#not really talking about it or much of anything yet but they’re together and that’s enough for now

[kaisaerinlover]

rin itoshi angst

you and rin are over and all you can do is sob into his stupid fucking hoodie and jersey he left behind. it’s not fair; the breakup wasn’t fair. how is this fair at all? he has soccer to distract himself at least, he has a goal and a mission. you don’t have that. how the fuck is this fair whatsoever? that he’s going to be fine and you’re going to be in shambles for months on end after - your eyes already hurt from all of the crying, your wettened lower lashes reminding you of his when you look in the mirror. your tears made them look exactly like rin’s; long and dark, clumped together a bit. everything fucking reminds you of him even your own damn eyelashes.

you’re laying in bed wearing his hoodie and hugging his jersey so tightly. it’s four in the morning and the deep ache in your heart isn’t making it easy to sleep at all. you’re not even sure if you’ll wake up, it almost feels like a physical pain each time your fragile heart throbs in your chest. you’re not even sure if you want to wake up. why did he break up with you exactly? because having a girlfriend is too draining for him. because he has to focus on his career. because he doesn’t have time for a girlfriend. because he can’t commit. but these reasons mean nothing to you; they’re worthless pathetic excuses made by him. all you can gather from this is that you weren’t good enough for him to want to change, and that’s fine. you don’t have any ego and you don’t care. well, you suppose you care a little, that’s why you’re in hysterics and clutching at your chest as if your heart is about to explode.

your room is like a fucking shrine of rin. his smell lingers on his two pieces of clothing you’re wearing and holding and it’s dominating all of your senses, polaroids you took of him and forced him to take with you are stuck onto your mirror, the wall, laying on your desk, everywhere, his old cleats are in a box under your bed, his blue lock eleven jersey is hung up in your wardrobe tauntingly, and his captain’s armband is your favourite scrunchie. all you can do is sniffle and sigh. where did it go so wrong? why did he even have to do this? is soccer that much more valuable than a real human being? no, of course it is; but not a human like you. you loved him with every single fibre of your being, your very existence feels like its only purpose is to love him and dote on him forever. how could any game be more valuable than that?

when he was breaking up with you he didn’t even look the least bit sad. god you fucking hate how much you love him; this is why you can’t trust guys. it was stupid of you to trust rin at all. why did you let such a good thing come into your life - good things are there to be taken away. but maybe you expected rin to be different. unfortunately he wasn’t. he’s so nonchalant too, god you fucking hate it. you wish he was yearning for you the way you are for him right now, but apparently all his desire lays only in football. nothing to do with you. never will be anything to do with you. you were just there for him when he started needing the attention of the opposite gender, started needing a girl to tell him how much she adores him, when he started needing a little fangirl at all of his games for his ego, when he started needing something to sink his cock into. someone to talk his ears off, someone who just loved to gossip and talk about tiktok trends that he truly never had any care for. yeah, that’s all you were to him; cheap and easy entertainment. fuck you itoshi rin, how could he be so emotionless at a breakup that is tearing you apart slowly, yet not carefully, from the inside out?

rin knows he messed up. he’s on a flight to france now, and he knows he fucking messed up - but there’s no take backsies! he wasn’t nonchalant at all, but god, he can’t fucking commit. he just can’t. he wants to so bad for you; you have your bad days but he knows what having a girlfriend entails, he doesn’t give a fuck man. he really fucking doesn’t care whatsoever. he doesn’t know why he’s like this but it’s pissing him off. he’s a fucking piece of shit. the look in your eyes when he said he was leaving you could shatter the heart of someone with the strongest will of them all. he regrets it so bad already. all he wants to do is have you sitting next to him right now looking out of the window and talking about something he knows absolutely nothing about. but you’re probably in shambles, sobbing on your bed. he flips over his phone and looks at the polaroid of the two of you that he keeps in the back of his phone case. it’s a funny one: he took the initiative for once and took the selfie with you himself whilst you weren’t looking, and you have an ice cream in your hand, with a bit of it on the tip of your nose, not even realising what your boyfriend is doing.

god he misses you, he’s longing so deeply. but he didn’t want to be emotional. he doesn’t want to stay with you when he knows it’s not fair on you. it’s not fair for him to expect you to commit to him and pamper him sweetly the way you normally do when he would sell you for the title of the world’s best striker. that’s all he really wants, yeah, to be the world’s best striker. and whilst this is what he wanted before, and he was sure of it, he’s unsure now. as he looks into the night sky through the window, taking in the stars, he just can’t help but think of your glassy eyes begging him to not go. if you would ask him before, he would say girls mean nothing. football is what he lives for. being a striker is all he wants. surpassing his brother and that shithead isagi is the closest thing akin to emotion towards another human. but right now all of those things couldn’t be more untrue; he wants you so fucking bad. he misses you so much, his heart is in agony thinking of how sad you probably are right now.

he looks at his hand resting on the arm of the expensive first class seat, and he just sighs. he wants to be holding your hand so bad right now. he really fucking does, but he’s so idiotic. he’s such a dumb guy he really is. he can’t help but think about how bad he messed up. and you can’t help but think about how he doesn’t care at all. but it couldn’t be further from the truth. rin itoshi can only keep up his act of nonchalance for so long; even his mask slips eventually. he misses you dearly. and you miss him so dearly too. your hearts are throbbing in pain in sync, your tears trickling down your cheeks match the way he runs his fingers up and down his temples to try and calm himself down and get rid of the migraine he gained from furrowing his brows so deeply at himself. you’re so in tune, two bodies yet only one soul, intertwined, unbeknownst to you both. but rin had to mess it up.

what the fuck can he do now? he was breaking up with you to focus on football, how can he focus now? when you’re all that’s on his mind? how can he be expected to keep his focus when the only thing he’s going to be doing the whole time he plays is wishing with all of his stupid, less cold than he’d like to admit, heart. wishing for something that he already had in his hands for years, yet foolishly gave it away in seconds. how can he focus when he knows he left a girl crumpled up on the bed wailing like a fucking baby over him? god, you probably hate him don’t you. his eyes tear up a bit at the thought. no, you can’t hate him. you can’t. you just can’t. he knows it’s selfish to think, but god he can’t fucking stand the idea of you hating him. despite what he did.

and you don’t hate him. you wish you did - it would be so much easier that way. but you don’t. no, you could never hate rin (unfortunately for you). all you know how to do is love him. it’s an instinct you feel like you’ve had you’re whole life, buried deep inside you until you finally met him. it’s so far ingrained within you, your love is so delicate. so intricate. so perfectly crafted for a man of rin’s calibre. and his was perfectly designed for you too. so why did he mess it up? why do you wish with all your stupid weak heart that you could hear him whispering “i love you, baby” into your ear again, after shoving his tongue in your mouth so possessively? why do you miss his little fits of jealousy he would have in public if another guy was too close? how when you went to any store and another man came up to you, rin would squeeze your hand tighter and give him a death stare? why do you miss everything about him? it’s so hard to not be pathetic over this man, it really is. it’s so fucking difficult. you miss his perfect imperfections, you couldn’t name a single thing you dislike about him.

it can’t be fair, the heavy feeling in your chest. break ups can be a fresh start, but you feel so much heavier after this one. sabrina carpenter is such a liar, you don’t feel lighter like a feather at all. you mentally laugh at your own dumb thought, but it does little to numb the pain and realisation of your situation. rin is feeling the exact same. he really thought this was for the best, maybe a bit more for him, he’s selfish he’ll admit. but maybe that came back to bite him; because this is so fucking painful. he feels extra bad. you’d been there since the very beginning, since before he went to blue lock, since before any of this shit happened. you’d always been a placeholder for sae, he supposes. all he wanted was to pursue his goals more, try harder, work harder, get everything he’s wanted, surpass everyone he has a rivalry with; he just wants to be the best. but now he thinks about it, he realises he already had something worth more than all of that. someone so patient and kind, who was willing to sit and wait for him and be paid less attention to as he poured himself completely into soccer. someone who had their own set of struggles and emotions too, yet never wanted to talk about them as to not drag rin down. someone who genuinely made his heart hurt when they cried. he realises he loves having a girlfriend as much as he loves soccer. no, scrap that, he loves you as much as he loves soccer. maybe even more. he could literally just fucking do both at one. he’d brought you to france before numerous times and every single fucking time you were so good and he enjoyed himself so much. he doesn’t know why he’s so scared of commitment, especially with you, because even though you have your moments like every girlfriend does - moments where you act erratic, emotional and cry, or just get mad at him for nothing, moments where you’re just being a girl - you make him feel good. you’ve never given him any reason to not trust you. he knows you’d never hurt him, hell, you’ve been hurt yourself various times before, and you still put trust in him. he knows he should trust you, but it’s so hard since what he did; what sae did. he doesn’t want to be emotionally dependant on anyone else anymore, but he already got himself caught up in this mess and his heart is aching so fucking badly, does it even matter anymore.

when rin arrives in france finally you’re just waking up. he even haunted your dreams, how unfair is that? that he’s probably not even thinking about you whatsoever, he only cares about football. that’s what you think anyway, of course rin thought about you the entire time. he’s begrudgingly dragging his luggage through the airport, and each shop he passes he just thinks about you even harder. he sees something on display he thinks is cute? he’s instinctively turning to nudge you to show you it and ask if you want it. he sees a starbucks? he’s turning to you to ask you what you want to order, and which cake pop you want. he sees a girl with that stupid brand of shoes you like? he’s ready to memorise whatever it is you start talking about, whichever thing from there you want, so he can buy you it as a gift later. he misses your cute mannerisms, things he’s only seen you do and nobody else. all the cute words and actions you do exclusive to you. they’re even deep sated within him now. he finds that when you’re together, he talks like you sometimes. you weren’t even from japan originally, you moved there as a child. and you stayed there because of him, and now he’s just left you. you stayed somewhere that just isn’t home to you because he made it a home to you and now he can’t possibly imagine what you’re feeling. man, everywhere he goes without you just gives him an empty feeling in his chest too, you’re his home too. though he hates admitting it. he feels weak that he’s feeling such sentiments. and as he steps on the bus pxg has waiting outside of the airport for him, he wishes you were here to entertain him for the dull ride. you’re so lively, happy, brimming with life and rainbows. you’re so girly and cute. you’re so, he doesn’t know. you’re just everything. everything to him. and he feels so fucking bad for letting it go. as he looks out of the window he feels bad for even sitting in this seat. you love the window seat, he doesn’t really care, so he’d give you it every single time. there’s other people on the bus too, of course, but he tunes them out. ignores their chatter. he misses you a lot.

he hopes you don’t get close to any other guys now that he’s gone - he knows it’s a selfish wish. he’s sorry. he really is. but he can’t have anyone else having you, he really can’t. you’re a rare catch.

you’re not talking to other guys, you couldn’t ever bring yourself to do that. not ever. not ever in your life could you do that when your heart beat spells his name out. when all that runs through your blood is vitamins and love for him. but you’re going to do something else crazy that you think he would hate you even more for, but you can’t help yourself. if you don’t take the chance now you’ll regret it forever. you won’t just sit around at home and watch his stupid fucking games on tv, knowing he’s just out of reach but still there. you’ll go to france too, love like this doesn’t come to everyone all the time. you can make him like you again, you tell yourself. though, even you aren’t sure of that. honestly you just want to have one more chance to see his face for the last time. and besides, you’ll move out of japan anyway, you have no reason to be there anymore. this can also serve as a property seeing trip. that’s what you delude yourself into anyway, but obviously it’s so much more than that.

so rin is training now. and you’re running through the airport frantically with your things all packed in a rush in your suitcase. that’s where you’re both at; rin kicking the ball hard with determination and you running for your life through the airport to make it to the front desk in time. you booked the ticket frantically, and it left a huge dent in your pocket you honestly can’t even deny it. you weren’t a gold digger so it’s not like you had a lot of money laying around from rin. honestly, you probably look like a loon to all of these airport staff. but you guess that everyone can tell somethings off, the way you’re crying even still at the airport. and you talk so fast too, you carry yourself with little to no etiquette right now and only with desperation for your love. but you aren’t being rude, just emotional. even security gives you an easy time. you run as fast as you can to the gate, 1 minute before closing time. and you’re so fucking relieved.

unfortunately for you, you don’t have the kind of money rin has at your disposal. so you don’t pay for first class, so you’re forced to sit in a cramped seat for the next 14 hours of your life. next to strangers you don’t know. you wish one of them was rin, you really do. you lean your head against the window and put your blanket around yourself and cry yourself to sleep, just hoping that the nonstop ache in your chest will go away.

unfortunately for rin, you don’t have the kind of money he has at your disposal. unfortunate for both of you for different reasons. you don’t have any internet on the plane, and you’re fast asleep against the hard window. so when rin texts you and you ignore him for hours, he’s convinced you hate him.

rin: hey

rin: i’m sorry

rin: i miss you

rin stares at his phone screen. he’s more preoccupied in his phone than ever before, everyone notices it. he stares at the delivered sign staring back up at him. you didn’t block him at least? that’s something? but what are you doing right now? are you with another guy? do you hate him? it’s been hours and you still haven’t replied. every set he finishes he checks his phone. every drill he finishes he checks his phone. he has his phone propped in the cupholder of the treadmill to see if you text back and you don’t. and it’s fucking eating him up from the inside out. but he has a game tomorrow, so he doesn’t know what to do. he prays you’re going to be watching it on tv, man, he’d make a love declaration to the world at this point just to have you back. love makes you do crazy things, he’s no exception to the rule.

neither are you, that’s why the moment you wake up and realise your flight is landing, you push your way through all of the people and rush out to dash to the airport and grab your stuff. you know where the pxg training ground is, you just have to make it there. you haven’t looked at your phone once, you forgot about it completely in your pocket. all you do is grab your small shoulder bag over your shoulder, and the small suitcase you packed in a panic, and dash out of the door. you pay one of the ubers with your card, you pay a hefty amount actually. you’re honestly surprised the payment even went through, but he takes you right to the hotel you intend to stay at. it’s a 5 minute walk from the stadium rin is going to play at tomorrow, and also a 30 minute walk from pxg’s training grounds. but god, you underestimated soccer fans, or simply didn’t take it into account; but the hotel is full. you still are yet to pick up your phone this whole time, but you’re determined still. you can’t stay at the hotel? fine, you’ll run to the pxg facility. and run you do, even in the freezing cold of the harsh french winter, you run through the snow and slip several times on the ice but you don’t care, even despite all the people watching you right now. you’re not even tired, you slept through the entire almost 15 hour flight. and you’re determined, it’s the middle of the night though, you don’t know if they’ll let you in, but you don’t care. you’re so fucking desperate to see rin one more time that you abandoned all sense of pride and self worth just to see his gorgeous stupid fucking face again. 

but now you realise how stupid you were, what the fuck are you supposed to do now? all of that indomitable spirit you just had is gone now, what the fuck did you just do? you’re stood outside and you have no idea how to get in, and you finally take your phone out of your pocket and hastily pay for data in france so you can call rin and ask him if he’ll come and open the door to the training facility. your sat on a bench in the freezing cold, sitting atop the snow, waiting for your data to register. and when it does, you’re greeted by a sight that makes your heart do somersaults; rin’s texts. you can’t even reply, your fingers shake from the cold and you call rin and pray he actually meant the texts he sent.

rin is so tired, that when he hears his phone vibrate he can’t even be bothered to check it. it’s probably nothing important; nothing is important except you. and he doubts, no, he knows for a fact it’s not you. it’s probably his stupid fucking manager, or parents, or some random fan who managed to get his number. you’d never call him in the middle of the night knowing he has a game tomorrow, so all he does is reach his arm over without even looking and silences his phone so he can sleep.

and you give up calling after what feels like an hour of going straight to voicemail. you’re not tired, what can you do? how much time do you have to kill? and did rin even mean his texts? you start crying again. your brain is stupid, you’re stupid. he obviously meant them, but you don’t realise it. all you can do is overthink a million times about all the reasons why he could have sent those texts, and not a single reason is simply that he missed you. your brain simply cannot come up with the idea that itoshi rin is longing for you the same way your heart is longing for him. all you can do is trudge around begrudgingly in the snow with your suitcase and shoulder bag, looking for a place to sit and wait. wait for rin’s stupid fucking game. god this hurts, your tears are hot when they roll down your cheeks. nice, you guess, since it’s sub zero temperatures outside right now. it’s 7am now, and some cafes have opened thank god. so you sit in one of them and mope. you mope and you don’t think the worker cares at all; he noticed you’re crying and chose not to question it. and your phone is dead. you don’t remember if you brought your charger or not, you just shoved several tickets into your bag for rin’s previous soccer matches, his jersey and some pictures of you both. you’re an idiot. but you can wait.

and when rin finally wakes up and sees it’s you who kept calling him, he beats himself up over it so hard. god, if only he’d have just answered. you probably hate him now. he tries calling you back, a trillion times he really tries, but you don’t pickup at all. you just aren’t answering the phone. he bets you hate him now and all he can do is sigh. you’re both so stupid, it’s so pathetic to see. if there was any outsider knowing what was going on in this stupid relationship, they would laugh at how dense you both are. he’s so angry at himself, his self loathing multiplied by numbers unexplainable. you probably needed him, and he didn’t even answer. and now you probably hate him and you’re off with some other guy. this stupid thought process of his doesn’t slow down, from the entire time he’s training, to heading to the stadium, to sitting in the locker room waiting for the match to begin.

and you, desperate little you, by some stroke of luck, you actually got your seat. the one rin always reserves for you at the very front. you actually managed to get it with your old tickets. everyone must have taken some pity on you or something, and probably recognised you as rin’s girlfriend who hasn’t ever disrupted anything, because things have been going your way luckily. you don’t realise that though, you don’t realise that fate is setting you two absolute fools in love up again. because you’re too busy crying again, thinking how life is so bad without your (ex) boyfriend. and rin is doing the same, he doesn’t even know what you’ve been up to, he doesn’t know you’ve been running around desperately trying to get to him. no, he thinks he knows what you’ve even doing; talking to other guys, hating him. he thinks he’s been replaced already. he thinks you’re back home in japan watching the tv and waiting for his game out of spite; maybe with a boy next to you. maybe you’re watching for one of the other players on the opposing team. maybe you replaced him with another soccer player. god, he’d hate to think that he was just your type and not more. he really fucking would. he’s on the bench sitting with his arms across his knees, legs apart and water bottle in one hand. he’s crushing it unknowingly, squeezing it so tightly that the plastic bends under his heavy fingers. his teammates don’t even bother talking to him, no one wants to talk to rin when he’s like this.

and you’re waiting so hard. your heart is beating out of your chest, your adrenaline is pumping and you’re so anxious. honestly, you don’t even know if you want rin to notice you sitting there. your hands are shaking, not from the cold this time. you feel pathetic, you feel so pathetic for being this way, but how can you care? you’re pathetic for rin; and he’s equally as pathetic for you. he’s clenching his knuckles the entire time, the moment he walks onto the field his knuckles are so white. and he’s so stiff, so much more threatening today. no one talked to him the whole time they were in the locker room, nor training. even his coach couldn’t look him in the eye. rin is freakish in nature, everyone knows not to bother him.

and when the game starts it’s so clear that something is different. he’s so much more aggressive. he can’t even care, all he’s thinking about the entire time is you, he wants to mangle all these shitty lukewarms on the field. no, he’s the shitty lukewarm. he’s the tepid one. it’s him. no one else. just him. his self hatred is amplified so much. he wants to fucking kill everyone here. wants to destroy them so bad. he’s not even playing with sound mind. he can’t even think about the game, only you. you you you you you. and every single kick of the ball, every pass, every dribble everything he does. every mechanic. every skill every goal he aims to shoot. every step. every time he devours one of these shitty washed up players on the enemy and his own team he thinks of you. he wonders if you’re watching. all the cameras are on him, not like he cares, he doesn’t give a fuck about the press, but he wonders if you’re looking. perfect view of him. all eyes on him.

and you’re watching alright. you’re watching intently from the stands. your adrenaline is racing so much, you really want to do nothing but talk to him. but as half time comes you get scared and hide your face as you see rin walking towards the locker rooms. god, you’re so fucking pathetic in love, it’s actually sad. and rin is so pathetic too, he had to stop himself from looking at the stands where you normally sit, because seeing the empty chair would shatter his heart into a million pieces. so he’s there, back where he was at the beginning right before the game, squeezing the life out of the lump of plastic in his hands. taking a sip whilst crushing it with his strong hands. from rage. from something. some instinct inside him telling him he has to destroy everything. god he wants to. he’d burn the fucking world just to see your pretty face again right now. and you would do anything for him too. anything except look at him when he’s in close proximity, that is, because when he walks out again you have to hide your head out of shyness.

god you’re both pathetic, you’re gushing over him from the stands with your heart thumping wildly inside of the ribcage of your small frame, and he’s going berserk on everyone. the game isn’t even close. how can it be close when rin is angry? he thrives from anything negative in nature, the poor boy was set up from failure right from the beginning. even his instincts as a striker are self destructive. but you were so good, something not akin to the destruction he knows at all. the opposite. and now he’s stuck hating himself for the abhorrent stupid decision he made. he really shot himself in the leg there. the game isn’t close at all, it’s really not.

you’ve seen him like this a few times, towards the ends of games. tongue out mumbling nonsense. you’ve seen this side of him when he fucks you sometimes too. when he fucks you so hard into the bed you’re worried about your spine fracturing. rin is a monster, don’t ever doubt it. it’s crazy really, and a little scary. watching him play like this; you honestly just put it down to passion for the sport. that’s why he left you after all. but you couldn’t be anymore wrong. it’s because of you, he wants to fucking obliterate this field in your name. and when he scores the winning goal, with a shocking score of 5 - 0, you can’t help but jump out of your seat and exclaim his name. and he could have swore he heard it. you think he looks beautiful, his bangs sticking to his forehead with sweat, the veins popping out of his hands, his face; you don’t know how he manages to stay nonchalant even at times like this. itoshi rin is a prodigy, a godsend to soccer and to you. it’s a shame he slipped out of your hands so fast. slipped right through your fingers. he’d say the same thing about you.

maybe you could have been together in a different life, but it’s his fault you’re not in this one. and he detests himself for that. all he can think about is you, so when all the stupid fucking tabloids come rushing over to him when all he’s trying to do is go to the locker room, he gets pissed off. so pissed, they’re asking him why he was so angry, what was his motivation for this match. he played so well, better than he’s ever played before; so in tune with the ball, with the sport. this is itoshi rin’s true essence, pure unadulterated destruction. it’s thanks to you, obviously. but he can’t tell the world that. he doesn’t want anyone else to know about you, you’re his for fuck sake. not anyone else’s.

but everyone is dying to know! it’s not like they don’t know he has a girlfriend, but they don’t know who she is. he could tell, but he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to be reminded of the sting in his heart that remembering your sweet laugh and cute face brings. they almost give up, he’s as sour and bad mannered as his brother. the same attitude as his brother towards interviewers. the itoshi brothers are not known for their charisma, they’re renowned for their skill not their fan service. they’d never participate in something so lukewarm. they almost gave up. almost.

because when they see the girl in rin’s jersey and a coat that’s far too big on her, presumably his, running towards him with her arms stretched out for a hug, they have their answer. they have it even more when rin holds her back and looks so starstruck. looking down at her, holding her like she’s the most valuable thing he could have ever gotten from this day. from this week. month. year. lifetime. more valuable than all of the trophies and awards he’s claimed. how he holds her so tightly and kisses her forehead, cameras be damned. everyone has their answer. even rin needs a princess, he’s not immune to human emotions. no, he’s immune to those. they’re tepid. but he’s never immune to you, you are the one virus, invasive species, bacteria, germ, all of these, that runs through his bloodstream. and he doesn’t mind it.

you look up at him when you both pull away to see each other’s face for the first time in what feels like forever. you broke up a day ago, well two almost, the time zones are different. but you look at each other like you’ve been yearning for the other’s touch and affections for a lifetime.

rin knows here and now he loves you, and he was fucking stupid to let you go. he can play football and love you. he can multitask. god; you’re almost his reason to keep playing this sport, to be the best, he wants to impress you. the light in your eyes as you look up at him, big beautiful eyes. so cute. he’s holding your shoulders still. he never wants to lose skin to skin contact with you again. you look beautiful, wet lashes from crying, red nose, big puffy lips, red cheeks, tears rolling down your cheeks now. he leans in to lick one off, he truly can’t give a single fuck about the lukewarm freaks recording this moment, at everyone gawking at him, at the scolding he’s going to probably get from his pr manager later. you’re face to face, and god, he never wants to let you go again. he licks his lips to taste the remnants of your tear he just lapped up. and he almost smiles at you. you know he’d be smiling if he wasn’t itoshi rin, the softness in his eyes gives him away so bad.

he leans into your touch as you brush a piece of his hair out of his eyes. as you lift your hand to caress his cheek as if he isn’t some fucking deranged monster on the field, like he’s an angel, a petal that could bend. and you smile up at him. rin opens his mouth to speak the first word in what feels like a century to you.

“hey”

“hi”

[yanderelovebites]

Back with batsis stuff and kinda wanna do the whole isekai thing. Have reader meet their end somehow and wake up in a fanfic that was never finished of a neglected batsis. Have them wake up at the incident that made them get sent over to Bruce.

Have the original girl’s memories and knowing already they didn’t like her, didn’t want her, etc. she decided to just live for herself and future. Girlie went with her father who gave her that initial attention but after that she was taken to her room. She’s six. Have her give that grieving period of two weeks where she just got used to the room and the manor before she started asking for things. It’ll be probably one form of martial arts and later on probably also either music or dance. When she isn’t doing either of those things she sketching in her book and she’s actually really good.

Have her be closest with Alfred but still keep a certain wall up against him just like the others. Have her be a few months older than Damian and Damian isn’t quite in the picture yet. She ignores when the others are in the house despite being a part of said home. She only looks for her father for school needs and while still keeping her distance will set birth cards and Father’s Day cards on his desk in the study. She never hands them to him so she doesn’t know what he does with them nor does she care.

If the character she is reborn as is meant to be neglected, why should she bother trying to reach out?

She eventually had no choice but to meet Jason because he was there… they didn’t know how to explain to her why red hood is there. She simply said “Hello, I would chat but I have Jujitsu in 20 so I have to leave. Nice meeting you.” It was concerning how she brushed it off. Of course she realizes after ‘oh none of them would know I know… nah I’ll just continue on. Who knows, it might bother them!’

By the time Damian gets there, she’s been through karate, jujitsu, and only a year of Taekwondo while also taking dancing/music lessons. She has won art competitions but only Alfred has ever seen or heard. Bruce may have heard but he barely listened to the announcement of it. He knows from a portrait she was forced to sit for with Bruce, Tim, and Dick, she exists. Yet, it takes a week for him to ever see her.

He asks questions like in the original, but what batsis reader doesn’t understand is she changed how Damian sees her since she wasn’t immediately clingy to anyone. Dick TRIES to remember anything and realizes he doesn’t really know her. Tim can’t really tell him anything either other than medical records in case anything happens. Literally all Tim gave Damian was that Damian and batsis have the say blood type. They realize they really don’t know batsis which does unnerve them. All they can say is she stays to herself. That both irritates Damian and intrigued him. He tries Alfred next who is able to at least tell him what she does routinely at least. How she’s been in martial arts after her first two weeks living here, implied she was grieving, and she’s also been in music/dance lessons as well. Also explains she enjoys participating in art contests. He goes on about her being an A+ student and explains she doesn’t interact much with the rest of the family. He even says “To be honest, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one she talks to in any capacity that isn’t out of necessity.”

Jason pretty much only knew about one of the martial arts being jujitsu. He explains she didn’t seem phased that red hood had entered her home and that she didn’t know about the Batman secret.

He doesn’t immediately approach her either. He doesn’t have all the information he needs. All he knows is she’s his half sibling, her usual activities, at least one of the forms of martial arts she knows, and that otherwise she’s a bit of a mystery. Eventually they’re forced to eat at a family dinner together. Since it really bothered Dick that he didn’t know anything he starts asking her about school. No one ever asked her questions, half the time they act like she isn’t there, so she’s confused, but politely says it’s been fine. Talks briefly about her classes, the mention of what classes she’s currently taking makes Tim and Dick shocked. For Tim it’s simply the fact that *she* was taking them and for Dick it’s the fact someone her age was taking such advance classes. Tim coughed and asked her what she did after school on Friday, mostly to hear anything else and she’s like “Oh just another art competition. I placed first with my painting.” She says and continues eating.

Bruce honestly is trying to process what he heard and saw and Damian treats it as a way to analyze her. The way she eats, the way she talks, her posture, and of course the tiny bits the boys were getting out. She then says “I’m sure Alfred has already told you about that, however, right father?” He coughs for a moment and nods as to hide the fact he himself has been caught off guard. For Damian she isn’t like a role model for what he’s grown up with, it’s more she’s a role model for what a Wayne is. She’s perfect in all things you’d expect the public to see a Wayne for. Knows arts, has some martial arts background, and has a certain air of modesty yet wealthy around her.

This attention to her is still brief at this time for Tim, Dick, and Bruce. They ask if she’s met Damian and she says “Not really, at best some glances. I’m always moving after all.” That dinner felt awkward, but Damian decided she wasn’t Particularly a threat…

And by all things holy it annoys the crap out of Tim. He actually tries to speak to her—which she is cautious at first because she knows what he did to the original Batsis. Instead of drawing his sword on her, he asked about her martial arts since that’s really all he can… talk about with her… and the part that annoys Tim on it… is simply he won’t shut up about her-

And he thought when Damian called himself the blood son was annoying! Now it’s ’blood sibling’ this and that if bringing her up in conversation occurs. It’s clear he respects her in such annoying ways.

I just imagine the Yandere Batfam doesn’t all happen at once. It starts with Damian. You don’t see it at first because you blame his upbringing. He’s stuck to your side during banquets as much as he despises them. He mirrors some of your ‘mask’ etiquette in that all the Wayne’s have an image. You kept yours on as rock solid as possible, you are not the same person. He can tell you must have some inspiration from your father as yours is a rather innocent persona. You act like a social butterfly amongst the people and seem so damn sweet. He just doesn’t like how many eyes are on you. You acted like you couldn’t feel it, but it’s hard to ignore Damian. In fact, it accidentally wentinti his persona as people saw him as a clingy little brother to his slightly older sister. That it just made ‘sense’ since you two are so close in age.

Damian would just get worse as time went on. It’s get to the point you realize he isn’t faking or anything he actually just likes you. Then you get kidnapped.

I imagine no one but Alfred and Damian realize something is wrong. He’s the reason they find you and he nearly kills the guy who kidnapped you. Of course it’s not like you just let them take you, there was evidence even before they were brought to an inch of their life. You hadn’t made it easy and they could tell you had injured them beforehand. However they had broken your legs and that’s when I’d get worse for Damian and start in Bruce.

I might add more thoughts later I dunno it’s kind of an idea dump

[lightlycareless]

Do you think you could write a little something about Naoya jerking off to Y/N but they’re yet to be together or they haven’t had sex yet so it’s just pining and fantasy x1000000000. Like that almost pathetic type of yearning/lust that leaves him feeling embarrassed after he’s finished TEEHEE. Obviously you don’t have to write it since it is so…shamelessly horny lol but at least now you too can have that image of Naoya in your head >:3

Hello!!!

Pathetic Naoya is 100% in character; the type of guy to portray himself as all macho and such but the moment his loved one touches him he's nothing but a trembling, squirming mess.

Luckily, this prompt is a two-way one, meaning we'll get one with Y/N's pov hehe, but in the meantime let's do Naoya's 😏

warnings: smut. not really explicit, it's like all in naoya's mind. still, minors DNI. slight highschool au? it's very early in their relationship. naoya has an awakening lol.

The honeymoon stage in your relationship finishes quite quickly.

Not in the sense that Naoya’s adoration for you dwindles; no, of course not. If anything, it just grows stronger the more time he spends with you.

It’s more in the manner of the innocence behind the relationship; the early stages of such and how most of his desires dwelled in simply holding hands, embracing you, and above all, doting you with endless gifts just to see that adorable, flustered reaction of yours—and naturally, to make you happy.

But that all changes when you… well, provoked him. An unprecedented gush of summer breeze accidentally lifting your skirt and giving him a glimpse of your underwear, a cute white and pink heart patterned panty that remains imprinted in his mind for the rest of his day.

For the rest of the week. Till the dead of the night…

And if that wasn’t enough, to see you during training was—

Like some kind of precocious teenager, Naoya just needed one look at the way your breasts bounced whilst running to have him completely hypnotized; the sight constantly teasing him throughout the day, he couldn’t even talk properly without being a stammering mess! At one point he had to temporarily ignore you just to hold some decorum.

Especially given the way that refused to settle down, becoming even worse as days passed: your mere presence was now enough to rile him up. You didn’t have to do anything specific, by simply sensing you near, he stirred alive, and no cold shower was to ease him.

Soon, his last resort became his only solution, right after his arm “accidentally” brushed against your boobs, quickly heading back to the dorms once the school day was done to put an end to this whole…  problem.

Perhaps the only surprising thing out of this was how long it took him to act—succumb to his desires, so to speak—since Naoya’s never been one to shy away from doing what he wants, especially when it comes to his pleasure.

Already an expert at the matter, it didn’t take much for him to get in the right mood, just by following through with any of the scenarios that have been torturing his mind for the past few days would do the trick: but he’d still end up going with his favorite, the reason why all this spiraled out of hand in the first place.

Now that his little secret is out, Naoya will not deny that the thought of your breasts has crossed his mind a few times prior to this situation. From the cute, pastel colored bra he presumes to be matching with your panties—to the soft, warm skin underneath you diligently covered yet slyly teased him with whenever approaching you. It’s almost like you knew what you were doing! So close to his grasp, and yet—

It wasn’t of utmost importance for him to see them to tell they were perfect in every sense of the word; fitting perfectly in his hands for him to tease and enjoy; especially those sensitive, perky nipples, he would die to pinch and suckle, watching you squirm underneath his touch and yet, cannot keep away—not when he’s keeping you in place.

“They’re soft, princess.” He’d murmur, latching his lips onto your buds and gently biting it, making you moan in return. “Sweet too, probably ‘cause of all those mochi you eat.”

“Na—Naoya! Don’t say that!” you blush, and he simply smiles, relishing your taste.

But ultimately nothing compared to your cunt, the precious mound he cannot wait to claim, taste, see—though it’s already a given of his ownership.

He daydreams of the moment he’ll be able to make you his, imagining how he’d place you over his bed, with you shyly yet dutifully keeping your legs open and giving the shrew sight of your pussy for his sole eyes to admire.

Naoya’s breath would hitch soon after placing his fingers besides your lips and spreading your slit open, unable to look away as he zealously takes in everything: from its enticing color to subtle twitches, and of course, soft whines whenever he’d so much as breathe onto your sensitive clit…

He’s unable to stop himself from placing his tongue at the bottom and take one long stride along your cunt, enjoying your deliriously saccharine slick and the suffocating pressure of your soft thighs instinctively clamping around his head.

And after Naoya’s had his fair share of teasing you, it was time for the main course.

If your walls were already agonizingly tight in his fingers and tongue, it was only exhilarating to imagine how it would feel with his cock buried deep within you—he’d probably die when doing so!

Ah, to spend his last moments of life enjoy the burning, gooey feeling of your walls holding on so strongly onto his cock, as if the briefest moment of emptiness were pure agony, would be a nice way to go; but of course, Naoya doesn’t intend for his life to end right then and there, not when there were many, many more things he’d like to explore beforehand with you.

Such as his eventual release, his deepest desire demanding to claim his rights over you by painting your walls white with his thick, burning seed; to do so as many times necessary until your cunt was shaped as his cock, rendering your pleasure useless unless with him. As it should always be. Will be.

Obviously, he’s quite aware of the risks this act conveys—presenting problems either are too young to even consider—but never too ignorant for a solution: your face is a very suitable option too.

Which you’d gladly take as well, your beautiful, flushed face looking up to him as you eagerly squirmed and pressed your legs together, eyes tight shut but mouth wide open while presenting your tongue, a look that wantonly urged him to finish quickly, reward you for being such a good girl, before going ahead and doing it all over again.

Surely there’s no way he’d think you were actually satisfied with that one time, right?

“Naoya…”

His hand tightens around his shaft, fervently moving up and down as you then look at him with those pretty eyes of yours that always made his heart skip a bit—but now, filled with lust, just made his cock grow even harder.

“C’mon Naoya, gimme your cum!” you’d cry, desperate for his precious seed no one else but you deserves. A privilege only the love of his life could have. “I want it, baby, please!”

“Y—Y/N!” he breathes, his grip stronger, his conviction angrier.

“I need you…”

“Fuck!”

The mess he ends up doing that night is one that makes him elated for having chosen the bathroom to takeout this activity, far bigger than any he has done with other women as center of his desires, but as expected for the first time touching himself at the thought of you.

And yet, even when he’s got an immediate issue to worry about, whether cleaning up or coming down from his orgasmic high, all that he could feel was the shame his release left him ruminating on, his mind disgracefully admitting he had tainted your innocence, the loving, perfect image he had of you with his own perversions—all because his inability to keep his impulses on check, take things slow as you were undoubtedly hoping he’d do.

Because why would you avoid anything remotely similar to the subject, if your heart wasn’t far away from this travesty?

Those around him were right to think he was undeserving of your love, of your patience. Naoya was nothing more than a monster, slave to his own filthy desires, it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to them and tried to pull you along.

However, even with all that burdening turmoil, that didn’t stop him from seeking his release yet again soon after, and again, and again, and again… Naoya lost count of how many times it took him to finally calm down, completely unaware of time as he eventually grew tired, cleaned up, and headed to bed with intentions of placing order back in his mind.

You deserved better, is what Naoya said to himself as he eventually yielded to slumber, a good man.

But oh, if he only knew you had done the same too.

Let's not forget that while Naoya is a huge pervert by himself, Y/N is too lol. Usually the one to have all these kinks that has Naoya thinking "oh wow I never knew you could do that but YES let's try it out."

Perfect for each other, as it should always be.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this small piece of a pathetic Naoya 😏 while I initially just intended to write this it also inspired me to do something for Y/N so be on the lookout for that 🤭

Thank you so much for sending in this ask 🥺❤️ and for your patience as well ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Now, take care and hope to see you soon!!!

[angelofblackblood]

I’m so tired.

[babsvibes]

Brotp song for Zeke and Jimmy Jr.?

Float On by Modest Mouse

[akimiiyo]

-> JEALOUSY

⌗synopsis : genshin men when they’re jealous.

⌗characters : diluc, kaeya, albedo, zhongli, childe, baizhu, xiao, thoma, ayato, heizou, wanderer, kazuha, tighnari, cyno, alhaitham, kaveh, neuvillette, lyney, dainsleif, dottore, pantalone, capitano, pierro.

⌗cw : gn!reader, not proofread, lowercase intended, probably ooc.

he’s a gentleman, he doesn’t get jealous often because he knows for a fact that he has nothing to worry about. you’ve never done anything that made him feel as if he had to watch out and he’s certain that you never will. although he can still get annoyed at the sight of another man flirting with you. it was his insisting even after you turned him down that angered him the most. nonetheless, he doesn’t let such people interfere with his composure. he’ll act mature and take you somewhere else once he sees that the man has no intentions of leaving you alone. as soon as you both get a moment alone together, however, he won’t hesitate to plant a few more kisses than usual. just in case, y’know?

diluc, zhongli, alhaitham, neuvillette, dainsleif, capitano.

he won’t admit it, but he gets jealous often. he doesn’t want to confront you about it because he believes it’s embarrassing and silly to feel that way. i mean, you’re his and he’s yours. you love him so much, there’s no need to worry, right? yet, he still can’t help but fume at the sight of strangers complimenting you. he can’t blame them, but he still would rather for people to be blind if that meant that they’d leave you alone. he’s aware of how unfair that would be, so he just stays quiet, either sulking or glaring at those people as you offer them a kind smile until you’re both alone where he’ll be needing your utmost attention.

xiao, albedo, thoma, kazuha, kaveh, baizhu.

he’s jealous and he’ll show it. hit on his partner? right in front of him? absolutely not. he might try to keep his calm at first, but as time passes and this scumbag is still around, he won’t hold back. not to worry, he won’t do anything extreme (unless he’s forced to do so), he just wants to make things clear to this guy. he’ll keep it simple at first, simply making subtle comments until he actually starts going straight to the point. after a while, he’ll take your arm and walk away with you, now being angrier than before. the way that guy was talking to him, but especially you, has him furious. be prepared to listen to his angry rant about that random dude. be also prepared to shut him up, you know how.

kaeya, childe, heizou, tighnari, cyno, wanderer, lyney.

this guy almost sees you as his property, his jealousy is unmatched. he won’t take anything lightly. if you’re trying to make advantages on his partner, then you’re asking for it. simple as that! he won’t let anyone think they might have a chance with you because you’re destined to be with him and only him. so obviously, he must make it clear to everybody to not even try. if someone is bold enough though, he’ll just stand beside you, piercing through this man’s soul with his icy gaze. thankfully, nothing ever escalated from that. not that he wouldn’t be capable of doing that, these poor souls simply knew better than to get against someone of that status and reputation.

ayato, dottore, pantalone, pierro.

⌗a/n : im not really proud of this, i might edit it once i have time. it’s 4am and i was supposed to be studying, but i ended up writing this instead. talk about procrastination 😪 let me know if i made any mistakes pls

want to read more? take a look at my masterlist!

©2024 akimiiyo. do not repost, translate, plagiarise, or modify in any way, shape or form.

[not-neverland06]

I don't know why I bite

Logan howlett x fem!reader

a/n: Had Mitski’s ‘I Bet on Losing Dogs’ on a loop while writing this, now I’m sad Inspired by the isle of dogs quote “I’m not a violent dog, I don’t know why I bite” BECAUSE OUCH (they’re both toxic, fair warning) bittersweet ending Summary: You've tried for so long to get Logan to accept you the way he does the others. You want so desperately to be someone who means something to him. But he doesn't want you, maybe he never has. And you both seem to be stuck in this loop of hurting each other.

You’re stability, security, but you’re never comfort. Try as you might, you just can’t get Logan to accept you. You want to. So desperately, you want to be something good for him. But he hates you, or at the very least, he can’t stand you. 

You don’t know what it is about Jean that he craves, but you wish you could replicate it. You’re not your friend, though, you never will be. And it’s pathetic, trying to change yourself to make someone else happy. You’ve never done that before. Yet, there is something about Logan that you want so desperately to help. 

You clean his wounds, metaphorically because he’s never once needed anyone for that. You lift him up after a rough mission and you remind him that the team does need him. They do love him. They want him in that uniform beside them, even Scott. 

You have your suspicions that he doesn’t appreciate your efforts. He’s never outright said anything to you. But you can tell the novelty of your kindness is wearing off. He used to brush your efforts off with a simple look. 

But he’s begun to be mean, saying these little things that you can never completely call out. A lot of what he says is based in truth. “Do you ever stop talking?” No, you don’t. You like talking with your friends, like sharing stories, and laughing together. 

“Has anyone ever told you to fuck off?” Yes, and it hurt. And it continues to hurt. “Why don’t you just shut up for once?” You can’t. You can’t because if you stop talking, if you stop distracting yourself then you’ll actually feel everything. You can’t stop talking, you can’t stop taking care of others because you cannot take care of yourself. You’re incapable of it. 

You can’t say that he’s being rude or mean. He’s just being blunt, and gruff, that’s just how he is. That’s what everyone tells you. They tell you to just ignore when he’s being a dick because he doesn’t really mean it. That’s just what he does because he doesn’t know any other way. 

You shouldn’t have listened. You shouldn’t have placed so much faith in others. You should have just left him alone. Maybe then he wouldn’t have snapped, wouldn’t have said such cruel things to you. 

It broke you a little inside. Hearing what he really thought of you. Despite it all, despite the cruel words and harsh attitude, you had hope. You thought they were all right, that he just needed to warm up to you. And you so desperately just wanted to be something for him to lean on because you’ve never had that before and you know what it feels like to be so lonely. 

“Hey, Logan.” You step into the kitchen, rooting around in the fridge for something to snack on. “Weren’t there apples in here?” You’re talking aloud, but it’s meant for yourself. 

It’s that moment that it all finally comes crashing down. This pathetic illusion that he wants anything to do with you or your friendship. It almost makes you laugh, that this mundane moment is when you feel your heart shatter in your chest. When you get so sick to your stomach your bones ache and your limbs tingle with this odd phantom pain. 

“Could you just shut up?” his voice is low as he leans over the counter. His fingers spin idly around the neck of a beer bottle. You wonder how he managed to sneak it in here, Charles has banned alcohol. You watch the condensation collect on the cracks of his palm and shrug the pain off. 

You’re used to this. This is normal. “Right,” you squeeze past him and look in the pantry. “Sorry,” you whisper, if you speak any louder your voice will crack and that will just make everything worse. 

“You’re just always around, aren’t you?” You glance over your shoulder at him but you don’t respond. Deny it as much as he wants, you have gotten to know him. You recognize the tells. 

He’s had a bad day, he needs a way to get it out of his system. You just happened to walk into the kitchen at the wrong time. It could be anyone he snaps at, but today it’s you. Which seems to be happening more often. 

You do what you did when you were a kid, eyes forward, face flat. You keep yourself neutral, let yourself sink into that apathetic place so whatever he yells at you doesn’t hurt. “You tiptoe around me, act like I’m this wounded stray you need to fix.” 

Your brows pinch in confusion and you shake your head. Second mistake. You shouldn’t have walked into the kitchen in the first place. And you definitely shouldn’t have argued. “No, Logan, that’s not true-”

Although, maybe he has a point. You can’t fix yourself so you try and fix him. 

“I don’t know why they keep you around. You contribute nothing, you do nothing for any of us. We can’t even take you out on the field,” his voice begins to raise and you find yourself backing into the cabinets, hating the way this is beginning to make you feel. “You’re so fucking sensitive we can’t trust that you won’t just kill us all if something goes wrong! You don’t deserve a spot on this team!”

You jump back as he shouts at you, hip jamming into the corner of the island so hard you have to bite your lip so you don’t make a noise. Spit flies from the corners of his mouth, the ferocity of his voice and words are that strong. 

You take in a few quick breaths, blinking the sting out of your eyes and focusing on the wall behind him. “Get it through your thick fuckin’ skull,” he warns, his voice quieter now. “I don’t want you around. Leave me alone.”

You don’t cry, you can’t cry. You don’t speak because you’re afraid of what other cruelties that might provoke. Maybe you would understand all this if you’d been bugging him when he’d already made it clear he needed space. All you wanted was a fucking apple. 

You don’t feel much of anything as you slowly nod your head, not agreeing but appeasing. He watches you with something like surprise on his face. You don’t know that he’s wondering why you’re not saying anything back. 

It’s why he yells at you when he doesn’t know what to do. You can take it, you can put him in his place. But you’re not speaking and he doesn’t know why this time is so different. 

Finally, you turn on your heel and leave, footsteps soft as you retreat back to your room. Logan watches you go with an odd twisting feeling in his stomach. He didn’t think you could be pushed too far. You seem to always just have this endless patience. 

You treat him gently, even when the others get sick of the way he processes things. Today was hard, you just happened to be nearby. He didn’t mean half of what he said. He doesn’t know why he lashes out the way he does, he just doesn’t know what else to do. 

He doesn’t like it, contrary to what the others think. He doesn’t like hurting you or being mean to you. He doesn’t know what it is about you that provokes this side of him that no one else does. Maybe it’s because he’s afraid. He can’t say what he’s afraid of, he’s never been able to admit it to himself. 

He’s yelled at you plenty of times before. You don’t know what it is about that one day that was so different. Normally, it doesn’t bother you. You’ll set him straight or give him space. But today, it was needless. You weren’t doing anything. 

You didn’t deserve to be lashed out like that, cornered and scared in the place you call home. 

It was unprovoked and maybe it finally made you see him for what he really is. A bully. It doesn’t make sense, how he can be so kind and caring to Marie. How he can help Jean and Ororo so sweetly, but can’t muster one kind fucking word for you. 

You don’t let yourself cry, even though you want to. Even though there’s a cloying, suffocating feeling clawing its way up the back of your throat. His room is on the same hall as yours and you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he made you cry. 

You, at the very least, finally stop asking yourself what you did wrong. Instead, you start to wonder what’s wrong with him. You get sick to your stomach, thinking about all the ways you cared for him. Remembering how much of yourself you gave up to make him happy. 

He was right about that, you are pathetic. He never deserved your help or your patience. You should never have offered him any grace. You’re embarrassed that you didn’t see it sooner. This isn’t a little boy pulling your pigtails because he likes you. This is a grown man who can’t regulate his emotions and decided you were the next best punching bag. 

You take in a few deep, shaky breaths and close your eyes until you’re forced to fall asleep. You don’t want to think or feel any of what just happened.

Logan hovers in front of your doorway for ten minutes before he heads downstairs. He’s got a class to run, he doesn’t have time to wait for you to wake up, he reasons. He’ll find you later and apologize then. 

It didn’t take a genius to realize he had gone too far yesterday. Even if you could take his usual level of dickishness, you didn’t deserve it. He just didn’t know what to do around you. You made him confront so many different conflicting emotions. It’s like every time he looks at you his brain is being ripped in twenty different directions and he doesn’t know what to do. 

You’re so endlessly patient and gracious. It makes him realize he wants to be a better man and he can’t be. He resents you slightly for that. For having such a wonderful idea of what he could be, even though he knows he can never be that man.  

He doesn’t find you that day. He makes up enough excuses that he goes to bed promising himself he’ll apologize tomorrow. Which he never does. Because actually saying it would be an admittance that he knows what he did was wrong. And what does that make every other time he’s yelled at you? What does that make him?

It returns to the same cycle it always does. He waits a few days until things are cooled down and you’ll have already forgotten about it. He starts to feel overwhelmed and he goes to find you because you always know what to do. And if you don’t, then you provide an outlet. 

He spots the back of your head in the gardens. You’re with Jean and he expects the usual dirty look she gives him after you’ve both fought. Instead, she smiles warmly at him and waves. Which is odd, usually you tell her about what’s happened between the two of you and she holds the grudge longer than you do. 

You glance over your shoulder, a small smile on your lips, to see who she’s waving at. Logan sees the way it falls when you see him and his steps falter. You never do that, you always look so happy to see him. 

“Jean,” he greets curtly, eyes on you. 

She says hello and they both look to you. Normally, you would have already spoken. But you don’t, you turn your eyes to the kids. Jean frowns and turns back to him, “Everything alright, Logan?” 

He can’t take his eyes off of you. You read his moods, and know them better than he does. You should have already offered to talk. Maybe he really does need to apologize. The thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth. 

He says your name and your brows just barely raise in question, though you couldn’t seem less interested. “Need to talk to you.”

You shrug, “Sorry, can’t. I’ve got a meeting to get to.” You brush past him and walk back into the mansion. He and Jean both watch you go, each of them shocked by how dismissive you were. That’s never happened before. 

“What the fuck did you do?” Jean demands, the smile gone from her face and her tone deadly. She glares at him, clearly expecting an answer. But he doesn’t have one. Because this is something he’s done a million times and this has never happened. He doesn’t know what’s gone wrong. 

He thought your absence would be a relief. After a few more days he begins to realize that he was wrong. He thought that not having someone constantly badgering him to be better and set good examples for the kids would be a relief. 

There’s no one nagging him. No one forcibly checking on him after a mission when he doesn’t need it. No one to care. 

There are chunks of his day that you would normally fill that now seem to drag on. Lunches are quiet without you constantly rambling about nothing in his ear. When there’s friction among the team and they’re ganging up on him, you remain silent. He supposes he should be grateful. 

You finally listened to him for once. But he’s angry. He always seems to be angry and he doesn’t understand why. There is so much of his mind and life that was stolen from him. He wonders if he got any of it back if it would explain why he is the way he is. 

It doesn’t matter because it wouldn’t fix what he can’t undo. He sees you with the others constantly. You’re always laughing, always happy. Like nothing’s happened. Like you haven’t cut him out of your life completely. And then, when you’re around him, it’s like a switch is flipped. 

You’re irritatingly silent. Practically a brick wall. He pokes and he prods, using every weapon in his arsenal to try and provoke a reaction from you. But you give him nothing. 

There is an ache in his chest when he sees the way your smile drops when he walks into a room. He doesn’t understand the feeling. This is exactly what he wanted. To be left alone. 

It feels so wrong. 

It happens in the kitchen again. Odd, that that’s become such an important place to you. 

Your back is to the entrance and you’re busy slicing up some fruit for yourself. You don’t hear him come in. Not until he speaks. “I’m-” you jump at the sound of his voice. Whirling around with a shocked look on your face. 

He chuckles a little at the reaction but when you don’t smile he stops. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out. It sounds semi genuine. But it also sounds like it hurt him to say. “I’m sorry, so can you please just stop ignoring me?”

You shrug and go back to cutting up the fruit. “I’m not ignoring you.”

“No?” He demands. “Then why don’t you talk to me? Why don’t we eat lunch together anymore? You can’t even fucking look at me.”

You slam the knife down on the cutting board, taking in a deep breath so you don’t do something you regret. Your nails dig into your palms, trying to center yourself. “I’m doing exactly what you wanted,” you utter, voice low. 

You turn just enough to make eye contact. “I’m leaving you the fuck alone. That’s what you wanted right? I don’t think I could have misheard while you were screaming it at me.” You turn to leave, abandoning your fruit because you don’t have an appetite anymore. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispers before you can make it out of the kitchen. “I,” he stops and starts again, “I miss you. I’m not a mean person, I don’t know why I hurt you.”

You stare at him, face unflinching. You give him nothing and he knows it's what he deserves. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I’m not asking for it-”

“Good,” you cut him off with a disgusted sneer. “Because I’m not looking to hand it out. Especially not to you. You only want me because you miss what I do for you. You don’t deserve my forgiveness. You don’t deserve me.” You turn on your heel and walk away from him, unwilling to entertain any more conversation. 

This is what you’ve always done. When someone hurts you, really irrevocably hurts you, they’re gone. They’re gone from your life. From your mind. More importantly, your heart. You don’t have any obligations to entertain him or speak with him outside of professionalism. 

You thought cutting him out of your life would hurt more. But it’s like you can breathe for the first time in months. You’re no longer striving to gain someone’s approval. You’re not chasing after something you’ll never catch. 

You can find happiness within yourself. Begin to do the things you would do for him, for you. It’s a relief. And a little sobering. Perhaps, in your mission to help him, you’d burdened him with the desires you had for yourself. 

You believe that you’re unfixable. You believe there are facets of yourself that are too dark to face. That you are undeserving of love and kindness. You recognized those things in Logan and tried to force on him what you’ve always wanted for yourself. 

It was wrong. A mutually toxic relationship that never would have made it far had anything actually happened between you two. You can’t paint yourself the victim and you never meant to. It’s why you didn’t tell anyone what happened between the two of you. 

They wonder, of course, why you no longer spend lunches together. Why you no longer rush to defend him when he doesn’t need the help. Why you don’t smile around him anymore. There are questions that you deflect. Saying, you just needed space from each other. 

Your harm was a silent one. Forcing him into a mold he was never going to fit in. Despite the claims of loneliness, you can see the way your absence benefits him. He’s calmer, less likely to yell when provoked. He just needed the space to find himself. Not to have someone try and make him something new. 

You feel an ache in your chest when you think about how differently things could have been had you just let him be. If you had let things happen between the two of you naturally then maybe you really could have been something great. 

A month goes by without speaking to each other. After that day in the kitchen, he seems to understand that there’s no putting back together what was broken. It was already cracked to start with, the break was inevitable. 

You warm slowly to him. Give him polite greetings when you see him. And he smiles at you sometimes, on the jet when Scott says something ridiculous, or just in passing. It’s nice, being a stranger to him. It’s comforting. 

“We need to stop meeting like this.”

You look up from the paperwork in front of you and give Logan a small smile. He’s hovering in the entrance to the kitchen and you know he’s waiting for your permission. “Hi,” you say softly.

He takes that as the go-ahead and walks in, heading for the fridge. You listen to him rummage around before he pulls out a beer. “Where do you hide those things?” You ask, and you almost bite your tongue. This is the most you’ve spoken to each other in a long time. It feels wrong to joke so easily. 

“Can’t tell you or Wheels is gonna stop me,” he grumbles. You just nod and turn your head back to your paperwork. It’s silent for a few minutes after that. He sits a little further down the island, nursing the beer while your pen scratches across the reports your students gave you. 

He clears his throat and you glance over at him from the corner of your eye. “I,” he starts but quickly closes his mouth. “Ah, forget it.”

Your brows pinch in confusion but you decide to leave it. You oddly don’t feel scared or anxious. You don’t worry that he’s going to snap at you if you provoke him. You choose not to because you’re not interested in engaging. 

You don’t really recognize the man before you. Maybe it’s because you never tried to get to know him before you tried changing him. It causes that familiar clenching feeling of guilt in your gut. 

You know if you gave him a chance things would be different. You could be friends, real friends. There’s a reason you latched so readily onto him. There’s a familiar pain in him that’s reflected back in you. 

You stand up, shuffling the papers into a neat stack and pushing your stool in. Logan straightens up as he watches you wash off your dishes and collect your items. Before you can make it out of the kitchen he’s standing from his chair. 

He stops in front of you, hand outstretched before him. “Logan,” he greets. 

You tilt your head in confusion, glancing between him and his hand before it finally clicks what he’s trying to do. Start over, reintroduce yourselves. Actually give each other chances to understand the other. 

This all started because you shared the same pain and you resented each other for it. But you could comfort each other instead. Be pillars of stability and strength in each other’s lives instead of trying to tear the other down so you don’t see yourself in them anymore. 

You were both too afraid to face who you truly are and it nearly destroyed you. But this is a stranger in front of you. You don’t know this man, but you think you’d like to. You give him your name and shake his hand firmly. “Nice to meet you,” you whisper, a slight joke to your tone. 

He holds on for a second longer than he should, the breath rushing out of him like he hadn’t thought you would accept. You smile softly at him before you pass by to go upstairs. His hand lingers on your, skin tingling under your touch until you can no longer hold on. 

You don’t know what it means for you, this odd new truce between the two of you. But you won’t linger on that tonight. You’ll go to bed feeling comforted that for the first time since you’ve met him, Logan has made you happy. 

a/n: felt more like a diary entry than a fic, sorry lol

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always ♡

[aurorawritestoescape]

BORROWED TIME

Joel Miller x f!reader || 4k

Summary: Joel and you are enjoying an ideal vacation together. Warm ocean, white sand, soft kisses, and hot sex make it feel like paradise. But as your time here is running out, the thoughts that you‘ve been trying to keep at bay start eating at your soul.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, angst, fluff, age is not specified, soft dom vibes, infidelity, praise kink, f!oral, unprotected piv (wrap it up), creampies, belly bulge, soft!Joel, EMOTIONS, rough-ish sex, consensual somno, heavily inspired by Pedro’s vacay pics and videos. Pics are only for the mood. Joel can lift reader. Reader wears a dress, a bikini.

A/n: yay my first fic of 2025! I didn’t expect it to be this one but like all of us I was deeply affected by the recent Pedro content and needed to cope somehow so I wrote this. I really hope y’all will like it! Smooches to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing💋 ILY, baby🫂 Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST

The first day in heaven. A soft breeze caresses your skin as soon as you step out of the cab, just from the airport, but Joel’s hands always do it better.

You’ve been looking forward to this trip, afraid to even talk about it, scared to jinx it, make it vanish like a mirage. You’ve been dreaming of having Joel all to yourself for too long.

Joel hugs you in the hotel lobby while they’re checking you in, and you tilt your head up to face him. You’ve never smiled so widely before. Your heart is fluttering in your chest, and his scent, your favorite in the whole world, makes you tremble and gush.

You taste sugar on your lips from a welcome Mimosa, and as soon as you two are in your room, he licks it off; the kiss is full of passion, his hands eager, desperate to tear your summer dress off. It’s on the floor in a second, just like your panties. He kneels in front of you and kisses your naked thigh. A growl against your skin makes you shiver before he looks you up and down, taking in the sight of your naked body, and then tuts with overexaggerated disapproval,

”Asked you not to wear anything underneath, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t be butt-naked on the plane, Joel,” you giggle, tracing a line from the crease between his brows, down the slope of his nose, and to his chin. You love his profile so much that seeing it is not enough, so you made a habit of touching it too.

“I promise you’ll never see any underwear on me from now on.”

“Good girl,” he praises you with a wide smile, and then suddenly latches onto your wet pussy. You gasp and grab his broad shoulders to steady yourself. Joel helps you not to fall, his strong hands on your thighs spread your legs apart, and you happily grant him access to the most sacred part of your body.

He pushes his tongue between your folds, traces your soft entrance with its tip, and your legs are already trembling. He starts playing with you, mischief swimming in his dark eyes, slowly laps at your folds, gently sucks on your clit but doesn’t give you enough stimulation to come.

You whine when his mouth parts from your puffy bud, desperate for a release.

“You’ll come, my angel. But only on my cock,” Joel promises, getting up, takes you in his arms, and carries you to the shower.

You're caged between the shower wall and Joel. He's naked and wet, radiating sex and desire. Soapy water is running over the curves of your body while he's washing you, taking his time. His big lathered palms are gliding over your breasts, belly, mound, ass. Your hands are pressed to the expense of his chest as he's slowly edging you, always happy to play with you like a cat with a mouse. He's waiting for you to break under his touch, to beg for more. Yet his heart is beating so fast and hard under your palms that it leaves you no doubt that he's desperate for you just as much as you're for him. He can't get enough of you and your heart sings, seeing every sign of it— his blown out eyes, his heavy breathing, his hard cock.

You're revelling in the caress of Joel's hands but your body takes over soon enough. Your wet palm slithers down his torso and wraps around his stiff length. You pump the shaft a few times and then guide his tip between your folds.

"Fuck me, Joel." Your plea is almost swallowed by the sound of the rainfall shower but he hears you.

"Begging me already? So needy." His eyes are obsidian, he can't fool you.

"Aren't you?" you purr, sliding his fat tip up and down over your hardened clit, massaging it, making yourself moan and tremble. The sensation makes Joel grunt and break. Through his teeth he commands, "Turn around."

“Yes, sir,” you breathe out, smile wide, eyes sparkling, and in a second the cold tile kisses your cheek, then your pebbled nipples, and his fat head slowly slides into your pussy, followed by his girthy shaft.

“Hngggg— oh, baby—been thinking of fucking you since this morning. Your damn dress. Took me a lot not to ruin you right on the plane.”

You whimper at his words and then your eyes roll back when he starts thrusting his thickness in and out of your tight cunt. It takes you a few deep breaths to get used to the stretch but you always take him well and soon wet slapping noises reverberate off the walls, together with your moans and his grunts fusing into a melody of lust and passion. You love when he’s as desperate for you as you’re for him. It gives you hope.

Crispy sheets, so white your eyes hurt, envelop your poorly-dried bodies like a cloud.

“C’mere,” he croaks, pulling you closer, and you rest your head on his chest as he covers you two with a blanket. His warm cum is leaking out of your stretched pussy and you tingle all over again but the flight has drained you both and in a couple of minutes you two fall asleep.

You wake up before Joel and slip out from under his arm to look at the view. You walk out on the balcony and the beauty of the ocean under the bright sun overwhelms you, making you squeal with excitement. Not being able to wait any longer to feel the caress of the waves, you hurry back to the room and wake Joel up with a soft kiss.

“Wake up, sleepy. Let’s go swimming before the sun sets.”

Joel’s golden skin is sparkling with a myriad of water diamonds as he’s standing waist-deep in the bluest ocean in front of you, rendering you completely mesmerized. He chuckles, noticing the way you’re almost drooling, and pulls you closer into his embrace. With his body pressed to yours, your pussy starts aching, and a twitch in his swim trunks tells you that he’s also affected by the sight and the feel of you.

“Damn, baby, driving me crazy…your tiny bikini…”

“Do you like it?” you ask, brushing his neck with your lips, tasting salt on his skin.

“Hate the way they all stare at you. You’re mine. But the way you look. Yeah, I like it,” he growls and bucks his hips against you under the water. You giggle and then sigh into the crease of his neck.

“I’m yours,” you whisper. ‘Are you mine?’ you think. You push the thoughts back into a box in your mind you promised yourself not to open here. ’You’re in heaven. Don’t ruin it,’ you remind yourself.

The next morning you wake up and see Joel right next to you, limbs tangled in the sheets, plush lips asking for a kiss. A rush of happiness makes you tear up and you squirm with impatience to start the day when Joel opens his eyes. He’s gorgeous in the morning — hair disheveled, voice hoarse. He looks a little grumpy but you kiss the crease between his brows away and his face softens.

“Morning, my angel.”

You wish you could hear it till the rest of your life. Or at least next week. He pulls you into his sleepy body, the hug is tight, the kiss is impatient, and soon the murmur of the ocean accompanies your whispers as you’re riding him, your thighs, sticky with sweat cling to his hips, his hand is kneading your breast, the other’s focused on making you come, thick fingers swirling around your clit. He expertly brings you to a hard orgasm and follows quickly after—the back of his head dips into the fluffy pillow as he bursts into you and you milk him to the last drop, happy to walk around with his cum between your legs all day.

Joel’s lying on a lounger now, his expression concentrated, reading a book in the shade, while you’re standing a few steps away, drying yourself with a towel, just out of the ocean. You can’t help but stare at his handsome face, the broadness of his shoulders, his big arms. God, he’s gorgeous. Feeling your heart eyes on him, Joel glances at you from the side and his lips curve into a playful smirk. It sends a bolt of lightning through your body, electrifies every nerve, makes your core burn with desire.

No need for words. His expression tells you everything - ‘C’mere. Now.’

Still dripping water, you walk to him and straddle his muscular thighs, barely covered by his red shorts. His legs are hot against your cold skin but you melt into your bikini bottoms because of his eyes— obsidian, piercing, magnetic, they pull you close and you lie down on his chest. His book, forgotten in a second, falls on the sand with a thud. You kiss his soft lips and whisper against them, “Take me to our room.”

Delicious dinners at sunset, the warm ocean, the white sand, clinging to your heated body, but most importantly him next to you make the time here fly. Blissful minutes turn into hours, hours flow into days. Full of laughter, long conversations, endless kissing and hot sex. But your ideal life, your paradise starts glitching and breaking into pixels when one morning he offers, “Wanna go get some souvenirs?”

Just one question, as trivial as it can be on a holiday, breaks the wall you’ve built in your mind between your perfect existence here and your reality there. Between your present and your future. Near future. You’re going back soon. To that life.

Suffocating panic tightly grabs your throat and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to drive away the thoughts, to glue the wall back together but he muses what he should get for Sarah and your wall turns into glass and shatters into a million pieces.

You mumble something incoherent trying to fight the upcoming tears and rush to the bathroom.

By the time you’re standing in front of the mirror tears are flowing down your cheeks and you hastily wipe them away, hating to upset him, but your heart and your head, joined in a cruel tandem, remind you that everything is going to go back to normal very soon. Normal for him is a misery for you. Waiting, hoping, asking him to stay longer, wishing that he finally makes a decision, finally chooses you.

The rest of the day you’re quiet, afraid to speak and to let your emotions spoil your precious time together. It gets unbearably hard to ignore the fact that you’re having him all to yourself on borrowed time. You start or rather let yourself notice his calls, his voice quiet, probably lying about his business meetings. He talks to his wife on the balcony or in the bathroom, not to keep you a secret —you know how to be quiet when she calls at this point, but rather not to rub her in your face. You’re thankful, not wanting to reopen the wound that’s been slowly healing up during these days together. Yet you know that soon it’s going to gush blood again when you say goodbye to your paradise and return to your empty bed, fleeting dates with him and soul-crushing loneliness.

You disassociate when he talks about packing and the flight back. You kiss him and want to cry, moan his name under the weight of his body but your heart aches. Every touch is a reminder that soon it’ll be over, soon he’ll be hers again.

It’s the last day of the trip and early in the morning you sneak out while Joel’s still asleep and go to the beach. It’s almost empty, only seagulls are the witnesses of your breakdown. You’re crying, swept by a wave of dreadful thoughts in your mind. Tomorrow you’re leaving and then he’s leaving you. For a day? Two? A week? Who knows.

You can’t blame him. You knew that he was married from the start. At first it felt like a fling but you got attached, you fell in love with the married man and foolishly expected him to divorce his wife, scoop you up in his big arms and carry you into the sunset like in a cheesy rom-com. But he kept telling you that, yes he didn’t love his wife anymore, but his daughter Sarah was too young and she was his world. He’d never hurt her like that, would never break up the family.

They say, you can’t change the ocean, no matter how hard you try, so it’s best to learn how to sail in all conditions. Just like the ocean Joel was unyielding in his devotion to his daughter but you failed to adapt so you were slowly drowning in despair, your love for him dragging you down like an iron ball chained to your foot.

You wipe the tears away and squeeze a handful of sand between your fingers as anger rises in your stomach. You deserve better than being someone’s dirty secret. What if you give him an ultimatum - you or his wife, and if he chooses her, you’ll find someone else. Someone who’ll love you openly, who’ll choose you. Someone better.

A thought makes your stomach sink - it’s not possible. Joel is perfect. He’s fucking perfect except for one huge flaw. He’s married.

You walk with your heart heavy back to your room and find Joel up, nervously pacing the floor. He asks where you’ve been and, not being able to conceal your feelings any longer, you burst into tears. He rushes to hug you but you slap his arms away. You shout, you cry, you beg. All the pain pushed deep down is spilling out of your heart, accompanied by the words you hate saying, insecurities you promised yourself to hide but it’s hard to stop.

It’s not like he hasn’t heard it all before. He has and that’s why now he looks tired. Not angry. Never. Just tired, sad and guilty.

Joel tries to calm you down, comfort you but all in vain. You’re waiting for him to tell you ‘I’ll be with you forever,” but instead he mumbles that he needs to take a walk and leaves you crying, face buried in his pillow. His scent woven into the fabric brings a thought to your mind which makes you cry even harder — soon you’ll go back to your flat where everything smells like him but loses the warmth of his body the second he leaves.

In the evening Joel timidly suggests going to the hotel bar. You feel embarrassed for your earlier outburst, but the fact that he didn’t make the decision you hoped for is twisting your stomach. Thinking that everything is better than staring at the suitcases in the corner of the room, you agree to go.

The bar is almost empty except for the two of you. You sit at the counter and order two shots of tequila. After emptying them fast, you both get two more and soon the hard liquor slightly numbs your emotions.

Joel’s warm hand is resting on your lower back as he’s peppering your shoulder, your neck, your cheek with open mouth kisses, but you’re cold, distant. It’s hard even to look at him.

He sighs but then suddenly exclaims, making you jerk,

“I love this song! Let’s dance!”

You smile a little, amused by the lights in his eyes. He’s cute when he’s tipsy. But you shake your head and mumble that you’re not in the mood.

Joel surprises you when he slides off his stool and starts dancing. Alone. For you. Despite everything you can’t tear your eyes off him. His dark gaze set on yours pierces your soul and makes your heart flutter in your chest. His movements are slow and alluring and the sway of his hips ignites fire in your core. You press your thighs together, quickly affected by his blatant seduction, and when he moves closer, so close you can feel the heat of his body, it gets hard for you to breathe.

Joel’s lustful eyes tell you to submit and when he places his hands on your knees, you obediently open your legs in invitation. He gets between your thighs and gently takes your face in his hands. Joel looks into your eyes and you stop breathing altogether. At this moment you realize that you’ll never leave him willingly, never be able to say goodbye to these kind brown eyes, these soft lips, these gentle hands. He’s the love of your life and you’re his completely and utterly. But he’s not yours.

You rush to your room, both swept by the urge to tear each other apart. Soon your clothes are littering the floor, your cheek pressed to the bed, ass pushed out in the air, as he’s kneeling behind you, snapping his hips against you hard and fast, pushing his throbbing cock deeper into your wet cunt, grunting, making you scream. His fat tip knocks at your cervix and it slightly hurts but you welcome it, wishing to focus on the ache from his length rather than the pain torturing your soul. His hands are leaving marks on your soft hips and you’re looking forward to seeing them on your body later as evidence that this trip was in fact real and not a wishful dream.

“Fuck— gonna come— you first, baby,” Joel growls and rubs your clit with an impatient hand, wet with your juices. You come shaking and crying on his cock and he rewards you with his load, squirting against your pulsating walls, which are squeezing him tightly and desperately. He’s carefully pulling out, and your tight cunt grabs onto him. Just like your heart, your body always craves him.

You wake up when it’s still dark outside. Joel’s chest is pressed to your back, his hand is cupping your wet folds, as he’s taking you from behind, sleepily moving his cock in and out of your sore pussy, drenched with his cum.

“Oh, baby— ahhh—love you—so much—yeahh— so good—,” he’s whispering in your ear, his voice gruff with sleep, his hot breath caressing your cheek. You moan softly before echoing him, “I love you, Joel.”

You beg him not to stop, already feeling yourself on the brink of ecstasy. The nature of your relationship makes it a rarity to be used by him in your sleep and you get turned on instantly. His arm snakes under and wraps around you as he starts pulling and twitching your nipples, while his other hand massages your puffy folds and then moves up.

“Damn—right here,” Joel grows, feeling a lump, moving under your skin. Thrusting his cock in and out with a steady rhythm, he mumbles, “Gimme,” grabs your hand and presses your palm tightly to your own belly, covering it with his hand.

“Feel it?”

“Yes, Joel, fuck,” you whimper and turn your head to catch his lips with yours. Joel keeps fucking you leisurely while you both are feeling the push of his cock under your skin.

Completely drunk on pleasure, swallowing each other's moans, you start coming hard at the same time, and your bodies, wet with sweat, jerk against each other. You feel so full, complete - your core is full of his load, your heart is full of his love. Happy in your oblivion, you fall asleep in the heaven of Joel’s arms.

But the dreaded morning comes fast. You try to concentrate on the tasks at hand, focus on the last preparations and soon Joel and you get into the cab, ready to head to the airport. You throw one last look at the hotel and the ocean, and take a deep breath, fighting the urge to cry. Sensing it, Joel pulls you closer and starts telling you an old childhood story, something about his brother Tommy and them ditching school together. You know what he’s doing but surprisingly it works and soon your giggles and his deep laugh fill the cab, lighting up the air between you two.

When you arrive in Austin, Joel insists on going to your address together. You refuse at first, but spending an extra hour with him sounds amazing. You hold hands on the way and shamelessly make out at the back of the cab.

You arrive at your place and Joel helps you with your suitcases. When you step into your flat, it seems like you’re carrying something heavy on your shoulders. Should you apologize for the last few days? Should you say something about it at all, risking leaving a bad taste in your mouths, ruining the whole trip.

But Joel beats you to it.

He comes up to you and hugs you tight. So tight that it’s hard for you to breathe. You nuzzle his neck, reveling in his scent, and suddenly you feel his whole body shake. You tilt your head up and see tears in his sad eyes. You’ve never seen Joel cry before, and it makes your chest hurt and your eyes well up too.

“Joel?“

“No, baby. Listen to me.” His voice is shaky, and fear grips your heart. Is he going to break up with you? You’d die on the spot.

He sniffs and continues,

“I’m sorry. Sorry for the mess I got you in. Sorry for your tears, but — I can’t, baby. Can’t do what you want from me. Rightfully so, but — not now. I’m sorry.”

You’re shaking your head, your teardrops landing on his tee,

”No, it’s ok. It’s fine.”

“It’s not, sweetheart. I’m an asshole. It’s horrible what I’m doing to them and to you. But I’m fuckin selfish. I can’t — can not be with you. I need you. I love you too much.”

You smile weakly, hearing his confession. Joel takes your hands in his and holds them tightly as he croaks,

“And you decide to stop seeing me, I’ll understand. I won’t bother you. I promise.”

You wipe tears off his scruffy cheeks and reach up to give him a kiss.

When you part from him, your expression is serious and determined.

“There’s nothing to decide, Joel. I love you. And I’ll wait for you. As long as you need me to. I’m yours.”

Joel’s red eyes dart between yours, and you give him a reassuring smile. After taking a deep breath, he whispers ,

“I don’t deserve you.”

He lifts you up, strong arms wrapped around your torso, and crashes his mouth against yours. You kiss him back with passion, putting your love in every stroke of your lips. Joel possessively licks into your mouth, his big hand cups the back of your head, keeping you close - a sign that he’s not letting you go. He needs you too much.

It might be wrong, it might bring you both grave pain, but a glimmer of hope in your heart, given by his confession, puts a smile on your face when you close the door behind him. He loves you, he wants to be with you, you’re his. And for now, it should be enough.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!<3

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

People who were interested in the wip: @baronessvonglitter @almostfoxglove @tammythr @sawymredfox @myownwholewildworld @guiltyasdave

[missberrycake]

I’ve been thinking this morning about if Steve didn’t get back together with Nancy at the end of S1—I think there’s a lot of different ways that could go, but what if Steve ended up as one of Eddie’s lost little sheep?

Because even if Steve was popular enough to keep afloat in the choppy waters of high school, after his bust up with Tommy and Carole—and even when he’s seen talking with Nancy and Jonathan Byers of all people—he still doesn’t really have any true friends left. Sure, he has people he can chat to in class, but at lunch? After school? Nobody is really thinking about who ex-jock, ex-bully Steve Harrington is hanging around with. 

Perhaps he spends the rest of his junior year dreading lunch hour, because he knows he’s going to have to deploy some serious charm tactics—taking as long as he can in the queue, chatting to the students either side of him—and perhaps if he lingers long enough at one of the tables of his more social classmates, pretends he’s just catching up, carrying on a conversation from class, he can make it seem like it’s all still as easy as it was before. 

Sometimes, though, he doesn’t have the energy to pretend. On those days he’ll retreat quietly to his car and eat his lunch behind his wheel, wondering how different it might have been if he’d never gone back into the Byers’ house that day last fall.

It’s on one of those days that Eddie sees him. It’s not like Eddie hadn’t noticed him before, he’s always on the lookout, after all, and Steve Harrington is one of those people who always drew his eye. He’d seen him scouring the cafeteria while queueing up for his state-mandated mac ‘n’ cheese, searching for a space where he could fit. 

And, of course, he’d heard the whispers about Steve—that he’d punched Tommy H in the face, gotten his crown beaten from his head by Jonathan Byers (though he didn’t seem to hold a grudge). If there’s one thing to know about Eddie, it’s that he’s a bleeding heart, and so when he sees Steve sitting alone in his car, winter frost glittering against the metal, he lets out a heavy sigh and trundles over. 

“Hey, Harrington,” he says, pushing down a smirk when Steve jumps (he is easily startled these days, isn’t he?).

“Munson,” Steve replies with narrow eyes. He doesn’t trust Eddie yet, not entirely. 

“There’s more space in my van. If you wanted some company.”

Eddie leaves it like that, keeps it casual, knows that he might get it shoved right back in his face—expects it to be, even. And so he’s surprised at how quickly Steve nods back at him, a real smile breaking out on his face, if only for a moment, until Steve clears his throat and says, “Sure, yeah. That’d be cool, I guess.”

It’s the start of something big. A delicate balance where the two of them pretend that it’s not that important, but somehow they’re more honest with each other than they��ve ever been with anyone else. Steve tells Eddie all about how he doesn’t even really know who he is anymore, and in return Eddie shares just how worried he is that he knows exactly who he’s expected to be, and that he can’t change his fate even if he wanted to.

By the time the next school year starts, it’s well established with the school population that Steve Harrington has somehow landed himself with an honorary spot in the Hellfire Club. He doesn’t play—refuses to learn, even if it’s clear that he’d do pretty much anything else that Eddie Munson would ask of him—but he helps set up the meetings, sits with them at lunch, smiles stupidly whenever Eddie gets up onto the cafeteria tables to rant about the shallow-mindedness of his peers. 

And if Eddie’s diatribes are directed at the popular crowd with a little more venom than they used to be, and if he seems to take great pleasure whenever Tommy H, or Carole, or those posers on the basketball team frown and scoff and sneer at him, it’s no great secret to everyone else in the lunch hall exactly why. 

[Yeah, I'm scouring the archives and trying to salvage as many headcanons as I can from my old deleted account, but let's just pretend this is brand new content.]

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hiiiiiiii

Could you please do reader x batboys

The reader gives a surprise kiss while smooshing their cheeks like they’re so kissable. —- The batboys could be rambling or whatever works for you writer.

Dick was going on about something that you had forgotten about as you soon found yourself occupied by how cute his every expression was while telling the story, so much so to the point it was hard to contain just how much it had effected you.

You couldn’t help it as everything within your body urged you forward to squish his cheeks until his lips were puckered like a fish with a hand before planting a series of kisses to his lips and pulling away to a wide eyed Dick.

‘What was that?’ He asks incoherently from your hand squishing his cheeks.

You shrug, unable to find any logic to any of your actions other than wanting to shut him up with a kiss. ‘You were being adorable so I kissed you.’

‘You could’ve just asked for a kiss instead of stealing one, how shameless of you babe.’ He jokes as he rubs his cheeks after you let them go, unable to hide his smile at your spontaneity.

‘Says the one who loves it whenever I kiss him out of the blue and practically begs me to do it again.’ You retorted, recalling the time where Dick would follow you like a lost puppy after kissing him when he came back injured from a night of long patrol, you genuinely thought you were going to loose him and kissed him in the heat of the moment out of fear.

Dick huffs as he leaned himself into you and puckering his lips. ‘Gimme another kiss.’

‘No.’ You said.

‘Please.’

‘No.’

‘Stop being mean and withholding my kisses privileges and gimme.’ Dick groaned, pushing his face closer to yours as you chuckled at his goofy attempts.

‘Fine, I guess I can give you another kiss.’ You sighed playfully as you pressed another couple kisses to his lips, falling for Dick’s trap as he was quick to place a hand to the back of your head to keep your lips on his, just as his other hand sneaked to your waist and pull you onto his lap, smiling into your lips in pride.

Jason was telling you about the many, many stories he had regarding himself and Roy whenever they went on patrol together, but you had found yourself lost in the movement of his lips and taking notice of how plush yet slightly chapped they were, yet to you his lips were perfect non the less.

You were very aware of how attached to the hip Jason and Roy were from the times where you were greeted home by both men talking up a storm in the kitchen and laughing as they shared a drink or two.

So you weren’t surprised that at the height of their boredom they would do something stupid or borderline reckless to alleviate said boredom, if anything it was expected at this point but that didn’t meant you wanted either of them to come to harm, which meant that you oftentimes acted as their medic for these situations.

So while Jason was mid sentence you reached a hand to squish his cheeks and and kissed him on the lips before pulling away, rendering him speechless as he blinked once, twice and three times as though he were trying to come to terms with what had just happened.

‘Did-did you just kiss me while I was in the middle of trying to tell a story?’ He’d ask.

‘Yes, yes I did because you were being cute.’ You replied and Jason couldn’t help but laugh as he pulled you in close by the waist and resting his head against your forehead.

‘Do you not feel guilty of your crime?’ He asks in a low voice, his pretty eyes occasionally glancing towards your lips, causing a familiar warmth to flood throughout you.

‘No, in fact I’d do it again if given the chance.’ You told him truthfully.

Jason raised a brow. ‘Oh really? Would you then care to steal another kiss from me right here right now?’

‘It’s not stealing when the other person is asking me to kiss him while looking like he wants to kiss me himself.’ You said, seeing the way that he was struggling in holding himself back from acting on his wants and needs for confirmation that you wanted him to kiss you. While you loved the fact that Jason always asked for permission to kiss you, you sometimes wished that he’d just kiss you without a second thought like he had on several occasions, for you’d always say yes whenever it came to Jason.

Jason didn’t say anything but his hands on your waist tightened and you knew he was growing desperate for that kiss and so you squeezed his biceps and leaned in close to his face and said. ‘Take what you want and don’t feel guilty about it Jason, just kiss me already.’

Jason didn’t need to be told twice as within seconds his lips were on yours and everything in your life felt right and perfect the moment his lips touched yours, something you’ve jokingly called the Jason effect in the past, but it couldn’t be truer in this moment as you pressed yourself further into him and allowed yourself to sink into the sweet kiss.

[innerempire]

Peter starts calling Tony “daddy” as a goof. He means nothing by it (at first) because as Tony gets older, his concern towards the boy doubles (triples?). Checks in on Peter regularly during his first year in college and there’s this one time where Peter thinks he must have sounded so painfully homesick that Tony makes the trip down.

It’s sweet, even if Tony spends half the time bitching about the boy’s living conditions (really, it’s not that bad, Tony. You’re just bougie as hell). A week later, he comes back to his dorm to a couple of packages. There’s a bunch of fancy-sounding shit Peter can’t pronounce even if he wants to. Like, why the hell would he need a shaver that costs $500???? Or a complete set of toiletries that costs more than his Molecular Biophysics textbook? Or bedsheets that are so ridiculously soft and cool to the touch that it makes waking up for his 8am classes somewhat impossible?

There’s also a box that’s basically just snacks. Lots of it. Because Peter had complained about how the vending machine was always spoilt and the options meager.

So yeah, he thinks Tony’s got quite the soft spot for him even if he hides it behind his “yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Pete”.

He doesn’t think much of it when he sends the text: lol, a bit overboard, but thank you daddy 😉

Again, Peter had meant it as a goof because he knows Tony can get a little dramatic about his age.

Tony: What are they teaching you in college

Peter: What? I’m just expressing my thanks to an older man whom has posed to be quite the paternal figure in my life.

Peter: But yeah, seriously, thank you. The snacks are godsent. So is the new puffer jacket. But like, winter break isn’t for a couple of months yet?? And I don’t really need like, new pillows, but they’re really, really nice.

Tony: Daddy aims to please.

Peter laughs at the message, glad that the older male was playing along at least. He keeps it up for the next couple of months, Tony doesn’t tell him to stop.

Tony: What do you think about cornice ceiling designs?

Peter: what?? what’s a cornice

Tony: you know what, it’s probably a no for you.

Peter: okay. just googled it. why are you looking at ceiling designs?

Peter: are you renovating stark tower? again?

Peter: it’s rude not to reply because I can see that you’re online.

Tony: daddy’s in a meeting, baby. hush and I’ll text you later.

And Peter is…

floored.

Because baby? BABY? Was Tony confusing him for someone else? He rereads the message again, ignoring the tiny spark of heat at the endearment. He wonders if this is Tony’s way of fucking with him after all these months. He wouldn’t be surprised actually.

Peter: ok, no to the cornice btw.

He comes home for winter break and maybe he has missed Tony more than usual. It feels like they’re closer than usual, and if the rest of the Avengers notice that they’re chummier than usual, or how Tony is always in a visibly better mood whenever the boy’s around, no one’s saying anything (yet).

It’s chaotic when the team gets together and Peter’s trying to excitedly talk over Tony about something, cutting the older male off. Tony just clamps a hand over Peter’s mouth, and chides him playfully,

“Okay, baby, don’t interrupt when the adults are talking. Daddy taught you better than that.”

Peter’s words comes out muffled as he protests, not realizing that Steve and Scott are straight up gawking at them. Natasha doesn’t even seem fazed, holding her right palm up towards Clint and mouthing, “pay up, loser.”

Bucky basically goes, “Oh shit, so it’s like that, huh?”

“Well, considering the age gap and how they’ve always interacted, is it really that surprising?” Bruce muses out loud.

Peter peels Tony’s fingers away from his mouth, “Guys, what, no - we’re not-“ He glances at Tony for some help.

“Aw, cute. He’s looking at his daddy for help.” Natasha teases.

“So we’ve upgraded from “kid” to “baby”, huh?”

[paxtito]

childhood sweethearts

pairings: tara x reader (g!p)

word count: 7815

warnings: smut 18+, high tension, swearing, cunilingus, fingering, p in v, alcohol

summary: you and tara are childhood sweethearts, inseparable. so much so that you live with her and sam, but there’s more that friendship brewing under the surface

a/n: this was meant to be a tooth-rotting fluffy fic yet it ended up with smut, i just can’t help myself 😞 apologies in advance for any mistakes

MASTERLIST

Living with Tara and Sam has always felt like living in two different worlds. Tara’s your best friend—has been since forever. She’s the one who shares late-night movie marathons with you, and who can talk you into midnight snack raids like it’s nothing. You know everything about her, from the way she crinkles her nose when something’s funny, to the way she absentmindedly tugs her sleeves over her hands when she’s deep in thought. Tara’s the person who’s always there, the one who feels like home.

And then there’s Sam.

She’s… different. More guarded, quiet. After everything she’s been through, she has walls up, and though she’s been trying to let them down, it’s a slow process. You respect that. Living with her is a different rhythm, and at times it feels like you’re navigating around invisible lines, trying not to step on any of the shadows she carries.

But it’s a balance you’re used to now. Your days are filled with Tara’s laugh and Sam’s quiet presence. You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Tonight, the three of you are scattered across the living room, a comfort zone you’ve created together, cozy and messy in the best way. You and Tara are sprawled on the couch, a bowl of popcorn between you, eyes glued to a rerun of some B-grade horror movie that’s more funny than scary. Sam’s sitting in the armchair nearby, flipping through a magazine, occasionally glancing up at the screen with an amused shake of her head.

“Look at that,” Tara laughs, pointing to the screen. “They’re literally running toward the killer. Who does that?”

You chuckle, nudging her. “Maybe they’re just really dedicated to the plot. Can’t let the killer down, right?”

She rolls her eyes, snatching the popcorn bowl and tossing a handful at you. You pretend to be outraged, grabbing a stray piece off the floor and flicking it back at her.

“Hey, no food fights,” Sam calls, her tone light but with that big-sister authority that keeps both of you in line. She smirks, glancing at the mess of popcorn now littering the floor. “I’m not cleaning that up.”

Tara shoots her a mischievous grin. “Come on, Sam, live a little. It’s just popcorn.”

You can’t help but join in, giving Sam a mock-serious look. “Yeah, Sam, loosen up. Tara and I are just getting started.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile on her face. It’s moments like this, when her walls come down and she’s just Sam, just your family, that you feel the warmth of this makeshift home settle deep inside you.

As the movie goes on, Tara gradually ends up with her head on your shoulder, her eyes starting to droop. It’s not long before her breathing evens out, and you realize she’s fallen asleep, curled up against you in that way she always does when she’s completely comfortable.

You glance over at Sam, catching her watching the two of you. There’s a softness in her gaze, a hint of relief that her sister’s safe, that she’s surrounded by people who love her.

“She always falls asleep first,” Sam murmurs, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

You nod, careful not to disturb Tara. “Some things never change.”

There’s a quiet between you and Sam now, an unspoken understanding that’s settled in over the years. Tara’s not just your best friend—she’s family, and so is Sam, in her own way. You’d do anything to protect them, and they know it.

After a moment, Sam gets up, stretching as she glances toward the clock. “I’ll grab a blanket,” she says, her voice soft. “You two are just going to stay there, right?”

You smile, nodding as you settle in a little deeper. “Yeah. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

Sam lingers for a moment, watching you both with that quiet intensity of hers. Then she gives a small nod, almost as if she’s giving her blessing. “Thanks for… sticking with us,” she says, her voice low, and you know she’s not just talking about tonight.

“Anytime,” you say, meaning it.

She leaves the room, and you feel Tara’s head nestle further into your shoulder, her small, content sigh the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. It’s one of those moments that feel perfectly right, like everything has fallen into place. The world outside might be complicated, full of ups and downs, but here, with Tara asleep beside you and Sam watching over both of you, it feels like you’ve found something rare—a family you’ve chosen, one that’s chosen you back.

As Sam returns with a soft blanket, you gently shift Tara to a more comfortable position. She stirs slightly, murmuring something incoherent, but doesn't wake. With practiced ease, you drape the blanket over her, tucking it around her shoulders.

Sam watches, a small smile playing on her lips. "She's lucky," she says quietly, meeting your gaze. "To have you."

There's a weight to her words, a depth of meaning that you don't quite know how to untangle. Instead, you simply nod, feeling an unexpected lump form in your throat.

"We're lucky," you manage, your voice coming out rougher than you intended. "Both of us."

Sam's smile widens, and for a moment, her walls seem to drop, revealing the warmth that's always lurked beneath. "Yeah," she agrees softly.

You look back to Tara, her face peaceful in sleep, and feel a surge of protectiveness wash over you. No matter what comes, you'll always be there for her, just as she's always been there for you.

As if sensing your thoughts, Tara shifts again, her hand reaching out to find yours. Her fingers twine with yours, and she sighs contentedly, burrowing closer.

"She's got a good grip," Sam observes, a note of humor in her voice. "You might be stuck there for a while."

You laugh softly, squeezing Tara's hand. "I don't mind," you say, and it's true. There's nowhere else you'd rather be.

Sam nods, her expression softening. "I know," she says, and there's a certainty in her voice that makes you feel warm all over. "I know."

The movie plays on, the credits rolling, but neither of you pay attention. Instead, you sit there, Tara sleeping between you, and let the moment stretch out, savoring the peace and the quiet and the knowledge that, no matter what happens, you'll always have each other.

ime passes in a blur of contentment, the minutes ticking by as Tara sleeps, safe and warm between you and Sam. The movie long since ended, the room is bathed in the soft glow of the muted TV, the only sound Tara's gentle breathing.

It's hard to say how long you sit there, lost in thought and memories, but eventually, a slight stirring from Tara brings you back to the present. She shifts, her hand tightening around yours as she blinks open sleepy eyes.

"Hey," she murmurs, her voice husky with sleep. She looks up at you, then at Sam, confusion slowly clearing from her features as she takes in her surroundings. "Did I fall asleep?"

You smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Yeah, you did. It was adorable."

Tara laughs, a soft, sleepy sound. She sits up, rubbing at her eyes, and you can't help but watch her, marveling at the way the light catches in her hair, at the curve of her smile.

"What time is it?" she asks, yawning widely.

Sam glances at the clock. "Almost midnight," she says. "You've been out for a few hours.

Tara stretches, arching her back in a way that makes your breath catch. "Wow," she says, grinning. "Guess I needed it."

She turns to you, her gaze soft. "Thanks for letting me crash on you," she says, her voice low and intimate.

Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a blush rising to your cheeks. "Anytime," you manage, your voice coming out rougher than you intended.

Tara's smile widens, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world has fallen away, like it's just the two of you, lost in each other's eyes.

Sam clears her throat, and you jolt back to reality, realizing how long you've been staring at each other. Tara laughs, breaking the spell, and you feel a rush of relief mixed with disappointment.

Tara stretches again, her shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of skin, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. She's always been beautiful, but there's something about the way she looks right now, sleep-rumpled and soft, that makes your heart race.

"I should probably get to bed," she says, standing up and smoothing down her clothes. "Early class tomorrow."

You nod, trying to hide the disappointment on your face. "Yeah, of course."

She smiles at you, a quick, playful thing. "Night, Y/N," she says, and before you can respond, she leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek.

It's over in an instant, but the warmth of her lips lingers long after she's gone, a ghost of sensation that makes your skin tingle.

Sam raises an eyebrow as Tara disappears down the hall. "Well," she says, her tone light but with an undercurrent of something you can't quite identify. "That was... unexpected."

You feel your face heat, and you're suddenly very interested in the popcorn bowl in your lap. "Yeah," you manage, clearing your throat.

Sam doesn't push, but you can feel her gaze on you, assessing, considering. You're not sure what she sees, but you know it's something that goes beyond mere friendship, something that you're not quite ready to put a name to.

"I'm going to bed too," Sam says finally, standing up and stretching. "You're welcome to stay and finish the movie if you want."

You nod, giving her a small smile. "Thanks," you say. "I think I'll just... clean up a bit and then head to my room."

Sam nods, giving you a quick, companionable hug before heading off to her own bedroom. You're left alone in the living room, the ghost of Tara's kiss still tingling on your skin.

As you gather up the empty popcorn bowl and soda cans, your mind wanders to Tara, to the way she looked at you, the way she smiled. You know there's something there, something more than just friendship.

With the living room tidied up, you head to your bedroom, your mind still reeling from Tara's surprise kiss. The soft glow of your bedside lamp illuminates the room as you start your nightly routine, washing your face and brushing your teeth.

As you slip into your pajamas, you can't help but think about Tara, about the way her lips felt against your skin, the way her eyes sparkled in the dim light. You know you shouldn't read too much into it, but you can't help the flutter in your chest, the warmth that spreads through your veins at the memory.

You climb into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin, and stare at the ceiling. Your mind races with thoughts of Tara, of the moments you've shared, the laughter and the tears and everything in between. You've always had a special bond, but lately, it seems to have shifted, grown into something deeper, more intense.

You close your eyes, trying to will yourself to sleep, but your mind won't quiet. You remember the way Tara looked at you, the heat in her gaze, the unspoken promise in her smile. You wonder what it would be like to kiss her for real, to feel her body pressed against yours, to lose yourself in the taste and the touch and the feel of her.

—

You jolt awake to the sound of raised voices, your heart pounding in your chest. For a moment, you're disoriented, unsure of where you are or what's happening. But then the familiar sounds of Tara and Sam arguing filter through the haze of sleep, and you relax slightly.

"I'm serious, Tara," Sam's voice comes, tight with frustration. "You can't just leave your dishes in the sink for days on end. It's gross."

"Oh, please," Tara scoffs, her voice muffled by the closed door. "It's not like there's anything growing in there. And besides, it's not like you're some perfect housekeeper."

You hear a huff of annoyance, followed by the sound of a cabinet opening and closing. "Just because I don't leave my dishes in the sink doesn't mean I'm perfect," Sam says, her voice calmer now. "I'm just asking you to be considerate."

There's a pause, and you can picture Tara rolling her eyes, her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest. "Fine," she says finally, the word dragged out of her reluctantly. "Y/N will clean them- Y/N!!” She shouts, calling out to you.

You groan, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you stumble out of bed. The argument between Tara and Sam is still going strong, and you can't help but smile slightly at their bickering. It's a familiar sound, one that's been a constant background noise to your life for as long as you can remember.

You make your way to the kitchen, yawning as you enter the fray. Tara's standing by the sink, her arms crossed and a mutinous expression on her face. Sam's at the counter, her arms full of dirty dishes.

"Morning, sunshine," Tara says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Ready to play maid?"

You roll your eyes, taking the dishes from Sam and setting them in the sink. "Why am I not surprised to find you two fighting over chores?" you ask, turning on the water and squirting some dish soap into the basin.

Tara huffs, picking up a sponge and starting to scrub at a particularly stubborn spot. "It's not fair," she grumbles. "Why do I have to do all the work?"

You just shake your head, starting to wash the dishes. "Because you left them in the sink for days," you say, your tone mild. "And because Sam asked you nicely to clean them, and you said you would."

Tara's scowl deepens, and she thrusts the sponge at you. "Here," she says, her voice tight. "You do it, then."

You take the sponge, a grin tugging at your lips. "Fine," you say, and before she can react, you flick a bit of soapy water at her.

Tara yelps, dropping the sponge and glaring at you. "Oh, you're on," she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She grabs another sponge and starts chasing you around the kitchen, flicking soapy water everywhere.

You laugh, dodging her attempts to splash you. "Tara, stop!" you gasp, trying to dodge another spray of water. "You're making a mess!"

Tara ignores your pleas, too caught up in the impromptu soapy water fight. She corners you by the fridge, a triumphant grin on her face as she raises her sponge threateningly.

"Gotcha now!" she crows, but before she can strike, you lunge forward, tackling her to the ground. You end up in a tangle of limbs, both of you gasping for breath and covered in suds.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, your faces inches apart, the rest of the world fading away. Tara's eyes are wide, her cheeks flushed, and you feel your heart skip a beat at the sight of her.

Then, as if a spell has been broken, you both burst into laughter, the tension dissipating like the bubbles around you. Tara rolls to the side, wiping sudsy water from her eyes.

"Okay, okay," she says, holding up her hands in surrender. "Truce."

You nod, accepting her offer, and help her to her feet. You're both covered in soap and water, your hair plastered to your heads, but you don't care. For a moment, you just stand there, breathing heavily, exchanging grins.

Then, as if remembering the presence of the other person in the room, you both turn to look at Sam. She's leaning against the counter, her arms crossed and a bemused expression on her face.

"Really, you two?" she says, shaking her head. "I leave you alone for five minutes, and you're making a mess of the kitchen?"

You and Tara exchange a guilty glance, then look back at Sam, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry," you say, trying to sound contrite but failing miserably.

Sam sighs, but there's a smile tugging at her lips. "Just... finish cleaning up, okay?" she says, pushing off the counter and heading out of the kitchen. "And try to keep the water on the dishes, not on each other."

You and Tara watch her go, then turn back to each other, laughing softly. "Come on," you say, picking up a sponge and tossing it to Tara.

Tara catches the sponge, grinning at you as she starts scrubbing at the dishes again. You join her, working in companionable silence for a few minutes. The suds slide over the plates and bowls, leaving them clean and sparkling.

"You know," Tara says, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye, "if you wanted to get me wet, there are easier ways than a soapy water fight."

You nearly drop the plate you're washing, your face flushing hot. "Tara!" you gasp, sputtering for words. "You can't just say things like that!"

You chuckle, shaking your head at her antics. “To be fair, that was a good one.” You say, holding your soapy fist out for a fist bump.

Tara laughs, bumping her fist against yours, sending suds flying. "Thanks," she says, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "I've been practicing."

You roll your eyes, but you can't keep the smile off your face. Tara's always been like this - quick-witted, playful, unafraid to push boundaries. It's one of the things you love about her, even if it sometimes drives you crazy.

Tara's eyes light up as she leans forward, her sandwich forgotten. "Oh my god, Y/N, there's this party coming up. It's like, a big fancy dress thing. Everyone who's anyone will be there."

She's practically bouncing in her seat, her excitement palpable. You can't help but smile at her enthusiasm, even as a small part of you wonders if this is really a good idea.

"That sounds... interesting," you say cautiously, trying to gauge her reaction. "Are you sure you want to go? I mean, after everything that's happened..."

Tara waves a hand dismissively, her smile never faltering. "That's exactly why we should go," she says, her voice earnest. "We can't let what happened define us, you know? We need to live our lives."

There's a glint in her eye as she turns to you, her smile turning sly. "Besides," she says, her voice lowering conspiratorially, "it'll be a chance for us to dress up, look hot, and show everyone that we're not going to be pushed around."

Tara's eyes sparkle with excitement as she leans in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Let's go shopping tomorrow," she suggests, her fingers brushing against your arm in a gesture that sends a shiver down your spine. "We can find the perfect outfits, something that'll really turn heads."

You hesitate, biting your lip as you consider her proposal. On one hand, the idea of spending the day with Tara, of picking out costumes and imagining how you'll look together... it's tempting. But on the other hand, you can't help but worry about the implications. Going to a party together, dressing up in matching outfits... it would send a message, one that you're not sure you're ready to confront.

"I don't know, Tara," you say finally, your voice hesitant. "Isn't that a bit... much? I mean, we've never really done anything like that before."

Tara's smile never wavers, and she shrugs, her eyes never leaving yours. "So? That's exactly why we should do it," she says, her voice low and persuasive. "It'll be fun, Y/N. Trust me."

You feel your resolve wavering under the force of her gaze, under the promise in her words. You know that Tara's not the type to back down easily, and the thought of disappointing her, of letting her down... it's not something you want to do.

"Okay," you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "Let's do it. Let's go shopping tomorrow."

Tara's grin widens, and she leans in and presses a quick, impulsive kiss to your cheek, her lips soft and warm against your skin. "Thank you," she breathes, her voice thick with emotion.

—

The next day, you find yourself being dragged through the mall by an enthusiastic Tara, her eyes bright with excitement as she pulls you from store to store. You can't help but smile at her energy, even as you feel a bit overwhelmed by the sheer variety of options available.

"Come on, Y/N," she says, tugging on your arm as she leads you into yet another shop. "This one looks promising."

You follow her inside, taking in the racks of elaborate costumes and accessories. There are superheroes and villains, fairy tale characters and historical figures, each more outlandish than the last. You can't help but feel a bit out of place, your masculine-presenting self sticking out amidst the sea of frills and glitter.

Tara, however, seems right at home. She's already rifling through the racks, her eyes sparkling with delight as she holds up various options for your inspection.

"What about this one?" she asks, holding up a rather revealing pirate costume. "We could be a swashbuckling duo, ready to take on the world."

You flush, shaking your head. "I don't think so," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "It's a bit too... revealing."

Tara pouts, but she doesn't argue. Instead, she moves on to the next rack, her brow furrowed in concentration. You can't help but admire the way she looks, the way her eyes light up with each new discovery.

After what feels like hours, Tara finally emerges from the racks, a triumphant grin on her face. "I found them," she says, her voice thick with excitement. "Come on, you've got to see."

You follow Tara to the back of the store, where she's standing with a grin on her face and two costumes in her hands. She holds them out to you, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"What do you think?" she asks, her voice low and playful. "Cowboys?"

You take the costumes from her, your heart skipping a beat as you realize what she's suggesting. The costumes are classic Western fare - faded denim jeans, checked shirts, and wide-brimmed hats. They're simple, but effective, and you can't help but imagine how you'll look together, dressed in matching outfits.

"I like it," you say finally, looking up at Tara. "It's perfect."

Tara's grin widens, and she leans in close, her body pressing against yours in a way that makes your breath catch. "Great," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Let's try them on."

She takes the costumes from you, her fingers brushing against yours in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. She turns and starts to walk towards the changing rooms, her hips swaying with each step.

You follow her, your heart racing in your chest. As you step into the changing room, you can't help but feel a sense of anticipation, a thrill of excitement at the thought of what's to come.

You strip off your clothes, your hands trembling slightly as you pull on the jeans and the shirt. The fabric feels strange against your skin, foreign but not unpleasant. You run your hands over the rough material, marveling at the way it feels, at the way it makes you feel.

When you're dressed, you step out of the changing room, your heart in your throat. Tara's waiting for you, her own costume looking like it was made for her. She grins when she sees you, her eyes roaming over your body in a way that makes you feel exposed, vulnerable.

"You look good," she says, her voice husky. "Really good."

You flush, your cheeks heating under her gaze. "You too," you manage, your voice coming out rougher than you intended.

Tara's grin widens, her eyes sparkling with mischief and something else, something deeper, more intense. She steps closer to you, her body almost touching yours, her hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your forehead.

"We make a pretty good pair, don't we?" she murmurs, her voice low and intimate. "Like we were made for each other."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. You know you should say something, should respond, but the words catch in your throat, lost in the haze of her proximity, the warmth of her touch.

Tara's hand trails down your cheek, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw, the curve of your lips. You can feel the heat of her skin, the softness of her touch, and you have to resist the urge to lean into it, to close the distance between you.

"Y/N," she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. "I..."

She trails off, her gaze locked with yours, her eyes searching, questioning. You can see the uncertainty in them, the fear, the hope, and it makes your heart ache.

You reach up, your hand covering hers, your thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Tara," you say, your voice steady, sure. "I..."

You clear your throat, a forced smile spreading across your face as you pull back from Tara's touch. "So, uh, these costumes are great," you say, your voice overly cheerful, almost manic. "I can't wait to wear them to the party."

Tara blinks, her brows furrowing slightly at your sudden change in demeanor. But she recovers quickly, a smile spreading across her own face as she steps back, her hand falling away from your cheek.

"Yeah," she says, her voice a bit hesitant. "They really are perfect."

You nod, your grin widening. "Absolutely," you say, clapping your hands together. "We're going to look amazing, like we stepped right out of a Western movie."

Tara laughs, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You're such a dork," she says, but there's no bite to her words, only affection.

You shrug, playing up the goofy persona. "Hey, someone's gotta be the comedic relief," you say, winking at her. "Might as well be me."

Tara rolls her eyes, but she's grinning now, the tension from earlier dissipating like smoke in the wind. "Alright, cowgirl," she says, poking you in the chest. "Let's go pay for these bad boys and get out of here. I'm starving."

—

The night of the party arrives, and you find yourself standing in front of the mirror, adjusting your costume for what feels like the hundredth time. The jeans fit perfectly, hugging your curves in all the right places, and the shirt is soft and worn, like it's been with you for years. The hat sits at a jaunty angle on your head, completing the look.

You take a deep breath, your heart racing in your chest. You can hear the music thumping from downstairs, the sound of laughter and chatter floating up to your room. You know you should head down, should immerse yourself in the festivities, but you can't help but feel a twinge of nerves.

You turn to look at Tara, who's standing in the doorway of your room, her own costume looking like it was made for her. She grins when she sees you, her eyes roaming over your body in a way that makes your skin tingle.

"You look amazing," she says, her voice low and appreciative. "Like a real-life cowgirl."

You flush, ducking your head in a way that you hope looks cute and not embarrassed. "Thanks," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "You don't look so bad yourself."

Tara laughs, stepping into the room and closing the distance between you. "Shall we?" she asks, holding out her hand to you.

You hesitate for a moment, your gaze locked with hers, before you finally take her hand, your fingers intertwining with hers. "Let's do it," you say, your voice steady, sure.

Together, you descend the stairs, the music growing louder with each step. The party is in full swing when you enter the living room, the room packed with people in elaborate costumes, dancing and laughing and drinking.

Tara leads you into the fray, her hand still in yours, her body pressed close to yours as you navigate the crowd. You can feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of your shirt, the warmth of her breath on your neck, and it makes your head spin.

As the night wears on, the alcohol flows freely, and the party takes on a hazy, surreal quality. You find yourself pulled into the whirlwind of it all, laughing and dancing and drinking until your head spins and your feet ache.

Throughout it all, Tara is by your side, her hand in yours, her body pressed close to yours. The more you drink, the more you notice the way she looks at you, the heat in her gaze, the way her fingers linger on your skin.

At some point, you find yourself in the backyard, the cool night air a welcome respite from the stuffy heat of the house. Tara leans against a tree, her head tilted back, her eyes closed. You stand next to her, your shoulder brushing against hers, the contact sending a shiver down your spine.

"Y/N," Tara slurs, her voice low and thick. "I'm so glad you came tonight."

You smile, your own words slightly slurred. "Me too," you say, leaning against the tree next to her. "It's been a really fun night."

Tara opens her eyes, turning to look at you. Her gaze is intense, focused, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. "It has," she agrees, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it's not over yet."

She reaches out, her hand cupping your cheek, her thumb brushing over your lips. You feel your heart race, your skin tingle where she touches you.

"Tara," you breathe, your voice a mix of desire and trepidation. "What are you doing?"

Tara's smile is slow, seductive. "What does it look like?" she murmurs, her hand sliding down to your neck, your collarbone. "I'm kissing you, Y/N."

And then she does, her lips pressing against yours in a searing, passionate kiss that takes your breath away. You moan into her mouth, your hands coming up to grip her waist, pulling her closer.

The kiss seems to last for an eternity, the world fading away until there's nothing but the two of you, lost in each other.

When Tara finally pulls away, you're both panting, your faces flushed and your eyes glazed. She stares at you for a long moment, her gaze searching, before she leans in again, her lips brushing against yours in a series of soft, teasing kisses.

"God, you taste good," she murmurs, her voice low and husky. "I've wanted to do that for so long."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "Tara," you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. "Are you sure about this? I mean, we're so drunk, and..."

Tara silences you with a finger to your lips, her eyes locking with yours. "Shh," she says, her voice gentle but firm. "Don't overthink it, Y/N. Just feel."

And then she's kissing you again, her tongue sliding against yours, her hands tangling in your hair. You moan into her mouth, your body melting against hers, your reservations fading away like mist in the morning sun.

Tara's hands slide down your back, cupping your ass and pulling you even closer. You can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of your jeans, the hardness of her body pressing against yours.

"Fuck," Tara gasps, breaking the kiss to trail her lips down your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. "I want you, Y/N. I want you so fucking bad."

You groan, your head falling back against the tree as Tara's mouth works its magic on your neck, your collarbone, your chest. Your hands slide under her shirt, your fingers skimming over the smooth skin of her stomach, the curve of her ribs.

You and Tara stumble out of the party, your arms wrapped around each other, your steps unsteady and your laughter echoing in the night air. You can barely keep your hands off each other, your bodies pressed close, your lips brushing against each other's skin at every opportunity.

As you make your way back to the apartment, you can't help but giggle at the absurdity of it all. Here you are, drunk and horny and in love, trying to make it through the front door without waking the sleeping beauty within.

"Quiet, quiet," Tara whispers, her voice loud enough to wake the dead. "We don't want to disturb Princess Samantha."

You snort, your hand clamping over your mouth to stifle your laughter. "Shh," you hiss, your eyes watering with mirth. "You're going to wake her up."

Tara just grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief and alcohol. "Let her sleep," she says, her voice conspiratorial. "More time for us."

You shake your head, biting your lip to keep from laughing out loud. Carefully, you unlock the door, your fingers fumbling with the key in your drunken state. Finally, you manage to get it open, and you and Tara tumble inside, your arms and legs tangled together.

You close the door as quietly as you can, your ears straining for any sound of movement from Sam's room. But all is silent, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

Tara, however, is not so subtle. She grabs you around the waist, pulling you close and nuzzling your neck. "Now," she murmurs, her voice thick with desire, "where were we?"

You groan, your head falling back against the wall. "Tara," you whisper, your voice a mix of exasperation and arousal. "We can't. Not here. Sam's right there."

Tara's lips curl into a wicked grin. "So?" she breathes, her hand sliding down your back, your ass. "She's asleep. She won't know a thing.”

You hesitate for a moment, your arousal warring with your common sense. But in the end, the desire wins out, and you practically growl as you scoop Tara up in your arms, carrying her towards your bedroom.

"Y/N," Tara breathes, her arms looping around your neck, her lips trailing kisses along your jawline. "Fuck, you're so strong."

You feel a surge of pride at her words, your steps quickening as you navigate the hallway. You kick open the door to your room, your eyes never leaving Tara's face.

You lay her down on the bed gently, your body covering hers, your lips finding hers in a searing kiss. Tara moans into your mouth, her hands tangling in your hair, urging you closer.

You break the kiss, your breath coming in short pants as you trail your lips down her neck, your teeth grazing her skin. "Fuck, Tara," you murmur, your voice rough with desire. "I want you so bad."

You take your time, savoring every moment as you explore Tara's body with your hands and mouth. You trail kisses down her neck, your tongue darting out to taste her skin, to feel the flutter of her pulse beneath your lips.

Tara arches into your touch, her fingers tangling in your hair, urging you on. "Y/N," she breathes, her voice thick with desire. "Please."

You smile against her skin, your hands sliding under her shirt, skimming over the soft curves of her stomach, the dip of her waist. You can feel the heat of her skin, the way she trembles beneath your touch, and it makes your own body respond in kind.

Slowly, reverently, you peel off her shirt, exposing the creamy expanse of her breasts. You lower your head, your tongue circling one hardened nipple before you take it into your mouth, sucking gently, teasingly.

Tara gasps, her back arching off the bed, her hands fisting in the sheets. "Fuck," she moans, her voice breathy and strained. "That feels so good."

You hum in response, your mouth moving to her other breast, your hand sliding down the smooth plane of her stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of her jeans. Tara lifts her hips, helping you tug the denim down her legs, revealing the lacy black panties beneath.

You pause for a moment, your eyes roaming over the sight of her, spread out before you like a feast. "God," you murmur, your voice rough with awe. "You're so beautiful, Tara."

Tara flushes, a shy smile spreading across her face. "So are you," she whispers, her hand reaching out to cup your cheek. "So are you."

With that, you lower your head, your mouth finding the heat between her thighs, your tongue delving into her folds, tasting her essence. Tara cries out, her hips bucking against your face, her fingers tangling in your hair, holding you close.

You continue your ministrations, your tongue delving deeper, exploring every inch of her. Tara's moans fill the room, her body writhing beneath you, her hands clutching at the sheets.

"Y/N," she gasps, her voice ragged. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

You have no intention of stopping. You're lost in the taste of her, the feel of her, the sounds she's making. You redouble your efforts, your tongue flicking over her clit, your fingers sliding inside her, curling against that special spot that makes her see stars.

Tara's back arches off the bed, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as her orgasm crashes over her. You feel her come undone, her walls fluttering around your fingers, her essence flooding your mouth.

You don't stop, not until she's boneless and spent, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. Only then do you crawl up her body, your lips finding hers in a searing kiss.

"Fuck," Tara pants when you finally break apart. "That was incredible."

You grin, your eyes dark with desire. "We're just getting started," you murmur, your hand sliding down her body, dipping between her thighs once more.

Tara gasps, her hips bucking against your hand. "Again?" she asks, her voice breathy with anticipation. "Already?"

You just smile, your fingers teasing her entrance. "Oh, we're just getting started," you repeat, your voice low and promising. "I'm going to make you feel so good, Tara. Over and over again."

You make good on your promise, your fingers sliding inside Tara once more, curling against that special spot that makes her moan. You can feel her tightening around you, her body tensing as she gets closer and closer to the edge.

"Y/N," she gasps, her nails digging into your shoulders. "I'm so close, fuck, I'm so close."

You increase your pace, your thumb circling her clit, your fingers thrusting deeper, harder. Tara's back arches, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as her orgasm crashes over her once more.

You don't stop, not until she's trembling and spent, her body limp against the sheets. Only then do you pull away, your fingers slick with her essence.

Tara looks up at you, her eyes hazy with satisfaction, a lazy smile spreading across her face. "Holy shit," she breathes, her voice hoarse. "That was... wow."

You grin, leaning down to capture her lips in a soft, tender kiss. "I told you," you murmur against her mouth. "We're just getting started."

Tara hums, her arms coming up to wrap around your neck, pulling you closer. "Then what are we waiting for?" she asks, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let's keep going."

You take your time, exploring every inch of Tara's body with your hands and mouth. You map out the curves and valleys of her skin, committing every dip and swell to memory. You want to learn her, to know her, to worship her in every way possible.

Tara responds to your touch, her body arching into yours, her hands roaming over your back, your shoulders, your arms. She traces the lines of your muscles, marveling at the strength she feels beneath your skin.

"Fuck, Y/N," she moans, her voice thick with desire. "You feel so good."

You grin, your ego boosted by her praise. "So do you," you murmur, your lips trailing down her neck, your teeth grazing her collarbone. "You feel fucking incredible."

You continue your exploration, your mouth finding her breasts, your tongue circling her nipples. Tara gasps, her back arching off the bed, her fingers tangling in your hair.

"Please," she begs, her voice ragged with need. "Please, Y/N, I need you inside me."

You pause, looking up at her with hooded eyes. "Are you sure?" you ask, your voice low and rough. "Because once I start, I don't think I'll be able to stop."

Tara's grin is wicked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Then don't stop," she breathes, her legs falling open in invitation. "Don't you dare stop."

With that, you position yourself between her thighs, the head of your cock nudging against her entrance. Tara's breath hitches, her hands gripping your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin.

You pause, giving her a chance to change her mind, to back out if she wants to. But she just looks up at you, her eyes filled with trust and desire, and you know there's no going back.

So you push forward, slowly, carefully, feeling her tight heat envelop you inch by delicious inch. Tara's moan is long and low, her head falling back against the pillows as you fill her completely.

Tara's moan is long and low, her head falling back against the pillows as you fill her completely. Her nails dig into your shoulders, her legs wrapping around your waist, urging you deeper.

"Fuck, Y/N," she gasps, her voice ragged with pleasure. "You feel so good inside me."

You pause for a moment, giving her a chance to adjust, to get used to the feeling of you stretching her, filling her. Then, slowly, carefully, you start to move, your hips rocking against hers in a steady, sensual rhythm.

Tara meets your movements, her hips lifting to meet yours, her body undulating beneath you. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixed with your combined moans and gasps, the creak of the bed beneath you.

You lean down, capturing Tara's lips in a searing kiss, your tongue delving into her mouth, tasting her, claiming her. She kisses you back fiercely, her tongue tangling with yours, her fingers sliding into your hair, holding you close.

The world falls away, narrowing down to this moment, this feeling, this connection between the two of you. You lose yourself in Tara, in the heat of her body, the taste of her skin, the sound of her moans.

You pick up the pace, your hips snapping against hers, your cock driving deeper, harder, faster. Tara's breath comes in short, sharp gasps, her nails raking down your back, her fingers digging into your ass, urging you on.

"Y/N," she pants, her voice high and tight. "Fuck, Y/N, harder, please, fuck me harder."

You oblige, your hips slamming against hers, the bed shaking beneath you, the headboard banging against the wall. Tara's moans grow louder, higher, her body tensing, her walls fluttering around you.

You don't forget, of course. As you thrust into Tara, your hand slides between your bodies, your fingers finding her clit. You rub in slow, steady circles, matching the rhythm of your hips, the pressure building with each pass.

Tara cries out, her back arching off the bed, her hips bucking against your hand, your cock. "Fuck, yes," she gasps, her voice ragged. "Right there, don't stop, please don't stop."

You don't stop, not until Tara is a writhing, moaning mess beneath you, her body trembling, her walls clenching around you. You can feel her getting closer and closer, her movements becoming more frantic, her moans more desperate.

"Y/N," she pants, her eyes locked with yours, pleading, desperate. "I'm so close, fuck, I'm so close."

You increase your pace, your fingers moving faster, harder, your cock driving deeper, deeper. Tara's moans grow louder, higher, her body tensing, her nails digging into your back.

"Come for me, Tara," you growl, your voice rough with desire. "Come on my cock, let me feel you."

With a final, keening cry, Tara comes undone, her body convulsing, her walls clamping down around you like a vice. You follow her over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you, your hips jerking, your cock pulsing inside her.

You collapse on top of her, your chest heaving, your heart pounding in your ears. Tara's arms come up to wrap around you, holding you close, her fingers tracing patterns on your back.

"Wow," she breathes, her voice soft, awed. "That was... incredible."

You wake up slowly, your body feeling deliciously sore and satisfied. It takes you a moment to realize that you're not alone in the bed, that you're wrapped around Tara, your limbs entangled with hers.

Memories of the night before flood back - the party, the drinking, the heated make out session in the backyard, the desperate, passionate lovemaking when you finally made it back to your apartment. A blush rises to your cheeks at the thought, your body tingling with residual pleasure.

You shift slightly, your leg brushing against Tara's, and she stirs, her eyes fluttering open. She smiles when she sees you, her hand coming up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing over your lips.

"Morning," she murmurs, her voice husky from sleep. "Last night was... wow."

You grin, leaning into her touch. "It really was," you agree, your own voice rough with sleep and satisfaction. "Definitely a night to remember."

Just then, a loud clearing of the throat breaks the moment. You both turn your heads to see Sam standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, a smirk on her face.

"Well, well, well," she drawls, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "Looks like you two had quite the night."

You flush, sitting up quickly and tugging the covers up to your chin. Tara just yawns, stretching languidly, seemingly unconcerned by her sister's presence.

"Shut up, Sam," Tara grumbles, her voice still thick with sleep. "We're not doing anything wrong."

Sam just raises an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Could've fooled me," she says, her eyes flicking down to your rumpled clothes, your tousled hair. "You two look thoroughly fucked, if you ask me."

You feel your blush deepen, your mouth opening and closing as you try to find a response. But Sam just waves you off, her smirk never leaving her face.

"Save it," she says, shaking her head. "I don't want to hear the details. Just... try to keep it down next time… I always knew this day would come. Mindy owes me 20 bucks.”

[muletia]

[tfp] obsessed!optimus prime x human!reader

summary: you cuddle, that's it :)

cw: fluff, comfort, pinch of angst, established relationship, silliness, extremely self-indulgent, the idea spawned in my head and i had to write it immediately

word count: 1200

an: for the anons and non-anons in my inbox: i see you and i appreciate every ask you sent me, some ideas are really lovely and cute and i will write drabbles about them. i just don't want to force myself to write 24/7 because i get burn out very easily, so it may take me some time to answer you all :DD

You can see it in his optics right away. Sadness, regret, exhaustion. He’s utterly drained, even if his frame doesn’t betray it. Always upright, with perfect posture, to set an example, to be a symbol for his people. But you’ve seen through that facade for a long time now.

He approaches you, a small human sitting on his berth with a book in your hands, wrapped in a blanket. And even despite the exhaustion, despite the chaos undoubtedly storming in his processor, he smiles at you. It's faint, but tender, joyous just to be in your presence.

“Hey,” you greet him softly, returning his smile. “How did the mission go?”

“Greetings, my dearest. Unfortunately, it did not end in success.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Do you... want to talk about it?”

The smile fades, replaced by bitterness. The Prime returns, the leader is back. As much as he wanted to tell you everything, the wound was too fresh, too raw. He wasn’t ready to revisit those memories—not yet. He would rather think of you, only you. That was his plan for tonight, for the scraps of time you had left together. It was enough for you to just be by his side, to meet his gaze now and then, to smile. He wouldn’t ask for more; he wouldn’t dare.

“I sincerely apologize, but I do not feel comfortable discussing it at this moment. However, I shall divulge the details to you later.”

“All right, I totally understand. I don't want to push you into anything.”

“For that, I am deeply grateful.”

“But! Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?”

“Your presence alone suffices for me.”

You weren’t entirely convinced. Optimus never asked for more. Never demanded, never took the lead. Sometimes he would request but never initiate. You wonder how you even ended up as a couple. How long he must have suppressed his feelings before you realized your own. But you quickly push those thoughts aside. They’re painful and, most importantly, they belong to the past.

“I don’t know... that feels like it’s not enough.” You know he’s about to protest, to launch into a monologue about how he doesn’t expect more from you, so you cut him off. “Wait. I know what you’re going to say, but this time, I want to actually help you. Have you ever... cuddled?"

His optics widen slightly. He wasn’t expecting that question, nor your assertiveness. But now, he’s profoundly grateful for it.

“I am familiar with the term, though I have never partaken in… cuddling. On Cybertron, other customs of expressing affection were prevalent.”

You’ll have to ask him about that later.

“I see. Would you like to cuddle now?”

Your question catches him off guard. He hesitates. If he says ‘yes,’ he’ll be stepping into completely uncharted territory, stripped of control over himself, entirely at your mercy. If he says ‘no,’ he’ll miss the experience of human affection, of tasting a relationship from your perspective, a human perspective. And it might hurt your feelings, which was the last thing he wanted.

“Yes,” he whispers.

Your wide smile is reward enough for him, though the best is yet to come.

You slide the blanket off one side of your body and pat the empty space beside you. The message is clear, and Optimus knows what to do. Fortunately, he still has enough energy to mass-displace, which he does in a matter of seconds, shrinking to a still-imposing three meters.

“Amazing,” you whisper.

He kneels on both knees to reduce the height difference even further. You’ll still have to climb onto his thighs to make the hug work, but you appreciate the effort. Now, it’s all in your hands.

Even in this position, he’s perfect—straight back, arms resting neatly by his sides. A few indecent ideas cross your mind; you know exactly how to take advantage of his submissiveness towards you. But those plans are for later. This is not the time to be lewd.

“If you feel uncomfortable, let me know right away,” you say, approaching him slowly.

You climb onto his thighs, watching his expression closely for any sign of discomfort, for anything he might not voice but would betray through body language. Luckily, you find nothing—not even when you’re face-to-face with him.

With your fingertips, you gently caress the metal where a human would have a cheek. You’re delicate, exploring uncharted territory. Stroking his cheek as a titan was one thing, but this form was new to you, just as it was to him. So you take your time, allowing him to adjust to the new circumstances, to this form of affection. Your hands move to the back, brushing against his audials until they encircle his entire helm. You shift slightly to the side to complete the embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head against the side of his.

You don’t expect him to return the hug. This time, you expect nothing from him. This is an experiment, a trial. You just want him to stop thinking about everything that happened on the mission and start thinking about the here and now. To focus on you, on the skin-to-metal contact, on the fact that, for now, he doesn’t have to return to the battlefield. That he’s safe. So you’re surprised when you feel heavy hands on your back, enveloping you completely. But you don’t comment; you don’t say a word about it. You let him, because he deserves it.

His world narrows down to you. To your hair, tickling the back of his helm, to the warm skin pressing against his metal. To your softness, your breath, your heartbeat. To your scent, which he knows so well. You surround him from every angle, allowing him to forget the failure he suffered today. You fill his processor, already overloaded with thoughts of you, with even more admiration for your actions—for how you wanted to help him, even though he never asked you to. You are his universe, his galaxy, his sun around which he orbits. His alpha and omega, his beginning and his end.

This position and action are foreign to him, uncharted, incomparable to any other sensation. It wasn’t like holding you on his shoulder; it wasn’t like reminiscing about your smile. This was something new, far more intimate, and not yet fully understood by him. But it was beautiful and captivating. Raw.

“Everything will be all right,” you assure him, your voice resonating through his entire frame. “Everything is all right.” He believes you.

He can’t tell how long the two of you remain locked in each other’s embrace, but eventually, he feels you shifting. The last thing he wants to do now is let you go, still lost in your closeness, but he has no intention of holding you against your will. He releases you from his grasp, and you pull back from his chassis, leaving behind an unpleasant coldness. He wants you back there, pronto.

“Did you like it?” you ask with a smile, your thumb starting to stroke his cheek.

“Immensely,” he replies, looking into your eyes. A smile creeps onto his faceplate. “Might I request another cuddle?”

[fanfic-obsessed]

Smitten

I had this idea for a JayTim that I want to share. 

Obviously there is no canon here, for the record. 

In addition we have a version of Jack and Janet Drake that do love their son, they just have a really bad grasp on age appropriate supervision and activities. They honestly believe that a nine year old can be left alone with only a periodic check from a housekeeper (Also they are aware that Tim leaves the premises almost every night with a camera, they also believe this is a reasonable activity).  Like the very embodiment ‘they’re confused, but they got spirit’. Believe me when I say this will be relevant later.

We are also bringing Jason and Tim’s ages just a hair closer together. This starts with Jason being 14 and Tim being 13, at the annual holiday Wanye Gala. This particular time Jack, Janet, and Tim are in attendance. 

It starts with some boorish rich asshole, a little too drunk and being stupid about it, making an insulting comment about Janet Drake, heard by Tim. Now Tim loves his mother, and does not appreciate this man who insulted her. 

Thirteen year old Tim verbally eviscerates this man, his voice an icy even tone that everyone around recognized from Tim’s mother Janet. Tim’s diatribe of insults and threats leverages this man's secrets, his fears, and insecurities that he didn't even realize he had.  Ten minutes in, this man begins to cry. Just the complete, public, destruction of a middle aged rich drunk by a tiny thirteen year old.  The Drake family proceeds to exit after Tim winds down, never looking back (it was later in the evening anyway).

Jason, standing off to one side next to Dick, falls immediately and completely in love. Smitten through and through.  The first words out of his mouth, after the Drakes leave, is ‘We’re going to get married on that boy’s 18th birthday’.  This was heard by just about everyone present. Jason did not even know Tim’s name yet.

By the next morning Jason has used the BatComputer to discover that his future spouse is named Timothy Drake, he lives next door, and that he is 14 months younger than Jason.  At breakfast Jason very seriously, though a touch maniacally, tells Bruce that he would be marrying Tim when Tim turned 18, and that before that point they would be telling Tim about their ‘nightlife’ on the grounds that “we should not start our marriage off with secrets”. Jason magnanimously told Bruce that he had until Tim was 17 to get his feelings under control about the reveal (to give a full year before the wedding, in case Tim needed an adjustment period or Jason needed to win him back).  

Bruce is already very tired. 

Jason finds any occasion to seek out Tim Drake, to get to know his future spouse (the entire time Jason Mantra-having gotten some good advice from Alfred about becoming friends with and maybe dating Tim before anything else-is ‘Don’t start talking about the wedding, don’t start talking about the wedding’). Also every piece of romantic knowledge/flirting knowledge that Jason has comes from the regency era/Victorian era romances he reads. 

Tim, for his part, believes that Jason (Tim’s Robin and crush) has figured out that Tim knows Robin’s identity and is trying to subtly figure out how much Tim knows and what he is going to do about it; but for some reason Jason is not asking directly and Tim is enjoying getting closer to the other boy, so he does not admit to what he knows. 

This leads to some painfully stilted conversations and weird interactions, but every so often both will forget to be awkward and it becomes clear, whenever they actually act naturally, that they are very well matched. 

To the Gotham Elites, this is the best entertainment in years. Between Bruce Wayne’s ‘Brucie’ act and Dick’s feral behavior growing up, Jason’s bookish politeness makes him the ‘best behaved’ Wayne and honestly the most well liked one. Combined that with how sweet he is acting with Tim and  that this all started with Tim defending his mother, well this is the love story of the ages, happening right in front of them. 

Bruce and the Drakes are already fielding requests for invitations to the wedding. On a slightly more creepy note they are also receiving offers to be a surrogate for the boy’s to ‘continue the bloodline’ when the time comes. 

Bruce is honestly wondering if everyone forgot that Jason is adopted. Dick comes to Gotham more often, because he is also finding this immensely entertaining. 

A few months in, this leads to Batman, Nightwing, and Robin finding Tim taking pictures on a rooftop in the Bowery.  In Tim’s rush to apologize (he is starting to feel a bit guilty about his picture taking pictures of the Bats now that he has an actual relationship-where he believes that they know he knows who they are-instead of a parasocial relationship) it becomes clear that Tim knows their civilian identities and that they did not know that Tim knew their civilian identities. 

Tim gives his explanation (a quadruple flip that only a few people in the world can do and connecting the dots from there). Jason immediately blurts out ‘Go on a date with me?’ and is quite proud that he kept the ‘Marry me?’ behind his teeth (The earliest they could get married in New Jersey is 17, and only with parental consent. Jason had 4 years to convince the Drakes to let him marry their son, 5 if they don’t like him). Tim turns bright red and squeaks out a ‘Yes’. 

The next gala they enter holding hands.  Dick is quickly sought after by the Elite for gossip. Dick confirms that Tim and Jason are now dating, and that Jason insisted on a chaperone for their dates (Jason is still working off the regency/victorian era romantic relationships) so that nothing would ‘besmirch Tim’s honor’.  There is an entire crowd of cooing Gothamites around Dick as they discuss how these two got even more adorable, all the while watching Jason and Tim surreptitiously. 

At some point Bruce has to have a very surreal conversation with Jack and Janet Drake about when it is appropriate to leave one's children alone and for how long and at what ages. Jack and Janet, upon being convinced that they should not leave their 13 year old alone for weeks or months at a time, rearrange their future plans so that one of them is almost always home (and on the few occasions that they would have to Tim by himself, Tim would stay with the Waynes).

By the way, Jack and Janet love Jason, they can see how much he makes their son happy and are glad to support the relationship.  

Now I see this continuing one of two ways. 

The first way is that this derails Ethiopia. Jason still fights with Batman, but runs to Janet Drake (who is home) and Tim.  He does not discover that Catherine is not his mother until later, but is not missing parental influences and does some digging but does not go to meet Sheila. Tim becomes Oracle’s apprentice.

Alternately, it does not derail Ethiopia. Janet and Jack, on one of the few business trips that required both of them, is woken up by a call from an inconsolable Tim who tells them Jason has been killed by the Joker (both Jack and Janet having been let in on the secret at some point). Janet immediately hires Deathstroke and Talia Al Ghul to kill the Joker (Janet contemplated having them bring the Joker to her, so she could do it and make sure he understood why-he killed her future son in law and made her son cry- but realized that the why would never actually matter to Joker) and paid extra to make it look like natural causes (to lessen the attention on the bastard).  Two weeks after Jason Todd’s funeral, the Joker dropped dead of an apparent heart attack, there was not even enough time to get him back in Arkham. 

The Gotham Elite treat Tim like a bereaved widow, despite Jason never getting to have the ‘let’s get married when we are old enough’ talk with him. Jack Drake gets to have his own surreal talk with Bruce Wayne about accepting help, and therapy, after Jason’s death.  Tim picks up the Robin mantle to feel closer to Jason, and to distract himself from grief. 

Jason (Now 17) is brought back and Talia does find him. In this she does have good intentions (She knows that Damian is going to need to be sent to his father eventually, and hopes that helping Jason will endear Talia to Bruce enough that she can still see her son), plus a connection to Janet Drake and the knowledge that Janet had the Joker killed for Jason. So as soon as Jason’s madness ebbs enough to travel she brings him straight to Janet Drake's door. By then enough time has passed that it is three days before Tim’s 17th birthday.   

Jante takes one look at Jason and goes ‘Hmm, I was wondering what we were getting Tim for his birthday this year’.

[traveler-at-heart]

The Doctor's In - Part 4

Summary: Wanda and R have their first date ;)

Wanda: Sorry I missed you before you left for work. Wanna come over for dinner with us?

Y/N: Would love to :)

“You’re awfully cheerful for someone who just got dumped” Darcy says as you smile at your phone.

“Who got what?”

“Carol and Maria…”

“No one dump me, there was no relationship to end” you say, locking your phone. You have noticed that Carol has been avoiding you, which is pretty idiotic, considering a lot of the trauma cases that come your way are ortho related.

That would also explain why Kamala rambled so much every time you requested a consult, so you made a note to speak to Carol about it.

“So…” Darcy ponders, and you wish she’d just drop it. She snaps her fingers. “The hot mom!”

“Her name is Wanda, and we are just talking” you refuse to look at her, knowing she can smell the bullshit from miles away.

“Something tells me talking wasn’t the only thing you did with your mouths” she insists, pulling on your sleeve.

“Fine! We kissed and it was awesome! Happy, you little pestering gnome?”

“Yes, lesbian whore. Congrats on securing a ticket to MILF paradise”

“Fuck you”

“Doctor Y/L/N” Kamala enters the room as you give Darcy the middle finger. “I can come back! Sorry!”

“Look what you’ve done” you mumble as Darcy cackles. The joy doesn’t last long, as you steal her chips. She’s too distracted making fun of you to notice.

“Hey, not fair”

You close the door and go after the resident.

“Hey, Kamala”

“Oh, hi. Doctor Danvers asked me to show you some X-Rays”

“Tell Doctor Danvers to show me herself. Or better yet, I will go directly to her. Where can I find her, Doctor Kahn?”

“Uh… I…”

“Never mind, I’ll ask Maria” you turn to leave  and Kamala screeches in horror.

“OR 2. She’s in OR 2. Please don’t do it, my Baba will never forgive me if I get kicked out of the program” the young doctor clings to your arm.

“Kamala. Get it together. It’s gonna be fine. If Carol gets mad, you can be in my service for a week” you promise and she barely stops hyperventilating.

By the time you reach the OR, Carol is done with her surgery. She stops in her tracks when your eyes meet.

“Doctor Danvers, a word?” you ask, trying to sound professional.

“Of course” she nods. Leading you to an empty scrub room, Carol opens the door for you, fidgeting. “What’s up?”

“Stop making everything so awkward. I’m not mad at you. Kamala is about to have a stress induced stroke from all the consults you send her to avoid me”

“You’re really not mad?” Carol says.

“No! I never expected anything else from you. We didn’t talk about it but I always knew what your true feelings were”

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be, honestly. Just, stop acting like you left me at the altar or some weird shit. We’re colleagues and friends”

“That makes me happy. I didn’t want to stop talking to you” she relaxes. “Though I have to be honest, I told Maria what happened between us”

“Is she mad?”

“Only a bit and just to me. I’ll manage to turn it around” the blonde smiles, a dreamy look on her eyes.

“If it helps, tell her I have a date on Thursday” you say, leaving the room, Carol right behind you.

“Oh, let me guess. The hot mom?” she jokes.

“Her name is Wanda!” you repeat.

“Well, let me know how the date goes?” Carol pats your shoulder, and you nod.

“Will do. Now page your resident and tell her we’re all set before she gets admitted to the Psych ward”

—

The footsteps approaching on the other side make your heart jump. You wonder if the flowers are too much, but when Wanda sees them, her face lights up and you know it was the right thing to do.

“Come on in” Wanda says, taking the flowers and then standing on her toes to kiss your cheek. “The boys are in the living room”

“Want some help with the food?”

“No, I’m almost done. It will be more helpful if you entertain the twins for a little” she says, pulling the flowers close to her chest.

“Alright, then” you’re about to kiss her when the boys walk in. They’re so excited to see you that they don’t notice how close you are to their mother.

“Y/N” Billy says, running towards you.

“Hey, kiddos” you pick them up, carrying them over your shoulder and they giggle. “Come on, there’s a new game I wanna show you”

You take your time to set everything up, explaining a bit about the game. They giggle as Crash jumps and turns in the sand of the first level, and you finish it all, including the tricky jump at the end.

“Who wants to go next?”

“Me” Tommy says, sitting next to you. They are both focused on the game, so you take advantage of the distraction to go see Wanda.

Sliding into the kitchen, you grab her by the waist.

“You scared me” she laughs, allowing you to press against her back, kissing her temple. “What’s going on?”

“I have approximately fifty seconds before they ask for my help so I’m making sure they count” you turn her around and lean forward, capturing her lips and sighing against her mouth. “You look very pretty”

“Thank you”

“You smell really nice” you add, kissing her again, making Wanda laugh. “And I really, really, like kissing you”

Wanda smiles at that, her hand caressing your cheek.

“Y/N!” the boys chant in unison.

“Like clockwork” you mutter, kissing Wanda’s forehead as you go back to the living room.

You spend a few more minutes playing with the kids, until Wanda calls everyone for dinner.

“How’s the arm, kiddo?” you say, sitting next to Billy with Tommy and Wanda in front of you. As you take a bite of the chicken, you notice a funny flavor. “Is this brocc…”

Wanda widens her eyes and kicks you under the table.

“Ouch”

“You ok?” Tommy asks, none the wiser.

“Yeah, I just bit my tongue” you lie, Wanda taking a sip of her water to hide her laugh.

“Kids, eat” she encourages them, and you get the hint. The flavor of the broccoli is hidden with the cheese, so you smile and continue to eat, enjoying every single bite.

“I’m on cleaning duty” you say as soon as everyone finishes, taking the dishes and cleaning the table.

Billy and Tommy run to the living room to continue playing, and as you get ready to wash the dishes, Wanda leans forward and kisses your cheek.

“It’s nice to have you here”

“You have an odd way of showing it, Miss Maximoff” you joke, leaning against her touch.

“In my defense, it’s the only way to get them to eat their greens” she jokes and you lean forward, your lips inches away from hers. In that precise moment, the boys call for her.

“Behave” she warns the children, pulling away to see what the fuss is about.

“Have you thought about boarding schools?” you joke and she pinches your side. “Ah, kidding! I would miss them too much”

You load the dishwasher, clean the pots and put the rest of the food on some containers. By the time you’re done, the kids are getting ready to go to bed.

“Can you come over again tomorrow?”

“If your mom wants me to, sure. I can bring the food this time so she takes a break from cooking” you offer, smiling at Wanda.

“We’ll see about that, Y/N works hard enough as it is. Say goodbye to her, boys”

Tommy and Billy wave at you, already dragging their feet. You stay on the living room, and a few minutes later Wanda comes down.

“Hi” she plops down next to you and you smile.

“All good?”

“A bit tired, that’s all. Just ignore me, you’re the one that works all those crazy hours”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m used to it by now” you shrug your shoulders.

“Would you like some wine?”

“Sure, I don’t have work tomorrow”

“How come?” Wanda asks when she returns, handing you a glass of red wine and sitting closer to you on the couch.

“Well, I have a really hot date coming up and I need to plan every detail”

“She sounds like a lucky girl” Wanda blushes, biting her lip.

“Oh, I’m the lucky one” you say, placing both of your glasses on the coffee table. “She’s smart, funny, has legs for days, cooks amazing food…”

“Stop” she laughs, and you shake your head no. Wanda is still laughing when you connect your lips with hers, a sigh leaving her mouth when you lift her and place her on your lap, her legs straddling you.

“Is this ok?”

“Yeah” she nods, leaning her forehead against yours. “More than ok. As a matter of fact, I remember reading that kissing is good for your health”

“It’s so good” you say, your lips traveling to her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck. “I’d say do it as often as possible”

“Doctor’s orders?” Wanda jokes, her voice faltering as you come back to her mouth, your tongue swiping across her bottom lip.

“Doctor’s orders”

—

The plan is coming along. You have the tickets for the exhibit and the next thing on the list should be the dinner reservation. Your pager beeps the minute you call the restaurant. 

911.

“Shit” 

You sprint to the car, knowing no one would call you outside of work if it wasn’t serious. 

“What’s wrong?” you walk to the ER, looking around.

“What on Earth is this?” Tony Stark, neurosurgeon and professional asshole gets in your face the minute you get there.

“I don’t know, I’ve been off work since yesterday, Stark” you take the chart, reading all the information until you get to the signature. The writing got progressively worse, until it was just senseless lines.

“This person was clearly having a stroke, and the staff didn’t notice. I have to scrub in and see if I can save his life”

“And you’re wasting time arguing with me” you roll your eyes, pushing the chart to his chest and walking to the OR.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To scrub in. If you want to blame me, that’s fine. I’m staying by this patient’s side until he pulls through”

“If he pulls through” Stark says angrily and you ignore him. 

Before scrubbing in, you check your phone.

Wanda: Is everything ok? I saw you leaving in a hurry. 

“By all means, take your time” Stark says, glaring as he walks by you.

You spend the entire surgery in his OR, standing still and doing everything he asks. He’s a rude, pretentious cunt, but if anyone can work a miracle, it’s him, so you suck it up and take every snide comment with a blank stare.

After hours working, Tony sighs, nodding at his work. 

“Close him, Parker,” he asks his resident. You stand watching the young man’s work, until the surgeon asks you to come with him.

“I’m sorry” he blurts out the minute you step out. “This wasn’t your patient, nor your responsibility. And I made it seem like it was”

“It’s still not right. If I had been here, I would have noticed”

“I know. Your work is impeccable” he acknowledges and you nod. Even if he’s an ass, this is the hospital his father built, and he’s a genius with years ahead of you in experience.

“Will he be alright?”

“There’s a good chance he’ll pull through. Let’s be cautiously optimistic. I’ll let Parker explain everything to the family. Sorry for interrupting your days off”

“Not a problem” 

“It’s the first time you’ve taken PTO in 3 years. Fury’s gonna have my head for making you come” Tony says, laughing.

The patient is moved to the ICU, but you’re still not comfortable leaving, so you go back to the on-call room, sitting in a bed to gather your thoughts. Yelling in the hallway makes you stand up, watching as Parker tries to speak to a man and his wife. 

“You discharged him, said he was fine” the man yells, pointing at Peter’s face. 

“Sir, I can assure you, we’re doing our best to make sure your son…”

“We wanna see him now” the man takes Peter by his coat, almost lifting him off the ground. The young man stutters, not knowing how to deescalate the situation.

“Hey, that’s enough” you step in, not realizing the man is about to throw a punch until you make him drop Peter, his elbow connecting with your cheek.

“Crap, Doctor Y/L/N, are you ok?” Peter says, rushing to your side.

“Yeah, fine”

Fucking fantastic. 

“Sir, I’m going to ask you to wait in the foyer, or I’ll call security” Carol steps in, glaring at the man. She waits until he’s gone, muttering an apology your way. “You ok?”

“Mhm, great”

“I thought you had a few days off”

“Yeah, me too”

“Come on, let’s have a look at that punch” Carol says, dragging you to one of the exam rooms. You sigh, trying to keep your eye closed. “No stitches needed”

“Great” you mumble, pulling out your phone. There’s like five messages from Wanda but before you can answer, she calls you.

“Hey”

“Hey, are you ok? You had me worried”

“Yeah, there was a thing at the hospital and I… ouch! Carol, a little warning?” you hiss as the blonde pours some disinfectant on the bruised skin.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were busy” Wanda says, her demeanor changing. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone”

“Wait, Wanda!” you say but it’s too late, the call cut off. “God, could this day get any worse? I have to go”

“Want me to drive you there?” Carol says with a smile and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah. That will make Wanda so happy”

“Whipped” Carol jokes and you try to glare, but it hurts your eye.

Wanda barely put the kids to bed, when she hears a knock on the door. She’s prepared to give you an attitude but then sees your swollen cheek.

“Oh, my God, what happened to you, are you ok?” the brunette says, immediately forgetting she’s mad at you.

“It’s a long story. But that doesn’t matter. Listen, I know how it seems, I tell you I’m busy and when you call me I’m with Carol”

“I know you work together. It’s fine” Wanda lies.

“No, it’s not, come on”

“Ok, just come in and explain everything while I get you some ice, ok?”

“Thanks” you mutter, sitting at the kitchen counter. You fidget with your hands, not looking up until Wanda comes closer, her eyes soft as she moves the hair out of your face.

“Cold” she warns, placing a compress against your skin. You sigh with relief, holding her hand close.

“I’m sorry. I was called in to fix something I didn’t break”

“Don’t apologize for doing your job, Y/N” she says in a soft voice. “Is everyone ok? Is that how you got hurt?”

“Everyone’s ok. The parents were just pissed and I tried to break the fight”

“Does it hurt?” Wanda pulls the compress and examines the skin. It’s a little bruised, but not too swollen.

“It will later” you sigh.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“You can kiss it better”

“Is that what Carol was doing earlier?” Wanda tilts her head, a dangerous look in her eyes that sends shivers down your spine.

“Oh, come on! Not fair!”

“I’m kidding” she says, finally kissing you softly. You close your eyes, relaxing for the first time in 12 hours. “I’m sorry for giving you a hard time, you were saving lives”

“What you feel is valid. Don’t apologize for it, ok? I’ll always listen to you, I promise” you kiss her hand, smiling when she blushes. “We’re still up for our date, right?”

“We can reschedule, you must be exhausted”

“Not a chance” you say, pulling her closer again. “I’ve been waiting too long for this”

“Well, alright. If you insist” she pecks your lips and you nod.

“I do”

“I have an… odd request” she says, avoiding your eyes.

“I won’t kink shame you, I promise”

“Can you be serious for just a second?” Wanda laughs, taking your hand. You make a motion to keep quiet, and let her speak. “Can you… pick me up around the block?”

“I can. But why am I doing it?”

“First of all, if the kids see you, they’ll want to tag along. And also… I’m not trying to be pessimistic here, I just want to protect them. It’s been the three of us since they were born and I’ve never even dated anyone, let alone someone they know” she takes a deep breath, hoping you won’t get upset.

“Billy and Tommy come first, always” you nod. “I agree to the new rule, or I can wear glasses and a fake mustache”

“Nope” she shakes her head, covering your mouth with her hand.

“A bald cap then” you mumble against her palm.

She figures the only way to make it stop is by kissing you and she leans forward, her lips against yours. You smile dreamily as she pulls apart.

“Now. Would you like some dinner?” Wanda offers, and you almost drop to your knees.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect, Wanda Maximoff”

The way she blushes and giggles makes up for all the shitty things that happened in the past hours.

—

“There’s food and snacks, a list of phone numbers on the fridge in case of an emergency”

“Yes, Mrs. Maximoff,” Morgan says, following the woman around the house. It’s her first time babysitting the twins, but Wanda has known the girl since she started giving her private art lessons and trusts her.

“Boys, I’m leaving” Wanda calls, the kids standing up from the table to hug their mom goodbye. “Be good to Morgan, ok?”

“Where are you going?” Tommy asks.

“A work thing” she lies, feeling terrible about hiding the truth from the twins. But still, she knows it’s for the best to keep this private.

She waves goodbye one last time and walks past the house, noticing your car is no longer in the driveway. Her heart beats fast at the expectation of an evening together.

“Hey, gorgeous” you greet, leaning against the passenger door. “You look absolutely stunning”

You admire how amazing she looks in a pair of jeans, a white tee and a long sleeve sweater.

“So do you” she kisses you, smiling as you open the door to the car.

“Thanks, the purple eye gives my look a nice touch” you say as you begin the drive.

“Are you gonna tell me where we are going?”

“You’ll find out soon enough” you say, hoping she likes the surprise. “First stop” you announce, opening the car door for Wanda and looking at the building in front of you. 

“Artechouse. Oh, I’ve heard about this” Wanda nods, intrigued.

“I did too, but never made the time to go. Come on” you lead her to the entrance, showing your tickets. “There’s a small bar if you wanna have a drink before we go in” 

“Let’s go in now” she says, looking everywhere. 

You think it’s a good sign that she’s so interested in the exhibit, so you lead her to the start, both of you gasping as you enter a room that is projecting videos of flowers from floor to ceiling. Wanda’s hand searches yours in the dark, and you smile shyly as she holds it, walking around the room.

The intimacy of the place allows you to come closer, sharing everything you see in a low voice and enjoying the show. 

“Check this out” you say, lifting your arm, the animation following your movements. Wanda lets out a laugh, doing the same.

Each room enchants Wanda even more, the next installation featuring plants that react to the touch with light and sound. Your favorite by far is the tree that reacts differently if you’re holding hands or hugging. As you walk up to it, Wanda is still holding your hand and you both look at the screen. Well, she’s looking at the projection and you’re looking at her, thinking how beautiful she is. 

Taking a step forward, your arms go around her waist and you smile, admiring how the images change.

“It’s beautiful” Wanda whispers, turning to you. “You’re not looking” 

“I have the best view right in front of me” you smile, happy when she kisses you softly.

Wanda takes her time examining everything and once she’s done, you walk to the exit. 

“That was amazing. I forgot how much I enjoy these things. Thank you, Y/N”

“Glad you liked it” 

“Best first date I’ve had,” she smiles.

“Oh, this is only the first part. You don’t really think I’d forget about the food, right?” 

“Where are we going?”

“Well, there’s a very fancy option but I don’t feel like going with this thing on my face” you point at the bruise, annoyed. “If you’re feeling adventurous we could try something different?” 

“You look perfectly fine, darling” she kisses your cheek. “But I’m up for an adventure, so lead the way” 

“Awesome” you hold her hand, walking down the street and away from the museum. This is your favorite part of town, close to the pier and the little shops that are open until late. 

You walk down the promenade, showing Wanda some of the places you love. There’s a small gallery, a cafe, and other shops. 

“We’re here” you announce, pointing excitedly at the kebab shop. “This is fine, right? We can still go to the fancy place if you like”

“Sorry this place isn’t fancy enough for you, Majesty” the owner pops out of nowhere, scaring you.

“Samir! That’s not what I meant. You know I love your food”

“Mhm” he glares, but then smiles at Wanda. “What can I get for you, angel?”

“Well, what’s good here?” Wanda wonders, not as familiar with the dishes. “Maybe a shawarma” 

“How about a kebab box, fries to share and a doner” you suggest, “And her shawarma, of course” 

“That’s a lot of food” she protests and you shrug your shoulders.

“I’m always eating leftovers before I leave for work so it’s fine, babe” 

“Oh, well” she wants to scold you about your eating habits, but the pet name makes her dizzy. 

You pay and lead them to a small table outside, unaware of Wanda’s flustered state. You hand over a soda and open your can, taking a sip.

“We can go to other art shows whenever you want, you know? Even if I don’t understand anything, I do enjoy watching you” you smile, laughing as Wanda’s cheeks go red at the comment.

“I did enjoy it, thank you. You come here often?”

“I do, I love the food here. Samir noticed I came late because of my shifts and he always saved me some food. Nice fella” you turn to make sure he’s not listening. “But I promise I’ll take you to dinner to that other place when I don’t look like a raccoon”

“You don’t have to” 

“I kinda want to see you in a dress, all fancy like that time you left for another date” you smile at the memory of how beautiful she looked.

Wanda’s heart bursts with the way you look at her, complete adoration in your eyes. She’s almost left speechless, but her phone saves her. 

“It’s my brother” she apologizes, taking the call. “Hi, Pietro. No, I’m not with them. Because, I’m out. Of course with a babysitter, stupid” she rolls her eyes, and then switches to a language that you don’t understand, but sounds like Russian. You look at her in awe, until Samir calls for you to get the food. By the time you’re back at the table, Wanda already hung up.

“Sorry about that” 

“No, don’t worry. I guess I never asked, but are you Russian?”

“Sokovian” she corrects. “We moved to the States when Pietro and I were ten” 

“Wow. I never… you don’t even have an accent” 

“It slips up from time to time, especially if I’m angry or… flustered” Wanda says, and you almost choke on the food, thinking of all the ways you could make it come out. 

“Oh, well” you clear your throat. “Is your brother ok?”

“Yeah, he wanted to ask the boys something about video games that I don’t understand. I’m sure you would” 

“I don’t know, my knowledge is limited to things that existed when I was a kid. How’s the food?”

“Amazing. Wow” Wanda says, pleased with the flavor of the meat and how it compliments the rice and dips.

“See? We’re good enough for a first date” Samir shouts from the kitchen.

“Stop listening to our conversation” you shout back and he grumbles. Wanda smiles, thinking of something she’s wanted to ask for a while now.

“Do you ever visit your family?” 

“No, not really” you shake your head. “I pretty much left for college and never returned. Except this one Christmas, where I was feeling kind of lonely and tired. I just wanted to be home, but everything was so different, my half siblings were just too much to handle for anyone… and I didn’t even know what to do, no one bought me a present because I was never around and they just thought I’d be gone like last year”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked…”

“It’s fine” you shrug your shoulders. “I know it’s weird, but I like my life, you know? My colleagues are great, I’m doing what I love… and if I hadn’t moved here, I wouldn’t have met you”

“Yeah, that’s true. It’s their loss” Wanda smiles, kissing you. You smile against her lips. “You can always spend the holidays with us, you know? I mean, it’s too soon to talk about it, I’m just saying”

“That would be nice” you interrupt her rambling. “Now, I have something very important to ask. Out of all the neighbors, which one is the most annoying and why?”

“Well, I’d say it’s… Agatha”

“Harkness! Yes! I knew you disliked her too” 

Wanda laughs and you keep the conversation going. By the time you’re done, you pay and leave a big tip for Samir, who gives you a hug as you leave the store.

“I’m so full” Wanda says, patting her stomach. 

“I know. Oh, you want ice cream?” you say, remembering the gelato store that is a few shops ahead. 

“You just said you were full!”

“It’s ice cream, come on” you take her hand, and pay for two cones. Wanda orders strawberry while you opt for chocolate.

“How is it?” you ask as you walk down the pier, enjoying the view. 

“Amazing, have some” she offers the cone, but you kiss her instead. “That’s not what I meant” Wanda laughs against your lips.

“Well, it tastes amazing to me” you say, leaning forward and chasing after her soft lips, the flavor lingering as you deepen the kiss. Wanda sighs against your mouth, pulling you closer until your hand goes down her waist. “Best ice cream I’ve ever had” 

“Yeah” Wanda nods, her eyes closed. You peck her lips one last time, and continue your walk, still talking about everything you can think of, enjoying each other’s company.

When she checks the time more than once you get the hint, ready to go home.

“I’m sorry, I’m just being annoying, we can stay longer” 

“It’s ok, I know you like to be home early. Come on, we can drink wine or I’ll let you go to bed”

You rest your hand on Wanda’s leg for the entire ride home, unaware that your touch is making the woman restless. When you’re close to your house, you stop exactly where you picked Wanda up.

“I can just park at home, right? The boys are probably asleep”

“Yeah” Wanda nods, flustered. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when she moves forward, pulling you down for a rough kiss that takes your breath away. It’s a bit messy and desperate, and you ignore the strain of your seatbelt as Wanda pulls you closer to her, sighing against your mouth.

“You can’t park here!” an annoying person knocks on your window and you both break apart. “Oh, my! Wanda? Doctor Y/L/N?”

Damn it, it’s Agatha Harkness. Your nosy, annoying neighbor. Rolling down the window and smoothing your clothes, you smile at her.

“Hey, Miss Harkness. Sorry, I’ll move right now” 

“No, don’t worry” she gives you a sly smile. “Have a good night, you two love birds”

“Night, Agatha” Wanda says and you turn on the car, finally parking in your driveway.

“That was fun” you comment, opening the door for Wanda and crossing the street to walk her home.

“Yeah, just our luck” Wanda laughs, taking your hand. “Wanna come in? Or do you have to work tomorrow?”

“Not until Saturday. Come on” you let her lead you to her house, opening the door as quietly as possible. Wanda sees Morgan at the kitchen table, doing her homework.

“How did everything go?”

“Great, they went to sleep an hour ago” 

“Morgan Stark?” you greet, closing the door behind you. 

“You two know each other?” Wanda says.

“Yeah, my parents work at the hospital with Doctor Y/L/N” Morgan says, waving at you. “Nice to see you” 

“Did you drive here? Or want me to take you home?” 

“It’s fine, I drove here” she says, and you hand over some money before Wanda can pay her. 

“Drive safely, ok? Don’t want your dad giving me crap on the next meeting”

“Will do. Good night, Miss Maximoff”

“Night, Morgan”

“You didn’t have to pay for that too” Wanda says, kissing you. “But thank you” 

“Anytime. How do you know Morgan?” you nod when she offers you a glass of wine and you walk to the living room with her.

“I’m giving her private art lessons. She’s really good. Had no idea her parents were doctors”

“Not just any doctors, baby” you say, taking a sip. “Tony’s father built the hospital we work in. And he’s done some amazing research in neurosurgery. Pepper is also one of the best plastic surgeons in the world” 

“Wow, Morgan is so sweet and down to Earth”

“She gets that from her mom, Tony can be an ass” you mutter and Wanda laughs. “So, did I secure a second date?”

“A third one as well. But only if I can pay for the next one”

“Nu-uh. I’m spoiling you, baby” you say, your hand going to her leg. You notice how Wanda’s cheeks turn red, and you’re not sure if it’s the nickname or the contact. “Come here”

You take her glass of wine, approaching her slowly and kissing her. It’s tender at first, but then your hands travel to her lower back, and Wanda moans against your mouth. You deepen the kiss, sighing when she pushes you on your back, climbing on top of you.

Wanda kisses down your neck, biting slightly. The sudden nip makes your hips jolt forward, and she has to hold back another moan.

“I don’t know how you do it” she says, shivering when your hands travel down and cup her ass through her jeans.

“Do what, baby?”

“Drive me crazy with just one touch”

“Let me take care of you” you ask, kissing her, your hands going all the way to the front of her pants.

“Mom?”

“Shit” she mutters, both of her hands covering your mouth. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“I’m thirsty,” Tommy says.

“Alright, don’t come down, I’ll be right there, ok?” she says, hoping the boy hasn’t noticed anything strange. But he’s too sleepy so he just agrees and returns to his room. “I’m sorry”

She removes her hands from your mouth, helping you up.

“It’s fine, I enjoy the choking but just give me a heads up”

“Stop” she says, blushing. “I’ll be right back. Unless, you want to go? I’m sorry”

“I can stay” you nod, smiling at her disheveled state.

“Alright, I’ll be back” Wanda promises, pecking your lips.

You sit up, fixing your hair and taking a sip of the wine to calm down.

“Everything ok?” you say as Wanda comes down. She nods, smiling and sitting next to you.

“Yeah, I just didn’t think they’d be up. Maybe… we could wait a bit? When I’m not worried about the boys walking in on anything”

“Of course. Come here” you open your arms, and she settles, leaning her head against your shoulder. You kiss her temple. “Wanna watch some tv?”

“What about a sitcom? I love watching those”

“Like Friends?”

“Like Bewitched or… The Dick Van Dyke show” she says and you laugh, completely caught off guard by the suggestion.

“You’re fascinating, Wanda Maximoff” you say, handing over the remote, ready to watch whatever she wants.

[maxlarens]

Hi, I have a smau request for Charles (based on c.ai bot lol, and the fact that I love painting), so the reader is invited by her friends to a house for vacation, her friends are all with their s/o and they also always try to set up reader with someone, that's when her and Charles meet, and reader finally gives it a chance because she knows her friends won't stop to set her up. They talk for a whole evening about what they do in life (reader is an artist/painter) and they get along really well. Eventually they get together and reader is very liked by the public, even if there will always be haters, but most fans thinks she's just very adorable (especially because of her insta/twitter posts)

CL: slip up and i call you baby

pairing(s): charles leclerc x artist!reader

summary: you love your friends, you really do. you just wish they’d stop trying so hard to set you up with random guys. [smau + written fic] (read on: ao3) (part 2)

fc: faceless

word count: 5.1k

warnings: mild sexual references

a/n: this is such a cute idea! thank u so much for sending it in!! u will not believe how much this idea gripped me like i never write one shots like this its just unheard of for me if im honest. anyway i know u asked for a smau so i will be doing a second part/continuation to this that is solely an smau to make up for that. (ALSO sorry for disappearing i was super sick for the whole week and have been getting my shit back together in the aftermath😭)

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ynusername italy we are in u!!!

Amalfi Coast, Italy

You’ve never been particularly boy crazy. At least not the same way your friends are.

There have been a few not-quite boyfriend’s over the years, but those relationships never last long. They never really get you, or they never really get the art thing. Which means, of course, that they don’t get you and never will— and that’s fine, you’re content with that. If living for your art means you’ll never be in love then so be it and frankly, good riddance to them.

For the most part, you’ve given up trying. You go on a few dates here and there, but you never let them stick around. Even the ones that seem interested in your paintings you don’t bother with— none of them really seem to be able to grasp what art truly is to you. It isn’t just paint on a canvas, it’s living, it’s breathing. You are only yourself with a way to make art.

It’s difficult to put into words.

So you don’t. Instead, you send texts that say ‘thanks for your time but this isn’t working out’ and you keep the men your friends try to set you up with at arm's length. You placate Chloe and her partner Rowan– who collects friends like they’re Pokémon– with, “he wasn’t my type” and “I’m not looking for a relationship right now”, which you suppose is true, but also isn’t the entirety of it. Yet, every time without fail, there’s a new boy at the scene of the crime.

Chloe doesn’t get it, none of your friends get it. You don’t try to explain it to them. So, y’know, here you are again.

Anyway, here’s the thing: they’re getting closer. Inexplicably, without knowing how you really feel about it all, Chloe and Rowan are getting better and better at picking the boys who are able to tempt you. Which is a pain really, because sometimes you’re trying to have a perfectly nice vacation in Italy without the lure of a boy you can’t let yourself have. But alas, these things generally don’t go your way.

You should know that by now.

Charles Leclerc is bang on the money, he really is. He is unbearably cute, like so cute that you have to leave the room when he walks in, because you don’t trust yourself to be in close proximity to him right now. You have a hard time looking at his face when you are forced to be around him. The dimples when he smiles, the squint of his eyes even when he isn’t. If you look too long you’re liable to stare and that wouldn’t lead to anything good at all.

He’s nice as well. So nice, just like Chloe told you. You try to pretend he doesn’t exist and he still asks you questions about your job and the area of Monaco you live in— like he’s even interested, like he’ll remember you two weeks from now. You try your best to be pleasant, to answer without it being like pulling teeth, and to ask questions of him as well. You’ll probably see him again after this, so best to not to go too far and act like you hate him. It’s difficult though, toeing the line between friendly and encouraging of more. Or it feels difficult for you. Charles doesn’t make even the slightest suggestion of the two of you being set up by your nosy friends. That’s unbearable too. Part of you wishes he’d just make a clumsy pass at you so you can rebuff it and make your intentions abundantly clear. But, obviously, he doesn’t, because he’s perfect or something.

It sucks. You hate him, you think.

Or you want to.

On the second day of the trip, you’re on the villa’s private beach, laying in the hot sun. Chloe, Anaïs and Bea are there; everyone else is either still sleeping off the wine from last night or swimming in the glittering ocean. You’ve got a secondhand book, a 2B pencil and a pair of sunglasses over your eyes. You’re trying to read but you just end up doodling, drawing your friends bikini-clad bodies over the text and shading grapes into the margins. Trying desperately not to accidentally put Charles Leclerc’s dimples, messy hair, or sloped nose to paper.

“So,” Chloe says conspiratorially, as you abort an attempt at drawing a slightly squinted eye with thick lashes, “What do you think of Charles?”

You raise an eyebrow carefully at her over your sunglasses, betraying nothing of your inner turmoil, “I think nothing.”

Anaïs laughs, rolling onto her back, “That’s such shit. You practically sprint away from him everytime he comes near.”

“I do not,” you answer too quickly.

Anaïs laughs again, louder. Chloe joins in and Bea raises her eyebrows at you like you’re a fucking liar. You frown, glaring a little before stubbornly turning your head back to your book. The conversation about Charles ends there, but unfortunately your actions have spoken for themselves. A chill of something like panic chitters up your spine and into your shoulders. You have to roll them to make the feeling go away.

As the sun climbs higher in the sky you lose some people to the heat and gain others. It’s just you and Chloe sweating onto your towels when Rowan and Charles finally give up on whatever game they were playing in the ocean. Rowan collapses unceremoniously into the space between you and Chloe, kicking up sand and getting water droplets all over you like he’s a wet dog. You let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and an exasperated groan as you roll away from him, landing in the sand.

“Watch it,” you cry, “You’re getting my book all wet.”

Rowan laughs, “You’re drawing in it!”

“So.”

He pulls a face at you that makes you roll your eyes; then he turns into Chloe, shoving his face into her collarbone and flinging limbs over her. You snort, leaning over to snag the book off your towel before it gets dragged into the mess that Rowan is causing. You’re about to get up and go inside until you realise Charles is still standing there. Has, in fact, been standing there since Rowan ran over. Your breath catches, heart skipping a beat as you look up to find him standing there.

“Hey,” you smile briefly at him, quickly looking away from his damp hair and bare chest (–which is difficult to do because, holy shit–) so you can gather up your towel.

“Hi,” he replies.

He might smile back. You don’t look. You’re trying to get the image of his washboard abs out of your head. This proves difficult when you clamber to your feet and find yourself face to face with him.

“Are you heading back?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

God, you want to kick yourself. You’re being so awkward, and right in front of Chloe too, who may not be watching but is absolutely listening to you make a fool of yourself in front of a guy you have very firmly said that you are not interested in. It must be clear to him too, that you’re trying very deliberately to not be interested in him. You cant tell what would be worse; if that means he’ll think you’re a weirdo or if it means he’ll take it as a sign that he should make some kind of move.

Ugh.

“I’ll come with you?”

“Hmm,” you blink yourself back into existence, seeing the questioning look on Charles’ face, “Yes, yeah. Sorry.”

You say goodbye to Chloe and Rowan who barely look away from one another, still rolling around in the sand like teenagers.

“Gross,” you say to Charles, as the two of you trudge through hot sand toward the sandstone steps that lead up to the villa.

He laughs, a breathy thing that tapers off with a sigh, “A bit, yes.”

You don’t say anything else, but you find yourself staring at his back and the way his muscles shift and move underneath his tanned skin. At the top of the stairs you part ways, he smiles at you and you offer something awkward in return, trying to pretend you hadn’t been looking at him. You don’t think he notices, but your cheeks red burn anyway.

You don’t see him watching you leave.

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chloegarelli hungover, sunkissed and lovesick

Amalfi Coast, Italy

Dinner is a huge affair, as it always is on these trips.

You, Anaïs and Chloe spend three hours in the kitchen that afternoon making chicken fricassée and about a hundred different side dishes to go with it. Everyone crowds around the dinner table to eat and drink even more wine than the night before. Piero Piccioni plays on the old record player, crackling away as you laugh and talk and tell stories with your friends well into the night. You watch the sun set through floor-to-ceiling glass windows and you wish wish wish that you had your paints right now.

You brought along a set of oil pastels and one of your art notebooks, but it doesn’t compare at all to painting. If you could get your hands on cadmium yellow in all it’s hues, maybe vermillion and a powder blue, your lack of paintbrush or canvas wouldn’t even matter. You’d use your fingers if you needed to. It bothers you so much that you get up in the middle of clearing away the meal and go to your room for the pastels and notebook. You need to get it on a page at least.

You push a few plates to the side, folding out your notebook and immediately marking the page up with a creamy white pastel. Bea teases you when she comes over to take the rest of the dirty dishes, but you just mumble something unintelligible, too engrossed with smudging the sunset into something that looks like what you’d seen out the window. When the oranges and yellows blend to your satisfaction you take the black and brown and draw in the top of your friends’ heads, not thinking about how much attention to detail you’re paying to the shape of Charles’ side profile.

When you’re finished, you’re surprised to see that the table is cleared save for a few half-full wine glasses and a fresh bottle. Only Chloe, Rowan and Charles are still sitting by you. You’re listening to another Piero Piccioni album now, or maybe just the other side of the record. You remember saying goodnight to the others and saying yes to a glass of wine, so you’ve not been totally dead to the world, but it’s all in a bit of a haze.

You think this might be part of the reason why you can’t hold down a boyfriend. The disappearing into your art like you cant breathe until it’s finished. That may as well be the case if you’re honest.

You sigh, wiping your stained fingers on the next blank page, then you take a long sip from your glass of merlot, pretending you dont notice the others’ eyes on you.

“All done?” Chloe quips, somewhere on the border of teasing and being annoyed at you.

You look at her, your eyes just narrowing enough for her to notice. She does and purses her lips. You raise an eyebrow to ask okay, what’s your fucking problem? And you see her eyes flash to Charles. You follow her gaze to see him and Rowan pretending to look disinterested in your answer. Charles is tracing the base of his wine glass and absently biting the inside of his mouth. You have to tear your eyes away.

“All done,” you answer, tone clipped, before gathering your things (including the wine glass) and leaving the room in a move you hope doesn’t come off as too rude.

At your back you hear Rowan ask Chloe, “What was that?”

Chloe means well, you think as you wind through the villa, making your way to the balcony overlooking the private beach. She wants you to be happy and she thinks you need a boyfriend to be happy. But she’d found the love of her life in Rowan after only a few years of dating around and she doesn’t quite understand that it’s never going to work like that for you. There aren’t enough people out there that understand the kind of passion you have for your art and certainly not many that would also be compatible with you. You’re fine with that, but Chloe doesn’t know what to do with it. Especially not now she’s cottoned onto the fact that you have some kind of interest in Charles. It’s killing her.

It’s irrelevant though, whatever interest you have in Charles doesn’t factor into anything. He’s cute, he’s nice, but so were the dozen boys that you’ve already dated and not continued dating. So really, Chloe needs to stop pushing it because it’s pissing you off. You’re here for a holiday, not to be forced into conversations with a guy you don’t know. If she needs to have an argument to finally understand that, then so be it. You’ve been friends for years, it’ll blow over eventually.

You flick a switch and blinking lights illuminate the balcony. Fairy lights are wound up the posts and draped on the awning, intertwining with the lush green vines that have grown up through the wood slats. The air is balmy and the breeze light as you settle into one of two cushioned chairs situated by a coffee table. It’s perfect. You spread the oil pastels out next to your glass of wine and set your open notebook on your crossed legs, listening to the sound of waves lapping against the shore.

You’re alone for what feels like a long time but is probably only an hour or two.

When the sliding door clunks open you expect it to be Chloe coming over to have it out, but it’s not. Instead, Charles slips through the gap with the rest of the wine gripped in one hand.

“Hi,” he greets, smiling at you in a way that makes dimples carve in his cheeks, and dashing any hopes you have that he’d walk right past you.

“Hey,” you forget yourself for a moment and bite your lip on a broad smile.

He holds the bottle out toward you, offering more. You lean over your notebook and hold your empy wine glass up in acceptance.

“Merci,” you say, and in a moment of weakness (and probable wine drunk-ness) you gesture at the plush chair across from you.

Charles, somewhat caught off guard, looks between your outstretched hand, the chair, and your face, before shaking his head almost imperceptibly and finally taking a seat. Despite his apparent shock, you find it hard to believe he’d come out here simply to offer you some of the last of the wine. Surely, this is Chloe and Rowan’s doing. Though, strangely, you cant quite bring yourself to care.

He sets the bottle on the coffee table, next to your oil pastels. You lean forward to place a few back in their rightful spots, snagging your wine glass as you go.

Charles eyes’ scan your face for a moment, searching for something you suppose, then he points at your notebook, “Have you been drawing?”

You nod, “Mmm.”

You think perhaps the answer is a bit obvious. He seems to realise this, you watch a blush spread onto the top of his cheeks and he flutters his eyelids slightly, almost like rolling his eyes at himself. You don’t think about his eyelashes, thick and dark as they brush against his cheekbone, and you don’t think about his eyes, the lights reflecting off them, making them sparkle.

“What are you drawing then?” he asks after a moment of collecting himself, an edge of embarrassment to his voice.

You give in easily to the strange urge you have to show him, grabbing the notebook off your lap and holding it out for him to see what you’d been scribbling in the book for the past two hours. You let him take it off your hands, ignoring the spike of anxiety. He holds it gingerly, like it's a precious artefact (of course, to you, it is), which makes something warm bloom in your chest. You take a sip of wine and gesture for him to flip through a few pages, which he seems hesitant to do without permission. The book is angled in such a way that you can see most of the page, so you’re content to let him. Or at least you are until he flips to the page you’d started when you’d first come out here.

Panic drops like a stone in your gut because he’s looking right at a fully rendered drawing of his eyes. It’s in amongst some pillars strung with lights and covered in climbing vines; your best attempt at capturing the way the beach looked earlier in the day; and, perhaps your saving grace, Chloe half asleep on her towel. But the drawing of her is haphazard, it’s half-scribbled and half-finished, whereas the one of Charles eyes’ is as detailed as the sunset scene you’d done the page before. It had been something you just needed to get out, drawn in one of those hazes of yours. You’d felt better after it was done, your hands had stopped feeling like they were itchy.

Now, you itch to snatch the notebook off him, but you fear that would be even more incriminating. So you watch him look at the page and try to sit with the panicked feeling spreading in your chest.

Eventually, he points at the page, “Is this me?”

You bite your lip, breathing slowly through your nose to try and abate the blush spreading up your neck. You don’t say anything exactly, just shrug and rock your head back and forth in a kind of confirmation that doesn’t really admit anything. Though, there’s no denying the drawing is him.

“It’s good,” he says, seemingly stumbling over the words, “It’s very good.”

You frown into your drink, “Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

You know he means it. It’s not that.

“Yes,” you put down the wine glass, looking at him but avoiding eye contact, “I know. I know it’s good. I’m just… I’m embarrassed,” you admit.

He furrows his eyebrows– or it’s more that he squints and his eyebrows fold in with it. You watch his tongue dart out to run across the top of his bottom lip and you stamp down the less than innocent thoughts that come bubbling up at that. He waves the hand that’s not still holding carefully onto your notebook about for a moment, trying to conjure up words that he doesn’t have yet.

Slowly, he says, “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. I– It’s–”

He’s about to say flattering, so you cut him off, not wanting to hear the tone of it, whether it be pity or something else entirely.

You try to explain yourself, “Things get stuck in my head sometimes. Like after dinner,” you reach forward and flip the page back one, to the sunset, “I have to get it onto paper. Or… or… it just runs laps in my head for the rest of eternity, I guess. I don’t stop thinking about it.”

You cringe internally. You’ve just told him that you were so consumed by thoughts of his eyes that you had to draw them immediately. That is perhaps worse than just wanting to draw him because you thought he was cute. Charles raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised by your admission, but there’s perhaps also something sincere in there? You can’t pinpoint it, but it makes you feel a fraction better you think.

You sigh forlornly, “That’s weirder, huh?”

He laughs, properly laughs, and it sends some strange feeling skittering down your spine, “No. No, I get it. I don’t have any way to get it down as quickly as I’d like, but I definitely understand the feeling.”

You bite the inside of your lip, hesitant but still curious, “You understand the feeling? Really?”

“Yes,” he smiles easily now, relaxing more in the chair after he places your notebook onto the counter with a cautiousness you still don’t expect, “For me, with racing, it’s like I get an idea and I can’t sleep until I try it on track or talk about it with someone. Some of them don’t work, or aren’t possible, which is fine, but if it sounds right to me and it checks out with the people that it needs to, then, well, then it literally does run laps in my head.”

You laugh, mostly to yourself. You’re not sure yet if he understands what you’re saying, but he’s trying. That’s more than you can say for a lot of people. You try not to let that thought linger for too long.

“You think it’s similar?” you ask in a way you desperately hope comes across as curious and not accusatory.

He hums, waving his hand around again for words, “Perhaps. I think the urgency is the same. The passion is the same. Do you ever feel like something terrible will happen if you can’t–”

“Yes,” you’re a bit breathless in your haste to agree, to talk about this feeling with someone who understands, “Yes. I do. It’s like I need to put it somewhere before I lose it. Otherwise, it won’t be perfect, or it’ll be too late.”

“Exactly,” his eyes seem to light up, for a long second you watch the flickering lights reflect in them, “Exactly.”

“It’s never as good as I want it to be,” you admit, finding it easier to look him in the eye now that some strange barrier between you has been broken, “It’s never quite how I imagine it in my head.”

Charles points at your notebook, “These are very good, really. I don’t see how they could be better. But,” he shrugs, “Eh, I will win a race and still think of everything I did wrong.”

You nod eagerly in understanding as you lean back into the chair, finally relaxing into the cushions. It’s strange to have this conversation, knowing you’re talking about two entirely different careers, but feeling like they’re so similar. Maybe it’s just you and Charles that are similar, maybe your jobs have nothing to do with it? You don’t know, you just know it’s nice to feel like someone gets what you’re talking about.

Charles continues, speaking like he’ll explode if he doesn’t get this off his chest, “It’s there all the time, do you know what I mean? Maybe I’m not thinking about it every second, but it’s always there waiting for something to draw attention to it. And people ask what else is going on in my life, and of course I do other things, and I enjoy other things, but I want to be on the track. I want to be driving whenever I can.”

You nod again, more subdued now, “Mmm, right. I want to be making art all the time, and when I can’t it’s like missing a limb. To me art is– it– it’s like–”

“–breathing,” he finishes, almost the lilt of a question to it, but not really, it’s like he knows exactly what you mean… how you feel.

You exhale, long and slow, “Yeah. Like breathing.”

Both of you are quiet for a little after that. You’re trying not to stare at him, but it’s not easy. He’s looking at you almost blatantly and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks the longer he stares. The air feels thick with some feeling you can’t place. All you know is there are butterflies in your stomach and a smile keeps pulling at the edge of your pursed lips.

The smile takes over as you catch him starry-eyed in your peripheral vision, you mutter, “Stop that. Stop looking at me.”

“Why?”

You tip your head back so you can’t see him looking at you, “Because.”

“Because?” he laughs breathily, shaking his head at you, “Okay, well, tell me if I’m misreading anything, but I’m pretty sure that drawing of me in your notebook says something, at least.”

You run a hand down your face, sighing loudly, “Yes, okay. I suppose it does. But– I–” for a moment you struggle for the right words to explain yourself, “I guess I’m not really looking to date anyone.”

He tilts his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows and looking for all intents and purposes, like a confused puppy, “You guess?”

You nod, resisting the urge to just launch over the table and grab his face. He is very cute and he is making this so hard for you.

He sucks his teeth briefly, shrugging, “I’m not really either.”

“Alright,” you say, “Good.”

As over as that should make the issue, strangely enough it doesn’t feel like you’re done with Charles Leclerc and it certainly doesn’t feel like he’s done with you either.

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Amalfi Coast, Italy

You try to avoid Charles after that, you really do, but he doesn’t quite let you.

For a few days of the holiday you give him pointed looks and purse your lips a lot when he’s around. Chloe catches on straight away and that makes it all infinitely worse until she finally realises she might need to leave you alone (yeah, shocker). When Chloe finally forces everyone to get off your back about Charles, it becomes much easier to be around him. You’re not glaring at your friends while they make eyes at you, or worrying if you’re acting weird; you’re just allowed to be.

It’s nice. He’s nice.

But you knew that already.

Neither of you are looking for a relationship so there’s no pressure for it to be anything at all. But you have this sneaking suspicion that perhaps both of you are looking for a relationship with eachother regardless. You try to ignore the thought.

On day five, you’re sitting together on an outcropping of rock that overlooks the ocean and you’re letting Charles doodle in your notebook with a ballpoint pen. The bare skin of both your arms are pressed together, they stick with sweat from the hot midday sun but neither of you seem to care. As you watch him doodle inexpertly you can smell him— salt and sweat and whatever cologne he uses masking the very faint scent of burning rubber. Your hair, still damp, brushes his forearm, you wonder if you smell of acrylic paint and mildew from all the water cups you accidentally leave out for your paintbrushes.

You reach out to trace a line he’d made, “Here, it should be more like…” you taper off, taking the pen from his hand and quickly fixing the curve of the beach before handing the utensil back.

“Hmm,” he hums, giggling a little, “I guess that looks better.”

“You guess?”

He nods, “What if I had a very specific vision?”

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief, leaning back to look him in the eye you tease, “A vision. Did you?”

He tilts his head down to look at you. You’re very close now, you can feel his breath fanning over your face. In the reflection of his sunglasses you watch your lips part slightly and your eyelids flutter. Your chest grows tight with anticipation and maybe a little bit of panic. Still, you reach out and slide his sunglasses up to settle in his hair. You’re a little careless, but you like the way his hair pokes out from them at odd angles. As he breathes out you hear it catch for a split second.

“Did you?” you repeat, knowing he won’t remember what you were talking about.

He blinks twice, still staring at you, “Hmm?”

“You said you had a vision,” you breathe.

“Oh,” as he says it, his eyes flicker down to your mouth, only for a second, but it’s long enough to you know you’re done for.

You both lean in at the same time, your noses sliding off each other in your eagerness. You breathe a kind of laugh into his mouth and you feel him try to suppress a smile against your lips. It’s slow for the first few seconds, just you and Charles figuring out how your mouths fit together. His mouth is warm and wet and so soft, and it’s easy to lose yourself in it. You move the hand that had adjusted his sunglasses, sliding it up his shoulder to the back of his muscled neck. Your fingers weave into the short hair at the base of it, your nails scratching absently there. He groans, ever so slightly into your mouth and it sends heat skittering down your spine, into the low of your gut.

The hand of his that isn’t clutching onto your notebook slips forward and winds around to press at your bare back. He pulls you closer to him as you slide your hand up to cup the back of his head, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Soon it’s a mess of tongue and teeth and Charles blindly shoving your notebook somewhere it wont slip into the water so he can grab you with both hands. He tastes like red wine and coffee and you love the way his fingers dig into your skin and the way his teeth have been grazing at your bottom lip, like he wants to sink into it.

You’re almost in his lap when you’re forced to pull away for air.

Foreheads pressed together, you breathe heavily into the space between you. Your hand is still stuck in his hair and one of his on the small of your back, the other holding your knee. The sides of your noses touch, you nudge yours against his affectionately, tempted by the proximity of his mouth.

He laughs and you feel it against your lips, intermingling with your own breath, “Alright. That was–”

“Yeah,” you finish, dipping forward to kiss him again.

You’re lost for another few minutes. Tongue and teeth and the sound of the waves crashing against the rock behind you. And his hand on your jaw and in your hair and pulling you closer closer to him.

He pulls away this time, turning his head to press your cheeks together, mouth at your ear, “So,” he drags the word out with a laugh, “are you looking for a relationship now?”

You snort unceremoniously, and tease, “Hmm. I guess I would be amenable to that.”

“You guess?” he asks— but not really needing to at all because you can feel his dimples pressing into your cheek as he smiles knowingly.

You nod, smiling too, “I guess.”

🎨 yes of course i made a playlist>> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6cAJaZjvK0V7SrmxoMosBX?si=ADlJGHxxQYKnlZ1jWFJxfw&pi=a-AI0MKbo3RTqE

taglist: (pls message if you'd like to be added to the taglist for charles. my yuck! one is full so need to start a new one😭)