#like he came back and those arms...that chest

[gf2bellamy]

hiii!

i was wondering if you could write spencer x reader, where she’s having a really bad day but spencer is coming home from a case and is exhausted, mentally and physically so she feels guilty that she would bother him with her mood

So she just hides away and is on the verge of a panic attack and spencer finds her and is all “you save me, so pls let me save you” and just comforts her (and calls her angel because 🫠)

thankyouuu so much (you dont have to do it if you dont want! no pressure at all!) i love your writing, it’s so incredibly cute and endearing <3

exhaustion — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader crying a lot , reader feeling guilty / tired / exhausted, spencer calls reader angel a/n: hii thank you so much for your request !! i hope you like this <3

The apartment was quiet—too quiet. You sat on the couch, curled up in one corner, staring blankly at the empty space in front of you. The TV was off, the big overhead light was off, and the only light came from the small lamp on the side table.

You hadn’t moved in what felt like hours, your mind swirling with the events of the day. It had been one of those days—the kind where nothing went right, where every little thing seemed to pile up until you felt like you were drowning under the weight of it all. 

You missed Spencer. A lot. Especially right now.

He had a way of making everything feel better. You longed for his comforting hugs and the way he’d listen to you ramble about your day.

But he wasn’t here. He was at work, buried under mountains of paperwork and case files.

The sound of keys jingling in the lock snapped you out of your thoughts. You jumped up from the couch, your heart leaping in your chest as you hurried to the door.

Spencer stepped inside, looking disheveled and exhausted. His tie was loosened, his hair was a mess, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He dropped his bag by the door with a heavy thud, and before you could say a word, he pulled you into a tight hug. 

You melted into his embrace, your arms wrapping around his neck as you buried your face in his shoulder. He smelled like coffee and faintly of paper. For a moment, you just stood there, holding each other.

“I missed you,” Spencer mumbled into your hair, his voice muffled but sincere. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your back.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You didn’t want to let go, but after a moment, he pulled back slightly, his hands moving to cradle your face. His thumbs brushed gently over your cheeks.

“Today was horrible,” he said with a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he let go of you to shrug off his jacket. He ran a hand through his hair, looking more tired than you’d seen him in a long time. 

You bit your lip, hesitating. “What happened?” you asked softly, following him as he moved further into the apartment. 

He sighed again, sinking onto the couch and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Just… paperwork. So much paperwork. And then Garcia’s computer crashed, so we lost half the files we needed, and Hotch wanted everything reorganized by tomorrow morning…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It was just one thing after another.” 

You sat down next to him, your heart aching as you watched him. He looked so drained, so unlike his usual self, and you felt a pang of guilt for even thinking about burdening him with your own problems.

Today had been hard for you, but it sounded like it had been even harder for him. The last thing you wanted was to add to his stress. 

So instead of talking about your day, you reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “That sounds awful.” 

He gave you a small, tired smile, his fingers intertwining with yours. “It’s okay. It’s just… one of those days, you know?” 

You nodded, your throat tightening. You did know.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him. Instead, you shifted closer, pulling him into another hug. He leaned into you, his head resting on your shoulder as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“How was your day?” Spencer mumbled, his voice soft and drowsy as he leaned back against the couch, pulling you with him.

You settled against his side, his head still resting on your shoulder as your fingers continued to gently card through his hair.

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated for a moment, your hand stilling briefly before you forced yourself to keep moving. 

“It was… good,” you said, your voice carefully neutral. You tried to inject a note of cheerfulness into your tone, but it came out sounding hollow, even to your own ears. 

Spencer hummed against your shoulder, seemingly too tired to notice the slight falter in your voice. “I’m glad,” he murmured, his words muffled as he nuzzled closer to you. His warmth was comforting, but it did little to ease the tightness in your chest. 

After a moment, he shifted, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before slowly sitting up. “I’m going to get changed,” he said, his voice still heavy with exhaustion.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before standing and heading toward the bedroom, leaving you alone on the couch. 

As soon as he was out of sight, the lump in your throat returned, thicker and more suffocating than before. You bit your lip hard, trying to hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill all evening.

But it was no use. The dam broke, and before you could stop yourself, you were on your feet, hurrying toward the bathroom. 

You shut the door behind you with a soft click, leaning against it as the first tear slipped down your cheek. Then another. And another.

Soon, you were crying , your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. You muttered curses under your breath, frustrated with yourself for not being able to hold it together. 

“Get it together,” you whispered harshly, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. But the tears wouldn’t stop.

The tears kept running, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape.

You felt like a mess, your face hot and your chest tight. But just as you were about to try to pull yourself together, you heard footsteps outside the bathroom door, followed by a soft knock. 

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice came through the door, gentle and concerned. “Can I come in?” 

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. You didn’t know what to do. Part of you wanted to tell him to go away, to spare him from seeing you like this, but another part of you desperately needed him.

You muttered a curse under your breath, wiping at your face with the back of your hand before slowly getting to your feet. 

You opened the door just enough to peek out, your eyes meeting Spencer’s. He was standing there, his expression soft but worried. His hair was still a mess, but his eyes were focused entirely on you. 

“Hey, hey,” he said immediately, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?” 

You sniffled, your throat tightening as you tried to find the words. “I—” you started, but your voice broke, and you shook your head, unable to continue.

How could you even begin to explain? Everything was wrong. The entire day had been wrong, and now you felt like you were falling apart. 

Spencer didn’t push. Instead, he reached out, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, wiping away a tear. His touch was so tender that it only made you cry harder.

“Come on,” he said softly, his hand slipping down to take yours. He gave it a gentle squeeze before pulling you with him, leading you out of the bathroom and down the hallway. 

You followed him numbly, your fingers intertwined with his as he guided you to the bedroom. He sat you down on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of you, his hands resting on your knees as he looked up at you, his eyes searching yours. 

“Talk to me, angel,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “What’s going on?” 

The nickname made your heart ache, and you shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. “I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “You had such a bad day, and I didn’t want to make it worse.” 

Spencer’s expression softened, his hands moving to cradle your face. “You could never make my day worse,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And you’re never a bother. Not to me. Not ever.” 

You shook your head again, your hands gripping his wrists as you tried to steady yourself. “But you were so tired, and I didn’t want to—” 

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “You save me, I save you. That’s how this works, remember?” 

You nodded slowly, your breath hitching as more tears spilled over by just hearing those sweet words. Spencer leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his arms.

You went willingly, burying your face in his shoulder as he held you close. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your back, and you felt some of the tension in your chest begin to ease. After a while he slowly let go, but his hands remaining on your arms.

“Tell me about your day,” he said after a while, his voice soft but insistent. “What happened?” 

You hesitated, but the way he was looking at you—so patient, so understanding—made it impossible to hold back. So you told him. You told him about everything that had gone wrong.

And he listened, his hands never leaving yours, his eyes never wavering from yours. 

When you were done, he pulled you into his arms again, holding you tightly against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I’m sorry you had such a bad day. But I’m here now, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.” 

You nodded, your face buried in his shoulder as you clung to him. For the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe again. Like maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. 

Spencer pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “Always, angel,” he said softly. “Always.” 

[star2fishmeg]

i can’t even lie i’m the biggest fan of angst to comfort with luke, could you possibly do something with that💕:)

His door opens cautiously, curls unruly and slept on, t-shirt crumpled but when his sleepy eyes fall upon you, he stands up straight, instantly flattening his hair with his palm and opening the door wider. He can't decide whether you look miserable or relieved, your lips quivering yet your shoulders are perfectly relaxed. Hell, he just woke up from a nap, he can't decide anything.

"Y/n? What are you doing- I thought you were going on that date?" he croaks, voice husky. He steps aside, allowing you to shuffle in and remove your shoes.

You're inside a safety net. You feel your eyes well and meet Luke timidly. His face softens, strong arms engulfing you, and suddenly, the world falls silent, and the wall you built crumbles in his hold. Your ear presses to his chest, the tears falling from your eyes soaking into his t-shirt. His grip tightens, his hand stroking your hair delicately.

"...I cancelled. It's over. I made the wrong choice, Lu." You cry with a breaking voice, but you're crying and let the emotions pour out your chest with heat flushed to your cheeks, "I'm such a fucking idiot."

If hearts could physically shatter, Luke's would have. Into a million finite pieces on the floor. His feet start moving backwards, yours following his guidance until his knees hit the sofa, pulling you onto his lap, swinging your legs over and cradling your body to his chest.

His words are gentle and thoughtful, his tone calm and his heart thunders in his chest. You've come to him. Expected considering you've been good friends since college, but you came to him for comfort. "No, no, you're not an idiot. Talk to me, I'm all ears. Why'd you cancel? You were so excited."

God, you hate that he was right. You were excited. The butterflies, the compliments, the dates, they were fun, they felt good, filled with adoration. Yet, the guy never felt right. Like an imposter, like you were supposed to be sharing those moments with someone else, someone who loved you regardless of anything. Someone who actually had an interest in you.

"I thought about it. I thought I was excited but turns out not about the guy, he’s not…he’s not anything to me. All the fun little dates were exciting, spending time and just, I don't know, being part of these other couples around me, but honestly..." your sobbing stutters as your tears roll violently down your cheeks, but it's hard to fall apart when Luke's cradling you so securely.

You tilt your chin up, peering up at him with red eyes but he's already gazing at you. He brushes loose strands of your hair out of your face, with such a featherlight touch it feels like he's sporting a halo above his head. He cups your cheek and his thumb soothing over your cheekbone slows your heartbeat back to stability.

"I wasn't as excited anymore after I left you the other day. It kinda just...faded. I thought I'd give it a chance but...I couldn't. It wasn't the same, Luke." You calmly confess, gaze shifting to his lips before back into his eyes, those forever glossy eyes you find yourself unable to look away from. The eyes that only ever pay attention to you and you know that you've seen that.

He swallows hard with flustered cheeks, "So, you dressed all pretty just to come here?"

"Wanted to see you..." it takes a moment for you to process his words, his touch against your skin so gentle it's intoxicating and has your brain dizzy. With a voice above a whisper, "You think I look pretty?"

Luke nods slowly but surely, licking his lips and searching your eyes for something of an opportunity. His stomach flutters and he's certain, certain that he knows where this is headed and that he can finally find peace within himself.

"Always, since I met you. Miss you every time you leave. Jealous whenever you went on a date. Wanna be with you all the time…just want…you."

Your fingertips lightly press to his jaw on instinct, "...you were the right choice. But I was scared of...ruining us."

His lips pull up into a small smile, chest blooming with warmth and it's as if the world has burst into colours. He's only ever dreamed of this moment, where you're in his arms and telling him that this whole time, you've felt something back. You thought you'd cry again, yet the smile on his face only encouraged your own, fingers sliding down his neck to tangle in the curls at his nape.

"You don't have to be afraid anymore, m'right here. All yours, I've got you." He leans in, and you're leaning in too like magnets until soft lips meet for a tender kiss. A genuine one that's closed mouth and long-awaited with yearning.

When you both pull away, gazes locked, hands on each other, he dips back into you, passionately this time and you're keeping him in, close. You had your suspicions, yet what were you so afraid of if Luke's feelings were blatantly obvious?

[mrsfancyferrari]

Hey I hope you've having an amazing day/evening/night. This is my first time requesting something😅, and I was wondering if you could possibility write something like what you did with my type but the reader having natural auburn curly hair, with freckles thinking that she's not his type or something along those lines.

Gold in Snow

Summary: you and lando are in a relationship but you're reserving hate comments about you being a ginger, with freckles because the fans don't think you're his type

Song: Golden Hour · JVKE

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 5.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Another podium finish for Lando, another shower of champagne soaking his expensive suit. You watched from the relative calm of the garage, a small smile playing on your lips.

He looked genuinely happy, and that, more than anything, made the constant noise and pressure of Formula 1 palatable.

You’d been dating Lando Norris for almost a year now. A year of stolen moments, whispered secrets in hotel rooms, and navigating the chaotic whirlwind that was his life. A year of pure bliss…mostly.

The “mostly” came in the form of comment sections. Forums. Twitter threads dedicated to dissecting every pixel of your existence and comparing it to the accepted prototype of a WAG – Wives and Girlfriends – in the F1 world.

You were… different.

They’d say it with a thinly veiled, almost clinical detachment, but the message was always the same: you didn’t fit. You were too… ginger. Too freckled. Too… you.

The ginger part bothered them the most. Lando was a global superstar, practically sculpted from marble, with a smile that could melt glaciers. He was everything they wanted him to be: conventionally attractive, charming, and effortlessly cool.

And you? You were… well, very, very pale. Your hair was a fiery halo, and your skin was dotted with a constellation of freckles that bloomed fiercer in the summer sun.

“He likes the exotic look,” one comment had sniped. “She’s probably got a killer tan when she’s not hiding in the shade.”

You’d chuckled then, a hollow sound that didn’t quite reach your heart. Exotic? You’d spent your life battling sunburns and jokes about having no soul.

And killer tan? Honey, you burned so fast, lifeguards would start applying sunscreen just by looking at you.

You tried to ignore it. Lando certainly seemed to. He showered you with affection, praised your quick wit and sharp mind, and constantly reminded you how beautiful he found you, flaws and all.

But the insidious comments burrowed under your skin, planting seeds of doubt that you desperately tried to weed out.

You saw him heading towards the garage now, adrenaline still buzzing through him. His eyes found yours, and that signature Lando grin spread across his face. Your heart did that familiar little flip.

“Hey!” he said, pulling you into a hug. He smelled of champagne and victory. “Did you see that last overtake? Unbelievable!”

You laughed, burying your face in his still-damp fire suit. “Yes, I saw it. You were amazing, as always. Just try not to spray me next time, okay?”

He pulled back, his brow furrowed. “You okay? You seem… quiet.”

You forced a smile. “Just tired. It’s been a long weekend.”

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. “Well, we’re flying back tomorrow morning. We can just chill in the hotel tonight. Order some room service, maybe watch a movie?”

“Sounds perfect,” you said, meaning it. Just the two of you, away from the cameras and the judgment.

That night, as you lay in his arms in the dimly lit hotel room, the familiar ache in your chest returned. You couldn't shake the feeling that you were somehow… undeserving.

“Lando?” you whispered, the sound barely audible above the hum of the air conditioning.

“Hmm?” He nuzzled into your hair.

“Do you… do you ever read the comments? About us?”

He stiffened slightly. “I try not to. You know how toxic that can be.”

“But you do read them, right? Sometimes?”

He sighed, a heavy sound that vibrated against your chest. “Okay, yeah, sometimes. But I don’t pay any attention to them. They’re just… noise.”

“Noise that says I’m not good enough for you.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

He pulled back, his eyes searching yours in the dimness. “What? That’s ridiculous. Who says that?”

“Everyone. Online, anyway. They don’t think I’m your type. They think I’m… too ginger. Too freckled. Too… plain.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. “Hey. Look at me. You are absolutely stunning. Inside and out. You are intelligent, funny, kind, and you have the most beautiful smile in the world. And yes,” he added with a mischievous grin, “I also happen to think your hair is gorgeous, and your freckles are like little constellations scattered across your skin. They’re unique, just like you.”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes. “But they say…”

“They say a lot of things. People are always going to have opinions. But their opinions don’t matter. Only mine does. And I think you are perfect.”

He leaned in and kissed you, a slow, tender kiss that chased away the doubts, at least for a moment.

But even as you melted into him, a small, insidious voice whispered in the back of your mind: He’s just saying that. He has to say that.

The knot in your stomach tightened with each passing day, each new photo plastered across social media. You and Lando, laughing at a restaurant, holding hands at the airport, just being normal.

What shouldn't have been a cause for concern, was. It should have been a happy bubble of romance, but it was quickly becoming a breeding ground for anxiety, a place where your insecurities festered and grew.

Because under each picture, nestled amongst the supportive comments and heart emojis, they lurked. The whispers, the not-so-subtle digs.

"He could do so much better." "She's not even his type." "Another generic influencer." And the worst of it? "Ginger + Freckles = No."

You knew it was irrational. Lando loved you. He told you every day, showed you in a million little ways, from the way he held your hand to the way he looked at you with genuine adoration.

But the internet had a way of burrowing into your brain, planting seeds of doubt that blossomed into thorny vines. You found yourself scrutinizing your reflection, picking apart every freckle, every strand of your fiery hair.

Was it too much? Was it enough? Were you enough?

"Penny for your thoughts?" Lando's voice startled you, pulling you back from the precipice of your spiral. He was standing in the doorway of your shared flat, his racing helmet tucked under his arm, a familiar mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"Just thinking about this weekend," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "Excited for the snow."

"Me too! Max and Steve are already counting down the hours. You're coming to the slopes tomorrow, right?"

You hesitated. "I… I have something I need to do in the morning. I'll meet you guys up there later, okay?"

Lando frowned, his blue eyes searching yours. "Everything alright, love? You seem a bit off."

"I'm fine," you insisted, forcing a smile. "Just… a doctor's appointment. Nothing serious. I'll explain later. Promise."

He didn't look convinced, but he knew better than to push. "Alright. Just text me when you're on your way. Drive safe.”

He kissed your forehead, the warmth of his touch a brief comfort against the chill that had settled within you and left.

The next morning, the drive to the snow mountains felt endless. Each mile was another step closer to the potential storm brewing in your head.

You told yourself you were being ridiculous, that you were letting faceless strangers dictate your feelings. But the seed of doubt had been planted, watered, and was now taking root.

When you finally arrived at the ski resort, the crisp mountain air did little to soothe your nerves. You walked into the reception area, the scent of pine and hot chocolate thick in the air.

"Name?" the receptionist asked, her eyes glued to the computer screen.

"It's… uh… Y/L/N, party of Lando Norris."

The receptionist's fingers clicked across the keyboard, and she looked up, a polite professional smile gracing her lips. "Ah, yes. Mr. Norris's party. You're all set. Here's your lift pass. Your equipment rental is just through those doors. Have a wonderful day."

You collected your ski boots and poles from the rental shop, the familiar weight grounding you slightly. You'd been skiing since you were a kid, practically born on the slopes.

It was one of the few places you felt truly free, truly yourself.

You strapped on your skis and headed towards the main lift, scanning the crowd for a flash of Lando's familiar McLaren Racing beanie or the boisterous laughter of Max and Steve.

The lift carried you higher and higher, the view expanding to reveal a breathtaking panorama of snow-covered peaks and pristine valleys.

For a moment, the internet, the comments, the doubts, all faded away. You breathed in the crisp air, feeling the thrill of anticipation course through you.

As you reached the top, you spotted them. Lando, grinning and waving, Max, already carving down the slope with reckless abandon, and Steve, carefully navigating the beginner trail.

You took a deep breath, pushed off, and let gravity do its work. The wind whipped through your hair, the sun glinted off the snow, and for the first time that day, you felt a genuine smile spread across your face.

You were good. Really good. You weaved and turned, carving graceful arcs in the powder, your ginger hair a vibrant streak against the white landscape. You glided past other skiers, feeling the rush of adrenaline as you navigated the slopes with practiced ease.

You found yourself on a black diamond run, moguls stretching out before you like frozen waves. This was where you belonged, where you felt alive. You took a deep breath and launched yourself into the challenge, navigating the bumps and dips with precision and skill.

Suddenly, you heard a whoop of excitement and a familiar voice. "Wow, check out the ginger ninja!"

You glanced over your shoulder and saw a couple of guys, clearly impressed by your skiing skills.

You grinned, threw them a wink, and continued your descent, the compliment a small spark of warmth against the doubt that still lingered.

The crisp mountain air bit at Lando’s cheeks, painting them a matching shade to the gaudy orange ski suit Max insisted he wear. He shifted his weight from one ski boot to the other, impatience radiating off him in visible waves.

He’d been waiting at the base of the slope for what felt like an eternity. Max was already halfway up the mountain for his third run. Steve was content to nurse a lukewarm hot chocolate and offer unsolicited advice on Lando’s form, despite the fact Lando hadn't even put his skis on yet.

"She's taking her time," Steve commented, taking another careful sip. "Probably intimidated by the black runs."

Lando rolled his eyes, though fondness softened the gesture. He knew you weren't intimidated by anything. This was more than likely your first time on the slopes, so you were probably taking it easy.

You were a natural athlete, thriving on competition, but you’d also confessed, with a sheepish grin, that skiing looked deceptively easy on TV.

He was about to tell Steve as much when Steve suddenly straightened, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, there's your girl!"

Lando spun around, instantly forgetting the cold, the wait, and Steve’s irritating commentary. He searched the throng of skiers snaking down the slope, his heart doing a little skip. And then he saw you.

You moved with a surprising grace, your skis carving effortless arcs in the snow. Sunlight caught in your fiery red hair, turning it into a cascade of glittering copper. Each freckle seemed to dance on your skin, illuminated by the mountain sun.

He knew, objectively, that you were beautiful. He saw it every day. But seeing you now, flushed with exertion and radiant with joy, took his breath away.

He froze, utterly captivated, as you approached. You navigated the final stretch with smooth confidence. “Show off,” he muttered under his breath, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You slowed to a stop, kicking up a spray of snow just inches from his boots.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, laughing. You pushed your goggles up onto your forehead, revealing eyes the color of warm honey. "Sorry! How long have you been waiting?"

Your cheeks were rosy, your breath misting in the cold air. Lando stared, speechless.

"Baby? What's wrong?" you asked, your brow furrowing with concern. You reached out, your ungloved hand gently touching his cheek. The cold stung, but he barely noticed.

He swallowed, his voice a low rasp. "You're beautiful."

The words were a whisper, almost lost in the wind. He hadn’t meant to say it so abruptly, so…exposed. But the sight of you, framed by the snow-covered peaks, had rendered him incapable of coherent thought.

Your eyes widened slightly, and a blush bloomed on your cheeks, a delicate counterpoint to the healthy glow of the mountain air. "Lando," you said softly, "you okay? Are you coming down with something?"

He blinked, shaking himself slightly. "No, I'm fine. More than fine, actually. You just…you look incredible."

Steve coughed pointedly beside him. Max, having apparently teleported from the top of the mountain, snickered. Lando shot them both a warning glare. They knew how self-conscious you were, especially around his racing colleagues.

The comments section of his social media had been a cesspool ever since you two became public. Hateful words about your appearance, thinly veiled as concerned opinions that you weren’t “his type,” were a constant, ugly background noise.

He knew it bothered you, even though you tried to brush it off with a laugh and a casual, "Haters gonna hate." But he saw the flicker of hurt in your eyes when you thought no one was looking.

He hated those comments, hated the people who wrote them, and hated that they had the power to make you feel anything less than extraordinary.

He took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "Ignore them," he said, his voice firm, his gaze locked on yours.

You looked confused. "Ignore who? Max and Steve?"

"Everyone," he said, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "Anyone who makes you feel like you're anything less than perfect. Because you are. Perfect. Just the way you are."

The blush on your cheeks deepened, and you ducked your head slightly, a shy smile playing on your lips. "You're sweet," you mumbled. "But I know I'm not everyone's cup of tea."

"Good," Lando said fiercely. "You're mine. And that's all that matters." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, ignoring Max's exaggerated gagging noises.

He pulled back and met your gaze, his expression serious. "Listen to me. Don't ever let anyone tell you that you're not beautiful, or that you're not good enough, or that you don't belong. Because they're wrong. They’re absolutely, unequivocally wrong. You’re amazing, inside and out. You’re kind, you’re funny, you’re fiercely intelligent, and yes, you’re unbelievably beautiful. And I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you."

A tear, born of emotion and the biting wind, escaped your eye. "You're going to make me cry," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

"Good," Lando said, wiping the tear away with his thumb. "Let them see you cry. Let them see how real and how beautiful you are. Don't hide anything. Don't let anyone dim your light."

He knew his words were bold, maybe even a little cheesy, but he meant every single one of them. He wanted you to know, deep down, that he saw you, truly saw you, and that nothing anyone said would ever change that.

Max, surprisingly, had stopped snickering. He clapped Lando on the shoulder. "Alright, mate, enough with the declarations of love. Let's hit the slopes. Before I get frostbite."

Steve nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Lando. You can gush later. Right now, let’s see if your girl’s got what it takes.” He winked at you. “No pressure.”

You smiled, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Pressure is my middle name," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let's go."

Lando grinned, relieved to see the familiar spark back in your eyes. He squeezed your hand one last time before letting go.

He watched as you adjusted your goggles and clicked your poles into the snow. He felt a surge of pride watching you. He knew the comments would still be there, lurking in the shadows of the internet, waiting to pounce.

But he also knew that you were strong. You were resilient. And you had him.

He grabbed his own skis, a newfound confidence coursing through him. He would protect you, always. But more than that, he would celebrate you, every freckle, every fiery strand of hair, every brilliant facet of your being.

As you pushed off, gracefully navigating the gentle slope, Lando felt a lightness in his heart that had nothing to do with the altitude. He knew, without a doubt, that their love story was just beginning, and he couldn't wait to see where it would take them.

He followed you down the slope, his orange ski suit a beacon against the white snow. He caught up to you easily, skiing alongside you, matching your pace.

"So," he said, grinning mischievously. "Think you can keep up with me, ginger?"

You laughed, a bright, joyful sound that echoed through the mountains. "Try me, Papaya boy."

And with that, you kicked it up a notch, leaving Lando in your snowy wake.

He laughed, his heart soaring.

He pushed off, determined to catch up, knowing that even if he never did, he would be perfectly content just to chase you, forever. . . .

The papaya coloured dress hung on you, a vibrant splash of sunshine in the sterile white bathroom. It was Lando’s favourite colour, or so he claimed. He said it reminded him of McLaren, of speed, of… you.

But all you could see in the mirror was a canvas of imperfections.

Your reflection stared back, a stranger dissected and judged. The fiery red hair, usually a source of pride, now felt like a neon sign screaming "OUT OF PLACE."

The constellation of freckles scattered across your nose and cheeks, tiny sun-kissed stars Lando often traced with his fingertip, seemed like blemishes, flaws magnified under the harsh bathroom light.

The original plan, a simple elegance of no-makeup and loose waves, lay discarded. You'd envisioned a carefree evening, a confident entrance with Lando by your side.

Now, the thought of facing the public, the prying eyes, the inevitable whispers, felt like climbing a mountain of anxiety.

Social media had been a minefield lately. Ever since your relationship with Lando Norris became public, the comment sections had become a breeding ground for toxicity. Most were overwhelmingly supportive, celebrating your love.

But a persistent undercurrent of negativity gnawed at your confidence. The "fans," or rather, the internet trolls masquerading as them, were relentless.

“She’s not his type.”

“He could do so much better.”

“Ginger? Really? He's lowering his standards.”

The worst were the comments picking apart your appearance. The freckles, the hair, the perceived lack of "glamour." They painted you as an anomaly, someone who didn't belong in Lando's world. It was absurd, of course.

Lando loved you for you. He told you every day. But the insidious nature of online hate was that it seeped in, whispering doubts in your ear when you were most vulnerable.

Tonight, facing a McLaren party filled with glamorous personalities and industry insiders, the doubts had reached a crescendo. You grabbed a tissue from the dispenser, dabbing at the corners of your eyes, fighting back the overwhelming urge to cry.

The reflection in the mirror blurred, the colours swam, and the vibrant papaya felt like a mocking reminder of everything you weren't.

That’s when you heard the familiar click of the front door.

“Y/n?” Lando’s voice echoed through the house, a warm, comforting sound that momentarily cut through the anxiety clouding your mind.

Panic seized you. You couldn't let him see you like this, a mess of insecurities and mascara-smeared cheeks. You needed to compose yourself, to build up a façade of confidence before facing him.

Quickly, you turned the small lock on the bathroom door. The click was loud in the sudden silence.

“Y/n?” he called again, his voice closer now. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, just… just getting ready,” you managed, trying to inject a lightness into your tone that felt utterly fake. Your voice wavered, betraying your true state. “I’ll be out in a second.”

You heard him pause outside the door. “You sure? You sound… different.”

He knew you too well. He always did. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears away. “Just a bit of a headache. Nothing serious.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment, thick with unspoken concern. You could almost feel his presence on the other side of the door.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice softening. “But don’t rush. I’m happy to wait. Do you want me to get you some water?”

His thoughtfulness, his unwavering care, only made the guilt swell inside you. He was so genuine, so supportive, and here you were, hiding from him, consumed by the petty insecurities fueled by strangers on the internet.

“No, I’m fine,” you insisted, a little too quickly. “Just… give me a few more minutes, okay?”

“Alright,” he said, a hint of reluctance in his voice. You heard him move away from the door. “I’ll be in the living room.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning against the cool porcelain of the sink. This couldn’t go on. You couldn't let these hateful comments dictate your life, dictate your relationship.

Lando deserved better. You deserved better.

Taking a deep breath, you turned on the cold tap, splashing water on your face. You grabbed a towel and gently patted your skin dry, removing the remnants of your almost-attempted makeup.

You looked at yourself again, really looked.

The fiery hair, the freckles, the flaws… they were all part of you. They were what made you unique, what made you you. And Lando loved you for it. He saw beauty where others saw imperfections.

He saw strength where others saw vulnerability. Why were you letting the opinions of anonymous strangers outweigh the love and adoration of the man you adored?

You let out a shaky sigh, a weight lifting from your shoulders. It wasn't a complete cure, the insecurities wouldn't vanish overnight, but it was a start.

With newfound resolve, you took another look at the papaya dress. It shimmered under the light, a vibrant symbol of sunshine and joy. You smoothed the fabric down, a small smile gracing your lips.

You unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out.

Lando was standing in the living room, fiddling with his phone. He looked up as you entered, his face immediately lighting up. He was wearing a simple dark suit, impeccably tailored, but it was the genuine warmth in his eyes that truly caught your attention.

He took a step towards you, his gaze sweeping over you from head to toe. The smile widened.

“Wow,” he breathed, his voice laced with admiration. “You look absolutely stunning.”

You blushed, the compliment genuine and heartfelt. “Thank you.”

He closed the distance between you, cupping your face in his hands. His thumbs gently stroked your cheeks, tracing the familiar pattern of your freckles.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft with concern. “You seemed a bit… off earlier.”

You hesitated, the urge to brush it off still lingering. But you knew you couldn't hide from him. He deserved the truth.

“I… I saw some comments online,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “About… about me. About not being ‘your type.’”

His expression darkened, his eyes hardening with anger. “Don’t you dare listen to those people, Y/n,” he said fiercely, his grip on your face tightening slightly.

“They don’t know anything. My ‘type’ is someone who is kind, intelligent, funny, and beautiful, inside and out. Someone who makes me laugh every single day. Someone who challenges me and supports me, even when I’m being an idiot. That’s you, Y/n. That's always been you."

He paused, his gaze searching yours, making sure you understood the sincerity of his words.

"And as for the… the physical stuff," he continued, his voice softening again. "Your hair is the most beautiful shade of red I've ever seen. Your freckles are like little constellations, guiding me through the darkness. And that little dimple you get when you smile? Drives me absolutely crazy."

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you’re not good enough, Y/n. Because to me, you are perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of relief, of gratitude, of love.

You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I love you, Lando,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his jacket.

He held you tight, his arms a comforting embrace. “I love you too, Y/n. More than you know.”

After a long moment, you pulled back, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. You took a deep breath, feeling a surge of confidence wash over you.

Lando was right. You couldn't let the negativity of others define you. You had his love, his support, and that was all that mattered.

You looked at him, a genuine smile gracing your lips. "Ready to go to this party?"

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Absolutely. And just so you know, I'm planning on spending the entire night showing you off to everyone. They need to see how lucky I am."

He took your hand in his, his fingers interlacing with yours. As you walked out the door together, you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were exactly where you were supposed to be. And that, you realised, was all that truly mattered.

The haters could say what they wanted. You had Lando, you had your love, and that was more than enough. The papaya dress suddenly felt like armour, not a target.

You were ready to face the world, hand in hand, imperfections and all. . . .

The party was exactly what you expected: loud music, flashing lights, and a sea of familiar faces from the F1 world – drivers, team principals, engineers, and their partners.

The sheer volume of people made your anxiety prickle, but Lando kept a firm grip on your hand, navigating you through the crowd.

He introduced you to what felt like a hundred people, his arm possessively around your waist, his smile beaming. You tried to focus on the conversations, to be witty and engaging, but the whispers seemed to follow you, phantom echoes of the comments haunting your mind.

“Lando’s with her?”

“She’s… different.”

“Not exactly what I expected.”

You squeezed Lando’s hand tighter, trying to ground yourself. He seemed oblivious to the undercurrents, his attention solely focused on you.

“Having fun?” he asked, his voice barely audible above the music.

You forced a smile. “Yeah, it’s… great.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching. He knew you better than anyone, and he could see the forced cheerfulness masking your discomfort.

“Hey,” he murmured, pulling you closer. “If you want to leave, we can. We don’t have to stay here.”

“No,” you said quickly. “No, I’m fine. I want to be here. With you.”

He smiled, relieved. "Okay, but seriously, if you change your mind, just say the word."

Just then, a tall, lanky figure approached, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Lando! Mate, good to see you.”

“Oscar!” Lando clapped him on the back. “Good to see you too. Oscar, this is my girlfriend, Y/N. Y/N, this is Oscar Piastri.”

Oscar offered you his hand, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

You shook his hand, trying to gauge his expression. Was there judgment there? Pity? You couldn’t tell. “Likewise, Oscar. Congratulations on your season so far.”

“Thanks,” he said, his smile genuine. "It's been... interesting, to say the least." He paused, then gestured to a woman standing beside him. "And this is my girlfriend, Lily."

Lily stepped forward, her smile warm and inviting. She had kind eyes and a simple elegance that immediately put you at ease. "It's lovely to meet you, Y/N. Lando talks about you all the time."

You blushed, glancing at Lando, who just winked. "All good things, I hope?"

Lily laughed. "Of course! He's completely smitten."

The four of you fell into easy conversation, discussing the season, the pressures of being in the spotlight, and the challenges of maintaining relationships in such a demanding environment.

You found yourself relaxing, the tension slowly draining away. Lily was refreshingly down-to-earth, and Oscar, despite his reserved demeanour, had a dry wit that you found endearing.

As the conversation flowed, you noticed Lily subtly steer the topic towards your interests, asking about your work, your hobbies, and your passions.

She seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you, not just as Lando’s girlfriend, but as an individual.

“So, Y/N” Lily said, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, “Lando tells me you’re a writer? That’s fascinating! What kind of writing do you do?”

“I dabble in a bit of everything,” you replied, feeling your confidence grow. “Short stories, poetry, some freelance journalism. It depends on what sparks my interest, really.”

“That’s amazing,” she gushed. “I’ve always admired people who can write. It’s such a powerful way to express yourself.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “It is. I’m useless at it. Give me a steering wheel any day.”

Laughter bubbled up from your chest, your earlier anxieties fading into the background. You were having a genuine, enjoyable conversation, with people who seemed to genuinely care about you.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the noise. “Lando, darling! There you are!”

A woman, dripping in diamonds and designer clothes, glided towards you, her eyes scanning you from head to toe with blatant disapproval. You recognized her as the wife of a prominent team principal, a woman known for her sharp tongue and even sharper judgment.

Lando’s smile faltered slightly as he turned to face her. “Genevieve, good to see you.”

She completely ignored Oscar and Lily, her gaze fixed on you. “And who is this, Lando? A new… acquaintance?”

You felt your cheeks flush, the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach. You knew what was coming.

Lando’s arm tightened around your waist. “This is my girlfriend, Y/N.”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “This is your girlfriend? How… interesting.” Her tone dripped with condescension. “Well, congratulations, darling. I’m sure you’re very happy.”

She turned back to Lando, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Lando, darling, you really could do so much better. Don't you want to think about your image?”

You felt your heart sink. This was it. The moment of truth. You braced yourself for the inevitable onslaught of negativity.

But then, something unexpected happened. Lando’s eyes flashed with anger, and his grip on your waist tightened protectively.

“I’m perfectly happy, thank you,” he said, his voice cold and firm. “And Y/N is more than enough. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we were in the middle of a conversation.”

He turned his back on the woman, effectively dismissing her. He looked at you, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, still reeling from the encounter. “Yeah,” you mumbled. "I'm okay

Lily stepped forward, her expression fierce. “Honestly, some people are just ridiculous,” she said, her voice laced with scorn. “Don’t let her get to you, Y/N. She’s just jealous.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “She’s got nothing better to do than spread negativity. Ignore her.”

Lando squeezed your hand. “They’re right. Don’t let her ruin your night.”

You looked at them, at Lando, at Lily, at Oscar. You saw genuine support, genuine kindness, genuine acceptance. And suddenly, the weight on your chest lifted. The comments, the whispers, the judgment – they didn’t matter.

You had people who loved you, who supported you, who valued you for who you were, not for who the internet thought you should be.

You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and smiled. “You know what? You’re right. I’m not going to let her ruin my night.”

Lando grinned, relieved. “That’s the spirit. Now, how about we get out of here and go somewhere more… private?” He winked suggestively.

Lily laughed. “Sounds like a plan. Oscar, you’re driving, right? I’ve had one too many cocktails.”

As you walked away, hand in hand with Lando, you glanced back at Lily and Oscar, a warm feeling of gratitude washing over you. You had found unexpected allies, people who saw past the surface and appreciated you for who you were.

You were still an outsider, still a ginger with freckles, still not “his type” according to the internet. But tonight, surrounded by love and support, you didn’t care. You had Lando, you had friends, and you had the courage to be yourself.

And that, you realised, was more than enough. The papaya dress no longer felt like armour, but a symbol of your strength, your resilience, and your unwavering commitment to being true to yourself.

You were you and you were happy. . . .

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux, yourusername and 867,879 others

landonorris

Happy anniversary to my beautiful girl. Two years. Two years of laughter, adventures, and learning to love you more fiercely every single day. I know the internet can be a dark place, especially for someone as radiant as you. Don't listen to anyone who talks about you bad, especially those whispering nonsense about "types." They see a snapshot; I see the whole damn masterpiece.

Your fiery hair is sunshine on a cloudy day, each freckle a tiny star mapping out the constellation of my heart. They don't see the intelligence that sparkles in your eyes, the quick wit that keeps me on my toes, or the unwavering kindness you show to everyone you meet. They don’t see you. You are everything I could ever want, and more than I ever deserve. So, happy anniversary, my love. Let's keep painting our world with joy, ignoring the noise, and celebrating the beautiful, unique you. I love you more than words can say. ❤️

comment has been restricted

[miedei]

sick day

roommate!spencer is sick (and lovely)

a/n: wrote this in a fugue state i think, just couldn't get the thought of being spencer's roommate out of my head

cw: best friends who definitely don't love each other noooo why would you say that, spencer is sick and annoying but also the best

wc: 2k

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

Living with Spencer Reid is usually wonderful. He’s relatively neat, but messy enough that you don’t have to walk on eggshells around him. He’s always willing to recommend you a new read, he doesn’t judge you when you spend an entire day slumped on the couch, and is always up to help you stress bake. 

It’s decidedly wonderful, until it’s not. A week into your living together, you’d realised what a workaholic he was. After the first time you’d caught him asleep on top of paperwork in the living room, you’d understood how much of a pain Spencer Reid really can be. 

Unfortunately, today is one of those days. Spencer returned from a case last night, and the moment you’d seen the slump in his shoulders, you knew you were going to have to work from home today. 

“You really don’t have to stay home. I don’t even have to stay home! I’m seriously not sick, I swear!” His voice is low, as if attempting to mask the rasp in it. It doesn’t work.

His rambling doesn’t cease, not the entire time you steer him away from the front door and into the living room. 

“Yeah? Spence, do you even remember the last time you got sick? I came home to find you lying on the dining table! I’m not going to leave and come back to you trying to climb out of the window or something.” You deadpan, watching him cross his arm and grumble something about ‘elevating the upper body’, and ‘actually very good for the immune system’. 

Having shoved him not-too-lightly onto the couch, you stand with your arms crossed, eyes narrowed on him.

“I can’t believe you were going to go to work! Living with you is like living with a child sometimes, god. You know you would have been sent home straight away, look at you.” You gesture wildly at him. 

He’s a pathetic sight, curled up on the couch looking distinctly sorry for himself. His hair is limp, flat against his scalp, his weak limbs shoved haphazardly in a button down and slacks. He hasn’t even knotted his tie, leaving it hanging loosely around his neck. 

Grabbing his phone out of his bag, you thrust it towards him. 

“Call your boss and tell him you need a sick day. You said it yourself, it’s just paperwork today, right? You can take a day off once in a while, Spence, it won’t kill you.” Once finished, you stomp out of the room, heading to his bedroom to grab him some clothes. Surveying his closet, you grab one of his Caltech hoodies and a pair of sweatpants, grinning to yourself when you hear his hoarse voice on the phone. 

As you walk back into the living room, he’s settled in, clearly resigned to his fate. 

“Yeah, Hotch, I need the day off. I’m sorry, I’m just- Oh. It’s okay? You’re sure? Um, okay. Thanks Hotch.” He hangs up, his eyebrows pinched as if he’s loath to admit you were right. 

You can’t help it, snickering as you dump the sweats and hoodie on his chest. 

“I told you so.”

“You’re so mean to me.” 

It’s nice, spending a day with Spencer like this, even with how whiny he is. Sitting at the desk in the living room, you’re not being incredibly productive, but Spencer’s fever-induced rambles more than make up for it. 

“So, some moron made a blog called ‘What Would Carl Sagan Do?’, and Garcia - remember her, my coworker? She showed it to me, and oh my god, it’s so ridiculous! I mean, to start, all the entries were lifted from different sci-fi movies and books, and they were all so inaccurate, like, ‘The Martian Chronicles’ were good, but it’s been debunked so many times! Carl Sagan debunked it!”

He’s laying on his back on the couch, slender fingers waving in the air above him, eyes lidded as he speaks animatedly. 

“Yeah? What was wrong about it?” You rise from the desk chair, heading into the kitchen. “Also, do you want tea?”

His voice softens, speaking slower as he answers your question. “Yeah, that black tea you brought home last week, please.”

You can hear the moment he slips back into his rant, words growing more and more spirited as he continues to rail against whatever that blog was. Puttering around the cramped kitchen, you let his words roll over you, balancing two mugs and a plate in your hands. 

He doesn’t stop speaking, but flashes you a grateful smile as he takes a mug from you, swiping a cookie from the plate before delving back into the topic at hand.

“So, Bradbury, and a lot of the other sci-fi writers of the time, believed that colonisation of Mars would be possible within the 20th century. And then, in 1960, Carl Sagan, along with a bunch of other astronomers, discovered that Mars doesn’t have an atmosphere, so humans living there long term is virtually impossible without a huge improvement in technology, which probably won't happen until the latter half of the 21st century. And this moron with a blog is pretending like Sagan wouldn’t care, and that he would advocate for irresponsible space travel and I hate him.” 

He finishes with a huff, taking a large gulp of tea and sitting up against the couch. His eyes are hazy with exhaustion, eyelids drooping as he looks at you. You can’t help but giggle. He looks adorably dishevelled, and his eyebrows pinching together at your laughter only intensifies it.

“What? Why are you laughing?”

“I’m- I’m sorry Spence, you just look really cute right now, like you’re going to fall asleep.” You can barely get it out, body shaking with mirth. His eyebrows furrow further, a slight pout forming on his lips. 

His attempts to get you to stop laughing go unanswered, and he huffs once more, crossing his arms and settling against the couch cushions. 

It’s the late afternoon when a knock on the door stirs you from your reverie. Spencer is sitting next to you, your legs slung over his lap as he leans back, eyes trained on The Fellowship of the Ring on the television as his hands tap out something on your calves. 

“Are you expecting anyone?” He shakes his head no, not averting his gaze from the screen. 

You sigh, jostling his shoulder. 

“Spence. Spence, can you go get the door? It’s probably a salesman or something.” 

He hums, shaking his head once more. 

“Can’t. Too sick.”

You groan, tipping your head back in frustration before hauling yourself off the couch, flicking his shoulder as you walk past.

“You’re infuriating, you know that?” His only response is a grin, before he turns back to the movie. 

Grumbling under your breath, you trudge through the room to the front door, frowning when you look through the peephole to see two figures. 

One is shorter than the other, a woman wearing a hot pink and orange dress that should be garish, but looks completely natural on her. The man next to her is grinning, holding several plastic bags in one hand, the other arm linked with the woman’s. 

Not salesmen. 

Concluding that they’re probably not a threat, you swing the door open, causing their heads to pop up. 

“Hey, Reid- Oh.” The man speaks immediately, but pauses when he sees you. 

“You’re not Reid.” The woman concludes. 

You tilt your head to the side, confused. 

“Yeah, I’m not. Um, how do you know Spencer?” 

They share a confused look.

“We’re his coworkers. Derek and Penelope. Sorry, who are you? Do we have the wrong apartment?” 

You brighten, recognising the names from Spencer’s many stories about work. 

“Oh, that’s who you are! No, you’ve got the right apartment, of course. Come in.” You turn to the side, allowing them to walk in, although their expressions remain bewildered. “I’m Spence’s roommate, Y/N. He’s in the living room.”

“Roommate?” Derek exclaims before setting his sights on Spencer, striding over to him. 

“Hey, pretty boy.” Spencer jolts, the haze of sickness having made sure that he didn’t notice them till now. His voice is higher than normal, squeaky. 

“Morgan! What are you- Garcia? Why- why are you here?” Penelope smiles mischievously, plopping down on the couch next to Spencer. 

“Well, we obviously wanted to check up on you, Boy Wonder. This is the first sick day you’ve taken in the last two years - don’t try to lie to me, I checked - and now, we’re very interested in your friend here.” Her smile loses its teasing edge when she turns to you. 

A grin spreads over your face, recognising the same teasing affection you feel towards him in the two newcomers. Retaking your seat on Spencer’s other side, you pull your feet up on the couch, tucking them under Spencer’s thigh. 

Penelope squeaks quietly, but averts her gaze when you look up at her questioningly. 

“So, you guys have worked with Spence for a while, huh?”

Derek sits in the armchair across from you, chuckling under his breath.

“Since he was 22. Back when he straightened his hair and wore those sweater vests that were three sizes too big.” Spencer lets out a strangled noise of protest next to you, but you both ignore him in favour of continuing your conversation. 

“Seriously? I’ve seen one photo of him back then, but then he started hiding them all from me. You got any?” 

Penelope perks up, pulling out a tablet from her work bag. 

“Yes! Oh my goodness, sweetheart, I have so many. Did you know, he used to do this thing where he would gel his hair back, said it made him look older but it was honestly just really cute, hold on…”

She shifts and moves to sit on your other side, huddling over the tablet with you and Derek. 

Spencer is suddenly left in the lurch, stuck observing the three of you from the other end of the couch. He feels like he should be irritated, angry even, but he can’t do anything but watch, eyes softening. 

“Oh my god, Spencer, you were so cute, what happened?” Never mind, he’s feeling a bit irritated now.

It’s not endearing, no. No matter how lovely you look, your face flushed with excitement. No matter how easily you fit in with some of his favourite people in the world.

It’s not captivating, not at all.

[cuntyji]

cw: suggestive , reader has tiddies/wears a bra/fem-bodied

you’ve heard the phrase "get that man a bra" before. people say it as a joke, a way to poke fun at dudes with substantial pectoral mass. but your toji? oh, he wasn’t just a man in need of a bra—he was the reason bras existed.

the sheer density of those things. they weren’t just pecs; they were mega milkers, genetically blessed jugs of goodness, god-given war crimes of mass destruction. no one should have tits that big and not wear some form of support. but you, naïve and unsuspecting, had never thought he’d actually take action on this very real issue.

so when you came home after a long, exhausting day, all you wanted was to lay on top of him, soak in his warmth, and let his big ol’ chest pillows cradle your weary soul. but the second your face met his torso, something was off.

where was the plush? where was the give? where was the comforting, all-natural memory foam of his pecs? instead of the usual soft, heavenly bounce-back, you were met with a rigid, unyielding force.

"… babe?" you mumbled, lifting your head slightly. you poked at his chest. it didn't jiggle. it didn't even budge. your heart rate spiked. this was unnatural.

“hmm?” toji replied lazily, his arm draped over his forehead, completely unfazed.

you poked again. harder. then squinted up at him. suspicious. too suspicious.

your eyes flicked to his shirt. then back to his chest. then back to his shirt. something was lurking under there, and you weren’t sure if you were emotionally prepared for what you were about to uncover.

but then, to your absolute horror, he smirked and casually lifted his shirt.

you gasped.

he stuffed himself into a sports bra.

your sports bra.

your brand-new, high-support, for-the-girlies-only sports bra.

it was stretched to its absolute limit, fabric screaming for relief. you swore you saw the seams trembling under the immense pressure of his pecs.

"bro," you whispered in pure betrayal.

toji, completely unfazed, propped himself up on one elbow and rolled his shoulder. "pretty good, right? keeps ‘em locked in. no bounce."

"NO BOUNCE?!" you shrieked, sitting up so fast your head spun. "YOU KILLED THEM. YOU SLAUGHTERED THEM. THEY'RE SUFFOCATING. RELEASE THEM IMMEDIATELY."

he had the audacity to chuckle.

“nah, i like it," he said, adjusting the straps like some kind of deranged lululemon ambassador. "real snug. back support’s nice too."

you were about to pass away.

"toji," you inhaled, voice shaking. "you ruined my brand new bra."

"nah," he shrugged, reaching for the remote. "just stretched it out a little."

stretched it out a little. a little. A LITTLE.

he turned to look at you, finally noticing the sheer emotional devastation on your face. then, after a beat, he smirked.

"you jealous?"

you grabbed a pillow and swung.

[malsmind]

favorite pillow

chris sturniolo x reader

summary: chris uses your ass as a pillow

warnings: swearing, biting

author's note: i feel like i write too much smut... also have way too much of chris being obsessed with ass sitting in my drafts so

wc: 576

english is not my first language!

soft mumbles came from the TV, making it the only sound audible in chris's room other than the sound of either of you watching a tiktok or instagram reel on your phones. you were laying on your stomach, propped up on your elbows, mindlessly scrolling trough your phone with chris's head rested on your buttcheek, doing the same thing. you could feel his breath fanning over the bare skin of your ass, your shorts barely covering the smooth flesh of your backside.

whenever you shifted in your position, laying your head on the matress to help the ache in your elbows from holding yourself up on his bed, chris would groan out, complaining over you disturbing his peacful scrolling while he used your ass as a pillow, his favorite pillow. it was only a matter of time until chris would grow bored of holding his phone up and scrolling trough the same apps over and over again, but you? you could do it all day long, most of the time at least, now was one of those times.

chris put his phone down with a sigh, his head still comfortably resting on your buttcheek, one of his arms sprawled out over the back of your thighs, the other one next to your body on the matress. chris shifted, moving his hand up to your other asscheek, tracing patterns on it with his fingertips, making you giggle a little, turning your head back to look at him over your shoulder. "don't let me disturb you, m' just enjoying my favorite time of the day." he mumbled, meeting your eyes.

you shake your head at him with a smile, turning your attention back to your phone. chris continued to trace soft circles on your skin, tilting his head slightly, placing soft kisses, his stubble tickling your skin, making you giggle again. his lips continued to press kisses to your smooth skin, fingers fiddling with the lace of your shorts innocently. "we can do something if you want chris, i don't have to be on my phone" you let him know, but he hummed, declining. you continued to scroll trough your phone, letting him do his thing, you never minded it. he was smiling to himself, happy in the place he was in, using his favorite pillow during your guy's favorite time of the day.

his kisses faded, replaced by a sudden sharp sting on the skin of your buttcheek, not sharp enough to really bother you though. however, when the small, gentle bites turned into more forceful ones, aching with the aftermath of chris's teeth sinking into your flesh, your head snapped to look at him again. "ow, chris! seriously?"

"what? you're just biteable, not my fault!" you shook your head in disbelief at the exaggerated pout on his lips, feigning sadness at your protest to him showing his love for you and your ass. you turned your head back to your phone, continuing to watch whatever tiktok you'd paused. when chris sunk his teeth into you again, you put your phone down, pushing him off fo you with your legs and laying on your back. "enough of that, yeah?" you warned, raising your eyebrows at him.

he groaned, crawling up on the bed to lay between your legs, his head resting on your chest. you laid back, wrapping your arms around his body, cuddling him back.

"you're so fuckin' mean, y'know that?" he mumbled into your chest.

dividers by @issysh3ll !

@middlepartmatt @emely9274 @impossiblecollectorcat @staargazr @sllutty-sturniolo @shadowthesim237 @sturns-mermaid @courta13 @grace-sturnz @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @ncm9696 @rcklessheavn

[kesadoll]

♡ CWS MDNI 3.8k ♡ brattyblack!reader, boss!shiu, coworker!toji, oral {f + m}, unprotected, d♡ggy, poor y/n gets manhandled over shiu's desk, it gets NASTY. {petnames: doll, baby, brat, slut. ♡}

♡ sum. you came back from a mission to get sent off on another, but before you went your boss & coworker had something to say about your attitude...

kesa's note just wanted to let it be known I made about 4 other drafts after this one but ended up coming back to this..... but it fed something in me i didn't know was hungry LMAOO i hope u like it :p asks & reblogs always welcome!

you walked down a series of halls, each step you took feeling like it drained what little energy you had left. you were covered in what you could only assume was blood, sweat, and mud.

see, you were…a spy of sorts. you’d go gather intel, beat up, and maybe kill someone if you were tasked to, maybe even just for fun. you were a wildcard and a headache for your poor boss, shiu. 

you walked into his office, plopping yourself on the large couch that sat in the middle of the room and sprawling out. shiu was there, smoking his usual cigarette, shooting a glance at you as he tidied up some papers. “someone needs a shower,” he said, gesturing over to your dirtied clothes and the way your hair curled at your neck from sweat, his baritone like music to your ears. 

you wanted to protest, but you knew better. talking back to shiu usually meant some type of harsh and unreasonable punishment, and you were far too exhausted so you resorted to a grumble. his gaze softened, seeing the exhaustion on your face. he felt guilty for sending you to a job by yourself, but he knew you could do it which is why he sent you anyway. 

shiu took a long drag of his cigarette, smoke billowing from between his lips as he exhaled, “it was that bad?”

you nodded faintly, huffing, “didn’t think it would be soooo much work..” he chuckled at your pouting, finding it amusing. it was rare to see you in such a state, but you were much calmer than you usually were, and it saved shiu the headache. 

he ashed his cigarette over the fancy-looking ashtray on his desk as he spoke, “you’re capable, that’s why i let you take the job. besides..” he paused, blowing a cloud of smoke towards you, “if you couldn’t handle it, you would’ve been dead the minute you walked in there.”

you lifted your head, your usual wide eyes sending metaphorical lasers right through shiu’s head. this was your normal attitude, kinda crazy and a tad ditzy, but you were extremely lethal and beyond just smart. “mmmh!” you  grumbled, resting your head back again, “they almost made me lose a nail!”

shiu let out a sigh, shaking his head slightly at your usual attitude. sometimes, he wondered who's the bigger pain in the ass: you or him. he stubbed out his cigarette on the table, watching as the ashes fall to the floor. he leaned back on his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, a small smirk on his face, "you know, someday that crazy attitude of yours is gonna be the death of you."

“or you’re gonna be the death of me!” you kicked your legs, practically throwing a fit in your seat. “you’re the one who hired me off the street and sent me off to do your dirty work!” after his laugh filled the room, you went limp, being a total drama queen. “what was the main point of me going there anyway?”

he rolled his eyes at your dramatics, but he couldn’t help the smile on his face as he shook his head. “it’s like you never listen to a thing i tell you. i sent you to get intel on some freeloaders that crossed someone important. they’ve gone off the radar and i’m tired of hearing about it.”

“oh yeah!” you recounted, remembering what you came in here to tell shiu, “apparently the guy you wanted ran off to some island i’ve never heard about before. i wrote it down before i dealt with those mangy-lookin’ henchmen.” you pulled a small piece of paper out the pocket of your shorts. you couldn’t help but stretch momentarily, the exhaustion starting to get to you before you began to walk over to him. 

shiu’s eyes wandered up and down your body, as you sauntered over towards him. you looked like a wreck, but still beautiful nonetheless. 

“goddamn it.” he grumbled, snuffing out his cigarette before grabbing another one. he offered you one, knowing that sometimes after a mission like that you needed it more than he did. “i’ll send someone else to follow up then.”

you couldn’t help but pout, shaking your head at the cigarette as you sat on the desk in front of him. “why can’t i go?!” your voice was almost a whine. 

shiu placed a comforting hand on your knee, its scarred digits giving it a gentle squeeze. despite how annoying you could be, you were cute, which made it worse knowing how you got his attention. “let’s use our critical thinking skills. you think i’m going to let you go to some island by yourself?”

he did have a fair point. he wanted as much information about where he was going to send you and since this was a new area and there were time constraints? going by yourself was absolutely out of the question. though you wanted to go, you loved how shiu protected you always.

“you could come with me! i’ve never gotten to see you in action,” you squeaked in defiance, trying to hide the heat you felt in your cheeks at his touch, “i bet you we both could deal without them no problem!”

shiu chuckled at your determination, his hand moving up your thigh slightly. you acted like a spoiled brat, and he found it endearing especially since he knew it was his fault anyway. he lit his new cigarette and took a long drag, smoke billowing from between his lips as he spoke.

“you know i can’t do that, doll,” his dark eyes bore into yours, the nickname causing you to catch your breaths moving faster, “and what if you get hurt, huh? who’s gonna take care of you then?” 

“mmmnnn….the nice nurses down the hall, they’re really good!” you giggled nervously, taking off your thigh holster so you’d be able to break eye contact with him. it wasn’t very often the two of you got to spend time together like this, but when you did you tried to soak up as much of it as you could before you got too nervous to even be sitting next to him.

 out of the corner of your eye, you noticed he was smirking, his hand moving up your thigh again. despite how much he teased you knowing how you’d melt, he enjoyed the closeness himself and he always tried to let you know, even if it was subtle.

shiu glanced down at the holster you placed on the table, his hand moving to your waist, his thumb rubbing small circles, “i’ll make you a deal. you can go, but he has to go with you.” before you could even process the way his large hand fit perfectly on your hip your eyes shot up at him, almost shouting in protest, but you stopped yourself knowing if you did you wouldn’t be able to go at all.

the “him” in question was fushiguro toji, a coworker of yours you swore was your enemy. the two of you worked together once, and you hoped you never had to again. he was incredibly hot (and the two of you were a breath away from lips touching), yes, but he was an asshole and acted like he hated everything, which wasn’t far from the truth.

a door opened behind you and your eyes narrowed at shiu, realizing he had planned to send you off with toji the whole time. “the two of you will be working together,” shiu said, blowing smoke from his lips again, not at all moving his hand from your hip.

toji grunted, looking back and forth between shiu and the back of your head. “don’t wanna, but i’m here.”

“great, you didn’t have much of a choice anyway.” shiu said, trying to comfort you by squeezing your waist before he stood. toji truly hated working with others, but he had to admit that out of everyone he tolerated working with you the most. you being prettier than a lot of them was only another plus for him. but for you, knowing toji was like shiu’s best friend and right-hand man, it made you sick.

“whatever.” toji spat back, moving over to the couch you once sat on, leaning his cheek on his fist. 

you rolled your eyes, your arms and legs now crossed, “he acts like everything is so miserable all the damn time.” you didn’t bother to hide the annoyance in your voice, wanting toji to know that you were just as miserable as him. 

“yeah, because it is.” he said flatly, but that stupid smile was on his face. “unfortunately, i’ll be just as miserable working with you, you know we don’t have a choice.”

“you’ll both get over it, yeah?” shiu chuckled, the back and forth between the two of you being amusing to him. 

“or not” you huffed, starting to get irritated on top of your being tired.

“she’s so dramatic.” toji hummed against his hand, his eyes trailing up your back.

“fuck you,” you mumbled, making sure either of them couldn’t hear you..or so you thought.

shiu’s eyebrow raised. he looked down at you, an expression on his face you couldn’t quite put a name to. before you could blink, his hands were on either side of you, his brolic frame leaning over you, his muscles begging for release under his dress shirt. 

“repeat that for me.” toji’s voice came from directly behind you, making you flinch at the sound.

now you were in a predicament. you were sandwiched between the two big men, seeing toji’s large hand out of your peripherals. if you responded, you were sure not going to be able to go on the mission you were just begging to go on earlier. even if you wanted to say anything the air between the two men was way too thick with their cologne for you, opting to just shake your head no.

wrong answer

“she was being so good earlier, i don’t know what happened.” shiu took a moment to admire your face, studying your features. he raised a hand to your cheek, knowing how much you loved it when he did so, cupping it while you looked up at him, “you’re always causing me trouble and giving me headaches..i’ll give you another chance to use your words.”

you couldn’t help but lean your head into his hand. you brought your hands up to his forearm, holding his arm there. shiu felt a mixture of affection and amusement knowing you’d already sealed your fate as he rubbed your cheek with the pad of his thumb. 

“the brat is obsessed with you,” toji leaned over you, looking at shiu. from what you could see when you looked up, toji was giving shiu a dangerous smirk, a form of silent communication between the two of them, except shiu wasn’t so quiet.

“y/n, wanna make it up to me?” you nodded eagerly, watching as shiu lit a new cigarette, stepping back to take a seat in his chair, “instead of me punishing you, toji’s going to do it. that’s your punishment.”

you stared blankly for just a moment, not knowing what shiu was talking about until toji’s large hands appeared on your thighs, trailing up your body before stopping at your breasts, and cupping them. “but wh-”

“you talk to him like that, you’re also disrespecting me, you know that doll.” shiu cut off whatever you were about to say, watching as his best friend massaged your tits, adjusting himself in his seat once he saw your legs start to spread on their own, his eyes never leaving them, “he’s just going to teach you to watch your mouth, i’ve let you off the hook too many times cause i like you. ”

you got excited hearing shiu’s words but got sidetracked once you felt toji push your shirt and bra up and over your breasts, the cold air causing you to let out a quiet whimper. “i dunno boss,” he teased, bringing his face down beside yours, “it looks like she’s liking this a little too much, huh?”

he did have a point but why would you ever admit that, “ i-i do- ngh!” your hips bucked at the sudden assault on your nipples, toji’s calloused fingers relentlessly tugging, pinching, and rolling over your nipples. head leaned back and you still tried to deny it, which only led to toji turning you around and laying you on your back.

shiu appeared behind you to make sure that you were watching toji as he pulled off your shorts and panties, his gaze darkening once it landed on your cunt that was already so soaked. he dragged two fingers through your folds and you squeezed your legs together, or tried to, only to be met by a slap to your breast by shiu, afterward him reaching down and holding your legs open and up by your chest. “you’re gonna keep your legs open, understand?”

“y-yes sir,” you mewled. toji was merely playing with your essence, enjoying the way you greedily rocked your hips while you lay in shiu’s arms. something about it did so much to him, and he knew it did just as much, if not more, for you as well.

“she’s so pretty, and her cunt is even prettier.” he purred to himself, but shiu agreed nonetheless, his hands toying with your breasts despite him not supposed to be having contact with you, he couldn’t help himself. he really couldn’t help himself seeing now, watching toji bury his face into your pussy. “tell me how good it tastes.”

“t- oji!” you hiccuped, toji humming against your clit in response. his nose was pushed up against your mound, his tongue lapping at your folds nauseatingly before he sucked them up into his mouth while he shook his head. even his stubble was tickling you in all the right places. your eyes rolled so far back you thought you could smell colors, your hand tangling in his dark hair.

“yeah? watch him eat your fuckin’ pussy, open your eyes.” your eyes came back once you felt a tap on your cheek, looking up to see shiu tilting your head back down at toji who was looking right back at you. you truly were trying your hardest, but the way the man between your legs was groaning against, sucking, and swirling at your already puffy cunt made it extremely hard to breathe, let alone keep your eyes open and focused.

 you caught yourself going cross-eyed, not able to help the drool that fell from your lips, when toji plunged a finger into your hole, mouth still locked onto your clit. the slutty noises that came from him; grunts, slurps, & groans, reveling in the scent and taste of your pussy..he’s fucking nasty. 

just when your lower stomach tightened, shiu said the worst thing he could’ve ever said at that moment, “stop.”

toji didn’t hesitate to release you from his mouth with a pop, giving you kisses up your stomach as to apologize, your whines and babbling pleas making him feel just the slightest bit bad for you.”i’m sorry baby,” he cooed, your hips still grinding up into the air, trying to find some type of friction. “poor thing, you taste so good.”

“if you want to cum, you’ll have to convince me you deserve it, doll.” shiu said sweetly, pushing your beautiful curls out your face and wiping the tears from your cheeks that would’ve been red had it not been for your pretty brown skin. 

“give the brat to me,” toji gave you that sickening smile while shiu picked you up like it was nothing and laid you down on your stomach so now you were facing toji..well the thick bulge that was straining through his sweats. “see what you did?”

toji shamelessly palmed himself through his pants, his head slightly cocked to the side as he watched your face contort once in pleasure once you felt shiu’s middle and index finger rub deep figure 8’s into your clit, toji’s nostrils flaring. “she’s s’fucking hot.” 

“i told you so.” shiu hummed, his other hand giving your ass a tight grip before he brought his hand down on it, the stinging sensation making you whine and clench around nothing. “y/n, pull his pants down.”

you nodded, nibbling in your bottom lip at the thought of where this thing might be going sooner rather than later. you grabbed a hold of toji’s waistband and wasted no time pulling it down. toji’s cock flopped on your face, causing the three of you to smile or laugh, especially with the squeak you made.

“open,” toji pushed your hair from the front of your face, his fingers gently tangling in with your messy curls. his hand stopped at the top of your head, pulling your head towards him once you opened your mouth. 

a gag slipped past your lips and around toji’s cock, his thick and spongey tip catching you off guard once he pushed down. “oh fuck-” a groan resonated from in his chest, his head falling back as he did so. toji began thrusting into your mouth, the motion causing you to push back onto shiu’s fingers which had found their way into your needy cunt.

the room was filled with toji’s grunts and moans, your slew of gags, moans, and cries following his. shiu was taking it allllll in. something about watching your lips stretch around his best friend's cock, the way that your pretty brown eyes watered and rolled back, and the way that your pussy was sucking his fingers in so deep, your sopping wet walls begging him for more..and oh was he going to give it to you.

“fuck this,” shiu muttered through gritted teeth. from what you could hear through your poor, fuzzy ears was shiu scrambling to get his belt undone and his pants unbuttoned, not even attempting to pull his pants down. no, that would take entirely too long and he needed to feel you stretched around him and he needed it now. 

“she’s jus’ looks too good, huh?” toji grinned through one of his groans, a breathier one following after your throat tightened because of a moan, your tongue massaging those aching veins of his. shiu brought a hand to the fat of your left hip, keeping you from doing too much squirming while he rubbed the length of his thick cock between your folds, your wetness alone enough to lube him up.

“y/n, play with his balls.” shiu requested of you. you didn’t know why he asked you instead of toji, but the curse that slipped between his lips and the way his body lurched forward, you knew it was to shut him up, a little teasing smile curling up on your lips. 

that smile was quickly wiped off your face by the sudden fullness inside you, your aching walls welcoming shiu with pathetic squelches. toji lets you come up for air, his tip just resting on your puffy bottom lip, his pre and your spit dribbling off it.  “shiuu!~” you looked back to see shiu focused, both of his hands gripping your ass, still slipping his cock inside you, each little bit that went in making your knees wobble beneath you. 

“shhh,” toji massaged the top of your head with the hand he still had in your hair, his other hand turning you to face him. praises erupted from shiu whose hips finally met the fat of your ass. he kept his thrusts slow and shallow, a hand gliding up your back, following that perfect arch you were giving him so soon. 

toji’s dick started twitching at the sight: your ass recoiling every time you and shiu’s skin met, watching how his stomach muscles already started tensing and the ring of your cream starting to form around his base. you looked absolutely fucked out, your tongue lolling out your mouth in search of toji. he looked at you with half-lidded eyes, his grip tightening around your jaw, sliding his length right back into your mouth where it belonged.

at this point, saying you were shaking was an understatement. the way your poor body was being slung back and forth by the two dicks, one of which angled his thrusts so deep you thought he’d punch through your stomach at any moment now, the other so far down your throat your nose smushed up against the bottom of his belly now and then, feeling the way his balls tightened in your hand. if that wasn’t enough, both of them talking to you the way that they were had you teetering over the edge, and you could tell that they were too.

“gonna fill you up so deep with my cum, fuck-” shiu spoke in almost a whisper, “fill you up so fuckin’ deep you’ll give me a baby, yeah? gonna let your boss put a fuckin’ baby in you with your coworker’s dick in your mouth?” that was all you needed to hear before your body tensed up, going cross-eyed as you came around shiu, your pussy clenching down on him, your throat and mouth doing the same on toji while a stream of muffled moans left your lips. 

the two greedy men didn’t let up, if anything they only went harder. feeling you squeeze made shiu’s hips rut into you faster, his own eyes fluttering shut while he practically had you slamming back onto him with his hands.  a series of “oohh fuuuck-”s were flying out of shiu’s lips with each thrust, each one getting longer and needier, his head starting to roll back.

“you better fuckin’ fill her up…fill ‘er little cunt up shiu…do it..” toji grunted in between his own moans which only made shiu plow into you deeper, which in turn had your mouth bouncing on toji’s dick so good he almost fell forward again, his hand moving from your hair to grip onto the desk.  

words could no longer be formed between the both of them, only their moans and the slapping of skin circling through the room. toji finished first, muttering curses and praises all while holding your head still, his ribbons of ooey goodness trickling down your throat in little spurts. shiu wasn’t that far behind him either. he finished with a loud “holy shi-”, his hips stuttering, continuing his thrusts until his stomach trembled, finally pulling out of you along with toji. 

the both of them stood there for a moment, breathless. they admired how beautiful you looked lying on shiu’s desk. still twitching and panting, not able to help the quiet whines that came off you while you calmed down. “s’much for a punishment, you okay doll?” shiu’s voice was gentle, his hand massaging your lower back.

“look at her,” he moved your hair out of your face, revealing a cockdrunk smile and drool still dripping from your chin, “of course she liked it.”

“you little slut.”

orignal works by me ♡ reblogs welcome, do not steal/recreate..

mechanic!nanami next

[marifilue]

Gravity

Wordcount: 651

Tags: Fluffs, established relationship

Pairing: Logan Howlett x GF!Reader (no use of y/n)

Oneshot: Logan being touch starved but never admit it

Logan is touch-starved—always has been, always will be. He’d never say it out loud, wouldn’t even entertain the thought, but you can always catch it in the smallest gestures.

He’d never ask you to lay on top of him, curled up in his arms. Never said those words in that order before. But once you’re there, he won’t let you go. His arm stays locked around your back, firm, unmoving. Try to shift, and he grumbles low—“Where you goin’?” or “Nah, not done yet.” Like it’s nothing. Like he doesn’t need this.

Sometimes, he won’t let you up for reasons that only make sense to him—like if someone’s knocking on the door. But if you need water or a bathroom break? That, he allows.

You’d been watching some show for hours when Logan finally came home. He didn’t say anything, just sank onto the couch beside you, wearing nothing but his white tank top and jeans. The scent of cigar smoke and leather clung to him, familiar and grounding. His thigh pressed against yours as he settled in.

He glanced at you briefly, then back at the screen, fingers twitching against his knee.

"You alright?" you asked, biting back a knowing smile.

"Yeah," he hummed, flicking his gaze to you again before shifting slightly. Slowly, his left arm lifted to rest along the back of the couch—an invitation. A silent request.

Normally, you’d give in without hesitation, but tonight, you felt like making him work for it.

"How was the meeting?" you asked, feigning obliviousness as you kept your attention on the screen.

"Long. Exhaustin’." His voice was rough, but you caught the flicker of impatience in his tone.

"Aww I'm sorry to hear that." You said in faux empathy.

His fingers found the hem of your T-shirt, idly toying with the fabric, tugging just enough to be noticeable.

"You like my shirt?" you teased.

Logan huffed, his fingers tightening ever so slightly. "Stop messin’ with me."

Oh, the look on his face—priceless. You burst into laughter, and his frown deepened.

"What’s so funny?"

"I just think it’s cute that you want to cuddle. Just ask, Logan." You nudged him playfully.

His smirk was slow, deliberate. "Dunno what you’re talkin’ about. I don’t cuddle."

"Oh, really?" You turned to face him, eyes glinting with mischief. "So if I just do this…"

With a playful push, you sent him backward until his head hit the armrest. Before he could protest, you climbed on top of him, pressing your ear against his chest, where his heartbeat thudded steady and strong.

"You wouldn’t mind, right? Since you don’t cuddle," you teased, grinning.

Logan exhaled deeply, his hand slipping beneath your shirt, cool palm pressing flat against your back, fingers splayed as if grounding himself. His breath ruffled your hair, and when he spoke, his voice was a low rumble against your cheek.

"Guess I can tolerate it."

You tried to focus on the TV, but the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you made it impossible. His arm tightened, just enough to keep you there—his personal human blanket, small against him, yet somehow the only thing holding him together.

Minutes passed, the room sinking into an easy, quiet warmth. Logan's breathing slowed, the tension in his body melting bit by bit as he relaxed beneath you. His other hand found your side, fingers tracing absent patterns against your ribs, lazy and unhurried.

"You’re warm," he muttered, half into your hair, voice thick with exhaustion.

"You’re comfy," you murmured back, smiling as you closed your eyes.

His chest vibrated with something close to a chuckle, but he said nothing. Just held you, hands never still, always lingering—at your back, your side, your hip, like he needed constant proof you were there.

And, well… you weren’t about to go anywhere. Not when he clung to you like a lifeline, like you were the only force keeping him steady in this world.

His gravity.

[capquinn]

Does Buggy ever experience injuries being a typical kid or while playing hockey? Dad!Quinn would be such a cutie being a stressed mess worrying about his little buggy

So the thing about Quinn is that he’s not a helicopter parent (anymore). But when Bug was small… yeah, he hovered.

The first time she got properly hurt, she wasn’t even walking yet, just crawling, still figuring out how to pull herself up. She reached for the coffee table, one tiny hand missing the edge, and boom — forehead straight into the corner. Big bruise, big wails, and Quinn? Quinn was devastated. Held her so tight, murmured “I got you, baby, daddy’s got you” over and over while you pressed an ice pack to her head, his own eyes wet, looking personally offended at the coffee table.

Now? Now she’s almost four, and she trips over air. She's always moving, always chattering, always distracted, and then — bam! Face-first into the ground. Quinn’s learned to wait, to gauge the reaction before he reacts. Sometimes she pops back up like nothing happened, other times she milks it, giving him those big, watery eyes that have him scooping her up immediately, pressing kisses to her curls, murmuring, “I got you, baby. You’re okay.”

And with hockey? That’s where it gets tough. Because Bug wants to be a goalie, which means she’s constantly in the way of flying pucks. She’s not old enough for a team yet, but she insists on tagging along to the rink, throwing on mismatched gear and making Quinn take shots on her. And he does — soft ones, gentle ones, controlled.

But the other day, she came with him to practice, sitting on the bench, watching everything with that same serious, locked-in expression she always has at the rink. And when warm-down rolled around? She skated right out onto the ice like she belonged there.

The guys knew the drill. They kept it light, sent her easy passes, made her feel part of it. But then, one of them sent a soft, harmless shot toward the net — harmless, because they all knew Bug was back there, always watching, always involved. It wasn’t even going in.

But instead of letting it pass, Bug threw herself in front of it.

Quinn heard it before he saw it. The sharp thwack of rubber against her arm. The way her little body staggered from the impact.

And just like that, every instinct in Quinn’s body kicked in.

The whole 'wait and see' rule? Yeah, that went out the window. There was no pausing to gauge her reaction this time, no hanging back to see if she’d shake it off or get back up on her own. He was already moving, skates cutting across the ice as his stomach clenched, hands itching to fix whatever had just happened.

But Bug? Bug paused.

She looked down at her arm, then up at Quinn, then back at her arm again, like she was trying to decide if this was something worth making a fuss over.

Quinn was already there.

“Bug, baby, you alright?”

She blinked up at him, wide-eyed, and without a word, held up both arms, bottom lip trembling.

And yeah. Quinn’s heart dropped.

Quinn scooped her up instantly, tucking her against his chest, already peeling off his glove to check her arm. His brain told him it wasn’t serious — just a red mark, nothing more — but his heart still clenched at the sight of it. His jaw tightened, his grip shifting to cradle her closer, like if he held her tight enough, he could absorb the pain himself.

Bug, to her credit, tried to hold it together. But then she saw it — her little arm, blotchy and pink, already bruising — and that was it. A sharp inhale, the beginnings of a sniffle, her bottom lip wobbling and then... full tears.

Quinn felt his stomach twist, already smoothing a hand over her back, rocking her slightly.

“Bug, baby,” he murmured, voice low and warm, meant just for her. “You’re okay. Just a little bump.”

She sniffled again, blinking up at him, eyes glassy.

“It hurts,” she whimpered, tiny fingers curling into the fabric of his jersey.

Quinn pressed a firm kiss to the top of her helmet, the way he always did when she was hurt.

“I know, baby,” he soothed, tucking his chin over her head. “I got you.”

Because that was the thing — he always did. From the moment she took her first steps, to the times she tripped over nothing, to now, throwing herself in front of a flying puck like she was made of steel. She was fine — he knew she was fine — but that didn’t mean he wasn’t wired to react. To scoop her up at the first sign of distress, to comfort, to fix.

Quinn exhaled, rubbing slow, steady circles into her back as she buried herself against his chest. Behind them, his teammates hovered — watching, waiting, like they weren't sure if they should step in or stay out of dad-mode's way.

Bug let out a deep, dramatic sigh after a moment, exhaling into his shirt. “I almost saved it.”

Quinn huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, baby,” he murmured. “Almost.”

Behind them, the guy who took the shot still looked horrified, rattling off a string of apologies. Quinn glanced over, shaking his head.

“She threw herself in front of it,” he muttered, waving him off, adjusting Bug in his arms. “Like, it was going wide, and she just—” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, still cradling Bug against him like she was fragile. Like she wasn’t the same kid who ran full speed into walls without blinking. “That’s my kid for you.”

Bug perked up, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I am your kid!” she chirped, like it was the best news she’d ever heard.

And just like that, she was fine.

The tears? Gone. The dramatics? Over.

Quinn just shook his head, exhaling through his nose, “yeah, Bugs. You sure are.”

[universefcb]

↬❥ Big boy

Pau Cubarsí x Fem!Reader

sy: When he gets freaked out by the huge height difference between you.

a/n: I don't like writing dirty things, but writing about this Pau Cubarsí made me crazy! I'm in love with it. And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.

Made for this request.

warnings: Pau Cubarsí is a naughty guy, he's a fiery boyfriend, a boyfriend crazy about the reader.

You took a sip of juice through a straw and watched your boyfriend play ball with some unknown kids on the beach. You smiled as you watched him lift two kittens in his arms, one on each side. You were drawn to the thick veins that appeared on his arm and you bit your lip. Your boyfriend was a big boy.

He continued to play and you watched. Few fans stopped to ask for photos, the beach was practically deserted and you thanked him mentally. You saw your boyfriend approaching after finishing the game with the children. Those who were now with their respective parents.

“You’re so thoughtful. We’re still too young to have a baby,” he joked, lying down next to her on the lounger.

“I was just looking at how handsome my boyfriend is.” Her hands held his biceps, pressing her chest against his. Only to seal her lips on his in a quick kiss.

“I feel embarrassed like this,” he chuckled softly, trailing kisses from her cheek to her neck.

His kisses on your neck were wet, and he sucked on your skin, and you already knew that a huge mark would be born.

“Pau…” you gasped, closing your eyes and squeezing his arms in your hand. “We’re in public..!

He chuckled against your neck, pulling away. Your eyes met and you reveled in the sight of that bright green staring back at you.

“I’m just going to take a dip and then we can leave.” He said, and got up, running towards the sea, throwing himself in.

You laughed, picking up your magazine and flipping through it again. You hadn't gone into the sea because of a small injury on your leg, so you chose to sit there. After a few minutes he came back.

You handed him the towel, and he dried his hair and torso afterwards. He helped you carry your things to put in the car. The sunset was beautiful, and Bife decided to take a picture of this wonderful landscape.

“I stayed still.” Cubarsí asked, taking his cell phone out of his pocket and taking pictures from different angles. “Hot..”

You smiled embarrassedly. Pau always praised you with these comments, or teased you with silly hands at inappropriate times. The boy only had an innocent face, but in reality he was a huge rascal.

You got into the car, and he drove calmly. You would never get used to the idea that Pau was now driving and had his own car.

As soon as he parked in front of your house, he looked at you with big eyes, like a begging puppy.

“Sleep at my house, it’s been a while since I’ve had you in my arms” your voice came out tearful and you laughed, circling his face with your hands, to get closer and brush the tip of his nose with yours.

“You have a game tomorrow morning, and if I sleep over at your house it will only be a nuisance.” He sighed, knowing it was true. “You need to play well so I can tell everyone what a hard-working and great player my boy is!

He smiled, bringing his face closer to hers. Lightly biting her lower lip. He held her hand, but seconds later he looked at her.

“What’s wrong?” you looked at your joined hands, and then laughed, already knowing why he was reacting. “You’re huge!

You saw him smile sideways “Not in that sense, idiot” you nudged him with your free hand, feeling shy due to the boy’s impure thoughts.

“You’re so tiny! My baby, my little baby.” He opened his hands, placing his palm over hers. “Wow!

His hands were much bigger than yours, the boy was very tall, at six feet and eighty-five. And you were almost a foot shorter than him. But it was no reason to complain, it was a reason to be proud just knowing that you have a huge boyfriend, who can carry you in his arms when you are sick or hold you like a baby when you are needy, you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

“You’re a huge boy!” You laughed, looking at him. He came closer again, starting to place kisses on your mouth, which were all returned. His huge hands were around you, holding you tightly. “Pau…”

You tried to speak, but he kissed you as if you were going to run away, and you really were.

“No..!” He mumbled, trailing kisses down her neck. “I miss you, I miss having you in my bed, or finding your clothes in my room. Please, just sleep tonight, I promise to play well tomorrow!”

You laughed at the boy's insistence. You sighed, caressing his puffy cheek.

“Okay, I'll just tell my parents and get some clothes.” She was going to get out of the car, but Pau stopped her.

“Wear one of my blouses”

“If I wear one of your shirts, we won’t sleep at night,” she blew kisses before getting out of the car, leaving Cubarsí completely speechless – or maybe with something else –

Your like is important and helps me a lot. Don't be a ghost reader!

[callsigns-haze]

A big bang (sneak peak)

Summary: Jake asks Bradley to help unpack and not everything goes as planned, especially for your plates.

Warning: Nothing much in fairness maybe language?

Authors note: I haven't wrote much for these two in ages and I miss them too much to not post for them again!

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

English is not my first language so I apologies for mistakes

Could be read alone or as part of the little life universe

You adjusted Ellie against your hip as you stepped out of the bedroom, making your way down the hall. The faint sound of Rooster’s voice, followed by Jake’s unmistakable groan of frustration, drifted up the stairs, confirming that whatever had smashed earlier was definitely their fault.

Ellie gurgled against your shoulder, her tiny fingers grabbing a fistful of your sweater as you started down the stairs. You moved carefully, still a little unsteady from being sick, but determined to see what disaster awaited you.

As you reached the bottom, the scene in the living room came into view. Jake and Rooster stood frozen near the kitchen, surrounded by a mess of broken ceramic pieces and what looked like the remnants of a picture frame scattered across the floor.

Rooster was the first to spot you. “Oh, hey, corpse,” he greeted casually, as if he wasn’t standing in the middle of a crime scene. His eyes flickered to Ellie, and he grinned. “Hope this one doesn’t inherit either of your coordination skills.”

You raised an eyebrow, shifting Ellie higher on your hip. “Do I even want to know what happened?”

Jake let out a heavy sigh, running a hand down his face. “Rooster happened,” he grumbled. “Tried to ‘help’ move one of the boxes, tripped over thin air, and sent it flying into the wall.”

“It was not thin air,” Rooster defended, crossing his arms. “There was… something there.”

Jake shot him an unimpressed look. “Yeah, it’s called your own two feet.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting the urge to laugh as you glanced down at the mess. “So, what exactly broke?”

Jake exhaled, looking more annoyed than anything. “Just a frame. And one of the plates from your mom.”

You winced. “One of the nice ones?”

Jake’s silence was answer enough.

You sighed, rubbing Ellie’s back as she started to squirm. “Well, that’s great. Really great.”

Rooster coughed. “In my defence, I—”

Jake cut him off with a sharp look. “There is no defence, Bradshaw.”

You shook your head, suppressing a laugh. “Just… clean it up before Ellie decides she wants to crawl through it.”

Jake gave you a tired salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Rooster grinned, nudging Jake with his elbow. “See? She is the boss.”

Jake groaned, bending down to start picking up the mess, while you just shook your head, already knowing this was far from the last disaster these two would cause.

You adjusted Ellie on your hip, bouncing her lightly as you stared at the mess on the floor. With a sigh, you looked up at Jake, suspicion creeping into your voice.

“Wait… were they the pretty black plates my mom gave me?”

Jake froze mid-reach, clearly debating whether or not lying was an option here. Rooster, on the other hand, had no such filter.

“Yup,” he answered immediately, nodding. “Smashed right into the wall. Shattered on impact. It was actually kinda impressive—”

Jake smacked him on the arm, shooting him a glare. “Dude.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply through your nose. Ellie let out a little gurgle, oblivious to the silent devastation unfolding in your chest.

“You broke my favourite plates?” you said, opening your eyes to glare at them both.

Jake sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was an accident, darlin’. I swear, I was nowhere near it. Bradley was the one who—”

Rooster threw his hands up. “Okay, technically, yes, but in my defence—”

“There is no defence!” Jake shot back, exasperated.

You groaned, shifting Ellie to your other arm. “Jake, those were special. My mom gave them to us when we moved in together.”

Jake softened, stepping toward you with his hands up in surrender. “I know, sugar, I know. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll find a replacement.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think you’re gonna find handmade black ceramic plates that my mom had custom-made for us? Where, Jake?”

Rooster cleared his throat. “Etsy?”

You shot him a glare so sharp that he took a step back.

Jake sighed, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I really am sorry, darlin’. You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to them if I could help it.”

You huffed, shifting Ellie again as she started to gnaw on your shoulder. “You owe me for this, Seresin.”

Jake smirked, leaning in closer. “I always owe you, sweetheart.”

Rooster made a gagging noise. “God, you two are disgustingly domestic.”

You rolled your eyes, waving them both off. “Just clean it up before I change my mind about forgiving you.”

Jake chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before turning back to the mess. Rooster grumbled under his breath but joined in, and you just shook your head, still mourning your poor, beautiful plates.

[slimybeth69]

Girl Dinner: Part 4 of 4- Goodbye

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

W/C-10.3K

Chapter Warnings: kidnapped/mean/dark!Joelx hunginged/crazy/mentally ill/dark!reader. dub-con, period sex, crying, altered mental state, graphic depictions of violence and death, animal death (not graphic but mentioned), alternating POV's, creampies, cock warming, unprotected P in V. No happy ending? This is DDDNE-- don't forget!!

Reader warning/ potential trigger warnings: mentions of readers past-- with gory and sad details. Mentions of sex as payment, impregnation, child loss.

PLEASE MIND THE WARNINGS.

There was never a question about why you forgot your name, or how that could happen to a person. Mister-man never asks you again. He never peppers it into conversations, or late night talks when you’re wrapped in his arms. 

It doesn’t matter– you’re his crazy girl. His sweetheart. His baby. 

Mister has his hands on your knees, holding them open. His fingers dig into the soft skin as he plants soft kisses on the soft nest of curls on either side of your sopping pussy. He’s moving slow and deliberate as he licks and sucks your lips into his mouth one at a time, then nipping at the junction where your legs meet your hips.

“Love makin’ you feel good sweetheart,” he murmurs against your skin, sucking dark marks into the supple skin of your thighs. “You like when Mister makes you feel good, dontcha?”

You do. 

The answer is caught in the back of your throat, so you nod, whimpering feebly at his endless teasing. He’s been kissing, and biting, and pinching you for what feels like an entire lifetime. He teases you, gets so close to your aching, throbbing clit, and then suckles and licks everything BUT that.

You haven’t taken your eyes off of him, how could you? He propped up pillows and leaned you back so gently and said ‘enjoy the show’ before kissing down your chest, sucking your nipples into his mouth greedily. His hands explored every single inch of your body as he licked and sucked those dark marks into your skin.

Claimin’ you, Sugar.

He could, he can. He can do whatever he wants to you. Every time he touches you it’s like an entirely different experience.

Perfect every time.

It’s like he knows when you need him to be gentle— and he knows when you need him to take control. It’s like he’s tuning into your wavelengths through your cunt.

The tears come sometimes regardless of how he handles you. His touch doesn’t always stop the bad feelings, the bad memories, but tonight they aren’t sad tears, they aren’t fearful or filled with shame.

Tonight they’re just confusing tears, too many emotions inside of you to process all while he’s been torturing you relentlessly.

“I know, babygirl,” he rumbles against the top of your slit, his hand moving from your knee, up your quivering thigh. “Relax for Mister.” Hot, thick fingers push into your folds, tracing the outside of your cunt before the thickest, and longest one pushes inside. “I’m here… I gotchya,” he whispers before he seals his lips around your clit, sucking slowly, lapping with his tongue as he thrusts a second finger alongside the first.

You let out a choked sob as his digits plunge into your wet heat. “Oh fuck,” you whine, the stretch is sublime, bordering on painful in the most amazing way.

He chuckles darkly, the vibrations traveling across your skin. "That's it, crazy girl. Let Mister-J take care of you." His voice drips like molasses– thick, sweet and slow. It’s tantalizing how just his words, his tone can make you feel crazy. 

Your fingers thread through his graying curls, tears streaming down your face as he works you expertly. “I- Ohh fuck, I-” He’s stoking the fire building low in your belly already- you’ve been wound so tight and are ready to snap.

Mister’s grip tightens on your thigh, holding you open as he drinks you down like a man starved. “You what, baby girl?” He sucks your clit into his mouth, teeth scraping the delicate bundle of nerves, tongue lapping at it.

Say it, Sugar.

Don’t.

Your hips move on their own accord, grinding against his mouth. Your cunt clenching his fingers because you can feel it building, the pressure, the need, the want. Your nails dig into his scalp, pulling him closer. “I- I love you,” you whimper as he adds a third finger, stretching you to capacity.

Your whole body tenses, the last of your resistance shattering as you come violently around his fingers and on his lips. He groans against your pulsing clit, swallowing your cries as he milks every last drop of pleasure from you.

“I know,” he hums, resting his head on your hip. His large hand rubs the outside of your thigh. 

There is a moment of silence, and you’re expecting him to either do it again, or lay down and ask you to get on top, but he doesn't. 

His fingers trace the scar on your lower stomach.

“What’s this?” Joel asks as his fingertips trail across the slightly raised, white line of skin just above the swell of your cunt. 

“They wouldn’t let me keep it,” you sigh down to him casually as the aftershocks of your pleasure run their course, carding your fingers through your hair to push it out of your face. “I tried to hide it,” you push yourself up onto your elbows to look down at him. “They found out though.”

Joel blinks up at you as you get ready to speak again, he wants to tell you to stop, to shut up– to be quiet and he’ll make you come again, but he can’t form the words. 

“They said it was too dangerous– too stupid.” You roll your eyes and pick at the sink on the side of your thumb. “Said I couldn’t take care of it– Which is bullshit because I’ve taken care of Puddin’ for so long and nothin’ bad happened to him.” You grumble. 

Joel’s mouth is so dry it’s painful. It’s like swallowing shards of metal, or fiberglass insulation. 

“And there was Lou and Bud! I took such good care of them–”

“Who are Bud and Lou?” Joel croaks softly at what the heart breaking answer could be.

“Bud was a squirrel with a broken leg, and Lou was a baby raccoon that I nursed back to health after a real bad wind storm– they both got knocked out of their nests.” You explain with a smile on your face. “They didn’t stick around like Pud, though.” 

“How’d you find Puddin’?” Joel asks, four flat fingers covering the scar so he doesn’t have to look at it. 

“Puddin’ found me,” you grin, combing your fingers through Joel’s hair now. “Sweet lil thing came up to me while I was comin’ home one night– basically beggin’ me to bring him back here. All cold ‘n ‘bout to die. His momma must’a lost him– or couldn’t take care of him… and now I’m–”

“You're his momma,” Joel chuckles, finishing your sentence with the thought running through his head. 

“Yeah, exactly!” You exclaim happily. 

Joel doesn’t want to ask, but he can’t keep the words in, he can’t hold it back anymore. “Who did this to you?” He runs his fingers along the scar one more time. 

It’s quiet for a long time, and Joel wonders if he shouldn’t have asked. You don’t answer right away, but he can hear your breathing change, quicken– go shallow. 

“The guys at the QZ in Wichita,” you whisper. 

Joel has to strain to hear the words. He knows that you know he can’t hear all that well, but he isn’t going to tell you to speak up. “Doctors?” 

Wishful thinking. 

You shrug your shoulders, “I dunno– some of ‘em could’a been doctors– but that’s not what they were in the QZ’s.” 

He just looks up at you, still laying between your legs. “No one was takin’ care of ya’?”

“My mom and dad were bowling the night of the outbreak—” you explain, eyes darting everywhere but Joel. “It was jus’ me ’n my brother that night– and then for a long time after that.”

“He didn’t know what was goin’ on?” 

You chuckle, but Joel can tell you don’t think it’s actually funny in the way you pick at the side of your thumb like there’s the cure to the infection inside of you. 

“He knew,” you huff. “He got hooked on those pills in the QZ, the big white ones– I don’t know what they were called–”

“Hydro.” 

“Hydro,” Joel explains, looking into the eyes of the Lee, the FEDRA guard he’s been supplying to for as long as he can remember at this point.  “How old?” Lee questions curiously.   “Three months,” Joel nods his head. He doesn’t have time for this, he’d rather be back at the apartment.  Lee inspects the pills, like he doesn’t trust Joel. “From Atlanta?”  “I dunno know where he gets ‘em from. I just know they’re real,” Joel huffs, narrowing his eyes on the FEDRA badge on his chest. 

“Yeah! He really liked those,” you roll your eyes. “Didn’t wanna work though, so he didn’t always have a way t’pay them… so when I couldn’t get ration cards to help him, he’d offer me up–”

“Well, the more you shoot people, the harder it is to sleep, I guess.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Joel groans quietly. He closes his eyes, crawling until he’s lying beside you. He doesn’t want to look at that scar again, or honestly hear anything else you have to say. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, sinking as far into the mattress as your body will allow. “M’sorry, I didn’t mean to–” you whine quietly, but he presses his lips to yours, silencing you in the process of trying to comfort you. 

Joel wraps you up in his arms and pulls you close to him, something inside his chest vibrates and like the deepest note of the guitar he has back in Jackson.

“They all dead?” Joel growls in your ear. 

“I dunno,” you shrug, wiggling your hips as you attempt to scooch closer to him. 

Joel’s mind is racing, but his body betrays him. He’s raging hard behind his jeans, restricted behind the tight denim. It doesn’t matter to you; that he still has his pants on or the topic of conversation that had just been had– you’re reaching into his jeans, wrapping your warm, perfect hand around his length and pulling him free. 

“Wanna fall asleep with it inside me,” you murmur, shifting your body all around, jutting your hips out. The tip of Joel’s head stretches around your tight cunt, and he groans into the back of your hair. 

He wants to fuck you, wants to thrust deep inside of you, but he can’t– he’s too focused on Puddin' who is laying on your side of the bed– his tail hugged close to his body as you rub your index finger between his ears, and down between his eyes. He's asleep, and snoring softly.

Joel holds you, his fingers trace your belly button once, move up to the space between your breasts and back down again. His voice is shaky when he speaks again. “Why don’t you take me back to Jackson… you can stay there with me– you and Puddin’.” He offers, brushing the hair away from your face carefully with his free hand.

“Why?” you murmur sleepily. 

“I got family–”

“Tommy?” Every single piece that makes up the parts of your body freeze, and it’s almost like you’re playing dead like Puddin’ would in a stressful situation. 

“Tommy and his wife Maria– ” Joel tries to paint the picture for you, tries to show you what could be waiting for you if you would just let him go. “I got a nice house and a porch we could sit on, a bed we could sleep in every night– a big giant wall t’keep the infected out…”

Everything feels thick, and it’s hard to breathe like during a humid summer day– but it’s getting cold now and the air is crisp and Joel can see his breath most of the time, especially at night. “S’a lot of people behind that wall?” You whisper after a painfully long silence.

Joel lies. “A few, yeah. But Maria and Tommy run things– they’re good people–”

“Maria is good?”

“Yeah, she’s real good– real fair.” He nuzzles the back of your neck with his nose softly.

It ain’t her fuckin’ fault– and you know it. 

“Maria’s good– Tommy is good– they’re kind.” Joel whispers, holding you, squeezing your middle to keep the two of you connected for as long as possible. 

“Ellie?” 

He hates you for saying her name, but he hates himself more for letting it slip one drunken night. Joel knows that if Ellie ever found out about what you did to him out here, she’d kill you. Painfully. Slowly. 

Tommy would never let Joel live this down– getting snared in the mall because he wanted to sit in a recliner? Then he might help Ellie kill you.

“I could take you on dates– bring you down to the bar, we could drink whiskey with a real roof over our head,” Joel hums lowly, giving your stomach a pinch but you don’t laugh, or giggle or shy away. 

“How many people?”

“I dunno, a couple…we wouldn’t have t’see them often. Keep to ourselves, mind our business– just like we do here, just safer,” Joel feels like he could be getting somewhere. He’s never offered this before, he’s never even asked for you to let him go. He’s always just gone along in hopes of one day getting home.

Oh is that what you’re tellin’ yourself? Alright, alright. Gotta cope with this all somehow…

“Safer this way, less things t’worry about. Been doin’ it long enough to know that this way is better.”

Joel shakes his head, the tip of his thumb brushing across your eyebrow. “Long enou– how long have ya' even been out here? A year or two?” He watches as you subtly turn your head to give him more access to touch your face, caress you. 

With your eyes closed, you shake your head no at him, pinch your brows together like your thinking or– counting. Joel can see your lips moving as you silently recall whatever it is you're trying to remember. 

“Twelve,” you say confidently.

He hugs you closer to him. “Twelve what?” 

“Twelve winters–”

“No fuckin’ way,” Joel snorts in disbelief, but his eyes never leave your face. They’re searching for the joke, the punchline, something that will tell him that you’re joking. “What happened to the other people ya’ came here with?” 

You blink at him. “There was no one else…” 

"How many other guys have you done this to?" Joel asks quietly.

"Three," you murmur, as he gently drags the backs of his fingers down your face.

"What happened to 'em?" He probes, feeling like he already knows the answer. The fear coils in his gut like a snake ready to strike.

"I killed 'em…” you whisper into the dimly lit room. 

"Why?"

"They wouldn't stop tryin' to 'kill me…" you murmur.

“You built this?” 

Joel is in awe. He’s seen a lot, a whole lot in the thirty years since the outbreak, but you continue to surprise him. Impress him too, more than he thought was possible for a lady who had captured him and was holding him hostage in the woods. 

It’s a greenhouse– but that’s not what he’s impressed about. You built your own heating system for it out of a distillation set up– he doesn't do much to hide the look of bewilderment on his face.

Smart girl.

The smile that spreads across your lips as you take in his dumbfounded expression warms Joel’s heart even though the weather outside has cooled off drastically. 

“A couple years ago, yeah.” You explain, opening the door for him to step inside. 

The vinyl wrapped cord gets caught on the doorway, and the prongs on the choke chain dig into Joel’s neck painfully. He sucks air in through clenched teeth, his calloused fingers desperately try to put space between the metal and his tender and angry red skin. 

“Careful,” you murmur, untangling the rope for him so he can walk further inside. You hold the slack of his tie-out rope in your hand and carry it in for him.

Sweet girl.

Joel takes in everything. How well constructed this place is, how neat you have your rows of vegetables and fruits. Rows of raspberry bushes line the perimeter of the greenhouse. “How’d you get all this shit up here?” He turns to look at you, shoving his leather-glove clad hands into the winter jacket you brought him a couple weeks ago. 

Loves you.

Joel tries not to think about it.

You blink at him for several moments and then a flicker of uncertainty washes over your face. “Ya’ really wanna know?” You ask like you don’t believe that he could be interested in what you’ve been doing out here for the twelve long years you’ve been out here.

“Yeah I wanna know,” he nods his head to the entire structure built up around him. He knows that distillation set up outside is at least a couple hundred pounds, if not more.

He can see it on your face, the worry. The fear- as if telling him the truth, or telling him anything at all would send you spiraling.

Spiraling somewhere Joel isn’t sure he wants you to go.

He hums, turning his gaze to the rows of onions and potatoes. “Did your other fellas help ya’?” Joel teases.

You shake your head from side to side. “I had help–sometimes,” you finally admit, drawing the word out, eyeing his face and body as you whisper it to him. “I had some help, but mostly did it on my own,” you look like you're waiting for him to hit you, yell at you— pounce on you.

He doesn’t do any of those things. It just feels like someone knocked the wind out of him— stole all his air.

“Brought me up here to help you?” He offers, kneeling next to the garden bed to start digging up carrots, or celery or anything that he can throw into a stew for tonight’s dinner.

He loves to cook. It gives him something to do. Something to think about and look forward to. Joel likes that you eat what he makes for you. You eat a lot of it, and have actually put on a couple pounds since he got here.

You place one gentle hand on his shoulder and tug him away from the garden. “No, no— stop it,” you kneel down beside him, wrapping your hands around his and removing them from the dirt. “I didn’t bring you up here t’help me,” you smile at him happily. “You jus’ kept asking where I was gettin’ it all from… I’m showin’ you.”

Your eyes glimmer with something he hasn’t seen in a long time—trust. The look that makes him feel like maybe you’re not crazy- not a murderer- just scared. Fearful, but not anymore.

You trust him.

“Where you been hidin’?” Mister’s voice echoes off the tiled bathroom walls and floors.

You flinch under the stream of warm water and pinch your brows together at the sound of him coming closer. “I haven’t been hidin’. Been here all day,” you roll your eyes even though he can’t see you from behind the door. The water suddenly shuts off.

He’s kinked the hose, preventing the warm water from flowing freely.

“What’re you doing!?” You open the stall door, and poke your head out.

Joel has both of his eyebrows raised, looking at you incredulously. “Ya’ been here in the bathroom takin’ a shower all day?” He huffs at you. “Liar. Where ya’ been?”

“Let go,” you nod your head at the hose he has bent between one hand.

“Tell me where you were,” Mister narrows his eyes at you, unwilling to back down.

It’s cold in the mall, and you worked so hard to make sure that your shower would be warm in your irritable state. Everything has been miserable the last couple of days, you’ve been cramping. Teary and sad for no reason. Now you’re shivering, and a sense of rage floods you.

“Leave me alone,” you grumble.

Joel snorts, letting the hose fall to the floor and the warm water sputters out of the shower head attached to the side of the stall.

“Thank—” you start but hear his belt jingle and hit the tile.

Is he coming in here? He can’t! You’re unclean, undesirable!

“What’re you—” you put your hands on the stall door as he tries to push his way into where you’re naked, and bleeding.

“Need t’shower— I stink, been a couple days-” He starts, eyes narrowed on yours but you don’t let him finish and shove the door closed. “Hey! Let me in,” Mister wraps four thick fingers around the edge of the door to stop you from shutting it completely and locking him out.

“Get…out!” you huff as you push your shoulder into the door, using all of your body as a counterweight.

Mister pushes the door open easily, as if you weren’t even trying. “Th’fuck is wrong with you? Don’t like me anymore?” He frowns dramatically, the crease between his eyes deep.

“I- wha- no- yes, of course I still like you!” You exclaim, crossing your arms over your chest and pressing your legs together tightly. “Just- I don’t… I— please just go. I don’t want you to see me—”

“I see you. I been fuckin’ seein’ you, so th’fuck is your problem now?”

The frustrated tears burn at your eyes. “Get. Out.” You growl.

“You ‘bout t’cry?” He raises an eyebrow at you again, but with less anger etched into his face, and more worry. “What’s the matter, crazy girl?” He purrs, stepping into the small, crowded stall with you, letting the water wash over his broad shoulders and down his chest.

“M’just gross right now,” you groan, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. “Don’t want you thinkin’ I’m dirty or nothin’…”

“Dirty? What you been gettin’ up to?”

“I’m bleedin’…” you whisper up to him shamefully.

Why would this handsome, perfect man want to touch you during your monthlies? No one else ever did, and none of them were nearly as incredible as Mister… none of them seemed to have any standards— but this was one thing none of them wanted to go near. Like you were cursed because of what was happening between your legs.

It’s all right Sugar, he’s a real man.

“Where- what happened?” Mister looks more worried than he was a moment ago, eyes scanning the length of your body looking for something. “Ya’ hurt?”

He’s real. Real simple.

“Please just go away,” you whine as he inches himself closer to you, caging you into the corner of the stall with his strong body. The heat creeps up your neck and chest, your eyes fill with more tears uncontrollably.

“Y’really want me to leave?” He whispers, his warm, soft lips ghost across your forehead, his stubble scratching gently in their wake.

“S’just… gross,” you offer weakly, your resolve shattering with every careful touch he gives you.

“What the hell are you talkin-” Joel starts, but cuts himself off quickly. He tilts his head down to look at you. “Bleedin’, huh?”

All you can do is nod silently, avoiding his gaze.

“Thinkin’ Mister ain’t gon’ wanna touch you, that right?” He coos as he wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Why would… you?” You wince, clenching your teeth together as cramps overtake your lower stomach and back.

Joel nuzzles the side of your face, pulling you back under the steady stream of warm water, letting it wash over the front and back of you as his free hand slips between your bodies. “Let me help you,” he nips at your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth.

Pulling your head back to look up at him, the water washing through your hair and down your back. “Wh-what? How…” you trail off as he slips his hands between your legs, fingers pushing through your swollen, aching lips. It’s uncomfortable and makes you whine and hide your face in the crook of his neck as he pushes two fingers deep into your cunt, curling them against that spot that has you seeing stars.

“Mister knows things too, crazy girl,” his deep voice vibrates in your ear and makes your knees weak. "Know this'll make ya’ feel better." He nudges your legs further apart with his knees and you don't fight him.

The heel of his palm rubs against your clit as he strokes that spot inside you over and over, again and again. "Oh god— don't…please, you'll get dirty-" you groan, your walls clenching around his fingers anyway despite your weak and meaningless protest because you love when he touches you. It’s impossible to fight.

You hate having to hide from him when this happens— it's easier when there isn't snow on the ground and you can leave the mall for a couple days. Hide in the woods and keep watch from a distance… in the shadows. Like before he was yours.

"I don't give a fuck about blood," he growls into the crook of your neck, moving the hand on your waist to the back of your head. His fingers leave you suddenly, and he pulls back, holding your head down so you can watch his already throbbing cock fuck into his partially open fist. 

Mister always takes your breath away, no matter how many times you see it, or put your mouth on it, or take it deep inside of you. It curves slightly up towards his stomach from a thatch of thick dark curls. Swollen tip already drooling with precum.

He gives himself a few slow strokes, coating himself in your slick and blood. "I'ma grown man. Don't matter to me," he groans. His fingers grip your hair and tilt your head up to look at him now. "Turn around, sweetheart," He purrs, licking at your bottom lip teasingly.

"Okay," you sigh, head bobbing up and down as you try to regain some sort of composure. Your eyes drop back down to his hand, still stroking his length slowly as you turn around and rest your palms on what used to be a toilet-paper dispenser, knocking over your small collection of soaps that smell nice and make your skin feel soft.

Joel pulls your hips out, and grinds every inch of him through the folds of your pussy slowly. One of his giant hands moves to the globe of your ass and pulls you open, the other guides the tip of him into your aching core.

The two of you groan together as he sinks himself into you, not letting you adjust or open up to him at all. He splits you open each and every time like it's the first, and it's heavenly.

You rest your forehead against the wall while Joel wraps one hand around your throat and leans over you, his chest pressed against your back. His thumb caresses your jaw as his fingers press into the artery on the side of your neck.

When you're with Mister like this, it all goes away. All the sad, and the bad, and the angry and fear— he replaces it with something else. It's good, and warm and it makes you feel small and weightless.

"S'my crazy girl," he grunts as he starts to thrust slowly but deeply, the tip of his cock kissing the deepest part of you as his hips grind into yours. You clench around him, and he moans, resting his forehead on your shoulder. "God damn, you feel so fuckin' good," he rumbles.

"Don't stop," you mew, the lightheadedness taking you exactly where you want it to. Weightless and free of all thoughts, fears and inhibitions. The blood isn’t real, the pain is numbed and Joel and you are the only ones to exist right now. 

Everything else doesn’t matter.

Mister chuckles against your ear, his breath warm and inviting and pluming down the side of your face. Joel’s like the pyroclastic flow from a volcano; hot and all-consuming, taking over every one of your senses. “Don’t stop fuckin’ you?”He purrs deeply as his free hand slides down your stomach to your slick cunt. “Or don’t stop callin’ you mine?” He teases, rubbing your clit in tight circles as he fucks up into you from behind. 

You don’t even remember what he’s asked you, it’s all too good, the way every inch of cock seems to know the inside of your cunt so intimately, it’s like he’s fixing something inside of you. It’s only temporary, but it feels good while it lasts. "Yes," you gasp, pussy pulsing around him with every beat of your heart, tilting your hips to take him even deeper. 

He just laughs, low and from deep in his chest, pressing his lips to the top of your head as his fingers work your clit faster, urging you higher and so quickly. Then his hand from around your throat is squeezing tighter– your vision tunnels just as he brings you to the precipice. 

Mister lets go of your throat just as you orgasm, it tears through you and he never lets up, fucking you hard and fast through the whole thing. “Oh I know, babygirl.” He growls. “Feels fuckin’ good, don’t it?” The tips of his fingers trail down the column of your throat and through the valley of your breasts until he palms one, groping gently at the tender flesh, pinching your nipple and tugging. 

It does feel good– it’s relief from the aching and jackhammering going on inside of you somewhere– and you’re thankful for Mister. You could get down on your knees and worship him. You might. It’s incredible. White hot bliss in every inch of you.

Joel snaps his hips into yours over and over again as you ride out the aftershocks, keening and crying through the pleasure. You’re on the brink of another orgasm, both of his hands now palming and pulling at the soft, over-sensitive flesh of your tits as he spills himself inside of you. 

“S’right, fuckin’ milk me dry. So fuckin’ tight, baby girl.” His teeth sink into the sink on your shoulder–hard. 

It’s pain that brings you back to the women’s restroom in an abandoned mall, a couple of hours trek outside of whatever is left of Jackson, Wyoming. 

It’s the breaking of skin, and the feeling of molten lava pooling in your core, and then flooding down your legs as he pulls out of you. 

His tongue laves at the torn flesh on your shoulder as he coos soft apologies and promises, but you don’t even listen because that was the first time Joel ever came inside of you. There had been plenty of ‘times’, but they all ended with him finishing on some part of you that wasn’t the walls of your cunt. 

When you turn back to look at him, he’s leaning up against the opposite side of the stall, eyes closed, chest heaving with water droplets dripping down his stomach to his still half-hard cock covered in the mixture of your red-slick and his milky white release. 

It makes your stomach flutter, and more liquid heat pools in your core. 

“Lookin’ like you wanna get fucked again,” his eyes are barely open, but he’s staring at you with a goofy half-smile on his face. 

When you try to speak your voice wavers and cracks– and you make Mister-man laugh. A real laugh. He shakes his head from side to side, pushing himself off the wall to crowd your space once again.

He smacks your ass twice, and pulls you under the water with him, “Ain’t gotta say nothin’ sweetheart.” 

Tonight he has his head in your lap, and he rumbles happily when you run your fingers through his loose curls, and scratch at his scalp with your nails.

He's reading one of your comic books to you and Puddin' who is curled up in the big bed almost under your lap.

He's almost got the voices down— just needs a little more time. He'll get it.

It doesn't matter, just having him here is more than you could ever ask for. He doesn't fight, or argue with you anymore. Not like he used to. There are days when he doesn't want to talk, or sometimes even look at you— but he's never mean. Sometimes he's just quiet.

Today was a good day though because you brought back fresh meat again, and you cried about it in the woods before you brought it back so he wouldn't see how badly it bothered you. The first time you brought it back, you cried the whole day and refused to eat it. It bothered you so much that you'd do something like that just to make him happy.

You didn't talk to him for a couple days after, thinking about letting him go or killing him because why does he have that much control over what you do?

You like makin' him happy, Sug.

He's reading from the comic, but you're not really listening.

You've killed people for a lot less than sustainability.

There isn't much you wouldn't do to keep Mister happy, and safe here with you. He doesn't seem miserable, or unhappy. Sometimes he talks about how he wishes he could see his family.

You're his family now. You 'n Puddin'.

He has a real family though out there waiting for him… Missing him. 

The comic ends, and the silence creeps in. The strands of his hair feel like home between your fingers, so you start to rake the fingers of your other hand through it now too. 

"She must really love him," you whisper down to him. "S'why she does all those terrible things for 'Mistah-Jay'," you lighty mock Harley's high pitched crooning and smirk down at him as he closes his eyes.

Your Mister-J shakes his head from side to side, snorting from his nose softly like what you said is funny to him. "Don't know if I'd consider that love, sweetheart." He keeps his eyes closed and speaks slowly with his southern drawl.

Condescending– he doesn’t know love– not real true love. Don’t listen to him.

Hear him out, sweet girl. 

Something like vines coil around your heart when he says it, but you're not sure why, but it doesn't feel good, or nice. The vines have thorns that poke at the soft parts inside you. "Whadd'ya mean?"

"Well y'know Harley was normal once, right? She was a doctor or whatever—"

"A psychologist…" You correct him. She had been a psychologist, fallen in love with Joker, gave up everything for him… Well, maybe—You only had five comic books!! You're not really sure what happened or, why or how… just a couple parts to a much longer story, apparently.

"Oh yeah, well whatever she was— Joker goes to Arkham Asylum, meets Dr. Harleen Francis Quinzel… PhD," he nods his head, opening his eyes to look up at you. "Pretty girl, smart and witty..."

"Yeah?" It feels like every word he says could either make you laugh or start crying.

"And Joker brainwashes her— makes her crazy," he starts but there is only screaming inside your head that drowns out whatever else he says. "She loses everything 'cause of him."

Joker wouldn't do that! Not to his Harley, at least. Everyone else, maybe? But not his girl…right?

Don't listen to him, Sugar. He don't know what he's talking about.

There's a squeeze, and the sharp points of the thorns pierce your lungs and it feels like you deflate, like the world could be slipping away from you, or you could be floating somewhere else.

Your fingers have stopped moving, but still grip his hair in the space between them. "He loves her, he wouldn't do that…"

"He doesn't love her- he uses her." He whispers.

He’s wrong. He’s wrong. He’s wrong. He’s wrong. 

Now it feels like you can't breathe because that can't be true. Harley and Joker might not have always been nice to each other in your comic books, or cartoons— but he loved her. He had to love her, she loved him so much.

There was no way that he doesn’t love Harley, right?

That’s not love. That’s not love.

Mister-man doesn’t stop talking even though you wish he would. "She loves him— but she figures out that Jokers is a bad guy… a real bad guy," his hands are around your wrists now, sliding his fingers between yours to loosen the hold you have on his hair.

"What does she do then?"

Joel's eyes are so dark, chocolatey brown– wide with…fear?

You're hurtin' him, sweet girl.

Who fuckin’ cares— remeber when he hit you?

Listen to Mister, listen to him…

"She kills him," Miser-man laces his fingers with yours and pulls your hands out of his hair. 

Being shot would feel better than this. It's like your chest is caving in on itself. You can't breathe, you can barely think. 

"She wouldn't do that," you hiss at him, struggling to pull your hand free from his grasp, his fingers pinching around yours, refusing to let him go. 

"She loves Joker, and she wouldn't hurt him- wouldn't kill him…" your eyes flash between your fingers laced in his, and his big brown, perfect eyes.

Perfect baby cow eyes. 

"She smartens up— she realizes he's been abusin' her." Joel's on his knees now, cupping your face with his free hand "She's smarter than him, crazier too." He leans in and kisses away the tears that had sprung from your eyes, and are now rolling down your cheeks.

Joel lies.

"You're bullshittin' me," you put both hands on his chest and push him weakly. "He loves her, she loves him— she doesn't kill him. Why would you say that?"

"It's just how their story goes, crazy girl. It ain't real," he wraps one hand around the back of your neck and tries to pull you in for comfort but you don't let him.

You spend the night in the greenhouse that night. 

People were capable of a lot of things, you had seen it first hand. Watching it happen to yourself, and people just like you thrown into situations they didn’t ask to be in, or maybe got themselves into on accident– but nobody wants to be abused. Nobody asks to be taken advantage of. 

Look at what you’ve done. 

Look at what you were able to take for yourself. 

Ruined a man's life.

He loves you. 

This isn’t love. 

It’s hard to look at Joel after that. 

You just keep to yourself until your next supply run. 

–He’s going to die if you don’t do it.

Don’t fucking do it!! What are you thinking!? He’ll leave!

“That’s fine!!” You sob as you climb up the service ladder that takes you to the roof where you can enter the mall on the rafters. 

Joel can’t die. Not like this. Not because of you.  

All the other entrances have been boarded up so tight that it’s nearly impossible for one or two people to get in on their own, but it doesn’t matter now with how many of them are coming. 

They’ll tear this whole place apart looking for you. They saw you– got the dogs on your scent and it’s incredible that you lost them for as long as you did running in the river but they’re still coming. 

They’re going to kill you this time and there really isn’t anything you can do about it. There are too many this time, and they never stopped following you. The dogs kept barking, kept howling, and kept alerting when they’d pick up your trail again. 

Puddin’s only chance to get out of here alive is to leave with Joel right now. You’ll give him all his stuff, his guns, his gas-mask and you’ll just keep the raiders preoccupied while Joel and Puddin’ get away. 

Joel is in the bookstore when you come running in, already fumbling with the keys that will unlock his choke chain and his shock collar. 

He’s so handsome, and big. If by some miracle you get out of this alive– you can go to Jackson and find Joel. 

“Whoa, what’s goin’--” he looks concerned, and he has a good reason. He doesn’t have a lot of time to get out of here. 

“I don’t have time– you just need to get Puddin’ o-out of here, go out through the r-roof, like we do to get to the greenhouse. There are two ladders, the one in the back will take you into the woods and you can go back to Tommy and Maria, Ellie– but you have to take Puddin’!”

The words don’t feel like they’re coming out fast enough, but Mister-man is looking at you like you have seven heads and are possibly growing another one as you try to explain that bad guys are coming. 

Joel clamps his hands around yours while you fumble with the keys. “Slow down– jus’ take a deep breath–” Joel turns his hands to the side, and opens them with yours cupped in either one, the keys pinched between your index finger and thumb on your right hand. “Keys?”

Don’t tell him, don’t tell him. Don’t let them go, don’t let them go. You’ll lose him forever. He’ll kill you. He’s going to kill you. Let him die here with you.

“The gold one is for the chain, silver is for the collar–” doing the right thing. 

“You got guns? I need a couple–” Joel nods his head at you as he takes the keys from your trembling hands very carefully, like you might spontaneously combust if he makes any sudden movements.

Take them keys back, it’s not too late. Take them back. Take them back. Take them back.

There are guns hidden in the ceiling of the mattress store. Lots of guns that you’ve collected over the years. 

“I’ll give ya’ whatever you need. Ya’ just gotta–” You’re already backing out of the bookstore, stumbling over fallen shelves and debris from the ceiling caving in a couple weeks ago. 

“I’ll take Puddin’, don’t worry. M’right behind ya’,” Mister’s already got one key in one of the locks as you turn to sprint to the mattress store. 

You climb onto the counter and push one of the ceiling tiles aside, and start pulling guns and boxes of ammo out, handing them to Mister-man to get ready. 

Faintly, the sounds of dogs barking are growing closer and closer. Every warm thing about you goes cold because it might be too late for Mister-man if they get this place surrounded. 

Shouldn’t have come back here. You keep making mistakes. 

It’s okay, sweet girl. Doing the right thing by letting him go– sacrificing yourself to save him and Pud. 

The tears come and are hot, and fat and sting your eyes. 

“Please take care of Puddin’, please don’t jus’ let him go- go the second you get out in the –the woods, okay?” You try and speak over the lump in your throat but it’s hard, and it hurts, and you want to just lay down and die right here. “He’s not real good at takin’ care of himself– he needs someone.”

Joel isn’t listening, he’s loading up rifles and handguns faster than you’re getting your pleas out. He looks determined, he’s not paying attention to the things that you’re saying. 

“Hey! M’talkin–” you start, taking a step towards him. 

“Here,” he shoves a rifle in your hand and a pistol in the other. Then he slings another rifle over your shoulder. He starts loading more guns. In your backpack, you have your preferred weapon of a metal slingshot and free, unlimited ammo. Hard things

It’s deadly when used properly, silent and easy to practice with because you can never run out of rocks. Metal nuts and bolts work well too, and those are all over, fallen out of the iron skeleton that keeps the mall together over the years. 

“Puddin’?” You question, backing out of the storefront slowly. Joel waves you away as he continues to load up the rest of the weapons. 

There isn’t much you can think about besides how Joel is going to get out of here with Puddin’ safely. You don’t even know where the little guy is, and he’s probably hiding now hearing the dogs closing the distance outside. 

Make it easier for them to get in hopes they don’t go looking for another way in– Before you climb into the rafters, you push the tables, chairs and racks out of the way and make the entrance accessible from outside. 

You’re so stupid for letting him go, he could have died here with you– lived as ghosts here together for eternity. 

You take your place above the entrance, where you would come and wait for Mister-man before he was yours– where you would hide from him when you were bleeding before you knew he was a ‘real man’, or what a real man even was. You did the right thing. 

It happens fast– the doors explode open with an ear-splitting, head ringing bang, and debris flies everywhere. You can hear it showering down on the tiles of the food court, into the small puddles of still water that have accumulated with the quick-melting snow. 

The smoke and dust make it impossible to see, but you stay hidden regardless and get your slingshot loaded and ready for when it all finally settles. 

The dog's nails click on the ceramic flooring as they run inside and start looking for you. Start sniffing you out– which is easy. Your scent is all over this mall and they take off running in the direction of the mattress store. 

In the direction Joel and possibly Puddin’ if they didn’t get out in time. 

Muffled voices echo through the quickly dissipating cover of dusty smog. 

Three dark figures move quickly, following in the direction of the dogs. You pull your loaded slingshot back, aim for the pulse point on their throat, or at the base of their neck– in the spine. 

It’s usually quick and they’re down before they know what hit them, or even realize that they’re on the ground. 

The other two raiders see their friend go down, holding his neck, choking on his own blood and begin looking around the food court through the scopes of their machine guns. You load up the pouch quickly with a heavy metal nut and aim. 

Let go. 

There is a millisecond when you think you weren’t quick enough. He saw you, his finger pulled the trigger, but before the gun goes off his hand falls to his side, his rifle tumbles to the ground and he stands there like he’s been stunned. 

You aimed for his forehead, but it entered through the eye socket of his closed eye with a soft pop you could hear over the dogs barking in the distance. Then he goes down. 

There are gunshots, but not from the food court– they’re coming from a different part of the mall. Two different types of gunshots. Then it’s quiet. 

Both of ‘em dead and it’s all your fault. All your fault. All your fault. 

The hair on the back of your neck stands up, at the thought of Joel and Puddin’ being shot at, torn apart by the dogs. 

The one remaining raider looks around the food court, and then down the long, wide corridor where the dogs are still barking, and now more guns are going off. 

They’re both dead. Dead ‘cause of you. 

You toss your slingshot to the side and grab the hunting rifle, aiming at the back of the last raider's head as he turns to walk away. You take one shot and watch as he goes down, and hope that the dogs and whoever else is in the mall come your way instead of following after Joel.

You count as more people come into the mall through the entrance, stepping over the bodies of their dead friends. One, two, three, four, five, six…

Ain’t even worth it anymore. Should just shoot yourself now– end it all quickly–

Just keep moving, sweet girl. It’ll be okay. Give him time to get out of here. Keep him safe, he doesn’t deserve this, never did. 

No more people come inside– and that’s when you open fire from the rafters, moving as gracefully as you can while trying to aim. 

This rifle only holds five rounds, and you drop three of the intruders before you run out of ammo. You drop that gun, and grab the one around hanging off your shoulder. 

Their guns start going off, bullets flying past your face. One grazes your shoulder, just the skin– it burns and stings, but your feet stay deft in their movements. Remembering where to step and what spots to avoid because of the structural faults. 

More gunfire from the other wing of the mall. Near the department store with two floors. Near the bookstore. Near where you and Joel sleep together most nights– except for the past couple. 

Now you regret it, now you regret not feeling his cock inside of you these last three nights. Not falling asleep sticky with his release between your thighs, or taking advantage of the nights when he let you fall asleep inside of you.  

Three nights you can never get back. If you make it out of this you’ll crawl across hot coals for him– beg him to stay here with you forever– you can go back to Jackson to visit– to see everyone– but then you can come back. 

He won’t let you come back, you fucking cow. 

He won’t come back here, baby. He won’t– but that’s okay. This place isn’t good for you. 

This place is your home– it has been and it will be, it’s kept you safe. It’s made you smart and independent. 

Look at what it did to you, who it made you.  

You were crazy before you got here. 

“I’m not crazy…” you whisper. 

Then it happens, your foot falters, and the rafter creaks loudly as the bullets continue to whizz past you. Missing you by centimeters– but you never stop moving. Not even as the beam underneath your foot starts to sway from side to side. 

A low, echoing groan fills the mall as you move faster to get to the other side where things are still a bit more secure– you think about jumping, but falling–

It doesn’t matter, you’re weightless, everything about you feels like it stays up in the air while you tumble down to the ground. The world flips and spins– a kaleidoscope of fresh new greenery growing, and the old dingy colors of the mall's ceramic tiles, the dimming evening sky. 

Everything about you feels detached, like your body no longer exists, nothing is real; like you're suspended in a dream.

This is how it ends. Not with a bang, but with a broken body. 

The impact is jarring, a violent explosion of pain that sends white-hot tendrils searing through your shoulder and down your left arm. The air is punched out of your lungs and you’re clinging to consciousness with everything that you can- but the darkness is so inviting, the warm ground is so cool against the broiling pain that has you sweating. 

Puddin’ could need you, Sug. Joel might need you. 

The handgun is still somehow tucked into your waistband, and you push yourself to your knees despite all the tendons and muscles in your shoulder and back telling you to lay down– to give up. 

Shoot yourself before anyone else can– they might not be so generous. 

You can’t give up. Not now, not yet. 

It’s nearly impossible to aim, your vision is blurring in and out of focus. It’s hard to keep steady when you feel like you could be sick, and take a nap all at the same time. 

Point and shoot, point and shoot point and shoot at whatever is moving, whatever looks like a target. Your left hand hangs at your side limp, unwilling to cooperate when you think of things to do– like grab a new magazine when the clip gets low. 

Everything on your lower-half is fine, seems fine– you think. It’s not completely clear if anything hurts because everything above the waist feels like it’s on fire. Gunshots echo throughout the mall in what sounds like all directions. Everything is echoing. Everything feels so fuzzy and thick– so warm.

When you come to, Joel is kneeling over you, blood dripping down the side of his face, chin and neck. His shirt is stained dark red down the front of his chest. 

Did he eat them?

He might’a. 

“What happened–” 

A soft but deafening metallic click echoes in your ears. You’ve heard it before– it’s distinct and only one thing makes that sound. A padlock locking into place. 

The part of your brain that tells your body to move still works, your right hand starts to move to your neck– but your left arm stays limp by your side and fireworks go off in the space behind your eyes. 

You are a ragdoll being held together at the seams. Then thin, red strings that connect your shoulder to the rest of your body are hanging there limply, all the tension and tightness that allows you to move is gone. 

It’s excruciating. It’s like the grooves of your brain are being peeled apart– you can’t think, you can’t do anything but shriek. 

Joel tuts softly over the sounds of your pain, “Yeah, a dislocated shoulder’ll do that to ya’.” There is a twinge of twisted pleasure in his empathetic tone. “Planned on fixin’ it up while ya’ were still out,” he explains through your wailing. 

“Pl-Please don’t tou-t–touch it,” you’re stammering through the red-hot pain.

Mister-man shakes his head at you, his lips together in a tight lipped smile– like what he’s about to tell you is unfortunate news. “I gotta, and I can do it now… or I can go get that brick–”

The choke-chain suddenly feels like it’s ten thousand pounds, too tight and also hot; white hot like it just came out of the fire. 

Kill him. 

The brick might actually not be too bad in this situation–

“I gotta couple things t’go take care of, so…why don’t you jus’ sit tight ‘n I’ll be right back.” Joel doesn’t touch you, or fix your fucking shoulder before he stands up to leave. “Don’t go anywhe– oh wait,” he chuckles, shaking his head from side to side. 

There are parts of your brain telling you to sit still, to relax and the pain will eventually subside, to just let things happen. Bigger, louder parts of your brain are telling you that this is worse than dying. This is the least desirable outcome. You’re not sure what parts they are, or who is even speaking because all the words and sounds are blending together. 

Joel walks over the bodies of the dead dogs, the nameless raiders– he uses cautious feet as he steps over new collapsed parts of the roof. Twisted and mangled metal– sharp and dangerous as he climbs and crawls through the narrow openings. 

Joel has to look for the shock collar remote. He doesn’t know what you’ve done with it since he hasn’t made you use it since shortly after you put it on him. He hasn’t seen it in— 

Months. It’s been months. 

He’s not thinking of the countless nights of sharing his warmth with you– or how you made sure he always had something to eat– how you tore yourself apart to make sure that he was taken care of. 

He’s trying not to think about it. 

His backpack is almost full by the time he leaves the second floor of the department store. He’s careful and makes sure to not let this get jostled around in there. He was gentle with how he packed things and wanted to make sure nothing got ruined.

Puddin’ is right where Joel expected him to be. On the highest shelf of the bookstore, which is where he was before you came running in with tears in your eyes almost an hour ago. When Joel was still your prisoner. Still your captive. 

Joel grabs Pud by the scruff– unfazed by the hissing and clicking sounds of protest coming from the completely domesticated animal. Joel hasn’t seen Puddin’ hunt or scavenge for his own food once since he’s been here, and knows for a fact that he wouldn’t be able to make it on his own. 

He doesn’t want to bring him–

Yes ya’ do. 

No…he doesn’t.

He doesn’t even really know why he’s back inside the mattress store tearing the place apart looking for the remote to the shock collar. He doesn’t know why he’s inside the pet store looking for a new shock collar when he can’t find the old one.

When Joel returns to the spot where he left you– you’re gone. 

She couldn’t have gotten far. 

He picks the cord up off the floor, gives it a soft tug and feels the resistance– you’re still on the other end. He sets his backpack down gently and holds the cord in his hand as he lets the sounds of your pained whimper lead him right to you. 

Joel follows you into the service hallways he’s explored a million times. He wonders why you came back here, what you’re looking for that he doesn’t know about. A secret way out? Bolt cutters? 

Joel looked constantly for something that he could have used to cut through his restraints, but never found anything.

Never really looked that hard– don’t kid yourself.

He did look– he always wanted to go home. 

Could have killed her a long time ago. 

“Come on, lil puppy– Puddin’s missin’ ya’,” Joel croons, the sounds of your shuffled footsteps on the concrete floor growing louder and louder. “Hear ‘em cryin’ for his momma?” He holds Puddin’ up, and he hisses loudly in annoyance or discomfort– he’s not completely sure. 

Joel’s about to round the corner, expecting you to be there with a horrified look on your face at what he might do to the over-sized rodent in his hand. 

He’s not expecting you to be waiting for him with a knee hurdling towards his unprotected dick and balls. It knocks the air out of his lungs, and bile rises in his throat. 

“You’re hurtin’ him!” Your worried voice rings in his ears.

She’s going to kill you. 

The rest of his stomach drops down into his ass. 

Joel grabs the cord attached to the choke chain, gasping for air, and pulls on it as hard as he can and is still met with tension. You shriek and choke as he drags you to the ground—still holding Puddin' safely in your arms. 

He realizes you hadn’t even been going for the keys or his gun, or his knife. You were just trying to protect–

Her baby. 

Joel gives your restraint another good tug– he knows how it feels to have the prongs dig into the soft, sensitive skin above the collarbone. It’s horrible, but not as bad as the shock-collar. 

Joel moves as fast as he can, pouncing on you and pressing his knee into your chest.  

You look up at him with eyes so wide they're more white then iris, pupils blown wide with terror. Then you scream, it vibrates his eardrums, and splits his skull open. 

He didn’t think any human was capable of making a sound so absolutely bone-chilling.

He presses his palm over your mouth, squeezing your cheeks together as tight as he can to avoid getting bitten. With the hunting knife he points it at Puddin’-- who is currently playing dead beside your flailing body.

Joel turns your head to the side while your fingernails claw into his wrists. You go limp when you see the threat.

“Ain’t gotta say it— but you know,” Joel warns. quietly. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut– got it?” He growls in your ear. 

You whimper and nod silently in defeat.

“Good. Now you’re gon’ get up real slow– Mister’ll help ya’, okay?” He whispers in your ear. 

You nod again, body shaking underneath his with each silent sob. 

Be careful-- her shoulder.

Joel helps you to your feet. He picks Puddin’ up more appropriately– holding him like a newborn– still pointing the sharp edge of the knife towards his belly as the three of you make your way back out of the service hallway. 

Once Joel has you back where had intended on you staying– he gives you Puddin’ to hold and then gives you a stern look with narrow eyes and a strongly pinched brow. 

“You try anythin’– make one single move…and I’ll kill him; make you watch,” Joel nods down to the still stiff opossum in your arms.

"I'm real sorry--"

"Sorry don't mean nothin' out here, remember that?" He barks at you as he pulls the new collar out of the packaging.

He has no sympathy for your tears, or the way that you're almost silently apologizing over and over again-- almost like you're not even talking to him anymore.

She ain't... you know it.

He places the new shock collar around your neck and locks into place with the padlock from the choke chain. He then puts the batteries in the remote and holds his thumb over the button.

“Say goodbye t’all of this,” he motions around with the blade of his knife. The crumbling ceiling, the broken and warped rafters littering the ground now. “We’re goin’ to Jackson.” 

To be continued…?

authors note-- this was honestly one of the most fun stories to write-- and I really hope you all want me to continue this fucked up story back in Jackson.

Thank you to everyone for the love and support!! I didn't expect a little tiny drabble to turn into this big whole thing.

I hope I didn't disappoint everyone-- I didn't want either one of them to die and I genuinely don't think Joel would have just let her walk away from all of this with a nod of his head and a wave.

thank you for @pedrospookie for your amazing mood boards and knowledge of DC and Harley Quinn, and @almostempty for your help with this last chapter. I really needed your words of encouragement and support because I felt like I was fucking it up all the time.

@probablyreadinsmut your love for Puddin' kept me going and I love you for that.

tag list:@pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22 @baronessvonglitter @joelmillerisapunk @syd-djarin @probablyreadinsmut @itwasntimethatdidit40 @letsgobarbs @lovehappyloki @joelalorian @pedrostories @evolnoomym @valkyreally @youdontknowe @corazondebeskar-reads @pastelpinkflowerlife @tobethlehem @lumpatto @shivispunk

again, i'm sorry if I forgot anyone. I have a little hamster brain and I forget things.

[lanadelrafe]

Ok so why is no one talking about mob boss! Rafe LIKE HELLO. I think we’re gonna need more🫶🏼

as much as they fight, mob wife!reader can’t sleep until she knows rafe is safe.

— tw: mentions of a gun, attempted sexual assault, murder, blood.

— author’s note: i’m so glad people actually like this au! i know it’s not all sunshine and rainbows but i’m under the impression that being a mob wife isn’t that great. but they actually kinda like each other in this one.

there was a break in once when rafe was out doing god knows what. mw!reader was home alone with no protective detail. had there not been multiple men who rushed around, breaking things, she would’ve put those training sessions to work and defended herself. instead, she called rafe and locked herself in their shared closet. rafe hurried home, gun loaded and ready to be used. she could hear the shots even from her hiding spot. once it got quiet, she began panicking because she had no clue whether it meant rafe was alive or not. she heard the sound of the door knob being turned and she held her breath. when the door didn’t open, whoever was behind it began to jiggle the knob it abruptly.

she knew right then and there that it wasn’t rafe.

the only thing she had to defend herself were her heels. the memory of the incident at the club flashed in her mind. she grabbed a single heel and held it up, ready for the attack. when the masked stranger finally broke down the door, she lunged at him. he struggled for a moment, bleeding from his scalp, before he managed to pin her arms to her sides and flip her onto her stomach. she laid flat against the floor, thrashing and trying to break her wrists free from his hold.

the moment she felt his grubby hands push up the oversized t-shirt she was wearing was when she really started to freak out. she started screaming and threw her head back against his nose. she heard a crunch and a pained groan. he released her and she took the opportunity to crawl out from underneath him. she didn’t make it far when he grabbed her by her ankles and dragged her body towards him. he flipped her onto her back and she scratched at his face, beginning to cry. “get off of me!” she shrieked. she pushed off his mask and gasped when she saw the bone sticking out of his crooked, bloody nose.

he grinned down at her. “don’t worry sweetheart. it’ll be something you’re used to.” he was pressed against her core while her legs were on either side of his waist. he reached down to yank her panties off, laughing deeply.

before anything else happened, they both heard a whistle. she stopped her cries, craning her neck to see where the noise came from. rafe stood at the door, leaning against the frame while cradling his bloody arm against his chest. he pointed his gun in their direction and pulled the trigger. the bullet hit straight between the stranger’s eyes, blood splattering onto mw!reader’s face. she let out a choked sob and shoved his lifeless body off of her.

she stood up and ran into rafe’s arms. he groaned at the impact, having been shot in his shoulder. but nonetheless, he pushed through the pain to wrap his uninjured arm around the back of her neck.

“i was so scared rafe,” she whispered later to him while they laid in bed. the bullet in his shoulder was long gone and he was bandaged up, curtesy of the private doctor he had hired for situations like this. “thought he was going to-”

he cut her off, “i’ll never let anyone hurt you again.” he traced his fingers up and down her back while she clung to his body.

“yeah,” she replied softly. and for the first time in a long time, she believed him.

after that night, rafe installed a high level security system, had armed guards posted outside the mansion’s gate and every entrance to their home. despite the new safety measures, mw!reader would still stay up into the late hours, paranoid. she didn’t close her eyes until she was tucked into rafe’s side, arms wrapped her protectively.

[mybelovedsylus]

Listen team, it’s been one of those days. So here’s me service - aka it’s a really fluffy piece of Sylus just showing up and being there for MC. Literally just garbage fluff- enjoy, and feel free to send me any headcannons or requests you would like to see. I’m finally writing again for the first time in years, and it makes me really happy to explore these worlds again. As always I didn’t proofread - it’s just a thing with me, I know forgive it. If I reread to correct it, I will never be happy with it so it is what it is.

_____________________________________________________________________________

It was one of those days where she felt like she was about to unravel, like the next breath could very well result in the collapse of her being - or at least her sanity. It had started at work. Her coworker had decided to go behind her back on a mission, screwing her over for what was supposed to be her next assignment. Next, she found her lunch had disappeared from the communal fridge, and so as she’s sitting at her desk eating the stale protein bar from the back of her drawer she gets an email that causes her to cuss under her breath. Finally the day comes to a close, and as she’s walking back to her apartment, the sky lets out a torrential downpour, soaking her to the very core. Then when she gets back to her apartment, the power is out. Luckily Mephisto had already been waiting and her phone rang a mere moment after she came to the realization, flipping the switch repeatedly with no change in results. Although she wondered if Mephisto reported back how long she stared at his picture and name on the screen, an internal war raging as she tried to decide if it was even worth picking up. Ultimately she had, which is how she found herself standing on the side of the road waiting for Sylus to pull up.

The wind was biting now that the sun had set. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, pulling the coat closer to her frame as she tried to shrink back into the wall of the building. She’s tired, irritated, wet and her mood is darkening by the moment. When he finally pulls up, she’s ready to lose it. Not that anything is his fault, but her emotional regulation is shot at this point. At least, that’s what she thinks until he’s out of the car hauling her soaked and freezing frame directly into his warm embrace.

“Come on kitten, there’s a hot dinner waiting in the car and we’ll go N109 speeds back to base,” he mutters in a soft voice, his hand smoothing down her hair, and the dam breaks. She fists her hands into his shirt and finds herself sobbing into his chest. They’re both shocked. She’s never one to cry, to let her emotions out quite so freely, and yet at this moment there’s nothing she can do to hold it back. She feels his arm sweep under her legs as he hoists her with ease, setting her down in the passenger seat and jogging back over to the driver’s side. He turns the seat warmer to max, and passes her a bag full of her favorites from the burger place down the road.

“Let’s get you fed, showered, and then we can hang out in front of the fire with whatever you want playing on the tv,” he says softly, his hand reaching out to caress the side of her face and wipe a stray tear with his thumb.

She offers him a watery smile and a sniffle as he speeds away from Linkon City. She finishes her food and curls against the window, watching as the lights streak past. It’s in record time that they’re pulling into the familiar surroundings of the base, and for some reason just the sight of it settles something inside of her.

Sylus is at the side of the car in an instant, opening the door, and holding a hand out for her.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, and get you some dry clothes.”

He leads her straight to his room, clothes are already laid out on the bed next to fresh towels.

“You didn’t really make Luke and Kieran fetch all this did you?” She asks with a small chuckle, fingers trailing over the soft change of clothes and fluffy towel.

“They offered when I explained it sounded like you might need an escape,” he stated with a shrug. She felt the familiar sting of tears, and swallowed hard to keep them at bay. When was the last time she had felt this seen and taken care of?

“Thank them for me?”

“I gave them the night off, but I will send them a quick message to relay your gratitude. Take however long you need, I’ll get the fire started so you can warm up,” his tone is gentle as he tells her his plan. Then with a gentle kiss on the top of her head, he leaves the room, true to his word about letting her have whatever time she needs.

She emerges from his room roughly a half hour later, feeling a lot more human and a lot more settled than she had been all day. Smiling softly to herself she finds him lounging on the sofa, the fire roaring as he reads through some folder of information. He’s quick to put it down when he hears the soft click of his door shutting. He shuffles closer to the arm rest, leaving plenty of space for you to curl up next to him. He throws his arm around your shoulder as you settle and drags you into his space until you’re practically laying on him.

“Feeling better sweetie?”

“I am. I don’t know how you always seem to know what I need, but I can’t thank you enough,” she tells him, nuzzling into his chest, enjoying the way his fingers toy with the damp ends of her hair. He seems to hum as her words settle over him.

“I am here to help, all you have to do is ask.”

“I’m learning that. Thank you for being my safe place today,” she mutters, flashing him a soft grin before leaning up to place the gentlest kiss on his lips. The grin she gets in return is downright boyish, and she finds her own smile widening in response. Who knew the widely feared leader of Onychinus would be such a softie. Er, well, her softie. Also who knew she would let who a few months ago was her enemy see her at her most vulnerable; and let him comfort her until the weight of the world was more bearable?

“You have me forever, if you want it.”

[serapharua]

୨୧ 一 ENHYPEN REACTING TO YOU BEING A CAT HYBRID . . !

hybrid enhypen 0T7 — GENRE : imagines headcanon hybrid au comfort fluff slightly suggestive — PAIRING : gn.reader — WARNING : none — REQUESTED : yes. ☆ — enha masterlist

HEESEUNG (deer hybrid) :

Heeseung was used to being the calm one, but having a cat hybrid partner? That was a whole new challenge. You were independent, curling up in random spots for naps, only coming to him when you felt like it. At first, he found it amusing—until he realized how much he wanted your attention.

“Are you ignoring me?” he asked, watching you stretch lazily on the couch, flicking your tail. Heeseung narrowed his eyes, ears twitching.

You barely glanced at him. “No, just comfortable.”

Heeseung sighed, flopping down next to you. “Comfortable without me?”

His tone was playful, but there was a hint of something else—something that made you smirk. You reached out, lightly tapping his deer ears. “Jealous, Hee?”

Heeseung huffed, but instead of answering, he rested his chin on your shoulder, his warmth seeping into you. “Just… let me stay like this,” he murmured, his voice softer now.

You purred in response, tail flicking, before nudging closer. Heeseung smiled. Even if you acted aloof, you always came back to him in the end.

JAY (hawk hybrid) :

Jay prided himself on being composed, always in control. But with you? That control slipped through his fingers like sand. You were unpredictable—sometimes curling up beside him, purring softly, and other times acting as if his presence was merely an afterthought.

Right now, it was one of those times. You lounged on the couch, lazily swishing your tail, completely unbothered by the fact that Jay had been trying to get your attention for the past ten minutes.

“You’re ignoring me again,” he muttered, standing by the counter with his arms crossed.

You barely looked up. “I’m just sitting here.”

“Yeah. Sitting there without me,” he countered, sharp eyes narrowing as he strode over. Before you could react, he flopped down beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. You let out a small yelp, ears twitching in surprise.

“Jay—”

“I’m not needy,” he grumbled before you could accuse him, resting his chin on your head. “I just like having you close.” His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns along your arm, the warmth of his touch making you relax against him despite your initial resistance.

A small, involuntary purr rumbled in your chest, and Jay smirked against your hair. “See? You like it too,” he murmured, satisfied.

You huffed, playfully flicking your tail against him. “Fine, but don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” Jay said smugly, tightening his hold. “You’re stuck with me now.”

JAKE (wolf hybrid) :

Jake was used to being affectionate—always ready to nuzzle into you, pull you into his warmth, and stay as close as possible. But with you being a cat hybrid? That wasn’t always an option.

Right now, for example.

He watched as you stretched out on the bed, tail flicking lazily as you scrolled through your phone, completely ignoring him despite his obvious attempts to get your attention.

“Babe,” he called, drawing out the word as he leaned against the doorframe.

No response.

Jake sighed dramatically before bounding over, flopping down beside you with an exaggerated groan. His face buried into your neck, his arms instantly locking around your waist as his body molded against yours.

“Jake,” you muttered, trying to push him away. “You’re heavy.”

He let out a low whine, refusing to budge. “You never wanna cuddle when I do,” he mumbled against your skin. “But the second I move away, you’re all over me.”

Your tail flicked against his arm, a sign of your mild annoyance, but he knew better. Sure enough, after a few seconds, you sighed, your body unconsciously melting into his embrace.

“There we go,” Jake murmured, grinning against your shoulder. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”

You scoffed but didn’t move away. Instead, you let him hold you, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the strands of his hair.

Jake hummed contentedly. “See? You act all aloof, but deep down, you love this.”

“…Maybe,” you muttered.

He chuckled, squeezing you tighter. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

SUNGHOON (snow leopard hybrid) :

Sunghoon’s normally composed demeanor was a little harder to maintain when you were around. The way you moved with such natural grace, the flick of your tail when you were in a playful mood, and that sweet scent of yours—he found it all so intoxicating.

Right now, though, he was trying to act cool, even as you curled up next to him on the couch, your tail swishing lightly as you leaned into him.

“You’re really close today,” he observed with a raised eyebrow, trying to sound casual even though his heart was beating faster than usual.

You tilted your head up at him, your ears flicking at the sound of his voice. “Is that a problem?”

Sunghoon’s gaze softened as he glanced at your tail, which had now curled around his leg. He was trying not to smile—he really was—but it was impossible not to feel a little giddy at the way you looked so comfortable with him.

“It’s not a problem,” he replied, a slight grin tugging at his lips. “It’s just… unexpected.”

You could sense the subtle vulnerability in his tone, the way his usually cool facade slipped when you were near. You shifted closer, wrapping your arms around him, and that was the tipping point.

Sunghoon let out a small sigh, one that almost sounded relieved, and rested his head against yours. “You always know how to make me feel… at ease.”

“Good,” you murmured, tracing his jawline gently. “You deserve it.”

His heart skipped a beat, and though he still tried to keep his composure, he couldn’t help but feel that warmth spreading through him. There was something about being with you, his cat hybrid partner, that made him feel like he was exactly where he needed to be.

SUNOO (fox hybrid) :

Sunoo had always been a little touchy-feely, but with you—a cat hybrid—his instincts were in overdrive. Every time you came near, his senses were heightened. The way your tail flicked and your soft purring filled the air made him feel at ease, yet incredibly distracted.

Tonight, you were curled up beside him, your head resting on his shoulder, your scent lingering around him like an irresistible magnet. His fingers lightly brushed through your hair, and he noticed how your ears twitched under his touch.

“You always smell so good,” Sunoo murmured, voice low and full of affection. His hands moved from your hair to the back of your neck, massaging the spot just behind your ear, and your body melted into his touch.

You looked up at him with a playful glint in your eyes, your tail swishing lazily. “You like my scent, huh?”

He chuckled softly, the warmth in his chest growing. “It’s hard not to. You make it hard to concentrate when you’re so close.”

You laughed, a quiet, almost feline sound, before inching closer to him. “Well, I don’t mind being close to you either.”

Sunoo’s hands slid down to your waist, pulling you even closer, and he nuzzled his face into your hair, inhaling deeply. He couldn’t help but smile as you purred softly in response, your body relaxing into his embrace.

“You’re distracting,” he teased, but there was no real annoyance in his voice. “But I guess I don’t mind.”

You shifted slightly, your tail brushing against his leg as you settled deeper into his arms. Sunoo’s heart raced in the most comforting way, content with the quiet intimacy you shared.

As a cat hybrid, your instincts seemed to align perfectly with his own. You were both a perfect match, and he couldn’t help but be grateful for the calm yet exciting presence you brought into his life.

JUNGWON (panther hybrid) :

Jungwon’s instincts as a panther hybrid made him incredibly attuned to your presence, especially since you were a cat hybrid. There was a primal pull between you two—something unspoken but understood. His protective nature often surfaced, his panther instincts kicking in when he sensed any threat around you, but there was also a softness in him when you were close.

Tonight, as you curled up next to him on the couch, he could feel the heat of your body next to his, the faint scent of your fur mixing with his own. It was calming, grounding. You had always been comfortable around him, but tonight, there was something different in the air—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“You’re awfully close tonight,” Jungwon teased, his deep voice carrying a playful edge as he shifted, pulling you in a little closer.

You looked up at him, your cat-like curiosity piqued. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like being close to me?” You lightly teased him back, a soft purr escaping from your throat as your tail flicked against his leg.

He let out a small laugh, but it was clear there was a little more to it than just the usual playfulness. His panther instincts were telling him to get closer, to protect you from anything that could harm you—even if there was no immediate threat.

“I do like it,” Jungwon said softly, his voice almost a growl as his eyes softened. “I like being near you. It feels… natural.”

You couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze had darkened, the panther in him revealing itself just a little as he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle but filled with intent.

“Is it just the panther in you?” you asked, your voice low, teasing as you inched closer to him. “Or is it something else?”

Jungwon smirked, his hand now tracing the line of your jaw. “Maybe both,” he admitted, his breath warm against your skin. “But I don’t mind. Being close to you… it feels right.”

You purred contentedly, rubbing your head against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat steady and comforting. “I feel the same way.”

There was an undeniable connection between you both, one that went beyond words. Your panther hybrid partner was fiercely loyal, and even though his instincts urged him to keep you close, he knew you needed it just as much as he did.

NIKI (tiger hybrid) :

Niki, with his tiger hybrid instincts, could always sense the small shifts in energy around you. He wasn’t particularly fond of people getting too close to you, especially since you were a cat hybrid. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you; it was more about his protective nature. Tigers were territorial, and you, with your cat-like charm, were his.

One evening, you were casually lounging in the living room, sharing space with your friends, when Niki noticed someone—one of your close friends—getting just a little too close. He narrowed his eyes, the growl that rumbled in his chest barely audible but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“Hey,” you said, catching his eye. “What’s with the look?”

Niki’s tiger instincts flared, his eyes flickering with the subtle shift of protective dominance. “Nothing,” he muttered, his voice low but with a hint of something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Just… don’t let anyone get too close.”

You raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering through you. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing serious,” he said, his gaze flickering back to the friend who was still standing too close for his liking. “It’s just… you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing others too close.” The possessive edge in his tone was hard to ignore, though his eyes softened when they met yours. He wasn’t trying to control you, but his tiger nature was just a little jealous when others got too familiar.

Realizing that it was more about his instincts than anything, you chuckled softly and leaned into him. “Niki,” you murmured, your voice teasing, “don’t worry. You’re the one I want to be close to.”

Niki’s eyes softened, but his arms still instinctively pulled you closer, his protective nature only fading a little. “Just making sure you’re safe,” he whispered, his tiger ears twitching as he nuzzled your hair.

Your scent—comforting, soothing, and distinctly yours—filled the space between you two, and Niki couldn’t help but inhale deeply, the urge to claim you as his own only growing stronger. He would always be close by, guarding you in the way only a tiger hybrid could, protective and fiercely loyal.

Word count : 2054 | serapharua, 2025.

[zuzu-tries-to-write]

Katsuki Bakugo X Reader

Summary: Bakugo has spent years bullying you, masking his true feelings behind insults and harsh words. But when he finds out you’re dating someone else, something inside him snaps. Fueled by jealousy and frustration, he finally confesses—his way. With heated words, desperate kisses, and a possessiveness he can’t control, he makes it clear: you were always his. And now, he’s never letting you go.

(This one bakugo is a bit possessive but please don’t mind that)

Bakugo had always been a problem in your life. Since the first year at U.A., he had made it his mission to push your buttons, belittle your victories, and scoff at your every move.

At first, you thought it was just his personality. He was an ass to everyone. But as time went on, you noticed things—how he only seemed to get truly pissed when you outshined him in training, how he always had a comment about your friends, how his teasing was relentless when it came to you.

You had no idea why he was like that, and frankly, you had stopped caring.

Which was why, when Daiki—one of the second-year students from another class—asked you out, you said yes. He was sweet, kind, and most importantly, nothing like Bakugo.

The moment Bakugo found out, everything changed.

You weren’t expecting the confrontation to happen so soon.

It had only been a few days since you started dating Daiki, and already, your phone was full of texts from Ashido and Kaminari.

Ashido: Girl, I just saw Bakugo nearly murder a training dummy. WTF did you do to him?

Kaminari: Bro’s been pacing like a damn tiger in the lounge. He’s gonna explode.

You ignored the texts. It wasn’t your problem. If Bakugo was being a moody asshole, what else was new?

But you weren’t expecting him to grab you right outside the training hall and shove you against the wall, his arms caging you in before you could react.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low, dangerous.

You blinked up at him, shoving at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “Excuse me?”

He scowled. “Don’t play dumb. You and that extra.”

Your stomach twisted. “Daiki?” You narrowed your eyes. “That’s what this is about?”

He let out a harsh scoff. “Of course it’s about that. The hell are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I finally found someone who isn’t an asshole to me,” you shot back, frustration bubbling up. “Not that it’s any of your damn business.”

His jaw clenched. “Like hell it isn’t.”

“Why do you even care, Bakugo?” You pushed harder against his chest, but he still didn’t move. His whole body was tense, his crimson eyes blazing. “You’ve spent years making my life miserable, so why the hell does it matter to you who I date?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his fists clenching at his sides. “Because it should be me, damn it!”

The words hit you like a shockwave.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling like he was barely holding himself together. “You think I just fuck with you for fun?” His voice was lower now, rougher. “You think I spent all this time chasing after you just to piss you off?”

Your heart was pounding. “What—”

“I didn’t know how to fucking say it,” he snapped, his hands slamming against the wall on either side of you. “I didn’t know how to—fuck—I didn’t know how to deal with you!”

You stared at him, stunned.

“You make me insane, okay?” His voice was raw, like the words were being ripped straight from his chest. “Every time I see you, every time you smile at those idiots, every time some loser gets too close to you, I wanna—” He exhaled sharply, his forehead dropping against yours. “I wanna fucking destroy them.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I don’t want anyone else touching you.” His voice was barely above a whisper now, but it was so much more intense. “I should be the one with you. Not him. Me.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Then, before you could stop yourself, you grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down into a kiss.

It was desperate, messy, needy. The second your lips met his, Bakugo let out a low, guttural sound, his hands flying to your waist as he slammed you back against the wall. His grip was firm, possessive, his fingers digging into your skin as his mouth devoured yours.

You barely had time to process before his tongue slid past your lips, claiming you completely. Your head spun as he kissed you harder, deeper, like he was trying to burn himself into you.

One of his hands slid up your side, gripping your jaw as he tilted your head back, giving himself more access. You moaned against his mouth, and he growled, pressing his body even closer to yours.

“Mine,” he muttered against your lips, biting down gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. “Say it.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him back in for another bruising kiss. “Yours,” you whispered breathlessly. “Only yours.”

His grip on you tightened, his breath hot against your skin. “Damn right,” he growled, before kissing you again, harder, deeper, like he never planned on letting go.

Bakugo’s breathing was ragged as he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his grip on your waist still firm like he was afraid you’d disappear. His crimson eyes bore into yours, intense and unyielding.

“You’re not going back to him,” he said, voice hoarse but certain. “I won’t fucking let you.”

Your chest was rising and falling just as fast as his, your lips still tingling from the heat of his kisses. And the worst part? You didn’t want to go back.

You swallowed, your fingers still curled into his shirt. “Then what happens now?”

Bakugo let out a sharp exhale, his hands sliding down to your hips, gripping them like an anchor. “You’re mine,” he repeated, like he needed to hear it again. “And I’m gonna make damn sure you never doubt it again.”

His lips found yours once more—slower this time, but just as deep, just as needy. His hands moved over your body, memorizing every inch, every curve, like he was staking his claim. You melted into him, fingers threading through his hair as he pressed you back against the wall, letting his kiss say everything his words couldn’t.

When he finally pulled away, his smirk was cocky, but his eyes were softer—warmer.

“You should’ve known, dumbass,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips. “You were always mine.”

And this time, you didn’t argue…