren’t easily healed.

—You’re asking for something I’m not sure I can give. —you whispered. —You’ve broken my heart, Toto. And I don’t know if I can keep putting the pieces back together on my own.

His hands trembled as he reached for yours, his touch tentative. —Then let me help you. Let me be the man you deserve. I know I’ve failed you, but I’ll spend every day proving that you’re the most important part of my life. Just… don’t give up on us.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken fears and fragile hopes. Finally, you let out a shaky breath, your tears spilling over as you whispered, —I don’t want to give up on us. But I can’t do this alone, Toto.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you as if you might disappear. —You won’t have to. —he murmured. —I promise, you won’t have to.

[starlighttsv]

Lego sets - Paige’s daughter

💌 Syn: paige buys lilah some gifts as a reward for getting good grades

»»— warnings: las!paige - i wrote this way before the draft lottery and was to lazy to change the team and teammates

»»— notes: finally finished bringing stuff over from wattpad!! now i just have to bring stuff from here over to wattpad 😔

»»— word count: 1.6k

»»— pair: paige x daughter!oc || lilah bueckers

Paige, Cameron, Rickea, and Rae all went to target today to get some necessities but Paige was also getting a few things for her daughter, as she had done really good on her spelling test and math test so P wanted to give Lilah a little reward. Paige and Lilah always have mama-daughter dates, and most of those date nights are exactly like this: eating take out or cooking together, baking some type of dessert (mostly already made cookie dough) and building legos while watching some game show on Netflix. It's both of their favorite things to do and they always cherish those nights as they don't get to do it a lot during the wnba season and Paige knew Lilahs gonna grow out of it eventually.

"What about Star Wars?" Rae asks holding up the gaint Darth Vader Lego set "we already did it a month ago" P says not even looking at her, focusing on the Lego boxes in front of her "okayyy what about the Eiffel Tower?" "Did it like 3 three weeks ago" "Stitch?" "A few years ago. Did it my fifth year of college." "Flowers" "have done multiple different ones" "alright we give up" Rickea says as she got tired of them all listing things off, just to immediately be shut down by Paige

Paige ignores them as they keep complaining about anything and everything, just looking at the legos trying to find some good ones, that P knows Lilah will love. That's when she sees a Moana set and a Disney Castle set, which is perfect for Lilah. Paige grabs those and put them in the cart that her and Rae are sharing, Cameron and Rickea sharing another cart.

"Finally! Can we go now?" Rae exclaims "No. I need to get a few more things. You guys can go to the front if you want, I'll meet you when I'm done." Paige says trying to make them not be annoyed anymore, as they all have been at the store for almost two hours, getting stuff they all needed or wanted in their houses. All of their feet's are starting to hurt and not mention they all have been stopped by fans like every 5 minutes.

"No, we're not gonna leave you alone when we've been stopped like 100 times already by fans. What else do you need to get? And why was it so important you get legos today?"Cameron cuts in before any of the other girls could "I need to get some cookie dough, tru fru, milk, chicken tenders, mac and cheese, carrots, mixed fruit, and a stuffed animal. And to answer your second question, Lilah got a B+ on her spelling test and a C+ on her math test, so we're gonna have a mama-daughter date night. The legos, Tru fru, and Stuffed animal are her reward and the food is her favorite meal, and we always bake something on m&d nights." Paige tells them "wait she passed? Those were the ones she was struggling with right?" Rickea asked "yeah, I was helping her study words in the locker room." Cameron cuts in before Paige can say anything "yeah she was struggling with those subjects a lot, so that's why I'm giving her a reward. She doesn't know that I know yet, as her teacher told me so it's gonna be a surprise."

"Alright so let's split up, me and cam will go get the cookie dough, milk, tru fru, and chicken tenders. You and Rae go get the stuffed animal, carrots, Mac and cheese, and mixed fruit. We can meet up at the self checkout. What kind of cookie dough and tru fru?" Rickea adds

"Chocolate chip cookie dough and for tru fru, bananas and strawberries." Paige answers making Rickea nod, and start turning around making Paige and Rae start doing the same, heading to where the stuffed animals are. "Hey Paige, wait" Rickea stops and turns around making P and Rae also do that "when you’re getting the stuffed animal, get some mini brands and lol dolls. I know Lil likes that stuff, My treat." Rickea continues "alright. Are you sure?" P asks "yep, I'm positive." Rickea says making Paige nod "ok, Thank you." Paige replies making Rickea nod and turn back around,- both groups going in different directions to get the rest of the stuff.

They all met up like planned and payed for their own stuff, Paige dropped them off at Cameron's apartment as they’re all getting ready together to go to a bar, and Paige took all her store bags home and set up what could be set up, before leaving to go pick lilah up from school. On the drive back to their home P told lilah that there was a surprise waiting for her making her get excited and start asking and guessing what it was. Obviously Paige wouldn't tell her.

When they got home Lilah was rushing Paige to unbuckle her and get her out of the car, at least Lilah still followed those rules when P knew she really wanted to just run to the house. Paige lifted her out of the car and set her on the ground "don't run yet, I need to get a few things from the car alright?" Paige asks her making Lilah immediately pout, Paige has learned to just ignored that though.

P made her way to the trunk and got her bag and lilahs school bag and then shut the trunk, lilah was still bouncing on the heels of her feet "cmon mama, I wanna see the surprise"

"Alright Alright, come here" Paige says chuckling slightly. P picks lilah up and put her on her hip and locks the car with her keys, then started making her way to the elevator to take the two of them to their apartment

Lilah is still trying to guess what it is and has listed the surprise about 4 times but P lied each time and said she was wrong. They make it to their apartment and Paige set Lilah down in front of the door, grabbed the keys out of her pocket - unlocking and opening the door for Lilah, which she immediately runs through.

She looks in the kitchen first and doesn't see anything as P put all the food away when she dropped the bags off, then she goes into the living room. Bingo!

She sees the legos, stuffed animal, lol dolls, and mini brands set up on the table, she sees the blankets and pillows that Paige brought out and put on the couch, and she sees their favorite game show "the circle" loaded up on the tv

"MAMA AND DAUGHTER DAY?!" She yells mispronouncing daughter "yep! You did so good on your math and spelling test, I figured you deserved a reward. Rickea bought you the lol dolls and mini brands though so you’ll need to thank her next time you see her. "

"I will! Thank you mama!" "Your welcome princess! But there is more, for dinner we are gonna have chicken tenders, mac and cheese, mixed fruit, and carrots. For dessert I got chocolate chip cookie dough, and another part of your reward is tru fru." She just squealed and ran up hugging Paige’s legs, P bent down a little and put one of her hands on Lilahs head and the other on her back, trying her best to hug Lilah back with the gaint height difference

"Alright babe, why don't you go get changed into your pjs and we will start dinner once you come back?" "Okay!" Lilah says and then runs off to her room

Paige goes to the kitchen and gets the chicken and mac and cheese out, filling a pot with water and turning the stove on. Once that's done P goes to her room and changes into her green plaid pj pants and a UConn zip up jacket. Walking back into the kitchen Paige sees Lilah wearing her Olaf onesie Azzi bought her so they could match, standing on her foot stool, leaning on the kitchen counter watching the water

"You ready to make dinner?" Paige asks her while walking closer and looking into the pot of water, seeing that it is boiling "yeah!" Paige opens the box of Kraft Mac and cheese and hand it to her  "dump that in the water"

After they made dinner and ate it, they put the leftovers away and got comfortable in the living room, setting blankets and pillows on the floor and making a giant bed/ pillow type thing in front of the living room table

Lilah decided she wanted to open the lol dolls and mini brands now, so while she was doing that Paige opened the Disney castle Legos and started reading the instructions

"Mama look" Lilah said excitedly making Paige look over at her and see her holding a few small food items from the mini brands "wow baby, you’re gonna have your very own pantry soon" that made Lilah giggle a little bit. Once she saw what P was doing Lilah put the other stuff away and pointed to the tv "circle?" Paige asked even though she knew what Lilah wanted, already grabbing the remote and turning on Netflix while she was nodding.

Once the shows turned on they both start working together (pretty much just Paige, while Lilah plays with the legos) to build the Disney castle. Eventually it was built and they cleaned up their mess, laying down on the couch and Lilah laying on Paige’s chest. Paige turned on a Disney movie for Lilah but she fell asleep holding onto Paige’s jacket not even 15 minutes in.

🏷️ @melpthatsme @rebecca-woso @authentic-girl03

[bellamoooon]

Shitty draft <333

I love my queen tashi but I need her to be a villain for this teehee

Arts grandma loved his long blonde curls, and would point it out every time they talked.

“Have you cut your hair short Artie? You know how much I love those curls of yours”

And if he was completely honest, he actually didn’t hate his long hair, in fact, most girls he would talk to would always say how much they loved his hair.

Especially you, he loved that you adored his hair; how you’d runs your fingers through his thick blonde curls or how occasionally you would braid some strands when cuddling and talking.

But that all took a turn, when he got with Tashi —who by the way did not like his long hair— he immediately chopped it down to a short length but not too short.

She always said his hair would get sweaty, making it annoying during matches, plus she said he look like a little kid with his curls, leading to the decision.

So now in the present, Art and Tashi were in the middle of a divorce, but he still had to attend the foundation’s events, so imagine his surprise as he sat next to you uncomfortably in silence.

”you cut your hair….” Was the first thing that came out of your mouth as you recognized him then going silent.

“Yeah— it was annoying to wash after the matches so…” he spoke with a bit of hesitation as the question popped into his head, what did you think about it? He couldn’t quite read your expression.

“It’s— it looks…nice” you say looking down at your hands, swallowing thickly not really knowing what else to say, not that you didn’t like it, but, he looked so different— sure it had been a good ten years since you last saw him, and you could see him age slightly but his face didn’t change.

He was the same Art, your Art.

“Tashi made me cut it” he blurted out after a couple of minutes of awkward silence, “she said it made me look like a kid” he had no idea why he was telling all that, it’s not like she cared anymore, or did she?

You let out a laugh, a hand covering your mouth as you tried to muffle the noise, Art furrowed his brows as he turned to look at you. “I’m sorry— it’s just that I couldn’t have imagined a single person who hated your long hair” you spoke almost unable to believe that Tashi did not like his curls.

“Yeah well— I kinda regret cutting it, I think I’ll let it grow back, y’know retirement and…the divorce” he slowed his pace as he mentioned the divorce, it really sucked to be him right now, he thought.

“That’s good, you always did look better with your long hair, I didn’t want to be a bitch in case it was your choice” you said as you pointed at his hair with a playful grin.

Right there. There it was.

Art wanted to die on the spot, how the hell did he manage to ever get with you, AND leave you for his teenage fantasy with Tashi.

Deep down he knew things between the two of you would never be like it was before, but a small part of him wanted to convince himself just for the night, that maybe, just maybe, the two of you could actually start over.

“Art, they need you for pictures” Tashi’s voice brought him back, he nodded softly muttering “be right there” as she turned away not even caring, you looked at Tashi walking away to then turn to Art, who had the expression of a kicked puppy with his tail between its legs.

“I’d hate to be you” you joked with a hint of tenderness you always carried when talking to him, “I’ll see you…around, hopefully.”

His heart dropped at the words, you had a longing look as you waved goodbye while walking away, he definitely hated being him right now.

I kinda hate this 😩💀

[pedrosyouknowwhat]

under his grasp

Pairings: Dark! Suitor! Marcus Acacius x Queen! reader

warnings: noncon, cheating, victim blaming, oral (f receiving), threats of rape (not to reader), noncon insinuations (not to reader), breeding kink, unprotected p in v, violence, etc

series masterlist

Seeing he had gone for good, you had dressed back into your wedding dress as it was the only comfort and clothes you had and decided to sleep in the marital couch, too scared that crawling in his bed would give him any ideas.

Morning came and you were up earlier than expected, sleep being scarce and more frightening than being awake. As your gaze searched around the room, the thick body of Acacius laid pleasantly in his bed. You tried to sleep longer, but handmaidens bustled into the room ready to prepare you for the first day of you endless nightmare.

They were quiet, Acacius’ handmaidens. They greeted you shyly, perhaps unknowing how to greet a Queen, and presented you a lavish turquoise gown; you allowed them to dress you as some stirred Acacius awake, but he batted them off, grumpily.

“I can dress myself.” He groaned, and you could tell that after he left you the night before, he had drunk.

Certain handmaiden caught your eye; she was young, similar to you physically, and she stood close to you. Her movements were timid, perhaps even more scared than the others. Your eyes followed her as she left the room.

True to his words, Acacius dressed himself in more casual robes; a beige picta. The silent was deafening, casting shadows over the dawn as you sat still, unaware of what to expect.

“When are we returning to the Palace?” You managed your courage to mutter, and Acacius finally posed his tired eyes on you.

“When you learn to be a good wife to me.” He answered sharply. “A husband cannot spend his nights looking for solace in another’s woman’s embrace.”

His words felt thick around him, his eyes glaring daggers. You felt a knot in your throat.

“Was that what you did after the events of last night?” You dared to ask him. He hesitated for a while, you could see it in his swerving eyes.

“Do not blame me, you decided not to comply.” He responded, and his feet padded closer to you, his broad figure becoming bigger and bigger.

“That didn’t deter you the other night.” You bit, rage lacing your words. “and I guess that didn’t deter you yesterday, as I can’t believe your other woman was whorish enough to sleep with a newly wed man.”

He chuckled at your words, pleased in his fantasy that you were portraying jealousy. “You would be surprise by how many girls like you dream of pleasing a General as myself.”

If that was true, then it felt unfair. For him to take you, just to dispose of you later, felt unfair. It all felt like a twisted joke, because despite not wanting him, he had done all of this for a reason.

“But just so you know,” He added, a sly grin on his face. “the one I bedded last night wasn’t compliant either.”

It felt like salt on a wound, and your face twisted into a bitter expression. He enjoyed it so much, the fight, your hatred, it fueled the fire in his loins.

“You are disgusting.” You spat, rising to your feet. “I cannot fathom how you portray yourself as the Hero-”

A sharp slap cut your words short, sending your face to the side as you gasped. His grip fell again on your face, now slightly more tender as he forced you to look at me.

“Oh, I am no Hero,” He sneered. “I am far more than that, I am your God now, and like Gods, I do not preach morality.”

You felt weak once again, but hatred still run through your veins as you glared at him. Your cheek stung.

“All this fighting has made me wanton.” He confessed, and your eyes widened in fear of his words. “after all, we must give Rome a heir.”

“You will be crowned King shortly,” You ushered, perhaps pleading. “you can have bastards and make them heir.”

He tutted at your excuses. “But I want you, darling; our heirs will rule Rome.”

“Why does it matter anymore?” You questioned, seeing impatience running through his features.

“Enough.” He barked, letting go of your chin. “Get on the bed.”

What if I say no?

What if I scream?

What if I comply?

Your mind raced, and he grew angry but you stood your ground. His lips almost curled into a smirk as he grabbed your forearms, as bruising as he had done the first night, and begun moving you towards the bed.

Your instinct kicked in, and you fought because complying was too humiliating for you. Kicking and clawing came to no avail as your back hit the soft, tousled fabrics of the bed.

“Are you going to behave or do I need to tie you down again and fuck you like a breeding mare?” He barked, and your arms grew weak under the threat. His gaze fell over the pretty dress that you wore, and he fought the urge to rip it apart. It was new, and a gift to you from him.

He opted for lifting your skirt and producing his manhood from beneath his robes. You didn’t want to look at it, feeling its weight on your leg was enough to tell you.

Your arms had fallen limp against the bed as he forced your thighs apart, presenting your cunt to his eyes.

“I realized I had forgotten something,” He confessed to you, and your mind screamed. “did not taste you properly yet.”

His dark eyes were set on you as he lowered his face to your exposed core, a pink tongue darting from his lips and licked a line along your seam. A whimper escaped your pressed lips, thighs shaking, and his mouth latched to you.

Like a man starved, he sucked your most intimate part, sending shivers along your body. Your nails dug into the covers, begging someone or something to stop the pleasure he was eliciting so darkly. But your hips buckled, making him even wilder as he thrusted his manhood into the bed. Like a man on a mission, he constrained his desires in order to get you to submit beneath him, which perhaps brought him more pleasure than the act itself.

A hand that was spreading your thighs apart let you free, but the limb curled itself into you, presenting yourself as soft mewls and squeaky moans left your lips. His fingers tangled themselves in the slick mess of arousal and saliva, pushing through your swollen walls; you jerked as he curled them inside, working your clit with his tongue.

There was a slight pain from the pressure, but it fueled the heat you felt, nipples pebbling against the silk of your dress and electricity jolting through you. Your thighs shut around his head, thick curls slightly matted from his efforts, and he knew.

A hand on your hip, holding you still, and now his digits thrusted in and out, fucking you until your legs wrapped around his neck, and you felt pressure relieve as you shot slick arousal directly into his face.

You didn’t care to try to reason what he had forced your body as you fell, spread, on the sheets, eyes lidded and throat hoarse from the war cry that had erupted from you.

Through your blurred vision you saw him rise on top of you, wiping you from his lips and face as his devoured all the essence you had poured onto him.

“No-” you whined as you felt the engorged tip of his cock pushing against your abused folds, hands rising to push at his chest.

“Come on, dumb girl,” he muttered at your skin, a hand gently taking your wrists above your head as the other propped your leg over his shoulder, letting himself slide right in with a pleased grunt. “I have pleased you, now do your duty.”

He sheathed himself in with a hiss, head bobbing back as your overstimulated core clenched around him. The sting had dissipated, and shame rose to your cheeks as you felt a need for it. The feeling, of needing to be fucked, pitifully reminded you of those nights along Lucius, the ones were his body heat felt like forbidden fruit, were you craved he would touch you, and were you would feel shame burn on you the next day as wild images blurred your thoughts.

But Acacius wouldn’t let you feel that need ever again, that you knew. He was an animal, biting into your soft skin as he rutted into you, as if trying to get closer. In a way, his assault felt like his desire to imprint on you, to make you yours, thing that he wouldn’t let you forget as he groaned and moaned it into your ear.

“There you are,” he mumbled, almost whispered, tightening the grip around your wrists unconsciously. “being fucking good for me, letting me fuck my wife.”

And you could fight it, you howled like a bitch in heat beneath him, letting General Acacius breed you despite the tears in your eyes. Your leg muscles stung beneath him, splayed like whore, for what felt like hours.

“Gonna finish inside you, paint your walls,” He panted into your ear before nibbling on your lobe. “gonna fuck the heir of Rome into you, dumb girl.”

True to his words, his pace picked up even more as he decided to finish the job. His grip snaked to your lower back as he pressed himself into you with a guttural groan, and you felt his sticky wetness inside of you, coating you; something you couldn’t clean up.

Perhaps this was for the better; the sooner you’d give him a heir the sooner he wouldn’t have an excuse to do this. But you knew that fantasy was unrealistic. Acacias had no excuse for enjoying the act so much.

His weight fell over you, shortening your breaths as you finally peered your eyes open, gaze cut by the mountains of muscular flesh of shoulder and back. The simple robe he had placed slipped from his body, and you felt sweat dampening as his torso pinned you down. His hand unwrapped his grip, knitting his fingers with yours. You begged he didn’t fall asleep.

But he didn’t, and you were grateful for that. Knowing he was crashing you, he tossed his body beside you on the bed. The silent rang in your ears; anticipation heavy, until he spoke.

“Each time you displease me, or deny me,” He said, threat and decisiveness in his voice. “I’d like you to think of our first night, and I’d like you to remember the pretty faces of the handmaidens I have here, at my power-and to know that I was considering you a Queen at the time.”

He had made his words clear.

[slaytheday12]

helloooo i have a request for youu

okay so walker scobell x reader where walker and the reader 'dated' when they were kids (like 11ish maybe?) but walker moved away, so they obviously stopped talking. then fast forward to now, he messages her on Instagram and at some point in the convo he says smth like "we never broke up" i hope this makes sense 😭

anyway i love youuu <33

We Never Broke Up

You and Walker had been inseparable as kids. From the moment you met at summer camp, there was an instant connection. At 11 years old, you didn’t know much about love, but whatever you had with Walker felt special. It was the kind of friendship where you’d pass notes, dare each other to do silly things, and sneak away from the group just to hang out under the stars. You’d even playfully called each other boyfriend and girlfriend, giggling at how grown-up it sounded.

But life had a way of pulling people apart. When camp ended, Walker moved across the country. You promised to stay in touch, but as time went on, the phone calls and texts became less frequent, and eventually, they stopped altogether.

Fast forward to now, and you were scrolling through Instagram, mindlessly tapping through stories. That’s when you saw him.

Walker Scobell.

You blinked, unsure if it was the same Walker you’d known all those years ago. But as you clicked on his profile, there was no doubt it was him. Except now, he was famous, starring in movies and making headlines. You hesitated for a moment before hitting the follow button, figuring there was no way he’d even notice.

To your surprise, he did.

The next day, a notification popped up: Walker Scobell has sent you a message.

Your heart raced as you opened it.

Walker: Wait... is this the same Y/N from camp? You: Depends. Are you the same Walker who screamed when we saw that raccoon by the cabins? Walker: 😭 Okay, fair, but yes. It’s me. Hi. You: Hi. Wow, it’s been forever. Walker: Yeah, like, what, 3 years? Maybe more?

The conversation flowed effortlessly. It was like no time had passed at all. You caught up on life how he got into acting, your own adventures, and everything in between. As the chat went on, the nostalgic warmth of your childhood friendship crept back in.

Then, out of nowhere, Walker dropped a bombshell.

Walker: You know... we never actually broke up. You: 😳 Walker: I mean, technically, right? We never said the words.

You laughed out loud, staring at the screen in disbelief.

You: Pretty sure moving across the country counts as a breakup, Walker. Walker: Nope. Doesn’t count unless someone says it. I’m just saying... we’re still technically dating. You: Oh, really? And what does that make us now? Walker: Long-distance couple reunited. 😌

You couldn’t help but smile, your cheeks heating up.

You: You’re ridiculous. Walker: Maybe. But I mean it. You were my first girlfriend, and I’m pretty sure I never stopped liking you.

Your heart skipped a beat. You stared at his message, unsure of what to say. Before you could respond, another message popped up.

Walker: Sorry if that’s too much. I just... I saw your profile and couldn’t stop thinking about you.

You took a deep breath before typing your reply.

You: It’s not too much. Honestly, I’ve thought about you too. A lot.

From there, the conversation shifted into something deeper, filled with confessions and laughter as you both navigated this unexpected reunion. By the end of the night, one thing was clear: whatever spark had existed between you as kids hadn’t faded it had only grown stronger.

Walker wasn’t just someone from your past anymore. He was part of your present, and maybe, just maybe, your future too.

A/N: u know i had to do my queens one first this my o.g girl i love her with my whole heart

Tags: @izzystylinson, @sophand4n4, @kaiwrites092

[darlingdaisyfarm]

I remember on ao3 you mentioned you wanted to post Stan and Ford reacting to readers death, I wanted to ask if you could share it please?<3

grief wears your name | Stan and Ford react to reader's death

Grief hits everyone differently and the Pines family is no exception. Old men arent supposed to outlive you

a/n: certainly! thank u for reminding me, tw: death

Stanley

you'd think that a man who’s been through as much as Stan Pines would’ve learned how to process grief by now. but the thing about Stan is, he doesn’t process it, not really. he pushes it down so deep that even he forgets it’s there, until it sneaks up and slams him flat on his ass.

fuck that, fuck everything, fuck this world

hell, he wasn’t supposed to outlive you. not you. not with all the shit he’d done to his body over the years, the cigarettes, the cheap booze, the sleepless nights every time he looked in the mirror. it was supposed to be him first. the old man with bad habits and a lifetime of regrets weighing him down. that was the deal, wasn’t it? you're too young, bright, stubborn, alive, you were supposed to outlast him. supposed to be there when his time came, rolling your eyes at his dramatics and holding his hand as he went. that’s how it was supposed to go, fucking fuck

he got the call from someone he didn’t recognize. a voice muttered words he couldn’t make sense of. your name. your fucking name. his ears rang, his head spun and his fingers gripped the receiver tightly

“what the fuck do you mean, gone?” the person on the other end tried to explain, but Stanley slammed the phone back onto the hook before they could finish. no. no.

you couldn’t be gone.

he saw you last week. he watched you smile at him across the counter, teasing him about his fez like you always did. he swore you winked at him before you left.

and now you were just. . . what? erased from existence?

grief had a way of making him ugly, uglier than he already saw himself. his hands shook as if he’d been drinking all night, but the bottle on the table was full and untouched. even the burn of whiskey couldn’t numb this, so what was the point?

Stanley thought about the kitten he’d brought home when he was ten. it was starving, ribs like piano keys beneath its dirty fur, the meows little animal let out were so pitiful. he'd sworn he’d take care of it, even made a little bed out of an old shoebox and named it tiger. he fed it milk behind his dad's back. tiger died three days later.

Stan felt useless, he couldn’t save anyone.

Stan hasn’t touched the fez since you died. it’s sitting there on the bedside table, gathering dust. you used to steal it all the time, yanking it off his head with a grin. “this thing’s ridiculous, Stan,” you’d tease, shoving it onto your head crookedly. “i’m the boss of scam now. bow to me.” and he always played along, rolling his eyes, calling you a pain in the ass, but you only laughed at that. that laughter was gone.

when Mabel asked him about you last night, he had to get up and leave the room because he wasn't ready for that. she was just a kid, trying to understand why the world was so unfair and he couldn’t give her an answer because he didn’t have one.

“grunkle Stan? do you think. . . do you think they’re still watching over us?” how could he tell her he didn’t believe in anything like that anymore? that you were just gone, snuffed out, like you’d never been here at all?

Mabel’s curled in his lap like she’s five again, clutching her sweater-covered arms around her knees, her face a swollen mess of tears and hiccupping sobs. her little voice is hoarse from crying and she tries to explain, through broken words, about the stupid sweater she’d been knitting for you. she just finished it. it was supposed to be a surprise. she was going to give it to you tomorrow.

Stan wraps his arms around her, calls her “pumpkin” in the softest voice he can manage, but it trembles. he squeezes his eyes shut so hard it makes his head hurt, he hopes if he can just keep them closed tight enough, none of this will be real. but it is. it fucking is. and he doesn’t know how to tell a twelve-year-old that the world is this fucking cruel. he doesn’t know how to admit he feels like that little boy again, the one with a kitten dying in his hands and nothing he could do to stop it.

he buries his face in Mabel’s brown hair and mutters some useless lie about how “it’s gonna be okay”

Mabel's face against his chest as she sobbed. Stan held her tighter.

“i made them a sweater, grunkle Stan. i-it’s pink with little stars and they- they said they'd wear it when it got cold,” her sobs swallowed the rest.

what could he say to that? what the hell could anyone say? “they loved your sweaters, kiddo. you know they did.” he wanted to picture you in that dumb pink sweater, smiling like you always did when you wanted to make Mabel feel special. but all he could see was you gone. gone. and nothing he could do would change it

Stanford

when he got the news about you, his meticulously constructed walls crumbled in an instant.

he sat at his desk, the journal open in front of him, its pages blurred by the tears he didn’t realize were falling. his hands shook as he gripped the pen, but the words just wouldn’t come.

he’d been taught from an early age that emotions were illogical. when he was younger, his father had told him to “quit being such a baby” after Ford cried over a broken model ship. that lesson had stuck

he locked himself in his study, the same place he’d last seen you. everything was still exactly where it had been. the chair you’d sat in. the pen you’d picked up and fiddled with while listening to him ramble. he’d always been embarrassed by how much he talked around you, because words came so easily when you were there.

the guilt was eating him from inside

was it his fault?

had he been too focused on his work, too distracted to notice that something was wrong? had he missed a chance to save you?

he needed answers. needed to know. what had happened? why had it happened?

he buried himself in research, poring over every detail of the accident or the incident, as he came to call it. his obsession grew, consuming him. he didn’t sleep. didn’t eat.

Stan found him one night, hunched over the desk, muttering to himself about alternate dimensions and cosmic energy. “Ford, this isn’t gonna bring them back.”

Ford didn’t respond because Stan was wrong.

Ford wasn’t trying to bring you back. he was trying to rewrite the universe so you’d never been gone in the first place

Dipper tries to talk to him one day, pulling at the hem of his vest clumsily. “grunkle Ford, is it okay to miss someone this much? like. . .this much that it hurts? my chest hurts.”

Stanford doesn’t know how to answer that. he doesn’t know how to explain the way grief wraps itself around your lungs and makes it impossible to breathe. “it is, Mason, it means they mattered.”

Dipper doesn’t see how Ford presses his hands to his temples when he leaves.

Ford’s always been good at pretending he’s fine.

Ford’s grief was quieter, but no less consuming. the guilt, the helplessness, the horrible emptiness that stretched wider every time he thought about how he’d failed to protect you.

he couldn’t stop thinking about all the times you’d parodied him, mimicking the way he pushed his glasses up his nose or how he’d say “actually” before correcting someone. “actually, Stanford Pines, you’re so predictable,” you’d giggle, tapping the bridge of your nose in a mocking gesture

you used to drive him insane with it, in good way. his face would flush, his words would stumble, and he’d act all huffy while secretly loving every second. he never told you how much he adored the way you made fun of him

he found one of your notebooks the other day. it was tucked under a pile of his old research papers, pages scrawled with your handwriting. you’d doodled little caricatures of him in the margins, stick-figure versions of Ford with six fingers and exaggerated glasses, accompanied by sarcastic captions like, “the nerdiest but prettiest man i ever knew”

he stared at those drawings until his vision blurred from tears. then he shoved the notebook in a drawer and locked it.

...

Ford disappears the next morning.

he knows it’s selfish, leaving Stan and the kids to deal with all of this without him, a part of family, but he can’t be in that house another second. the walls are suffocating. so he grabbed his coat, your coat, the one you used to borrow when you’d say his was warmer and walked, his feet already knew where they’re going.

the woods. the same path you always loved, where the sunlight filtered through the trees beautifully, where you used to point out birds or mushrooms or anything that caught your curious eye. you’d tug on his sleeve to make him stop and look. and god, you were so beautiful when you smiled at him like that. Ford adored you.

Ford doesn’t remember sitting down in the clearing where you used to spend time together, his knees in the dirt, fists clenched in the grass. he hadn’t cried when he found out, hadn’t even let himself feel it because there were too many faces looking at him like he was supposed to have answers. now there’s nothing but the woods, only memory of you and the sound of his own ragged breathing breaking into loud sobs

Ford cries like a child. raw, aching grief pouring out of him in waves, making his glasses fog up, slipping down his nose and he doesn’t bother fixing them. his body doesn’t know how to process this kind of pain. his hands too busy clawing at the ground, hoping he could dig deep enough to find you again.

Ford Pines, the man who always thought he could think his way out of anything, is completely unmade.

he doesn’t know how long he sits there, crumpled against the base of a tree. his hands tremble as he takes the notebook out of his coat pocket, the one he used to write down little things you’d say or do that he didn’t want to forget. he flips through it now, pages ruined with his tears and it hurts worse than anything else. your handwriting’s there, little notes you’d leave for him.

“don’t forget your glasses!”

“your hair looks cute today <3”

“i love you, Ford.”

he shuts the notebook and presses it to his chest, it's the only part of you he has left.

the stars above didn’t care. the trees didn’t care. the world kept turning, indifferent to the fact that you’d been torn from it.

and Ford was left there in the cold void, feeling smaller than he ever had in his life.