#oh thank god asks are fixed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

softmangoes · 6 months ago

Text

control - eden the hunter x defiant!pc

18+ only | request fill for 🕸 anon

summary: you've been spending a lot of time at the new university. when you get back home to the cabin, you surprise eden with a gift.

includes: sub!eden, sex pollen, pegging, mentions of past sexual abuse, blood, older pc

"that shortcut isn't safe at this time of the year," the hunter said as he rubbed the healing salve onto your fingertips. you winced, the cut that adorned your hand burning as the ointment seeped into it. the ledge you would usually scale to get to the cabin had been slick with tufts of moss, causing you to lose your grip and slip. as you fell, you grabbed onto a stray vine to steady yourself, pain flaring from your palm as its thorns sliced into your skin.

"i figured," you said. a pair of stormy eyes flicked to you, unamused.

"you were careless." eden took a length of gauze and wrapped it around your hand. although he was gentle, the pressure around the cut on your palm still made you hiss. "what would have happened if something out there had smelled the blood on you?"

your eyes fell onto the rifle resting atop the dining table. the hunter had been cleaning it when you stumbled in, all bloody and sweaty and exhausted.

"then you would have taken care of it."

eden scoffed, securing the dressing with a practiced ease. "i've spoiled you, haven't i?"

"have you?" although you were more than capable of protecting yourself, the hunter was no stranger to threatening those who would harm you while you traversed through the forest.

when you looked at him, his eyes were chips of flint. “say that again.”

you inhaled, trying to calm yourself.

the hearth made his skin glow warmly, the firelight dancing on his features. his hair had grown longer, his beard more unruly. this time, due to the storms, you had been gone for more than a week. a flash flood could have swept you away as you crossed the river, lightning could have sliced through a tree as you passed below its boughs. a frightened animal could have confronted you as it made its escape. how could he not worry? how could he not want to make sure that you were okay?

but you were no fragile thing. years of hard labor had woven corded muscle into your limbs and months of training had made you more than lethal. you could take care of yourself. he had made sure of it.

"i'm alright," you said, trying your best to assure him. you came back and you were alive. that was more than good enough. "okay?"

after a moment, the hunter's eyes softened. "i missed you," he breathed, taking your other wrist in his hand. he pressed his lips to the tip of each bandaged finger, kissing each one gently. despite the gauze, his mouth was warm, the puff of his breath tickling the underside of your wrist.

once he released you, you brought your uninjured hand to cup his face. stubble scratched at your palm as you traced the old scars that ran across his jaw. one of them, still silvery in the firelight, you had carved into his face years ago. you could still remember the taste of copper in your mouth when he kissed you, the blood hot as it wet your lips.

he made a sound at your touch, one quiet and full of need, and you found yourself filled with desire. here he was, your hunter, kneeling before you as you sat on the couch. eden had never been one to go into detail about how much he wanted you, but you could tell from his expression that the past week had been difficult for him. his eyes betrayed his usual stoicism: this time, he had been afraid you weren’t going to come back.

how cute. hunger coiled in you tight, and you slipped your thumb between his parted lips.

a gasp. then warmth. a tongue swiped across the pad of your finger, hot and wet. his eyes flicked open, those twin storms brewing with confusion and desire, before he pulled away abruptly, leaving a string of saliva connecting you to him.

"what," eden started, not knowing how to process what had just happened. a stripe of red flared across his cheeks.

but you only smiled as you licked the pad of your thumb, the hunger coiling tighter and tighter. you were a snake wrapping around its prey, the coolness of your scales sliding along the warmth of its skin. your hunter was always so beautiful, but there was something about that moment of softness, that vulnerability, that made you want to see more of it.

"you really did miss me," you said, your eyes never leaving his as your lips closed over your finger to taste him. "didn't you?"

later that night, eden stood in front of the bathroom sink, sweat slicking his skin. outside, the wind howled as rain streamed down the window. he couldn't sleep, couldn't stop thinking about your finger in his mouth and the look in your eyes as you watched him lick at it.

it had been a brief moment, nothing more than a few fleeting seconds, but he could still remember the taste of you.

eden inhaled. at that moment, you were fast asleep in bed, curled up in a nest of blankets to keep you from straining your hand.

at first, he had wanted a companion: someone to warm his bed, cook his meals, do as they were told. what he didn’t expect was you questioning his rules, pushing against his boundaries. one time, you took a knife to his jaw, raking the blade across his skin like a trail of fire. he slapped the knife from your grip and pinned you to the wall, growling that he wasn’t someone who could be threatened like that.

a few years ago, he would have taken you right then and there, injury be damned.

now that you were taking classes, getting back to the cabin on time was more difficult for you. there were courses for you to take, projects to finish, and papers to write. when you had applied for the university, he had been bitter about your decision for days. what did you need from the town that you couldn’t get here? why did you want more reasons to be away?

in retaliation, eden would wake you on the mornings he knew you’d have class by pulling your underwear to the side and slipping inside you. the hunter’s size was formidable, so it never took you very long to gasp and open your eyes to the clock you kept by your bedside.

“h-hey,” you started, your thighs trembling despite your annoyance. before you could continue, he’d slide in deeper, making you claw at the sheets with a soft whine.

“you’ll be late by the time we’re finished,” he murmured, licking a line up your neck as you clenched down on his cock. after all these years, the hunter knew many ways to keep you within his grasp. “and you have everything you need here.”

the clock ticked, its hands inching closer and closer to the start of your class with each moment that passed.

“stay.” he circled your clit with his fingers, bringing you closer to the edge with every thrust. “do you really have to leave?”

before he found you, there was only the quiet of the cabin to keep him company. the rustle of the leaves scratching against the windows and the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth could not compare to the softness of your skin or the sound of your laugh filling the air. despite the fact that you were the one who had spent time in chains, eden could not help but feel confined by his loneliness whenever you were away.

but you didn’t have to leave this time. he could make you feel good. he could remind you that you were meant to be here. he could make you stay.

“eden.” with a grunt, you snapped your hips into his, taking all of him in. the sudden motion made him gasp as he spilled into you, filling you with his warmth as you came with him.

a few moments passed before you sat up and started slipping on your clothes. by the set of your shoulders, he could tell that you were upset at him for delaying you once again. the walk through the forest would take a considerable amount of time and you still had to catch a bus to the university.

when he called your name, you didn’t answer. minutes later, your steps faded. a chill rushed into the cabin and the front door closed, leaving him with only the silence for company.

all of that had happened a little more than a week ago. now, his knuckles were pale as he gripped the rim of the bathroom sink.

after so long, you were finally back. if you had stayed away a day longer, he would have walked to the university to wander the campus in search of you. despite the years you had spent with each other, a part of him was sure that someday you would leave the forest and never come back.

eden shook his head. he thought of your thumb against his tongue, the wet heat of it probing his teeth. it felt assuring that even after everything, you still wanted him.

the hunter slipped two of his fingers into his mouth, sliding them along the warmth of his inner lip. his other hand found his cock, aching against his trousers. eden panted, desire curling in his core as he tried his best not to moan aloud.

still, a low groan escaped his lips. he was close. so fucking close. and as he came, he thought of the hunger in your eyes and how in that moment, he had wanted to feed it.

a box of ammunition. rope. a new whetstone. gauze.

the next morning, eden set each item down onto the dining table methodically, silently appraising each item as he slipped it out of your duffel bag.

after a few hours of rest and the cuts and scrapes from your journey back aside, you felt much better than you did the previous evening. you sipped some lemon balm tea, watching your hunter sort through the items.

the university had taken a lot from the time you would usually spend together, but you still tried your best to make sure that eden was taken care of. over the years, the town had gotten busier after the campus opened, welcoming new students from the surrounding areas who would occasionally strap on a backpack to trek through the forest. often, they’d run the supply store out of the usual items you’d purchase. this wasn’t an ideal situation for someone as secluded as eden, so you did what you could to make sure he had what he needed.

a pack of mason jar lids. gun oil. vegetable seeds.

"looks like the store was stocked well this week," he remarked, setting down the packs of seeds with a quiet rattle. you imagined the sprouts they’d become, bright green tendrils pushing forth from the earth. “we’ll plant these once the frost ends.”

although attending college was rather expensive, your botany courses had enhanced your time spent at the cabin. after a few months, you had made a natural irrigation system for the vegetable plots, created a compost pile, and even had a small seed archive categorized by their best growing season. around the cabin itself were sketchbooks filled with illustrations of the different herbs, mushrooms, and berries that could be found within the forest.

years ago, you couldn't imagine that you would stop catching fights in the streets. now, your life was devoted to the changing of the seasons, to bountiful harvests, and handfuls of seeds.

antibiotics. cheesecloth. sewing needles. a—

"this is from that temple boy's shop." eden held up a large velvet bag, which was plain save for a pink heart embroidered onto the deep purple cloth.

whenever you needed cash, you would offer to help sydney run his mother’s adult store. it was an easy enough job and both sydney and sirris treated you well. occasionally, they’d send you off with something new to try to express their gratitude for your assistance.

“you’ve been eyeing this one for a while,” sirris said, pulling the box from the shelf. you blushed, embarrassed that you had made your interest so obvious. its length was enticing, the construction of the curves alluring. “take it home. i’m sure the customers would appreciate a review.”

when eden pulled the item out of the bag, his eyes snapped to yours.

"what," he said flatly, examining the package's text that claimed the dildo was realistic, sure to please, a fan favorite. "am i not enough for you?"

you laughed. eden had enjoyed the array of lacy outfits from the shop, binding you in silk rope, the samples of lube that were stored in his nightstand. what was one more new thing?

"relax," you said, taking the bag and upending it. a leather harness, sleek with silver rivets, thudded onto the table. "it's for you."

in all honesty, you couldn’t be more excited. eden was an insatiable lover, fierce and enthusiastic. while the sex was exciting, there was a part of you that wanted to unravel him, to savor him. you would do it slowly, carefully, so that once he was properly plied with your gentleness, you would sink your teeth into his tender flesh and make his eyes glaze in ecstasy.

the hunter inhaled, stiffening as he pushed himself from the table with a wooden creak. he shrugged on his hunting coat.

"i should go," he said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "there's a herd i've been following."

"hey." you dropped the bag, concern lacing your voice. the last time you had seen him tense like that was when you had asked what life had been like for him before. "are you alright?"

when he glanced at you, you swore you saw fear flash in his eyes. "we'll talk later."

before you could say anything else, he was out the door.

there had been a time in his life in which he had been stripped of his sense of control: the caretaker of the orphanage, with her sweet smile that never quite reached her eyes, would take him by the hand and tell him that if he couldn’t pay her fee, then he’d just have to make it up to her another way.

“you could do that, can’t you?” she’d say, lacing her fingers sweetly. the scent of her perfume was always so syrupy, like the rot that followed after the rain.

that other way involved eden getting dragged to the fighting pit in the middle of the night, his nose bloody from punching the thug who threw him out of his own bed.

years later, eden would learn that he had never been meant to fulfill the caretaker’s payments. he was the perfect choice to be her champion. out of everyone at the orphanage, eden was the biggest and the strongest. as far as she could tell, there was no one more ideal to be bruised and battered for cash.

but what was special about him had nothing to do with his strength or size: he was smart. in that reeking pit, which was nothing more than an abandoned pool surrounded by a raucous mix of the town's underground and elite, he would circle his opponents waiting for them to make the first move. if they charged at him, he would dodge. if they struck at him, he would catch their wrist and twist their bodies to meet the hard, mildewed tile below. losing meant getting hauled screaming into the unknown to horrors that made the pit look like child's play. winning was the only option he had, so it was what he did.

but the thing about winning was that he had never been the winner. not truly.

eden was beautiful, all muscles glistening with blood and sweat, his gray eyes hollow as he surveyed the crowd that cheered in adoration for him. on that first night, after the final round, the last thing he remembered was getting wiped down with an icy towel as he was met with praise for his achievement. at some point, someone clapped his shoulder and gave him a drink, ice clinking against the glass. it had tasted sweet, went down all nice and cold.

and then nothing.

he woke up to darkness. a strip of cloth around his eyes and rope around his wrists and ankles. he was naked, still bruised and aching but so, so warm. something had been in the drink. something that made him want to be touched. to be fucked and defiled.

eden was so alluring, a beast in his element. all teeth but deprived of any bite. he was never meant to be the winner, but their prize all along.

there had been voices around him, amused by how he struggled ineffectually against his binds. he was so strong, wasn't he? but so weak, so pliable for them. hands traced the curve of his muscles and the cut of his jaw, mouths so hot and full of want pressed against his skin, cooing their congratulations as they stroked and teased him. against his will, his legs shook and moans spilled from his mouth. he was helpless. defenseless. and despite how much his mind screamed, his body only craved for more.

the forest came back to him, damp and smelling of earth and cedar. eden sighed, his breath fogging in the muggy autumn air. that night was long ago, but never had been far off. he had ran from the orphanage shortly after that, his pockets stuffed with the cash earned from the pit, a knife, a handful of seeds, and his best winter coat wrapped around him. as his shoes pounded the pavement, the sidewalk turned into loose ground and then later into fallen leaves.

once he was tired of running, eden took solace in the eaves of the pines, ate berries, washed himself in the lake to scrub away the memories. in the years following that, he made a home for himself. as he reveled in the safety of routine, he found a sense of control that steadied him whenever he felt his skin crawl with their touch.

control was the one thing that had protected him throughout all these years. control had kept him alive, helped him start the fires that would warm his cold hands, helped him build a cabin to sleep in. as long as he could determine the boundaries he had when it came to interacting with the world around him, he would keep himself safe.

the security of his routine lasted until the day he tracked a deer near the lake and found you. in all honesty, he didn’t know what possessed him. it had been a while since he had last seen another person, let alone conversed with one. on that warm summer day, you had offered him an apple slice, cool and crisp and sweet. with a smile, you told him that you had never seen eyes like his.

for as long as he could remember, eden had never been good with words, but he could take you back to the cabin, no matter how much you kicked and screamed.

despite his many attempts to tame you, you refused to give in. at one point, you even managed to run away. the hunter had tracked you for hours until you pounced on him, knocking him off-balance. once he was on the ground, you pressed a knife to his neck so hard that a line of blood bloomed on the blade.

“i want us to start over.” although your voice was ragged with exhaustion, there was a fire in your eyes. sweat dropped from your cheek. “can we do that?”

he could have rolled over and wrestled the knife from you. pinned your wrists just so he could prove who was really in control.

but in that moment, as he stared at you haloed in the light of the clearing, all he could do was inhale. you were so strong, so beautiful, and he had been bested.

“alright,” he said, a bead of blood running down his neck. “we’ll start over.”

now, he carefully made his way through the brush, the damp earth muffling his movements. there was a boar nearby, kicking up at the patches of mushrooms and new sprouts brought up by the rain.

the strap-on had been…a surprise.

eden knew that he had left the cabin in a hurry, but he hadn't known what to say to you. how could he tell you that the thought of submission was one he met with both terror and intrigue? that he had nightmares about being strapped to that chair again, rendered unable to do anything else but squirm? how could he tell you that despite all of that, he still thought about the taste of your fingers in his mouth?

control was his armor, but it was also his leash. a part of him was thrilled to know that despite what happened the last time you had seen each other, you still wanted to be with him. you still wanted him.

the boar trudged into the clearing, grunting as it nudged at a sapling. eden crouched lower into the bush, careful not to break any branches. when he took a step forward to get a better vantage point of the animal, something hissed below him. a sweetness filled the air, syrupy and heavy like cherries boiled in sugar.

when eden looked down, he saw that he had stepped on a patch of yellow puffballs, their disturbed bulbs spraying clouds of purple spores into the air.

shit. he coughed, pressing his sleeve to his face and staggering away from the powdery cloud. amidst the chaos, he heard the boar whine and retreat further into the brush. eden’s eyes watered and he began to feel his skin warm. lost in his introspection, he had wandered too far into the forest, where the plants and the animals grew strange and twisted.

his heartbeat roared in his ears. the cabin wasn’t too far off. if he was lucky, he would be able to treat himself before the effects set in. disoriented, he slipped off his shotgun and made his way back.

marigold. echinacea. willow bark. the amber bottles clinked against each other softly as you organized the medicine shelf, making sure that the tinctures and extracts had been topped off with alcohol and the salves were still fresh and free of mold. there wasn’t much to do during autumn except prepare for the winter.

during the time you had spent away, eden had been especially productive: there were dozens of canned vegetables from the last garden’s harvest, bundles of herbs and strings of garlic bulbs hanging from the ceiling like withered bouquets, and strips of venison curing in the small root cellar. the man never had a penchant for sitting still and whenever you were away, he couldn’t help but keep his hands busy.

you sighed at the thought of him, your shoulders sagging in disappointment. perhaps coming back with the strap-on had been too much for him. sure, you didn’t leave the cabin on the best of terms the last time, but you thought the gift would have been a nice gesture to assure him. if he ended up wanting to have nothing to do with it, then at least you would have something you could use to give him a show.

as you palmed the last bottle, something slammed into the front door. quickly, you slipped the tincture into your pocket and pulled the hunting knife strapped to your belt. although the cabin was nestled deep in the forest, there were times in which a panicked animal would crash into the structure as they fled from a predator. whatever it was, you weren’t going to take any chances.

once you got to the door, eden crashed through it, his breath ragged from exertion. goosebumps prickled your skin at the rush of cold air from the forest. at the sight of him, the knife clattered to the ground. the hunter’s eyes were twin voids, his pupils straining against thin irises.

“hey, what’s—” before you could finish, he lunged at you.

the hunter was strong, but you were faster. quickly, you sidestepped away, making sure to kick the knife across the room.

“i thought we were past this,” you said, referring to the months you had spent at his mercy. “you’re not still mad about me being late, are you?”

there was no response. when eden swung at you again, you caught a whiff of something sickly sweet. something familiar.

“shit,” you cursed, uncorking the bottle in your pocket to douse your sweater sleeve with the tincture. when he lunged for you, you slammed the wet fabric in his face. his hands clawed at your shirt, nails raking against your skin as he struggled. after a moment, his eyes rolled back and he slumped to the floor.

eden woke up in a dream. instead of sunlight streaming through the forest canopy, he saw the ceiling of the cabin hazed in a light purple. the air was warm, tinged with the scent of drying herbs and pine. he could have sworn he was just in the middle of a hunt, raising his rifle to train it on a boar.

his body hummed. the hunter could feel the scratch of the blanket against his bare skin, the hot slick of sweat between his thighs, and the pull of the rope tighten around his wrists and ankles.

fear spiked through him. the memories of being strapped to the chair after winning at the fighting pits came rushing. this couldn’t be happening again. not after this long. after all this time, he thought he was safe, that he was okay, that—

“you’re awake,” you said as you walked through the door. the bed dipped as you sat down beside him. steam curled from a mug in your hand. “the valerian did a pretty good job of knocking you out, huh?”

“why am i tied up?” his words came out slurred, like he was trying to speak through a mouthful of syrup. eden sank his teeth into his mouth, trying to focus through the haze.

your nails tapped against the mug in contemplation. “to keep you from me,” you said. “if i hadn’t acted quickly, i would have had to buy new clothes.”

after a moment, you set the mug down and leaned over to look into his eyes.

“i thought wiping you down would help, but your pupils are still dilated,” you observed. “the spores must’ve got you good.”

he remembered the time you had first come across a flush of the strange fungi. they had fruited in the mushroom barrel, a cluster of yellow spheres among the fieldcaps and boletes. on that day, he dropped the firewood that he was hauling back to the cabin, worried about the way you were swaying. when he tried to ask if you were alright, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled his face to yours.

"you could have had me," he said, swallowing. in that moment, you had been so pliable for him. after months of dealing with your stubbornness, it had been refreshing to see you so earnest for his touch. "it would have been...easy."

a shadow fell over your face. “easy,” you repeated, pushing his hair from his eyes. eden shuddered, brief and sharp, at the sudden feeling of relief your touch provided him. "what fun would that have been?"

knowing that you hadn’t chosen to take advantage of him in that state not only made his heart warm, but his body yearn even more for you. this moment was nothing like what happened in his past.

“show me,” eden said, the words spilling out of him before he could realize what he was saying. the hunter had never been one to beg, but his skin felt like it was on fire and he needed you to touch him. he needed more relief. you were the balm to his suffering and the only person who could take care of him. “have your fun.”

after a moment, he realized that he had pulled the ropes taut by trying to get closer to you. in that moment, he was intimately aware of your presence: the scent of arousal and soap on your skin, the softness of your breathing, and your fingers resting along his jaw. he wanted nothing more than to close the distance.

“you know what i want.” your fingers lifted his face and there, yet again, was that hunger in your eyes. “are you sure about this?”

eden inhaled, and found himself nodding. he thought of the nights he spent alone, the years that had stretched between you two, the taste of you in his mouth. anyone else would have taken advantage of him, but you were the only person he would ever grant his submission.

“it’s you,” he said. "i'll do anything for you."

your hand slid down his neck to the center of his chest before you pressed him back to the bed, the sensation of your touch cool against his feverish skin. he bit back a whine, trying to keep himself from begging for more.

from the nightstand, you produced a small bottle of lube. your hand began to drift from his chest, slipping under the sheet, drawing a path of pleasure that made him groan.

“the spores dilate your blood vessels,” you murmured, drawing away the blanket to expose his naked body. “they make you sensitive to touch and encourage the release of oxytocin once stimulated.”

“did you, ah, learn that from your classes?”

you placed yourself between his legs. “i’ve seen a few experiments.”

hearing that sent a pang of jealousy through him. he imagined you dosing yourself with a tincture of active spores, blushing as someone else’s hands roamed your body. “you didn’t…join them, did you?”

“what?” you scoffed, pouring some of the lube onto your fingers. “i’m not like that.”

“i took notes,” you continued. the hunter jumped when he felt a long, slim finger dip between his cheeks, wet and warm with lube. “we live in the forest, so i wanted to know how something like that could affect you.”

“how considerate,” he said, breath heavy as your fingertip began to circle his hole. he hadn’t often touched himself there for pleasure, but the feeling wasn’t unwelcome. “any progress on that?”

“i think it’s promising.” you smiled, and slipped a finger inside. slowly, you slid the digit in and out, easing him into the sensation. it wasn’t until you pushed another finger inside and rubbed against something that made his vision go white that he gasped, half-straining against the ropes that bound him.

“fuck,” he grunted as you began to quicken the pace, coaxing moans from him that echoed throughout the cabin. he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to grind into your hand or into the mattress.

eden thought he was going to go insane. he’d never thought you would ever have him like this, that you would take him this way, that you would want him in this state. he glanced at you and saw the blush that reddened your cheeks as you watched him writhe.

a feeling cracked inside of him. the need to let go, to give in, to fall into the depths of your desire.

“so,” he panted, skin on fire. he swore that he was going to melt. “are you going to fuck me or what?”

you held the back of his thigh with your other hand and pushed yourself down to your knuckles, earning a whine that shut him right up.

“someone’s a little pushy today,” you said, sliding your fingers out of him. the lack of pressure made him shudder, making him bite back a whimper at the emptiness. “if i untie you, will you behave for me?”

eden nodded. it took a moment for you to slip off your clothes, the pale glow of the moonlight exposing your pert breasts and the series of scars that adorned your torso. once you were bare, he felt the rope loosen from his ankles. when you climbed over him to unfasten his wrists, he took your nipple in his mouth, drawing circles around the tender bud with his tongue.

already, he could feel his cock getting slick from your cunt. if he angled his hips right, then he could just—

you pushed him away, his mouth leaving a line of saliva that connected you to him. he felt the sharp pull of your fingers tangled in his hair cut through the haziness of his lust. “i told you to behave,” you warned him. “will you be good for me?”

eden licked his lips. it took him some effort to not grab you by the hips and take you right then and there. “i’ll be good for you.”

the rope around his wrists loosened and he felt your thumbs rub at the indents left on his wrists before you stood up from the bed to take the harness from the nightstand and slip it on.

eden watched you, half dressed in shadow, adjusting the straps so they could rest on your hips. over the years, your body had grown more muscular from working around the cabin—so lithe and strong. the hunter couldn’t keep his eyes off you or the harness wrapped around you. the phallic device was just as advertised: sizable and textured with lines reminiscent of veins.

obediently, he lied back on the mattress and prepared himself for what was to come, his cock stiffening in anticipation. after a moment, he heard you pop the cap off the lube and your fingers slick the strap-on.

“what made you want to do this?” he said as you settled yourself between his thighs.

a look of adoration fell on your face. “so i could see you like this.” gently, you touched his hip with your bandaged hand. “it’ll be easier if you face away from me.”

"no." he took your wrist, the grip tight. memories of being restrained threatened to surface. he thought of the hands, the mouths, the marks they branded onto his skin. "i want to see you," he said, swallowing. "i want to know that it's you."

“watch me, then.” you said once he released you, guiding the strap-on inside him as he held up his thighs. “i want you to see me fill you up.”

you fucked into him, slow and hot, the stretch and burn of the toy earning a groan from him.

"are you alright?" you paused. all of this was so new to the both of you and the last thing you wanted to do was hurt him.

the hunter clenched his teeth. he needed more. he needed all of you. “shut up and fuck me already,” he growled.

soon enough, you buried yourself to the hilt, the sudden fullness causing him to claw at the sheets.

“some patience would do you good,” you said, rolling your hips to loosen him up even more. between the strokes and the press of the harness against his ass, all eden could do was keen.

“even more of you would be better.”

“god, you’re such a slut,” you laughed, bending over to press your body against his. at the contact, his skin became alight with pleasure. “does that make you feel good?” you asked, gentle.

“y-yeah,” he answered, voice shaky. his head swirled. the hunter had no words for how euphoric he felt having you fuck him all slow and deep, how intoxicating it was to know that you could unravel him like this.

you licked at his lips before taking them between your teeth. eden’s hands raked across your back, low moans pitching out of his throat.

“you sound so nice when you do that,” you said between breaths, his shadow brushing against your skin as you kissed him. “what if i fucked you harder?”

“don’t keep me waiting.” he bit your lip, drawing blood. “you think i can’t take it?”

“i’m going to make you take it,” you purred, hips snapping forward as you quickened your thrusts, your new momentum encouraged by the pleasure you were wringing out of your hunter. underneath you, the bed groaned. his whines were trapped between your mouths.

eden’s breaths came out in short puffs. with each thrust, he felt his own orgasm rising and his gut tightening.

all of this was so good. he felt so full, so relieved within your embrace.

“you trust me, don't you?" your thrusts slowed. his eyes opened to find your skin shimmering with a thin sheen of sweat and your body flush with exertion. in that moment, your face had shifted to something more serious. “you trust me, don’t you? tell me you do.”

your voice was soft, tender. all he could see was the expression you had made all those years ago when you had asked him if you two could start over.

“yes,” he breathed, tangling his fingers in your hair. “i–i trust you.”

after a moment, you pulled back to pour more lube onto your hand before taking his cock and wrapping your fingers around the length of it. the hunter gasped, your name spilling from his mouth as you fucked him.

“i’ll always come back to you,” you murmured, thrusting into him so deep that he began to see stars. “i wouldn’t leave you.”

you shoved two fingers into his mouth. he sucked on them, mindless, tasting honey and tea as the gauze on your palm brushed his face. there was the sweetness of your fingers, the scent of blood on your hand.

with little warning, eden came clenching on the fake cock inside him as his own cock throbbed and pulsed in your grip. he cried out, legs shaking, letting loose a string of profanities as he made a mess all over his stomach and chest.

you eased your thrusts, gently pulling away from him. you took a deep inhale before loosening the straps on the harness and to slip it off and set it aside.

“c’mere.” eden grabbed you by the hip, pulling you closer. “sit on my face.”

you obliged, climbing over him to place his face between your thighs. his breath was warm against your core, his gray eyes hazy as they beheld you.

“it’d be a shame if i had all the fun,” he said before tonguing at your wetness, pulling soft moans from you. the straps had made you particularly sensitive from rubbing against you, so it was all too easy to make your core tighten.

“eden,” you huffed, hips rocking against his face as you held the headboard to steady yourself. “fuck, oh my god, oh my god—”

heat spread throughout your abdomen as your pleasure crested, your legs trembling as he sucked on your clit. although you were coming, eden continued to lap at your tender folds until you could barely handle it.

once your thighs stopped shaking, you pushed yourself off eden and lay down next to him, your bodies a mess of hot, sweaty limbs.

when he caught your eye, you smiled. his eyes were no longer dilated. whatever effects the spores had on him had passed, but his tenderness had remained.

“so,” you said, brushing his hair away from his face. this was your hunter, as strange and beautiful as the forest you had grown to love.

“you like the gift? sirris said i have to come back with a review.”

eden chuckled quietly, pulling you closer to him. he pressed a kiss to your forehead, gentle and soft. he looked at you as if you were precious, as if you were something he wanted to keep.

"being with you is already a gift.”

#eden the hunter #dol eden #dol fic #degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity fic #eden the hunter fic #oh my god i've been working on this for MONTHS and it's finally done #thank you for your patience 🕸 anon wherever u are #i hope you like this #honestly it was a bit of a challenge to think about how eden would want to submit #and then of course this became some kind of character study #my headcanon is that after a few years of living together eden starts to soften a little #but he never really lets down his guard fully especially at the thought of pc potentially running away again #but what happens here gives him a sense of security in knowing that he can let go even if it's just a little bit #and then pc is just like: i can fix (peg) him #after this sirris asks them how it went and they just give her a thumbs up #🕸 anon #my writing #divider by cafekitsune

29 notes · View notes

atlantablack · 19 days ago

Note

For the ask game uuuuuh 🍎🍍🍇?

Hi!! Okay, let's see -

🍎 Is there anything you straight-up won’t write?

Hm. There's definitely certain kinks that I flat out won't write - which extends to the omega-verse (just not my thing - though I have been bamboozled into reading it occasionally by some really good writers) I don't know if this is so much a refusal to write it, more like I am incapable of writing anything that's just....flat out bashing of a character. I've tried and I always just somehow end up with a new blorbo because I started trying to see things from their perspective.... Once upon a time I think the answer might have been incest but well.... this fandom has certainly swiftly cured me of any reservations I had about that lol - so yeah I can't think of anything else!

🍍 What kind of AUs do you like? Are there any AUs you hate or just generally have beef with?

Wellll I definitely have beef with the way a lot of modern AU's are written for like any fandom - a lot of the time it just feels like the characters get scraped down to basic tropes that could be copy-pasted onto characters any fandom :/ (but I have read some really good modern AU's! So.) AU's that I like well, if it's not obvious from what I write lmfao I love any time travel AU ever - if it involves time travel or a timeloop (or both!!!) then I am sat and listening and ready to go! Partly because of the angst but also because I find the chaos it causes from an outside POV so unbearably funny tbh OH actually!!! I do have one BIG hatred - and it's when a perfectly good, loving, really well-written parent is taken and twisted into an abusive/or manipulative parent to make a different character look better and yes I have examples I mean what but LIKE we're actually given a good parent figure!!! why are we butchering them!!!!

🍇 Is there a particular scene/episode/book/etc that you want to just write a million fics about, over and over? Which one?

I mean, the entire Silmarillion haha I've never lost my mind so fast about a book so definitely the Silmarillion no contest For an episode though, with Stranger Things I think about the end of Season 1 and the Steve/Nancy/Jonathan potential that was hanging in the balance there SO MUCH and I want to write about it but have no coherent thoughts so And for a scene I will just say, with all due respect (none), that the scene in Avengers Endgame where they butcher Steve Rogers character makes me want to write a million fix-its always

#thank you for the ask!! this was fun :)#atlanta answers asks #tag meme #if you're looking at the parent one #all I'll say is their intials are MP and the fandom starts with an M #and I shan't say anything else #if you know you know and god I wish i didn't know #but also I do just in general dislike that trope #Steve my love they did you so dirty but I can fix you <3 #also lmfao #Me joining the incest fandom: well I don't think I'll have any incest ships apart from russingon #also me not even three months later: oh.#i am a clown

2 notes · View notes

tauforged · 2 years ago

Text

every day is a battle to not beat myself up over every mistake and assume that everyone looks down on me cuz i’m new to this job. i’m getting there but oh my god is it a struggle

#entered a data point wrong this morning cuz i was in a hurry and a coworker mentioned it #i scrambled to correct it like oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck #teaching myself how the program we use works on the fly cuz i didn’t remember if anyone showed me how to edit past entries or not #and didn’t wanna sound stupid by asking for help #and then when i let her know ‘hey i fixed that thing’ and she was like oh wow really? thank you! i was gonna take the opportunity to show #you how it’s done but obviously you figured it out on your own. good job!#and i’m sitting there feeling like [laminated paper wobble sound]

11 notes · View notes

theangel-aziraphale · 2 years ago

Note

Aziraphale

Answer plain and simple if you could, please

Do you wish crowley was an angel? Do you think he isn't good enough to be with you as he is? Do you want to change him?

i am almost certainly sure you don't. But please, for heaven's sake, think back on that day when you asked him to return to heaven with you- after he finally mustered the courage to tell you his feelings after 6000 years.

You stopped him in the middle of this- only to suggest something that you know would be changing atleast part of his identity.

What were you forgiving him for?

Thinking back on all of this, what do you think he thought about those words? What he assumed you thought of as a mistake, something to be forgiven?

You're proud of being an angel. You should be - especially with your definition of an angel. You might honestly be the only one who comes near to displaying truly angelic traits.

For Crowley, however - you're the outlier. His definition of an angel, of heaven, of Good and Right, is so vastly different from yours- and thats the root of all this miscommunication.

Think, archangel. Don't let this take something you value so much away from you.

I… want him to be safe. I can protect him from all manner of things if he were an angel again. Finally he wouldn’t have to protect me anymore, he can relax and continue to watch humanity with me, in the safety of Heaven!

He is perfect as he is. I don’t want him to change, he doesn’t need to change! In fact all I want is for him to be happy.

But he is not.

I understand where you're coming from. I do. But...

I didn't mean I forgave him for the kiss. Of course he knows that... surely?

I forgive him always, when he sees himself as unforgivable. I forgive that he won't let us be closer. I forgive his refusal to be safer than he is. Or I am trying to.

I shouldn't be prideful as an angel. Really that is a sin. Of course... I am pleased being able to be a symbol of good. Of grace and kindness. And yet why do I feel like I am doing the opposite?

But not all of the other angels are bad! Muriel is a darling! Gabriel, at his core was lovely once, I think time and responsibility made him... cold.

Is it me? But the Metatron told me it was Crowley... Crowley is too stuborn however so clearly if it's not him...

#The metatron is right about most things being the voice of god and all of that...#aziraphale posts #good omens #good omens rp #good omens roleplay #good omens asks #good omens askblog #go aziraphale #aziraphale #aziraphaleposting #good omens aziraphale #good omens 2 #// oh. this is a doozy #//y’all thanks for helping me help this fool get some sense #//but unfortunately it seems things can’t be fixed so easily.#// but he is getting tired and starting to doubt things... himself... .... authority figures... no i mustnt say ....#//btw you wouldn't believe the kind of anxiety stomach ache all this drama between them is giving me phewww #// also apologies for long replies!!! I waffle!!!! and apparently so does aziraphale!!

4 notes · View notes

chappell-roans · 8 months ago

Note

the taste 😘 here r mine. bolded is my number 1 rn and i added some notes (if ur gonna cheat I am too lol)

ts: so many bops for a debut

should've said no

our song (side note she looked so fucking good in this music video idk what hold those fake curls and DCOM prom dresses had on her because she was born to be a cunty straight haired victoria secret girl)

honourable mentions

picture to burn (I hate that 👏 stupid 👏old 👏pickup👏 truck 👏you never let me drive 💃)

teardrops on my guitar (its a classic we must pay respect)

the outside

fearless: again, such a bopathon

forever and always piano version (superior version im afraid)

the way I loved you

honourable mentions

tell me why (such a good song to describe toxic partners and how insidious and common emotional abuse is)

you're not sorry

speak now: a third bop has hit billboard sir

if this was a movie (great chorus although i just realized the lyric is not 'come back to me Eli' lol) (usually one of the below would take this place but im feeling it rn)

never grow up (crying 😭 and its most constantly my fave top pick and won't fall out of the running ever)

honourable mentions

dear john

better than revenge (its problematic and its the cuntiest song shes ever written, the duality of man)

haunted

long live (its so cute i love it)

red: excuse me? I need to report a boppery

all too well (is anyone surprised?)

the lucky one (all hail joni mitchell)

honourable mentions

the last time

come back… be here

girl at home

1989: jesus christ… that's Jason Bourne a bop

wildest dreams (she owes lana for this)

style

honourable mentions

blank space

I wish you would

reputation: don't have a pun L moment :(

Don't blame me

I did something bad

honourable mentions

Getaway Car

Dress

Lover: somehow palpatine the bops returned (thank god)

Cruel Summer (she's an icon she's a legend and she is the moment)

Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince (has currently dethroned cruel summer)

honourable mentions

Death by a Thousand Cuts

Cornelia Street :(

folklore: the bop n roll hall of fame

illicit affairs

my tears ricochet

honourable mention

seven

hoax

evermore: certified triple bop (most difficult to choose)

no body no crime (so good like omg netflix limited series when??)

champagne problems

honourable mentions

willow

gold rush

tis the damn season

midnights: no bops head empty (lmao not really I just don't really listen to it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

would've could've should've

the great war

honourable mention

you're on your own kid

midnight rain ( all you had to do was stay's sexier older sister)

ttpd: the tortured bop department: pitchfork (5.5/10)

the albatross

the bolter

honourable mentions

I can fix him, no really I can (in an alternate universe theres a lana version of this song that would eat us all up)

Florida! (florence is an angel on earth)

and scene

uhsdnjczdsf cannot tell you how much i enjoyed reading this you got some good laughs out of me, and you have good taste to boot! like i have nothing to add but pitchfork took me out also like. amazing. made my morning thank you anon

#asks #anonymous #ts asks #ts talk #and now i want a lana version of i can fix him no really i can !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and oh yeah wildest dreams def shoutout to lana lmfao #i loveeeeeeee if this was a movie omg it's Perfect #and our song mv looks MWAH oh my god gorgeous girl #yeah obsessed with all of this thank u for sending it fr got my morning started on the right foot lol

0 notes

boyapologist · 1 year ago

Text

the pilot was rude to me <3

#like EXTREMELY #I said hi to everyone when I got to the lobby but I didn't introduce myself at first because I didn't wanted to just... hoover above them #because they were all sitting down #so I was just gonna wait until they were all up to leave to shake hands. nothing absurd. nothing weird #it doesn't fucking matter anyways #it's just a formality. they know I'll be in the flight with them #but then the copilot just stood up and completely ignored me and went straight to the elevator #and the pilot came to me and asked me (in a extremely rude manner) ''and you are??''#I was taken a back with just the way he asked the question but I shook his hand anyways and introduced myself #and he grilled me about not doing it earlier???#he was like ''you need to introduce yourself. ok? next time introduce yourself.''#like oh my god what difference does it make. it doesn't matter for 99% of the pilots. how big of a cock does this guy think HE has #it's not like I didn't say good afternoon or ignored them. I just waited to do it until they were all standing up #TO AVOID BEING RUDE #god. that's why I hate not having a fixed crew. I'm never asking for flights ever again #in the past two days I have met the most dispicable crew members I've seen since starting this job #all because I'm bouncing from crew to crew #but honestly. what a fucking asshole. thank God I'll only do one flight with them #we haven't even got to the airport yet and I'm always shaking in fear of what other outdated invisible protocol he's going to say I missed #just to show his power off #asshole. ugh.#and of coooourse it's a brasília flight. cursed. absolutely cursed.#rambles*

1 note · View note

celesteleoves · 1 year ago

Note

hcs of bakugou / todoroki being a hardcore simp for reader maybe?

“I WANNA BE YOURS.”

KATSUKI BAKUGOU/SHOTO TODOROKI x fem!reader.

summary: what the request said!

warnings: swearing (bakugou…), mentions of todoroki’s childhood (very brief), that’s it i believe!

a/n: i love this request. i hope i wrote this to your liking!

—

BAKUGOU KATSUKI —

he is a very subtle simp. you probably wouldn’t even think he liked you if you guys weren’t already dating. the way he shows his love for you is… questionable.

he does the simple things like following you around like a lost puppy (even though he swears he does NOT) .

he’ll definitely demand you never leave his side so he can always be there to protect you.

“you’re so weak, you need me to be there to protect you at all times.”

you’ll just nod, enjoying your boyfriends presence. (he’s actually geeking over you aswell and the fact you grace him with your presence).

he takes you everywhere with him and doesn’t care about what anyone says. oh, aizawa paired him up with kirishima? you’re coming with. you can’t stay a second away from him before he’s rushing around like a headless chicken looking for you.

your biggest fan by far, anything you do he’s practically on the floor worshipping you. then the next second he’ll be calling your outfit disgusting in the sweetest way possible.

he’ll also deny the fact he’s a simp for you. one time, kirishima caught the poor boy gazing at you, dare i say LOVINGLY, across the room as you did a mundane task.

kirishima has never grinned wider than he did when he noticed this. your boyfriend noticed the quiet chuckles leaving his friend and turned towards him.

“what the fuck are you laughing at?”

“you stalking y/n!”

“I WAS NOT STARING AT HER.” sure… liar. you literally just outed yourself…

bakugou loved you, even though he shows it in his weird, weird ways.

SHOTO TODOROKI —

the sweetest, sweetest boyfriend ever. literally the ideal boyfriend anyone could have SIMPLY because of how doting he is towards his partner.

he’s absolutely enamoured with you. he isn’t shameful about it either! (referencing one of my other head-canons) .

this boy will downright show his love for you.

we all know shoto has a hard time with social cues, he blames it on his childhood and the lack of social times he had – always being isolated.

that’s also the reason why he doesn’t understand why he can’t stare you down like a hawk and not expect people to be slightly worried… why is he staring at you like he wants to eat you?

cuteness aggression is a thing. you both get it when you’re with each other.

you can’t believe you managed to secure this boy. he never opened up to just anyone, yet for you he made an exception. you flex that all the time.

meanwhile your boyfriend is still in denial you two are dating. every time you bring up your realtionship he’s blushing like a maniac and shying away from you. as if he wasn’t the one to ask you to be his partner…

your classmates notice the little things. such as you placing your phone down face up only for it to be flipped a couple seconds later because todoroki fixed it for you knowing you don’t want people staring at every notification on your phone and invading your privacy (this is literally so me guys..)

he is very attentive, he’s SUCH a simp. he’ll pick up on the little things. sometimes, you feel like he knows you better than you know yourself.

there was definitely one time you had been making yourself a snack in the kitchen, forgetting to get one of your favourite pieces of food for the snack .

once your snack was made, you frowned at the missing piece of the food you wanted.

starting to get upset, you looked around for something to make up for this.

“here.” a soft, very loving voice spoke causing you to relax at the sound of todorokis gentle tone.

“oh thank god you’re here sho’, i can’t find my-”

“y/n. here.”

you finally looked at your boyfriends hand, noticing he was holding multiple variations of the missing food item you craved.

your lips trembled at his thoughtfulness and you pulled your boyfriend in for a hug as he returned it with a soft smile on his face.

he’s too sweet for you and such a simp!

—

a/n: guys, bare with me if there is spelling errors. this was not proof-read! i hope this was good enough, it was kind of short.

SEND REQUESTS! 🤍🤍

8K notes · View notes

littledes1re · 25 days ago

Text

Neighbours help

Pairing: Neighbour!Joel Miller x Fem!reader

Summery: when your Fridge breaks down in the middle of the day, what can you do other than ask your grumpy old Neighbour to fix it? aka thigh riding🫠

Warnings: 18+, praise kink, pet names, teasing, fingering, slight overstimulation, thigh riding, MEAN!joel, but a softie at the end, big age gap! (reader is 25-26/ joel is 60), kinda naive!reader, Dom/sub undertones, somewhat pervy!joel, mocking, joel embarrasses reader, reader get’s called dumb little girl twice, reader is really sensitive and cries in this, slight darcyphilia

A/N: I know nothing about repairing fridges y‘all. Also english is not my first language, feedback is very much appreciated. First time writing a bigger fic piece, bare with me please😭

Watching your neighbour sit down on your table after trying to fix the fridge in your apartment. His reading glasses on, looking trough the little instructions book that came with your fridge, a grumpy huff leaves his mouth. Your eyes fall to his white scruffy mustache and beard and then to his slicked back hair.

He looked so old— he was old.

Too old for you to sit there and stare at him while clenching your tights. But could you blame yourself? Grumpy face, pinched eyebrows, that tall and big build, his big biceps (you saw him once in a tight shirt in summer and your breath hitched), his ability to take everything into his hands and the stern demanding personality.

„What‘cha staring at, girl.“ he grumbled, clearly annoyed, his brown eyes landing on you.

Well, one contra point was, that he was so mean to you. Always rolling his eyes, a sigh leaving his lips, seeing you in the floor to your apartment, always having something rude to say even if it‘s mumbled under his breath. Always so impatient, never saying thank you and thinking he knows everything better than you. You tried your best to be nice and friendly to him, but he just didn‘t want you around, grumpy, irritated and so god damn—

„cat got‘ya tongue?“

You came back to your senses, realising you just have been staring at him like a fish out of water, mouth gaped and focused just on one spot. A little breath left your mouth, then a cough. Trying your best to be annoyed with him, you rolled your eyes.

„N-no. I‘m just waiting for you to finally do my fridge“ putting an attitude, but failing miserably because you were so so nervous around him.

„Can just leave, whenever I want y‘know…“ he starts „leaving you there with your rotten food in your fridge because we both know you can‘t fix it yourself, didn‘t even try it yourself, before coming up to my door bein‘ all ‚joel this‘ ‚joel that‘“

Oh he sounds so annoyed. But you can‘t help but feel more turned on than you already are, just the way he mocks you and knows that you can‘t talk back at him because you need your fridge to work again. He has a stern face on while he watches you, the little book lying on the palm of his huge hands. Your eyes slowly wander to his legs and torso, the way his lap looks so huge and so comfortable for sitting.

He coughed.

Your whole face turning red, you just wanted to crumble and roll into a ball so he didn‘t see you anymore. The worst of it all, his eyes landed on your tights and he saw the way you clenched them. There was no doubt he understood what was happening and you needed to get a grip and stop with those weird thoughts.

„Come over here and make yourself useful, c‘mon“

You stood up, your legs wobbling and the your silky short pyjama wasn‘t helping as he stared down your torso his lips forming into a little smirk, making you question his motives, scared that he will make fun of you again or worse, just straight up ask you what you want from him.

Standing besides the table you looked at him, trying your best not to look nervous and but it was all crumbling as he shifted in his seat and parted his legs just more, leaning into the chair and tapping on his thigh. Was he teasing you?

„C‘mere read this to me“ he tapped on his thigh again and your mouth dropped open. You looked at his smug face and then his thigh, not knowing that to do.

„Y‘have better eyes than me, girl“

So you moved around, holding on into his board shoulders, looking into his eyes and sat down on his lap. His hands gripping you, holding you tightly to make you sit comfortably, you moved a little bit, feeling his buldge underneath you grow. You don‘t even know what you were doing. As you comfortably sat down and grew silent, looking into his face, his eyes scanned your body, eyebrows pinching and he started…laughing.

„Dumb little girl, seeing a mans lap and immediately wanting to sit on it. Completely forgetting that I asked you to read this, huh?“‘

He held the book up, swaying it from left to right in front of you. Your face heat up again, blood rushing trough you because of what he called you. You couldn‘t help but buck your hips slightly, your panties earning a wave of gush, making him chuckle because now it was visible, your shorts were incredibly thin.

„oh i know. I know, baby. C‘mon turn around and read this f‘me will you?“ he cooed, making your shoulders drop your bottom lip turning into a pout and your inside‘s into mush. He rubbed down your back and pat slightly on to your bum, making you stand up again. Breathing heavy you stood there and looked at him, completely dumbfounded, not used to being handled like that.

He grabbed your hips again, sitting you down this time the right side, so the table was in front of you. His legs were together and you sat on top of them, your legs dangling from the sides and his head coming on your left side nuzzling into your neck, prepping few light kisses on your jaw and neck. The heat between your legs just growing more and more, feeling yourself get desperate for every touch he gives, getting dizzy at his smell and the beard tickling on your neck.

„There’s something written here in small print, my eyes not been the same the last 10 years, girl. Can make out what it says hm?“

His talking right into your ear sending shivers down your back, you wanting to just nuzzle into him more, not wanting to read and not wanting him to tease you anymore.

„mhm. S-says…—that it can happen that if too much food is in there, it can get too cold and it shuts it self down.“ you mumbled, your voice coming out small and shaky, even tho you didn‘t want it to be. Yes, he was making you feel absolutely feral but you still felt stubbornless, didn‘t wanna give in so easily but your body was betraying you. His buldge was just growing more and more against you. Pressing up into your wet panties, slowly but surely getting you off with just small movements on your clit.

Biting back a whimper, a moan, everything.

„Look at ya, can think well and do something you get told when you want it huh?“

You didn‘t answer, his hands on your body exploring your chest, rubbing circles everywhere, going down to your tummy, the warmth making you feel too much, you start to slightly move on his buldge, a whimper leaving your lips, another gush soaking your panties.

And he just laughs. Fucking laughs and goes back with his chair, suddenly removing his hands and you almost fell into the ground, holding tightly on the table, legs shaky and breathing heavily. You turn around angry, wanting to punch that smugness off his face. You felt embarrassment running trough your body, anger, but also a pulse on your clit, hating yourself for that, your body betraying you once more.

Feeling defeated you just looked at him, the fabric of your shorts now clinging with the wetness of your undies, totally visible. Tears coming up, trying your best to suppress them, that‘s what he wanted wasn‘t it? Just making fun of you for wasting his time like that, he couldn‘t stand you and you totally got off to that.

„Oh, poor baby.“ he mockingly coos, „standing there all embarrassed, with soaked panties and tears in your eyes.“

„Can y-you just go? you already did enough.“ you mumbled, deep down hoping for him not to go, to really mean it and to take care of you. But he wasn‘t that kind of man.

At least you thought so.

Suddenly his hands reached for the hem of your shorts, looking into your eyes a unexpected curiosity and genuineness. His eyebrows quirked up, like he was asking for permission, the room fell silent and he waited patiently for your answer. You could not longer take it, so you nodded your head.

His hand gripped your shorts and pulled them down, your hands coming and gripping his shoulders to balance yourself. He helped you get away from them and as you stood there with only your panties he took a good look at you, his glasses slowly sliding down the bridge of his nose as he enjoyed the sight.

„yeah, you need this“ he mumbled, suddenly thumbing at your mound over your undies, making you a whine leave you. You latch on to his shoulders just more, your shaky legs not knowing how to act as he rubs little circles on top of your clit.

„p-please. Just please“ you whimper.

„Begging an old man to take care of you, aren‘t you ashamed huh?“

You shook your head, no. Because everything was just forgotten but his fingers on your heat. He cupped your pussy, slowly sliding your underwear down, big string of sticky wetness leaving you, as you held your breath.

„God damn it, girl. Dripping like a faucet.“

Nodded your head impatiently, his gaze fixed on your pussy, while his one hand was palming himself trough his jeans.

„Just needed someone to treat her like the dumb little girl she is and she starts to absolutely gush.“

His words were spinning inside your head, the pleasure was too much to bare, you could almost feel yourself coming from his words alone, the tears and embarrassment long forgotten, you just wanted him.

„Sit down, not gonna repeat myself. That‘s all you will get“ he told you, stern, tapping on his thigh. You pouted, not liking the tone of his voice and not wanting only his thigh but his cock.

You slowly sat down on his thigh, him allowing you to get comfortable, your hands on his biceps, his hands on your waist stabilising you. After you sat down you could finally could take a good look at his face. The age spots, all those wrinkles, big puppy brown eyes and his beautiful white hair. You neared your hand to his glasses and slowly took them off, closing them and putting it on the table. His smugness was gone, but his eyebrows were still pinched, he still looked mean and grumpy.

While your juices soaked his thigh he cupped your cheek, wiping the almost dried out tears away, giving you a kiss on top of your forehead. You pouted, wanting him to kiss you on the lips, but he shook his head.

„Gonna give you something to pout about, if you don‘t stop. Y‘just need to get this little pussy off and that‘s all what i‘m gonna give you. Not want your annoying little ass anywhere near my apartment anymore, s‘that clear?“

The pout on your lip going away, a sting on your heart appears. He was just a mean man. He didn‘t want you and he still found you annoying. But that was quickly forgotten, as the pleasure was not longer to bare, you would take everything he gives you at this point.

„Uh-huh“ you nodded your head, but him noticing your disappointment also.

„Yeah, s‘a good girl.“ his hands gripped your hips, slowly but surely he started to move you on his thigh. The rough and textured jeans on your swollen pussy felt just right. You mewled; biting down on his jacket, his lips grazing on your temple „shhh, shh“ calming you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, suddenly becoming soft and sweet to you.

„please.“ you whisper, not even knowing what you are begging for.

„so desperate aren‘t ya, sweet girl. That no enough for you hm, my thigh?“ he coos, shaking your head fastly, scared that he will take away his thigh and leave you high and dry so it‘s better to just take his thigh and get off. In which he chuckled, while rubbing all over your back, your ass and stroking your hair simultaneously.

„joel..“ a whimper.

Your hips started to buck uncontrollably, chasing your high, while he helped you with his hands, holding your ass tightly, kneading it. You didn‘t had the courage to look at him, your eyes were squeezed shut as sweet little moans fell from your lips. Joel was concentrating on not to cum in his pants like a teenager, his gaze was on your face. Enjoying the way you were getting off, cheeks flushed, eyes all swollen you looked troughly fucked and he didn‘t even give you his cock. Yet.

„little pussy all rubbed raw and swollen…“ he murmed and this was all it took for you to release all over him. Gushing down his thigh, your legs shaking and moaning so loudly that joel put his hand on your head and brought you to his shoulder so you could bite down.

„That‘s it, that‘s it. Atta girl.“

You were a whimpering mess as he let you rode out your orgasm, stroking your hair and tapping his thigh.

„Was a good one, hm? Yeah that was a good one, baby.“

You mewled loudly, telling him to stop tapping with his leg on your pussy, earning a little chuckle from him, his leg slowing down.

„Too much, eh? So sensitive sweetheart.“

The room fell silent as you buried your head into his chest, small breaths leaving your mouth, his hands soothingly storking your back, noticing your sweet breaths just becoming slower and slower, knowing you fell quietly asleep on him.

Smiling to himself, his cock was stiff hard, leaking in his pants, knowing he will get off to this scene later in his room. Just like you always do, moaning his name and getting off. The wall were thin.

I think this picture with the glasses left us all in shambles✋🏻 reblogs are appreciated!! <3

Part two!!!

#HELP IDK WHAT IM DOING #NEED THAT OLD MAN THO #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller tlou #tlou #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #smut #dbf!joel #des1rewrites!

2K notes · View notes

chuluoyi · 1 year ago

Text

LOVER'S QUARREL

- fushiguro megumi x reader

“i can't do this anymore.” you and megumi are just too different; he's stoic, you're bubbly, he prefers solitude, you love being social. it starts with fights, words you don't mean, and ends with an event that would haunt him for a long time to come.

genre/warnings: angst, breaking up, post-breakup feelings, mentions and description of injury and blood, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end (you make up!)

note: dear god i’m finally getting this out of my drafts. loosely inspired by real life events i’ve seen around my friend’s relationship sooo it might hurt a bit 🤏🏻 but who can say no to angst to eventual fluff? tagging @lees-chaotic-brain and @kasumitenbaz (as per request in the ask!), you two are always here for my megumi works, thank you!! :3 and thank you for dropping by for the event!

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

general masterlist

Everyone pointed it out as a joke, that you liked him way more than he did you.

And you used to never let it ruffle you. To you, Megumi’s sternness and silence meant that he was comfortable with you. You never wanted him to change his ways just because now you were seeing each other.

But when you thought it over now, as you stood before him with an aghast expression and knives stabbing your kind, soft heart, you couldn’t help but do a double-take.

You were the one who confessed first. Most of the time, you were the one who initiated dates. You always texted him first, asking about his day, and even when he brushed you off, you would keep being this ball of sunshine and wished him a good day.

You never realized it before… that through everything, it has always been you. Unfailingly.

So how dare he spout this now?

“I can't do this anymore.”

"You... can't?" you spat out, feeling the first tendrils of anger course through you. "What exactly it is that you can't do? What do you even mean?"

"Look," Megumi stared at you squarely, and you thought now, that it was the coldest of eyes, straight and true. "It's always been like this between us lately. It's only right that we end this."

This, he said. He didn't even want to define your relationship anymore.

You scoffed. "And why do you think we always end up this way? Have you ever considered, even once, that it's because you make no effort at all?"

"I'm trying," Megumi quickly replied, almost in a hiss, and you almost recoiled. "But I just see that we'll end up nowhere, that's why I'm bringing this up now."

Oh, that freaking hurts. You boyfriend had just told you that this relationship would go nowhere. Right in your face.

Your eyes stung with tears, yet you fought to hold them back, fixing your gaze on the lamp overhead and inhaling deeply.

"You're... selfish," you stated, filled with ire. "You're always walking around eggshells around me, never telling me what is it that you really want—"

Megumi's unclouded eyes fixed on your trembling form. "We just disagree on a lot of things. You know it and it bothers you. It bothers me too. Rather than forcing our relationship, I think it's better—"

"It's always me!" you yelled then, lips quivering and eyes watering, unable to hold your emotions back any longer. "All dates, lunches—everything!" you locked your eyes with him, in mocking disbelief. "How can you say you're trying when, in truth, I'm the one putting in so much for us?!"

In that very second, Megumi thought that he hated seeing you like this. You were supposed to be the cheerful one in this relationship, and when he agreed to go out with you, he made an unspoken commitment to himself that he would at least not make you miserable.

And yet...

"...I'm sorry."

Came his reply, and you were sure that this was it.

And to rub the salt in your wound, he added, "I can't lie to you and say I haven't thought this for a while too."

As tears welled within you, you wondered and questioned what you lacked that led to this. However, the overwhelming sense of betrayal consuming your thoughts ultimately prevailed over any other emotions.

Now he could've appeared before you as a stranger and you wouldn't bat an eye, as the cold steel in his tone said, "And if blaming me is what it takes to make you feel better, then so be it."

You couldn't pinpoint the source of your sudden boldness, but in the next hot minute, you marched past him, your shoulder harshly colliding with his in a deliberate, almost spiteful manner—which, indeed, was your intention—and then you ran.

Which led to the next scene: you found yourself bawling your eyes out in the girls' lavatory.

Yuji and Nobara saw everything unfolding right before their eyes. They hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but you and Megumi were literally breaking up right the middle of their shared classroom, and it was hard not to follow the discourse until the end.

"Are you okay?" Nobara had come to your side, ensuring privacy by locking the restroom door out of your consideration. You were a sobbing mess, attempting to wipe the overflowing tears away while letting out all your emotions.

"He's..." Your voice faltered amid sobs as you gazed at your steadfast friend, your throat clogging up. "He said... he's been wanting t-to... break up with m-me..."

"That's okay, that's okay..." Nobara brought you to her arms, patting your back in reassurance. "Fushiguro is insensitive like that... don't cry over him now. He's just a wimp, okay?"

"Why is it me?" you asked her, voice brittle, still shaking with tears. "I t-tried everything! Being the supportive girlfriend..."

"If he can't appreciate what you did, then the problem lies with him," your friend stated, traces of irritation brewing in her resolute gaze. And as she firmly grasped your wrist, her next words resonated. "Not you."

. . .

"Do you really have to break her heart like that?" Yuji fidgeted with his hoodie, staring at his best friend with a blend of confusion and sympathy.

Megumi sighed, finally ruffling his hair into a mess, as if expressing his own state of mind. “This is for the best.”

Yuji’s eyebrows visibly creased. “How is this ‘for the best’? She’s miserable, and you…” he assessed him, scanning him from head to toe, “it doesn’t seem you’re faring any better too.”

“The longer she is with me, the unhappier she will be.” Megumi glanced at the bathroom’s direction. “She can deserve better.”

He was always too quiet, too boring, not able to match your energy too. He couldn’t fault you for expecting more, whereas he was just not exactly built for your expectations.

Megumi really thought he wanted it to end. At one point, it even felt like a chore, but…

How strange. Why did it feel like something was clawing at his chest?

Time heals. Megumi knew that by theory, but he really did see it firsthand when he saw you all giggling and happy again three weeks after he initiated the breakup.

With Hakari.

“Yo, what are you glaring at?” Panda asked, but Megumi didn’t pay him any mind.

An upperclassman, Hakari Kinji, was naturally cool and talented. He was laid back, knew how to have fun—all in all, a total opposite of Fushiguro Megumi altogether.

Three weeks. It’s only been three weeks since then.

“Megumi?”

Wait… Aren’t three weeks too fast to get over your ex?

“Megumi!”

“Huh?” he turned to the sentient panda with a jerk. “Oh, what is it?”

He looked at him with a concerned gaze. "Why do you look so scary? It's almost as if you're about to punch someone..."

But who was he to argue? He had no right to be upset now.

"Is it Kinji?" Panda gasped, finally putting two and two together when he followed his line of sight. "Oh Megumi... but you—"

"Just shut up, please," he blurted then, a hint of annoyance in his tone. With that, Panda didn't pursue it further, leaving him with his thoughts.

From where he was at the field, he could clearly see your radiant smile for Hakari. It was clear that the two of you shared a degree of friendship, but Megumi never knew that you two were that close.

...huh?

Why did the sight irritate him so suddenly? Why did his chest twinge again?

What a fool. You're the one driving her away, you idiot.

Suddenly these memories popped up one by one—

Of you suddenly hugging him from behind in an attempt to surprise him.

How he pressed his lips on the crown of your head when you fall asleep on his shoulder.

How you would give him that dopey smile when he pulled you close.

But on harder days after missions gone wrong, he’d ignore you altogether— the slight disappointment in your smile then. How your expression fell when he told you to go. How you slumped and looked back in hopes of him changing his mind.

“Haaaah.” Megumi turned away, unwilling to keep watching you any longer. Why? Why hadn’t it occurred to him before now?

Why did he long for you now? Why not before, when you were still his?

They were right. It seems people tend to desire what isn't meant for them.

What could have been more painfully awkward than being sent into a mission with your ex-boyfriend?

You would kill Gojo for this. Or at least give him the lowest possible score in his teaching evaluation for the year. How could he? Your breakup was an infamous public spectacle, so this setup was undoubtedly intentional!

You were losing your head over this, and yet your ex-boyfriend...

"Keep your guard up," Megumi reminded curtly, in a warning tone. He looked as vigilant and straight as always, as if he wasn't even bothered.

You threw him a dirty look, offended. "You don't have to tell me twice."

This just cranked up the discomfort to an excruciating level. The mix of unresolved tension and memories—okay, you might be an emo, but how were you supposed to be cool with all of these hanging in the air?

Your site of exorcism was an abandoned warehouse, and the cursed spirit in question was supposed to be a grade 3. You two were grade 2 sorcerers now, so you were a perfect fit to exorcise it. But there was indeed this unease in the air that you couldn't put your finger to.

"Isn't it awfully too quiet?" you unwittingly muttered, staring at the darkness of the wall. You couldn't feel any cursed energy belonging to any possible malevolent entity, and that was what unsettled you the most.

Megumi frowned at your line of sight. "It is. Stay close."

You blinked at what he said, and before you knew it, the familiar scent of him being near to you made your entire body burst with this equally familiar warmth. When you looked up to him, seeing the solid sharpness in that dark eyes of his and his jaw set, dead butterflies in your chest rose back to life again, against your heartbreak and better judgement.

Stay close, he said... So he is worried...

And in an attempt to hide how flustered you were, you looked down.

You walked a few good steps, when suddenly he asked, "So, are you with Hakari-senpai now?"

"Huh?" You spun around, your expression a mix of surprise and confusion.

"You two seem close."

Seem close? Seem close... wait, so Megumi had noticed...?

Suddenly, you felt incited and it made you angry. "That's none of your business," your voice carried a sharp edge, hissing. And you knew you were being a bit mean by adding, "You broke up with me, so why do you even care?"

In that moment, Megumi could've sworn his chest throbbed. Your cutting tone pierced directly into his heart, lodging itself there.

You had all rights to be annoyed, and he knew that. Why did that question even slip out of him?

"Nah, nevermind," he mumbled in response, looking away.

Awkwardness lingered afterwards. You hated this, but no, you weren't above being petty. He had broken your heart and it still stung even now. If your intentionally biting words did to him even a fraction of what he made you feel, then you would find a small sense of satisfaction in it.

But you weren't able to ponder about your mess of feelings further when Megumi abruptly yanked your arm, his voice soaking with urgency, "It's here!"

Sure enough, the grotesque cursed spirit with the shape of a giant bee broke through the walls with a bang. The two of you immediately readied your fighting stance. Megumi was ready with his divine dogs, while you with your cursed weapon.

For a while, you engaged the cursed spirit with all you had. You were trying to focus on the enemy, but you couldn't help but notice the way Megumi always looked at you every few seconds, checking for any signs of injury or harm.

Frankly speaking, he trusted your strength and knew that you were a capable sorcerer. You had been paired in a mission before and he knew both your potential and shortcomings. It was just there was something about this place that had his senses on high alert.

And his fears were proven true when you yelped and were flung onto the grimy floor. "Y/N!"

"I'm fine!" you shouted in a rush, scrambling to your feet. However, as you spun towards him, your scream tore through the hall as you caught sight of the bee lurking behind him. "Megumi!"

He got distracted. The bee quickly latched onto him and almost stung him, until he wrestled it off and summoned Nue and exorcised it.

You went to his side that instant. "Are you okay?!"

"I am." But then he winced and almost fell on his knees if you didn't have a secure grip on him. He savored your touch and breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that now you two were safe.

"Megumi! Oh god!" Panic surged through you as you pulled him close. His side was bleeding, and you widened your eyes at the sight.

"I'm okay, I promise," he rasped, looking you in the eyes. "What abo—"

Then you saw it, the flicker from deep from that corner of platform, and suddenly, you grasped the source of the unease that had been lingering within you all this time. It wasn't the bee Megumi had just exorcised—

At that moment, there was no room for thought, one thing was certain: you didn't want him to get hurt more.

He didn't manage to finish his sentence when suddenly you pushed him away with so much force he never thought you had. Everything crashed so suddenly, he didn't have the time to brace himself or grab you with him, as another cursed bee appeared out of nowhere and—

Reality flashed before his eyes as he stared at you in sheer horror. At how the cursed spirit tore your body, sinking its hollow stinger in you.

You didn't really know what happened next. Everything was muffled—the frantic movements around you turned into a blur, along with Megumi's yells. Otherworldly pain coursed through your entire being and your ears rang, then everything in your line of sight became distorted and faded, along with your consciousness. Next and the last thing you knew was Megumi's battered face, a final imprint before you succumbed to the void.

Megumi had exorcised the remaining cursed spirit and staggered to his feet—falling a few times, but he made his way towards you through gritted teeth. You are hurt. He forced himself to get to you and pull you into his arms.

And suddenly, suddenly, nothing mattered anymore as overwhelming terror consumed him upon seeing you. Blood streamed from your abdomen so much that it made a continuous pool.

"You stupid—!" He choked out, voice hitching. You were no longer conscious and it devastated him even more. "Hey, hey? Wake up—hells—"

You, who did everything you could to save your relationship. You, who cried tears for him when he blatantly broke your heart. And you, who put himself first—and now facing the consequences.

It crashed upon him in that very second, the clarity. What was he thinking back then? He still loves you.

"If you die on me, I won't forgive you."

Megumi scooped you in his arms, pressing you close to his chest, the blood seeping from his wound be damned as he looked at your serene face. His heart shattered in the worst way possible and he almost wheezed at the sticky sensation of your blood—and how lifeless you felt in his grasp—but he willed it away.

"Don't," his broken rasp echoed the walls as he took each step to get both of you out of this hellhole. He winced and hissed at his own injury, chewing his lip in frustration, at how helpless he was.

"Don't leave me."

It was like a distant, hazy memory.

Was it a memory though? No. It seemed far too real for that.

The throbbing headache pounding through your skull and shivers that wracked your body pulled you back to reality. There was a heavy pressure on your abdomen and any movement sent sharp pain shooting through you.

You gradually opened your eyes, squinting against the brightness. You were in a hospital gown, an IV was injected on your arm, and the sterile scent made your stomach twist, as nausea creeping through your guts. Your vision was still blurry as you tried to look around to find someone who waited for you. As you slowly turned your head to the side, you saw him, sitting in the chair right next your bed.

Megumi was sleeping in such uncomfortable position, his head resting on the edge of your bed. He appeared peaceful, almost childlike, devoid of his usual stoic demeanor.

Your heartstrings were tugged at this rare sight. He also sustained injuries and yet... he was waiting for you to wake up, here.

Your chest swelled with warmth, which was quickly followed by a sting of heartbreak. Still, you two broke up...

You jolted, and the inadvertent movement sent a wave of pain that seemed to paralyze your nerves, causing you to whimper. The noise woke Megumi from his slumber, as he shot his eyes open in alarm, catching your hand in his.

"Hey... Are you okay?" Megumi worriedly looked down at you with a visible frown, and the grimace of pain on your face, accompanied by trembling lips, was enough of an answer. He hastily scrambled out in slight panic, "I'll get Ieiri-san."

When Shoko came and got you the painkillers, your pain receded somewhat. Through it all, Megumi stood there, casting concerned glances in your way.

"Bedrest for the week," Shoko stated firmly, assessing your wound with a no-nonsense expression. "Your injury isn't minor—it's serious enough that you're strongly advised against excessive movement."

You could only nod in response. Megumi bowed. "Thank you, Ieiri-san." Once the doctor departed, silence settled over the room once more.

“Why did you do that?” he quietly asked then, referring to what you did for him. And when you turned to him, you saw it clearly.

He looked pale, and there was this haunted look in his eyes. It broke your heart a little.

"You were hurt." Your voice came out dry, and you realized firsthand just how parched you were. Seeing Megumi looking down never quite sat right with you. He was meant to be an unwavering presence, someone strong enough to sway your convictions.

However, a pang struck when he countered with stern eyes, "You didn't have to do that."

...he was right. You didn't have to. What he didn't know was that you were still holding on these stupid feelings, which drove you to shield him. It made you ponder: if your roles were reversed, would he not step in to protect you at all?

"Why are you here?" You weren't sure if the bitterness in your tone was evident, but you continued anyway. "You don't have to be here either."

"Don't have to?" His gaze bore disbelief, as if not believing your words. "I'm—"

"If it's because I saved you, Megumi—"

“Do not even think, even for a moment, that I won’t be concerned over you.” His voice, deep and hoarse, struck you to the core, silencing your words. “Never. I always, always want you to be safe.”

Your mind became a blank slate. Suddenly, all that mattered was his voice.

"Don't you realize how terrifying it was? Seeing you like that?" Megumi spat, his green eyes shining with intensity, teeth gritted and fists clenched. "How could you even think that I wouldn't be here—" his breath hitched, and then his lips trembled slightly, "—for you?"

You blinked quickly, a feeling stirred within you—stemming from that cursed, fragile heart of yours to be exact, evident from the rapid thumping in your chest.

You dumbly uttered, "But we are—"

"Oh, Goddamnit." Megumi cursed, and honestly you were taken aback. It wasn't really in him to swear, so this really bugged him. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and despite the situation, your heart skipped a beat at the sight. Even a mess in a hospital gown, your ex-boyfriend was still undeniably attractive.

He stared at you squarely in the eye, unflinching, steadfast and true, the very image of Fushiguro Megumi you admired from afar and fell in love with in the first place half a year ago. "You don't have to... say anything, if you don't want to. Right now... just hear me out."

And the things he said next... all of them, you could say, caught you entirely off guard.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not trying hard enough, and—damn it, for making you sad. I never, ever wanted to see you that upset."

Megumi drew in a sharp breath, averting his gaze. "And for days, I've wondered if you and Hakari-senpai are now a thing... and you know what? I hate it so much. I know I have no grounds to feel this way, after what I did, but..."

And like a train wreck, his final words hit you hard. Tears welled up in your eyes in immediate response.

“I'm a loser, and a coward too, maybe,” he shrugged, a tinge of self-deprecation in his tone. “And I suck at telling people my feelings, but I love you. I still do.”

A sob slipped out of your throat and you hastily pulled the blanket over your face, much to his surprise. He thought he had worsened things, with the way you were turning away from him.

But then, from beneath the blanket, in a croaky voice, you proclaimed, "Fushiguro Megumi, you're a complete and utter idiot."

And Megumi didn't know that he had been holding back his breath as he chuckled heartily, relieved that you would still take his ass back after this prolonged mess. He knew he still had a lot to make up for and was determined to show it through his actions.

"Maybe I am, yeah."

"That's possibly the longest shit you have ever spouted in one breath."

"Yeah..."

But he got his chance back, and he knew that you would be alright. Both of you are.

On one sunny day...

"Hey, are you alone?"

Megumi glanced up from his phone, only to be met with a random girl standing in front of him, batting her eyelashes with an ambiguous intent. He blinked at her curiously.

"No. Can I help you?"

The girl twirled her hair suggestively. "Ah, you see... I see you all in your lonesome and I think you're quite cute—"

The hell? Megumi frowned, and he was really about to give this bimbo a piece of his mind when—

Oh, oh. Forget that. Megumi's attention snapped to you on the opposite side of the crossroad. All pretty and dolled up with that crop tee and miniskirt he once mentioned would look great on you by a slip of tongue—that accidental comment earned him your teasing quips for weeks already.

"Sorry, I'm here for my girlfriend. Bye."

Abruptly dismissing the girl, he didn't catch how comically offended she was for being turned down in a span of 20 seconds. He took big strides towards you, as you crossed the street, and you immediately beamed when you caught the sight of his face.

"Megumi!"

Ah, this is going to be a good day, he thought. As he gazed at your pretty face, and caught your hand in his, clasping it tightly, reveling in your scent and the warmth of your presence beside him—

He was content, and once again it dawned on him, that he likes you so, so damn much.

"Let's get started on our date, shall we?"

9K notes · View notes

cressidagrey · 11 days ago

Text

White Horse - Chapter 21: June 2024 - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes:

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent. Apparently I am once again messing up my chapter numbering on Tumblr. 21 is correct according to AO3 and Wattpad though. No, you didn't miss anything, I promise.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/F1GossipQueen: DID CHARLES JUST REALIZE MID-INTERVIEW THAT HE FORGOT HIS OWN SISTER’S BIRTHDAY??? HELP LMAO

@/monacosfinest: "Wait… we forgot." Nah, Charles, YOU forgot. The whole damn family forgot. How do you ALL forget???

@/f1tea:The way Charles’ whole face DROPPED when he put the dates together… This is cinema.

@/isabellesimpgc: This man just short-circuited ON CAMERA realizing he forgot his little sister’s birthday. I would be in hiding.

@/horsegirlupdates: ISABELLE WAS AT THE MONACO GP. SHE CELEBRATED WITH THEM. SHE SAID NOTHING. SHE JUST LET THEM ALL FORGET. I’M SICK.

@/f1trolls:Charles: "Do you have my phone? I need to fix this." Bro, there is no fixing this.

@/girlinthepaddock: The fact that Isabelle hasn’t posted ANYTHING since Monaco…

@/charlesleclercfans:Charles, buddy, you’re not getting out of this one 💀

@/f1chaos:Charles really went from “living his childhood dream” to “realizing he was the worst brother in real-time” in under five seconds. Iconic.

@/monacoprincess:The way he literally STOPPED TALKING, STARED INTO THE VOID, and then went, "Wait… we forgot." BRO. YOU FORGOT. YOU.

@/paddockgirlies:Isabelle spent her whole life supporting her brothers and they couldn’t even remember her birthday??? She didn’t even TELL them they forgot, she just let them be happy while she suffered in silence. I’M SICK.

@/girlwhocriessports: Okay but imagine being Charles and realizing ON LIVE TV that you forgot your sister’s birthday while the entire world watches. This is worse than any DNF he’s ever had.

@/ferrariwoes: Charles, in Monaco: "This is the best day of my life!"Charles, two weeks later in Canada: "Oh my god, I forgot my sister’s birthday."

@/isabellesimp: She just kept quiet and let them all forget. She didn’t even correct them. She probably just went home alone and cried. Do you understand how HEARTBREAKING that is????

@/paddockinsider: Ferrari’s biggest strategy blunder this year wasn’t even on the track—it was the entire Leclerc family forgetting Isabelle’s birthday.

@/F1TeaSpiller: Not Charles Leclerc realizing DURING AN INTERVIEW that he forgot his own sister’s birthday… and then Arthur and Lorenzo probably finding out THROUGH HIM. This family is actually unbelievable.

🔗 Clip attached

@/GridGossip:So let me get this straight:

Isabelle was in Monaco the entire weekend.

She celebrated Charles’ win with him.

She didn’t say a word about her own birthday.

And not a single one of her brothers remembered.

They really just treat her like she doesn’t exist, huh?

@/TifosiDrama:Not a single post. Not a single mention. She was right there, and they STILL forgot. I don’t blame her for ignoring them now.

@/OversteerObsessed: So you’re telling me Isabelle’s birthday was on the same day as Charles winning Monaco for the first time ever, and they were so caught up in the win that they just… forgot about her?? I’m actually speechless.

@/FormulaShady: The Leclerc brothers are about to have the worst sibling PR disaster in F1 history. Isabelle is LITERALLY the forgotten Leclerc.

@/WheelyFastWAGs: Isabelle spent years supporting her brothers—showing up to races whenever she could, celebrating their successes—and they can’t even remember her BIRTHDAY?!

@/TyreDegAndDrama: No, but let’s really sit with this: she was literally there. Not far away. Not off somewhere else. She was in Monaco, with them, and not one person thought, “Oh hey, it’s Isabelle’s birthday.”

@/OvercutOverload: Charles’ brain loading like an old Windows XP computer when the journalist asked about winning on his sister’s birthday.

@/Lap1Carnage: I need you all to understand how humiliating this is. You are a public figure. You win Monaco. A journalist gives you the perfect setup to say something nice about your sister. And instead, you find out ON LIVE TV that you forgot her birthday.

@/TifosiTears: I would like to formally apologize to Isabelle for ever associating her with the rest of them. She deserved better.

@/ChaosMode: The fact that fans remembered her birthday but her own brothers didn’t… Yeah, I’d be ignoring them too.

@/PaddockClownery: Imagine your family finally realizing they forgot your birthday WEEKS LATER because a journalist had to remind them. The bar is in hell.

@/F1BurnerAccount: The way he didn’t even tried to play it off like “Oh yeah, we celebrated privately” or something. Just full, raw realization on live TV.

@/F1Shambles: The fact that Isabelle has been radio silent on social media ever since Charles’ Monaco win is crazy. Not a single like, comment, or post. Just pure, calculated silence.

@/F1Shambles: The worst part? She did congratulate Charles. She literally posted on her story, “So proud of you, Charles!” right after the race, and then? Poof. She disappeared.

@/TifosiTears: No, because the fact that Isabelle still took the time to post a congrats for Charles, even after they forgot her birthday, and then just vanished is so much worse.

@/Lap1Carnage: So you’re telling me she remembered her brother’s biggest moment, but not a single one of them remembered her birthday? Yeah, no, that’s insane.

@/PaddockDrama: She posted for Charles, probably waited the whole day for someone to remember, and then dipped. That’s actually heartbreaking.

@/FrontWingDamage: Okay, but like… does anyone know if she had people around her that day? Like, friends? A boyfriend? Someone who did remember?

@/TyreDegAndDrama: I need to believe that someone in her life actually gave her the love she deserved that day, because if she spent it completely alone while celebrating Charles?? I will LOSE IT.

@/LightsOutDrama: It’s actually insane that her whole family was busy celebrating Charles, and not one of them was like, “Oh wait, isn’t today also Isabelle’s birthday?”

@/PaddockGossip: At this point, I’m praying she has some secret friend group or a boyfriend who treated her like a queen that day, because her family really did nothing.

@/ChaosMode: We need a national investigation into Isabelle Leclerc’s inner circle. I refuse to believe that nobody took care of her that day.

@/WDCworthy: What if she’s actually in a happy, secret relationship and her boyfriend was the only one who celebrated her? Imagine the plot twist.

@/PaddockMess: I swear if she had to spend her birthday alone, while her whole family was out celebrating Charles, I’m gonna start swinging.

@/OvercutOverload: The fact that she stayed silent instead of calling them out makes it so much worse. She didn’t even fight them on it. She just… left.

@/TyreWhisperer: This whole thing is giving “quietly heartbroken but won’t let it show” energy, and I hate it here.

@/PaddockBanter: Honestly, I don’t even need her to forgive them. I just want her to be happy with people who actually appreciate her.

@/LightsOutSlander: Praying she has a secret billionaire boyfriend who flies her around on private jets and showers her in designer gifts, because her family clearly isn’t doing their job.

@/PaddockRoyalty: This woman is literally giving “soft-spoken princess energy.” I need her to have a rich, older boyfriend who treats her like absolute royalty.

@/IsabelleLeclercFanclub: Forget the Leclerc brothers. We’re officially in our Protect Isabelle at All Costs era.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Charles Leclerc

Charles: I just realised. I just—I can’t believe I forgot. Your birthday. Monaco. You were there. And we didn’t say a word. I didn’t say a word.

Charles:You smiled at me. You waved. And I didn’t even remember it was your day. I’m so, so sorry.

Charles: Please call me. Please. I need to talk to you.

Charles: I didn’t mean to forget. I swear. I didn’t— God, Isabelle. Please just pick up.

[Incoming Call: Charles Leclerc → Belle Verstappen] Status: No answer. Call forwarded to voicemail.

Charles (Voicemail): Isabelle, it’s me. Please pick up. I know I don’t deserve that right now but I… I need to hear your voice. I need to know you’re okay. We messed up. I messed up. I forgot the one day I shouldn’t have. And I didn’t even notice. I don’t know how I let that happen. I love you. Please… just call me back. Please.

***

Text Messages: Emilie Abadie & Max Verstappen

Emilie: He finally realized. Charles. The birthday. Belle. It hit him. Live. On camera. Mid-interview. It was honestly Oscar-worthy.

Max: wait what

Max: CHARLES REALISED??

Emilie: Karun Chandhok brought it up during the post-race interview and you could see the panic download into his brain in real time. I watched it happen. It was magnificent.

Max:Since when are you watching press conferences?? You once told me F1 was “cars doing ring-around-the-rosy with ego problems.”

Emilie: I still stand by that! But I had a feeling someone was going to slip. And I was right.

Max: Belle hasn’t texted me yet.

Emilie: Same. I tried calling. Went straight to voicemail. I’m going over. She might not answer the door but I’m staying the night either way.

Max: Thank you. Really

Emilie: She’s my best friend. You think I’d leave her to spiral alone while the entire Leclerc clan is just now realizing they’ve been garbage?

Max: I’m so pissed, Emilie. They made her feel invisible. And now they’re shocked she walked away?

Emilie: They don’t get to play the concerned family card after a year of not seeing her. After missing her birthday.

Max: She was right there. In the garage. She waved at Charles.

Emilie: And he smiled right through her. I’ve never wanted to throw an expensive shoe at someone more.

Max: you should’ve I would’ve paid the fine

Emilie: Consider it noted for next time.

Max: Let me know when you’re with her Tell her I love her Tell her I am coming straight home.

Emilie: I’ll tell her.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Pascale)

Charles: guys GUYS we forgot Belle’s birthday

Charles: we forgot her birthday it was TWO WEEKS AGO she was IN THE GARAGE IN MONACO

Arthur: wait what …wait WHAT

Pascale: Charles, what are you talking about? We didn’t— … Oh mon dieu.

Charles: she didn’t say anything she just stood there and none of us said a word

Arthur: okay wait has anyone spoken to her since then?

Charles: I texted her about Canada no reply

Pascale: She hasn’t answered me either.

Arthur: I haven’t heard from her since I asked if she was coming to the factory visit. That was like… the week after Monaco?

Charles: she hasn’t answered ANY of us?? FOR TWO WEEKS??

Lorenzo: I just caught up. I’m going to her apartment. Right now.

Charles: please tell her I’m sorry tell her I didn’t mean to forget I didn’t—

Arthur: we all did, Charles don’t make it sound like it’s just you

Pascale: This isn’t about blame. It’s about fixing it.

Lorenzo: I’ll message when I get there. Don’t blow up her phone. Let me check she’s okay.

Charles: okay thank you

Arthur: tell her we love her please

Lorenzo: I’ll handle it. Let me talk to her. Just… give her space. Don’t crowd her all at once.

Charles: Okay. Please let us know when you get there.

***

Call & Message Log – Belle Verstappen’s Phone

(Missed Calls and Messages – All timestamps in Monaco Time)

Incoming Calls:

Charles Leclerc (19:02) – Missed Call → Voicemail Left

Arthur Leclerc (19:15) – Missed Call

Emilie Abadie (19:20) - Missed Call

Pascale Leclerc (19:27) – Missed Call

Arthur Leclerc (19:39) – Missed Call

Pascale Leclerc (20:01) – Missed Call → No voicemail

Arthur Leclerc: 19:17

Belle, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise either. I don’t even know how we missed it. Please text me back. I’m freaking out a little.

19:22

Are you okay? Please just say something. Anything.

20:03

I’m so sorry. We were idiots.

Pascale Leclerc: 19:25

Ma chérie… I didn’t realise. I thought I messaged you, but I sent it to Charles by mistake. That’s not an excuse. You deserved more. Always. Please let me come see you. I miss you.

20:12

We didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to forget. I love you, mon ange.

***

The sun had dipped low behind the Monaco rooftops, casting the living room in honeyed gold. The windows were cracked open, letting in the hum of the sea and the occasional passing scooter. The only sound inside the apartment was the faint, rhythmic purr of cats.

Belle was asleep on the couch, curled sideways with a throw blanket tangled around her legs. One of Max’s hoodies was pulled over her tank top, far too big on her and smelling faintly of motor oil and cedarwood. Sassy was curled on her feet, Lilly sprawled along her hip like a guard, and Jimmy had claimed the pillow beside her head, face pressed dramatically into her hair like he paid rent.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. She’d only meant to rest her eyes.

But the last few days had caught up with her: the tension, the silence, the weight of being both forgotten and known too well.

The buzz of the apartment buzzer stirred her cats but not her. Only when Emilie let herself in—quietly, using the key Belle had given her months ago—did Sassy finally stretch and jump down, tail flicking as if to say you’re late.

Emilie padded through the flat on socked feet, arms full of a canvas tote bag stuffed with snacks, a fuzzy blanket she’d stolen from Belle’s apartment once and never returned, and a bottle of overpriced juice she insisted helped with “emotional hydration.”

She spotted Belle still asleep, cats half-glued to her like warm, fuzzy armor, and her heart cracked open.

Of course Belle had fallen asleep like this. Of course she hadn’t answered her phone.

Emilie set the tote on the coffee table and sank to her knees beside the couch, brushing a strand of hair from Belle’s face.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Sleeping Beauty.”

Belle blinked slowly. Her voice, when it came, was husky and quiet.

“Mm. What time is it?”

“Almost eight.” Emilie smiled gently. “You missed Max’s win.”

Belle sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes as Lilly gave a sleepy grumble and re-settled herself in her lap.

“He won?”

Emilie nodded. “Dominated. It was very on-brand. I texted him back for you. Said congrats and that you were passed out under a pile of cats.”

Belle huffed a breath of a laugh. “Thanks.”

“He asked if you were okay.”

“I’m…” Belle paused. “Better, now.”

Emilie hesitated, then sat down beside her fully, the cushions dipping slightly. “Charles realised.”

Belle’s body stilled.

“During the post-race interview. Karun Chandhok mentioned Monaco. Said something about your birthday being the same day as his win. And you could see it—click. Like his brain got punched in the face.” Emilie’s voice was flat. “He didn’t realise, Belle. Not until someone reminded him you exist.”

Belle exhaled slowly, hands curled in the fabric of the hoodie. “And now he’s spiraling?”

“Of course. Called you. Texted you. Voicemails. I think Arthur’s panicking too. Pascale’s probably mid-emotional breakdown.”

Belle looked over, finally meeting her best friend’s eyes. “You’re watching press conferences now?”

Emilie shrugged, suddenly sheepish. “Lando made a joke on Twitch last week that press media days are ‘elite chaos.’ I got curious. Stayed for the spectacle. Didn’t expect it to turn into a soap opera starring your brother.”

Belle blinked. Then grinned—softly, genuinely—for the first time in days. “You’re watching F1 now because of Lando Norris?”

Emilie lifted her chin. “It’s not serious. It’s anthropological.”

Belle laughed, the sound cracking slightly at the edges, but real.

“I’m also staying here tonight,” Emilie added, pulling a blanket from the tote and draping it over them both. “Because I love you. And because Max will kill me if I leave you alone.”

Belle rested her head against Emilie’s shoulder, voice small. “You don’t have to fix it.”

“I’m not here to fix it,” Emilie murmured. “I’m here so you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

Belle closed her eyes again.

The texts from Charles buzzed softly on the coffee table. She didn’t reach for them. She didn’t need to.

Not tonight.

She had Emilie. She had Max. She had a stuffed lion upstairs and cats who loved her without question. And when she was ready—on her terms—she would decide if the rest of them deserved her again.

But for now?

She ignored the buzzing.

And let herself be held.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sergeant, Esteban Ocon, Lance Stroll and Valtteri Bottas)

Oscar: He figured it out. CHARLES FINALLY FIGURED IT OUT.

Lando: WAIT WHAT SOMEONE PLEASE CONFIRM

Daniel: Karun said it was Belle’s birthday during the Monaco win and you could see Charles’ soul leave his body in real time. It was glorious

Carlos: He needed the right trigger (also I am still mad)

Lewis: He was fully smiling at first Then hit the mental brick wall of oh no

George Russell: The smile-drop was cinematic. Might’ve been the most emotional acting we’ve seen all season.

Alex: Does anyone have the clip? For science?

Nico H.: I have it bookmarked.

Sebastian: He really didn’t realise until that exact moment? Not even a whisper before?

Zhou: I still can’t believe it took someone else saying her name for him to remember she has a birthday.

Logan: No, no, let’s all take a moment: He had an entire win In Monaco In front of his family And forgot his sister’s birthday

Oscar: SHE WAVED AT HIM.

Carlos: IN THE GARAGE IN FERRARI RED

Fernando: Imagine forgetting a sister who treats you like that.

Lance: My jaw is still on the floor. He spiraled like he was trapped in a washing machine

David: Live PR disaster. I actually winced.

Sergio Pérez: Dios mío. Max is going to be furious

Nico R.: Max doesn’t need to say a word. His existence is already revenge enough

George: Speaking of Max: Has anyone checked if he’s okay?

Oscar: He’s not. But he’ll be home soon.

Valtteri: This chat is giving Drive to Survive a run for its money

Lando: IMAGINE BEING BELLE Standing there. Birthday. Monaco. Forgotten. AND secretly married to Max Verstappen???

Daniel: Plot twist: she should dropped the wedding photos on Charles’ birthday Just for symmetry

Carlos: Don’t give me ideas I will do it

Oscar: He didn’t remember Until someone else reminded him she existed.

George: True.

Lewis Hamilton: Justice for Belle.

Daniel Ricciardo: Justice. And snacks. And ten thousand cats. She deserves it all.

Fernando: And peace. Away from that chaos.

Kimi: Took him long enough.

***

Lorenzo stood at the foot of Isabelle’s old apartment building, staring up at the cream-colored stone façade like it might blink back at him. The shutters were open on the third floor—her floor—but nothing inside looked familiar. No string lights. No potted herbs on the windowsill. No pale curtains drifting in the breeze the way they used to when she’d leave the balcony door cracked open for the sea air.

He buzzed the door anyway.

Once. Then again.

No response.

The hallway was quieter than he remembered. Less lived-in. The echoes of memory were louder than the footsteps on the stairs as he climbed, more out of muscle memory than belief. He reached her old door and knocked.

No answer.

He stood there, unsure of what to do. His hands itched to call someone—Charles, Pascale, anyone—but that wouldn’t fix this. Not yet.

Then the door across the hall creaked open.

“Looking for Isabelle?” a warm, vaguely amused voice asked.

Lorenzo turned. An older woman stood in the doorway, wearing a robe and holding a mug of tea. Madame Fortier. He remembered her vaguely—Belle used to bring her pastries sometimes when she baked too much.

“Yes,” he said, suddenly unsure of his voice. “Is she home?”

The woman smiled, kind but surprised.

“Darling, she moved out almost a year ago.”

Lorenzo froze.

“What?”

Madame Fortier nodded. “Lovely girl. Packed everything very neatly. She left a plant on my windowsill as a thank-you.”

A beat passed. Lorenzo’s pulse ticked strangely in his throat.

“Where did she go?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

The woman sipped her tea, then tilted her head thoughtfully.

“Oh, she moved in with her boyfriend,” Madame Fortier said, smiling warmly. “Lovely man. Very polite. Treated her well, from what I saw. Always held the door. Picked her up in that fancy little car. She seemed happy.”

Lorenzo’s stomach dropped.

Moved in with her boyfriend.

A year ago.

And none of them knew.

“Right,” he said, the word catching slightly in his throat. “Thank you.”

He walked back down the hallway slowly, like his legs were moving through water.

Outside again, the sunlight felt harsher than it had minutes ago.

Belle had always been the quiet one. The background Leclerc. Never the loudest voice at the table, never the one asking for attention. But she'd been the glue. The calm. The one who remembered birthdays. Who showed up at Arthur’s karting meets with water bottles and quiet encouragement.

Who texted Lorenzo before his exams just to say you’ve got this.

And she hadn’t told them.

Not about the move.

Not about the boyfriend.

Not about… any of it.

It wasn’t just out of character. It was completely, utterly un-Belle.

She didn’t let people she loved run into walls like this. She didn’t let them go blind into guilt and panic. Unless—

Unless she’d stopped expecting them to see her at all.

Lorenzo felt that thought like a punch to the chest.

Had they really made her feel that invisible?

And someone else—some quiet, polite boyfriend in a fancy car—had known her better than any of them did.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Pascale)

Lorenzo: Update. She doesn’t live at her old apartment anymore.

Arthur: what?

Pascale: What do you mean she doesn’t live there anymore??

Charles: Lorenzo please tell me that’s not what it sounds like

Lorenzo: Her neighbor says she moved out. Almost a year ago. Moved in with her boyfriend.

Arthur: SHE HAS A WHAT

Charles: SHE HAS A BOYFRIEND??

Pascale: Since when?! She never said anything! She never brought anyone to dinner—did you meet him??

Lorenzo: No. None of us did, clearly.

Arthur: what if he’s the reason she’s not answering what if something happened

Charles: don’t say that don’t even think that she’s just mad at us right?

Arthur: no but— think about it she hasn’t answered in two weeks. she didn’t say a word about moving. not a single thing about this guy. what if she’s not okay?

Pascale: She would’ve told us. She always told us if she was scared. Or uncomfortable.

Lorenzo: Not if she doesn’t trust us anymore. Not if she thinks we stopped listening.

Charles: no. no. no no no. I saw her in the garage. She smiled. She waved.

Arthur: people smile when they’re drowning, Charles

Pascale: I’m calling her again. Right now.

Charles: Already did. Straight to voicemail. I’ve texted. I’ve DMed. Nothing.

Arthur: what if something happened

Lorenzo: We don’t know that. Don’t spiral. But we do need to find her.

Charles: I can ask someone at Ferrari. Maybe they know where she’s been.

Pascale: No. No more waiting for her to come to us. We go to her.

Arthur: but we don’t know where she is

Charles: She has a boyfriend we didn’t even know about She moved out a year ago She’s not answering She’s not talking to any of us

Lorenzo: Then we find someone who has seen her recently.

Charles: Who? Because it’s clearly not us.

***

Charles sat by the window, motionless. The clouds blurred past beneath them, soft and ghostlike, but he didn’t see any of it. His phone rested in his hand, screen black, battery threatening to die with a solemn 9% glaring up at him. He hadn’t put it down since they’d left the tarmac.

No new messages. No calls. No Belle.

He’d left voicemail after voicemail. Texts that felt like fragments of apology and panic, all swallowed into silence.

Across the aisle, Nicolas Todt had his laptop open and his phone pressed to his ear, murmuring in rapid-fire French. Every few minutes, he would pause, pinch the bridge of his nose, and mutter something like “catastrophe” or “this is a PR disaster.”

Which, to be fair, it was.

“No, non, it wasn’t intentional,” Nicolas said sharply into the phone. “Yes, we’re working on a statement. No, she hasn’t responded.”

Belle’s name had been trending since the post-race interview. Not because she’d done anything. But because Charles had forgotten her. On her birthday. In Monaco. While she stood right there in the garage, smiling like she didn’t want to be seen and knowing no one had remembered.

Charles swallowed the lump rising in his throat.

Across the cabin, Arthur sat slumped beside Alexandra. His arms were crossed tightly, mouth drawn into a hard line. He hadn’t said much since boarding. But his silence didn’t feel defensive. It felt heavy. Like guilt.

Alexandra was the only one not pretending to be calm.

“You forgot her birthday,” she said. Again. Quietly, but without softening the blow.

“I know,” Charles rasped, eyes fixed on nothing.

“No,” she said sharply, “you don’t. You forgot, Charles. All of you did. She was there. In the garage. And no one even looked at her properly.”

Arthur flinched beside her, but didn’t respond.

From the aisle, Joris Trouche—normally calm, endlessly competent, the kind of man who could manage a logistics meltdown without raising his voice—was pacing with thinly veiled fury. He’d tried sitting down twice. Failed both times.

And now, he stopped in front of them, tone clipped. Controlled. But barely.

“I’ve known Isabelle since she was thirteen,” Joris said, staring them down. “She sent me homemade cinnamon cookies when I was stuck in the hospital with a stress fracture. She used to ask how my mum was doing.”

He turned to Charles. “And you—she waved at you in Monaco. On her birthday. And you smiled like she was anyone.”

Charles opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Joris’s voice wavered—angry, but undercut by something else. Something personal.

“I’m angry at you,” he said quietly. “But I’m angry at myself too. I should’ve remembered.”

In the front cabin, Joris was pacing. He’d been quiet since takeoff, but now his temper was burning through the thin layer of professionalism that usually cloaked him like armor.

“I should’ve remembered,” Joris said suddenly, sharply. “I should have reminded you. I always remind you. And I—I forgot too.”

Arthur stirred. “We didn’t mean to hurt her.”

Joris snapped his gaze toward him. “You don’t have to mean it. You did it anyway. You only noticed her absence when it became public embarrassment. That’s not love, that’s damage control.”

Nicolas finally ended his call and shut the laptop with a soft but definitive click. “If anyone has a prayer of salvaging this, it’s not through spin,” he said. “It’s through action. Apologies. Honesty. Real words. Not just statements.”

Charles didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because Belle hadn’t responded to a single one of his messages. She hadn’t returned his call. She hadn’t even opened them.

And she always used to answer. Even when she was mad. Even when he didn’t deserve it.

He stared out at the clouds, jaw clenched, fists curled against his thighs.

He’d won in Monaco.

And lost the only sister he’d ever had.

***

Group Chat: GRID 2024

Members: Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz Jr., Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Daniel Ricciardo, Nico Hülkenberg, Lance Stroll, Fernando Alonso, Sergio Pérez, Esteban Ocon, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sargeant, Pierre Gasly, Yuki Tsunoda

Charles:Where is my sister? Does anyone know where Isabelle is???

Charles: I’ve called. I’ve texted. She’s not answering. She’s not at her apartment. Her neighbor says she MOVED OUT A YEAR AGO. She’s GONE and I don’t know where she is!!!

George: Charles. Deep breath.

Carlos: She’s safe.

Charles: YOU KNOW WHERE SHE IS???

Carlos: Yes. She’s not missing. She’s just not talking to you.

Charles: And YOU KNEW THAT?? You ALL knew she moved out and didn’t say anything???

Carlos: You forgot her birthday, Charles. You don’t get to have an opinion.

Charles: You KNEW?! You KNEW and you didn’t tell me?? You remembered her birthday and let me humiliate myself in front of the world?!

Carlos: She told me not to say anything because she didn’t want pity cupcakes. Her words. She asked for one thing. I respected that.

Charles: SHE’S MY SISTER.

Carlos: Then maybe you should have treated her like that.

Oscar: Charles. Stop.

Charles: No, Oscar, he LET me forget!

Oscar: No. You forgot. YOU. He just respected her boundaries. She didn’t want a spotlight apology. She wanted to be seen before she disappeared. And none of you did.

Oscar: Belle asked Carlos not to tell you. Because she knew you’d make it about yourself.

Charles: Excuse me??

Oscar: YOU forgot her birthday. You smiled right through her in Monaco. You didn’t notice she moved out. You didn’t notice she disappeared. And now you’re mad at Carlos for respecting her boundaries?

Charles: I have a right to be upset!

Oscar: Belle has a right to protect herself. You’re upset because you’re losing control. She’s not missing, Charles. She’s finally choosing herself. And you can’t stand that it wasn’t you who got to decide when or how.

Lando: ...wow

Daniel: Oscar just cleared the entire grid.

George: No survivors.

Charles: Wait. Wait—how do you ALL know where she is?

Charles: Wait. WHAT ARE YOU NOT TELLING ME

Pierre: wait why does this chat feel like everyone’s in on something except me

Lando: She’s fine. She’s not alone. She’s safe. That’s all that matters.

Charles: HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT??

Oscar: Because she’s home.

Charles: What does that mean??

George: ...not our story to tell

Carlos: Exactly.

Yuki: What is happening. I feel like I skipped an episode.

Lando: Welcome to Drive to Survive: Emotional Damage Edition.

Oscar: Charles, stop texting. Start listening.

Charles: I need to fix it.

Carlos: Then don’t make this about you.

Lewis: And maybe… for once… Try earning your sister’s forgiveness instead of assuming you’re entitled to it.

Daniel: All I’m gonna say is… maybe next time don’t wait until post-race interviews to remember the people standing in your corner.

Lewis: And maybe sit with this one for a while before demanding answers. Sometimes silence is the only language people have left.

Charles: … I just want to fix it.

Oscar: Then stop trying to own her pain. And start listening.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

Oscar: I might’ve gone too hard. But also I really don’t think I did.

Lewis: Nope. You didn’t. You said what needed to be said.

Carlos: I’ve been biting my tongue for two weeks. Thank you for saying it out loud.

George: You cleared him so thoroughly I think I need to book you for emotional landscaping.

Lando: You had him pacing like a dad who just realized he missed Parent-Teacher Night. It was glorious.

Daniel: Honestly? That was better than Spa 2021. You lapped him emotionally.

Alex: Did you see Pierre and Yuki’s confusion?? They looked like they opened Netflix halfway through season 3.

Oscar: They’re still trying to figure out why we all suddenly act like Max Verstappen is Belle’s guard dog husband.

Zhou: Wait. Should we add Pierre and Yuki to this chat? Like a prep class before the meltdown?

Logan: Absolutely not. They’ll trigger Charles into another “WHERE IS MY SISTER??” monologue and I’m emotionally out of snacks.

Esteban: Pierre would tell Charles.

Mark: Back to the point—Oscar, you did good. He needed the mirror held up. Guilt isn’t the same as accountability.

David: And accountability isn’t the same as entitlement. He forgot that. You reminded him.

Sebastian: You all know what gets me? She didn’t even leave angry. She left quietly. And that says more than shouting ever could.

Carlos: That’s what kills me. She still doesn’t want us to fight over her. She just wanted to be seen.

Lewis: And now she finally is. By the one person who actually looked before it was too late.

George: Max is probably already privately planning to change his will and tattoo her name on his chest.

Lando: He's in full "mine" mode. He’ll probably growl at anybody that comes close to her for the remainder of the week.

Daniel Ricciardo: Wait until Charles finds out. About the wedding. About the “Mr. and Mrs. Verstappen” monogrammed towels.

Oscar: He doesn’t deserve to even have a fucking opinion about it. And he doesn’t get to drag Belle through more of his guilt spiral.

Lewis: And if he does?

Oscar: Then we remind him. She’s not invisible anymore. And she never has to be again.

Sebastian: Long live Belle Verstappen. She deserves peace.

Carlos: And we’re making damn sure she keeps it.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria: I just saw the clip. Charles finally realized, didn’t he?

Victoria: I want to throw my phone through a wall. How did it take a live interview for it to click??

Victoria: Is Belle okay? Please tell me she’s okay. Tell me you’re with her.

Max: I’m flying back tonight. Emilie’s with her now. She’s safe. Quiet. But… not okay. Not yet.

Victoria: Of course she’s not. She was standing there in the garage and smiled at him, and he didn’t remember. I don’t know how she held it together.

Max: Because that’s what she’s always done. Hold it in. Make it easier for everyone else.

Victoria: Not anymore. She doesn’t owe them that. She never did. And if Charles tries to guilt her into “moving on,” I swear to God.

Max: He won’t get the chance.

Victoria: Good. And when you get home—hold her tight, okay?

Max: Always. I’ve got her, Vic. She’s not alone anymore.

Victoria: She better not be. Because if any of them make her feel small again, I will drive to Monaco and handle it myself.

Max: You’ll have to get in line behind me.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Jos Verstappen

Jos: Just saw the clip. The post-race interview.

Max: He only realized because Karun mentioned it. Didn’t even remember on his own.

Jos: I want to drive to Maranello and punch something.

Jos: You tell me—right now—is she okay?

Max: Emilie’s with her. She says Belle’s sleeping. Quiet. She hasn’t messaged me yet. But I’m heading home.

Jos: Good. Don’t leave her alone with that silence. She’ll pretend she’s fine. She’ll say it doesn’t matter. But this? This hurt her. You can see it in the way she vanished.

Jos: Belle doesn’t demand space. She disappears when she feels like no one wants her in the room.

Max: I know. She doesn’t have to say it for me to hear it.

Jos: I’m proud of her. She stood up for herself the only way she knew how. By walking away.

Jos: But I swear to God, if that brother of hers ever makes her feel like that again— I don’t care if he’s a Leclerc. I will make sure he never forgets who she is again.

Max: You’ll have to beat me to it. I’m not letting them near her until she says she’s ready. If she ever is.

Jos: That’s my boy. You take care of her. And tell her this family—the one she chose—has her back. Always.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Sophie: I just watched the interview.

Sophie: Max… he forgot her birthday. She was standing in the garage. She smiled at him. And he didn’t even blink. Like she was nobody.

Max: He remembered live on camera. Karun said something about Monaco and her birthday, and it hit him mid-answer. You could see it crash into him.

Sophie: God, I hope it crushes him.

Sophie: How is Belle? Have you spoken to her?

Max: Emilie’s with her. She says she’s safe. Sleeping. Quiet.

Sophie: She’s always quiet when she’s hurting. Always. You remember that, Max. The softer she gets, the harder she’s holding herself together.

Max: I know. That’s why I’m coming home.

Sophie: Good. She needs you. Not the Max who wins races. You. The one who holds her hand when she’s anxious. The one who brings her tulips on Thursdays because she mentioned liking them once.

Sophie: Because the people who were supposed to protect her? They failed her.

Max: I’ll never let her feel like that again.

Sophie: I know you won’t. Because you see her. And that’s the most anyone can give someone who’s spent their whole life being overlooked.

Sophie: You tell her I’m coming by next week. No pressure. Just lunch. And she can sit on the balcony and not say a word if that’s all she wants. I’ll just be there.

Max: She’ll love that. She loves you.

Sophie: I love her. And if her family can’t act like it, she’s more than welcome in ours.

***

Max sat in his seat, elbow propped against the armrest, forehead resting against his knuckles as the private jet hummed through the night. The win from earlier that day already felt like a lifetime ago. He hadn’t celebrated. Not really. He’d shaken hands, answered the questions, smiled on the podium because it was muscle memory now.

But the second the press conference ended, the weight had dropped onto his chest.

Charles had realized. Finally.

Live. On camera. Because someone else—Karun, of all people—had mentioned Belle’s birthday.

It had taken that long. Two weeks.

Max had replayed the press clip on his phone once—watched Charles’ face shift in slow motion from charm to dawning horror. Watched him falter, then spiral. And Max hadn’t felt a drop of pity.

Because Belle had stood in that garage. She’d smiled. She’d waved. And her own brother had looked through her.

Across the aisle, Lando was sprawled in his seat with a blanket half-pulled over his face, earbuds in, legs stretched into Oscar’s personal space. Oscar had given up fighting it and was half-asleep against the window. Daniel was flipping through something on his iPad, likely pretending not to watch Max out of the corner of his eye.

The silence was comfortable. Familiar. But Max’s mind was anything but.

Daniel had commandeered the seat across Max and was watching the proceedings like a therapist in a sitcom.

Finally, Lando broke the silence.

“Sooo…” he said slowly, cautiously, “how’s Belle?”

Max didn’t even look up. “Emilie’s with her. She said she’s okay. Belle was sleeping. Under the cats. Emilie said she looked peaceful.”

Lando hesitated. “Right. So… you know… she’s safe?”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re still brooding.”

“I’m not brooding,” Max muttered.

Daniel leaned over the seat, grinning. “Oh, you are. Brooding with intensity. I haven’t seen this level of moody since Lando ran out of oat milk last week.”

“Hey,” Lando protested, “that was a crisis. And also—can we talk about how terrifying Emilie is?”

Daniel burst out laughing. “So your crush is confirmed.”

Lando went pink. “I do not have a crush.”

Oscar stretched, deadpan: “You stalked her on instagram and accidentally liked a post from 2019.”

“That was admiration! That’s different.”

Max finally glanced over, managing a small smirk despite the pressure in his chest. “You are a brave man,” he told Lando sagely, who glared at him.

Lando groaned, pulling his hoodie over his head. “Why did I say that out loud?”

Daniel looked way too delighted. “Because you’re into emotionally terrifying women with sharp cheekbones and moral clarity. Honestly? Taste.”

Oscar nodded solemnly. “Elite taste.”

“I hate all of you.”

“You love us,” Oscar yawned.

Max’s smile faded again as he looked back at his phone. The moment passed, quiet settling again like dust.

Lando, quieter now, asked, “Do you think Belle’s okay?”

Max didn’t answer right away. He was thinking of her curled on the couch. Of Emilie sitting beside her. Of their cats acting like tiny sentinels. He thought of the unopened texts, the unreturned calls.

“I think,” he said eventually, “she’s tired. Of being forgotten. Of being an afterthought. Of being quiet and still never heard.”

The other three fell silent. Even Daniel looked serious now.

Max looked down at the screen. Still nothing.

“But she’s not alone,” he added. “Not this time.”

Oscar nodded. “You’ll be home soon.”

Max’s voice was soft but certain. “Yeah. And when I get there, I’m staying. No more paddock games. No more silence. She doesn’t have to carry any of it alone anymore.”

Lando peeked out from his hoodie. “You’re like… scarily romantic for someone who once said feelings were ‘a distraction’.”

Max huffed a laugh. “Turns out she’s the only distraction I want.”

Daniel wiped an imaginary tear. “Beautiful. Print that on a mug.”

Oscar: “Tattoo it on your neck.”

Lando: “Put it on team merch. Limited edition.”

Max smiled faintly, then leaned back, still clutching his phone.

Let them joke.

Because the second they landed, he was going home. To her.

And this time, he wasn’t letting anyone—not a team, not a calendar, not even her family—make her feel invisible again.

***

Text Messages: Alexandra Saint-Mleux & Belle Verstappen

Alexandra: Hey, Isabelle. I know it’s late. I just… I wanted to say I’m thinking about you.

Alexandra: Charles realized during the post-race interview. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so gutted. I wish it hadn’t taken that for him to see what he missed.

Alexandra: I don’t want to say the wrong thing. I’m sure a lot of people already have. But you didn’t deserve to be forgotten. You never have. And I’m sorry.

***

Text Messages: Alexandra Saint-Mleux & Charlotte Di Pietro

Alexandra: Hey. Just a heads-up before it hits you through someone else: We forgot Belle’s birthday.

Charlotte: …what?

Alexandra: All of us. Her entire family.

Charlotte: No. No way. It was during Monaco, wasn’t it?

Alexandra: Yes. She was in the garage, Char. Waved at Charles. Smiled at all of us. And not one of us remembered.

Charlotte: Oh my god.

Alexandra: Charles realized during a post-race interview today. The interviewer mentioned her birthday and I watched it hit him like a truck.

Charlotte: Is Isabelle okay?

Alexandra: She hasn’t answered anyone. Not even Pascale.

Charlotte: That’s not “okay.” That’s Isabelle shutting the world out.

Alexandra: Exactly. And the worst part? She didn’t say anything. She let us all forget. She didn’t expect us to remember.

Charlotte: Because we’ve done it before. Not like this. But still. God.

Alexandra: I texted her. No reply. She might answer you if you try. You’ve always been gentle with her.

Charlotte: I will. Thank you for telling me. And for not pretending it’s less awful than it is.

Alexandra: She deserves more than silence and spin. She always has.

Charlotte: I’ll try to reach her tomorrow. Even if she doesn’t answer… she’ll know someone tried.

Alexandra: That’s all we can do now. Try. And mean it.

***

The apartment was quiet when Max stepped inside.

Soft light filtered in through the curtains, casting golden stripes across the hardwood. The cats didn’t rush to greet him—they were already curled up in their usual spots, half-asleep and full of judgment. Sassy lifted her head briefly from the back of the couch, flicked her tail in acknowledgment, and went right back to sleep.

Max dropped his duffel gently by the door, kicked off his shoes without a sound, and padded into the hallway. Every step closer to the bedroom felt heavier. Not with dread. But with something deeper. Something like relief tied up in knots of worry.

He pushed the door open quietly.

There she was.

Belle, curled on his side of the bed, her frame barely a ripple beneath the duvet. One of his old shirts hung off her shoulder, too big and soft and completely hers now. Her hair was a mess, her breathing slow and steady.

He’d spent days missing her. And now, seeing her like this—peaceful, untouched by the storm her family had just realized they created—he nearly broke.

Max crossed the room slowly, sliding into bed behind her without a word. His hand found her waist beneath the blanket, fingers curling gently. His nose tucked into her shoulder, lips brushing against the skin just below her ear.

She stirred.

“Mm?” she murmured sleepily, voice raspy and warm. “Max?”

“Hey,” he whispered. “I’m home.”

Belle rolled toward him without hesitation, arms winding around his middle, burying her face in his chest like she hadn’t seen him in months. He held her tighter. One hand cradling the back of her head, the other tracing slow, soothing lines down her spine.

“Did Emilie let you in?” she mumbled.

“No. She left me a note that said ‘fridge is stocked, don’t screw it up.’” He paused. “Also, she stole my last protein bar.”

Belle huffed a sleepy breath of laughter. Then: “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” Max said softly. “I’ve missed you.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at him. Her eyes were puffy, tired—but clearer than he expected. The ache he saw in them was quieter now. Calmer. He reached up, brushing his thumb gently beneath one eye.

“They all texted,” she said.

He nodded. “I know.”

“And called. Voicemails. Messages. Even Alexandra, I think.” Her voice was neutral, but her fingers had curled into his shirt. “I shut off my phone. I just… I can’t deal with them right now.”

“You don’t have to.”

She exhaled slowly. “They forgot, Max. Not just my birthday. Me. And now they’re panicking, but not because they miss me. Because they feel guilty. It’s not the same.”

Max didn’t rush to fill the silence. He let it settle between them, warm and safe and honest.

“They’ll say sorry,” he said eventually. “But that doesn’t mean you have to forgive them all at once. Or at all. That’s your call.”

Belle swallowed. “I just… I don’t know if I want to let them back in. Not after this. Not when it took two weeks and an interview for them to notice.”

Max leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Then don’t. You don’t owe them anything.”

She closed her eyes, breathing him in. His presence. His steadiness. The way he never told her what she should feel—just made space for what she did.

“You always see me,” she whispered.

“Always,” Max said. “Every day. Every version of you. Even the one who hides under a blanket and ghosts her whole bloodline.”

Belle laughed, watery and real. “I love you.”

Max smiled, burying his face in her hair. “I love you more.”

They stayed there, wrapped in warmth and honesty and quiet defiance.

Her family could wait. The texts could sit unread. The apologies could pile up.

Right now, she had Max. And that was enough.

***

Text Messages: Max Fewtrell & Lando Norris

Max Fewtrell: BRO. You saw it, right?? Charles fully crashed his soul mid-interview??

Lando: Unfortunately, yes. It was like watching someone remember they left the oven on... and also their sister.

Max Fewtrell: Iconic. Karun was like “her birthday, right?” And Charles just downloaded a full panic attack.

Max Fewtrell: I screamed. Like—out loud. In public.

Lando Norris: It was kind of beautiful tbh. Like watching karma arrive with a mic and a production crew.

Max Fewtrell: Is his sister okay though? Do we know? Does she have a burner Twitter? I feel like she would.

Lando Norris: She’s fine. Emilie’s with her.

Max Fewtrell: Who’s Emilie?

Lando Norris: ... She's Belle’s best friend. Sharp. Dangerous. Possibly psychic. Says terrifyingly accurate things about my emotional state and then walks away in heels

Lando: She’s terrifying. Also brilliant. And she’s like…scarily beautiful.

Max Fewtrell: You have a crush on her, don’t you.

Lando: …I didn’t say that.

Max Fewtrell: YOU ABSOLUTELY DO OH MY GOD YOU DO This is the best gossip of the day and Charles had a meltdown on live TV

Lando: Shut up Also can we go back to Charles??

Max Fewtrell: No Because now I want to know why you know where Belle is And how you know Emilie’s with her And why you’re being so weirdly calm

Lando: …because I went to the wedding?

Max Fewtrell: THE WHAT

Lando: ...

Max Fewtrell: LAN THE WEDDING

Lando: Yeah. Belle and Max Verstappen. They got married. I was invited. Very small. City Hall. No media. Emilie picked the flowers

Max Fewtrell: MAX. VERSTAPPEN?!

Lando: Yes

Max Fewtrell: YOU MEAN TO TELL ME CHARLES IS HAVING A BREAKDOWN ABOUT FORGETTING HIS SISTER’S BIRTHDAY AND DOESN’T EVEN KNOW SHE’S MARRIED TO HIS RIVAL???

Lando: Correct

Max Fewtrell: I need to lie down. And then I need popcorn And possibly therapy But also more of this

Lando: Same. Group chat is chaos Do not ask to be added It’s war in there

Max Fewtrell: This is better than Drive to Survive You’ve been sitting on this gossip for HOW LONG?

Lando: Long enough to know I value my life And Max Verstappen would kill me if I leaked it before they were ready

Max Fewtrell: Fair

Lando: You think Charles is spiraling now… Wait until he finds out Max is family now

Max Fewtrell: My god. This is better than Netflix.

***

Lorenzo had barely slept.

After learning Isabelle hadn’t lived in her old apartment for nearly a year, he’d paced half the night in his kitchen, replaying every memory, every text, every moment he should have noticed and didn’t. His phone was full of unanswered group chat pings and hollow apologies.

By morning, he couldn’t sit still anymore.

He needed answers.

So he went to the one place he knew she would be at 8 am on a Monday morning.

Her job.

Atelier Renard Architects.

Clean glass facade, minimalist signage, nestled on the edge of the marina like it had always been there. Isabelle used to say she loved that building more than half her portfolio—it knows exactly what it is and makes no apologies for it.

The receptionist didn’t recognize him at first. He introduced himself politely—Lorenzo Leclerc, Isabelle’s brother—and tried not to notice the pause.

Then the woman gave a hesitant smile. “Oh… Isabelle. Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”

“I just wanted to stop by,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “She’s not answering her phone. I thought maybe she was working, or—”

“Oh.” The woman’s expression faltered. “She doesn’t work here anymore.”

Lorenzo blinked. “What?”

“She… quit. Months ago. November, I think? Maybe early December. It was quiet. No big announcement. She just cleared out her office in one evening.”

Lorenzo’s stomach dropped. “Did she say why?”

The receptionist grimaced. “There were some internal issues. She seemed calm. Almost… relieved.”

Lorenzo stepped back slightly, reeling.

Quit.

She’d quit the one job she had fought tooth and nail for. The one thing she always lit up talking about.

And no one in her family had noticed.

Not one of them.

“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said gently. “I assumed you knew.”

Lorenzo nodded stiffly. “No, thank you. You’ve been kind.”

He left quickly. Didn’t wait for anything more.

Outside, he leaned against the edge of a planter and braced both hands on the cool stone, breath catching.

Isabelle hadn’t just moved.

She hadn’t just gone quiet.

She’d walked away from everything they thought they knew about her.

And no one—not a single one of them—had been close enough to notice it happening.

She’d untethered herself from them all.

And now?

Now they had no idea where she stood.

If she was hurt. If she was gone.

For the first time in years, panic didn’t just flicker in Lorenzo’s chest—it bloomed, wide and wild.

He pulled out his phone. Called her again. Straight to voicemail.

***

Text Messages: Alexandra Saint Mleux & Emilie Abadie

Alexandra: Hey Emilie. I just wanted to check in. Do you know how Isabelle is doing?

Emilie: She’s resting. She’s emotionally exhausted. And no, she’s not answering anyone right now.

Alexandra: I figured. I wasn’t going to ask you to make her talk, I just… Wanted to make sure she’s okay. Truly.

Emilie: You all want to make sure she’s “okay” now. Where was that energy six months ago? Or a year ago? Or on her birthday?

Alexandra: I know. You’re right. We failed her. I’m not pretending we didn’t. I’m just trying not to make the same mistake twice.

Emilie: Then don’t turn this into your redemption arc. Belle is not your apology vessel. She doesn’t owe anyone grace she hasn’t given herself yet.

Alexandra: …Okay. That’s fair. I’m not trying to earn points. Just… trying.

Emilie: Trying is good. But don’t expect updates or access. She gets to choose who gets that now. And when.

Alexandra: Of course. Is she alone?

Emilie: No. Her boyfriend’s with her. He’s been looking after her. And he likes taking care of her.

***

Max blinked his eyes open just as Belle shifted in his arms and pushed herself up slightly, hair tousled and sweater slipping off one shoulder. Her eyes were tired, but calmer now. Clearer.

“Hi,” she whispered, voice rough with sleep.

“Hi,” he murmured back, brushing her hair behind her ear. “How are you feeling?”

She hesitated. “Better. Now that you’re here.”

He kissed her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Belle sat up a little more, folding her legs under her. Max followed, still close, watching her carefully.

There was something in the way she looked at him now. Like she was on the edge of a cliff, heart in her throat, trying to trust the air would catch her.

“I have to tell you something,” she said softly, her fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve.

Max stilled. “Okay.”

“I was going to wait,” she said. “I didn’t want to do it over the phone, or in the middle of all the… noise. But you’re here now, and I don’t want to keep it from you.”

“Belle,” he said gently, “you can tell me anything.”

“I have something for you.”

Max blinked. “Is this a surprise-I- am-mad-at-you gift or a I-love-you-so-here’s-something-cute gift?”

Belle rolled her eyes, but her lips curved slightly. “The second one.”

“Good,” he said. “I was going to guess that anyway.”

She opened the drawer of her bedside table and pulled something out of it, only to placed it gently in his lap.

A lion plush.

Max looked down at it, brows drawing together. It was small, soft, slightly chubby around the middle with a fuzzy, mane and button eyes. Not something he’d seen before.

He ran a hand over its head slowly, confused but already fond of it. “Where did this come from?”

“I bought it the day after you left for Canada,” Belle said quietly. “I was shopping for a gift for Victoria’s baby, and I saw him. And I couldn’t put him back.”

Max looked at her, then back at the lion, frowning slightly in thought. “For Victoria’s baby?”

She shook her head. Her voice was soft, but steady. Belle’s eyes met his.

“For ours.”

The words hit him like a gear shift in slow motion. He blinked, heart thudding, mouth parting, but no sound coming out. He looked at her, really looked at her—at the hoodie draped over her shoulders, at the hand resting on her stomach without thinking, at the way her eyes shimmered but didn’t waver.

“You’re—” His voice cracked. “You’re pregnant?”

Belle nodded. “Twelve weeks, now. I thought it was the anemia at first. I went in for a check-up and they… they did an ultrasound.”

Max’s hand found hers without hesitation, fingers lacing tightly. “And everything’s okay?”

She nodded again, breath catching this time. “There was a heartbeat. A strong one. I saw it.”

He stared at her in awe, overwhelmed, his brain scrambling to keep up while his heart surged forward.

The plush lion sat between them on the bed, quiet and steady.

Max looked down at it, then back at her. “You’re serious?”

Belle’s voice cracked then, just a little. “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone. I wanted it to be here. With you. Home.”

And Max—Max didn’t even realize he was crying until she touched his cheek, brushing the tears away with the gentlest smile.

“You’re having our baby,” he said, the words tumbling out of him like something sacred.

Belle’s breath caught.

And then Max let out a shaky laugh—half in disbelief, half in awe. “You’re having our baby.”

She bit her lip. “Is that… okay?”

“Belle,” he said, looking at her like she’d just given him the universe, “it’s perfect.”

He looked down, then up at her again.

“Twelve weeks?” he said. “So that means…”

“December,” Belle murmured. “Right before the new season.”

His grin was slow, bright, and stunned. “A Verstappen off-season baby. We’re so on-brand.”

Belle laughed, soft and teary.

Max reached past her, picked up the lion, and pressed it to her stomach with gentle reverence.

“Hey, little one,” he said quietly. “I can’t wait to meet you.”

***

1K notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 14 days ago

Text

Trouble

AN | Hello, I'm here to fix it. It never happened. Joel is back in Jackson. Enjoy💕

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Canon typical injury

Word Count | 2.6k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were covered in dirt, blood, and gunk but none of that mattered in the moment. What mattered was that no matter how bruised and worn down you felt, you were alive. You had survived, Jackson had survived…everything would be okay.

Dragging yourself up off the ground, you spotted Tommy and Maria up ahead. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you slowly made your way towards them, helping any stragglers along your way. It was going to take a while to recover from this disaster, but at least you knew things would get better. And, if anything, you now had more knowledge on the enemy and their…abilities for lack of a better word.

Brushing some blood and dirt off your face, you spotted Ellie getting off her horse just up ahead. Thank fuck.

They were all okay. Everything was fine. Ellie, Jesse, Dina, and Joel were back.

You ran as fast as you could which, given the state you were in wasn't very fast, ready to make your way to them. It was more of a limping skip as you made your way over.

“Tommy! Ellie!” You shouted over the wind, waving your arm to get their attention. When they heard you and finally turned around, you were met with a sea of grim faces. Your stomach dropped; they should be happy. If not happy, at least not so grim. Right? When you finally got to them, you realized that you didn’t see Joel. You immediately knew something was very wrong, “where's Joel?”

Ellie opened and closed her mouth a few times, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Where's Joel?” you asked again, swallowing the lump in your throat. You turned to Tommy and saw that the look on his face mirrored the one on Ellie's. In fact, no one looked happy, “Tommy. Where's Joel?”

“Listen-”

“Where is he!?” You demand again, tears welling up in your own eyes. Tommy put his hand on your shoulder and held onto it firmly, “T-Tommy. Where is he?”

“He's at Kat's,” he finally said, his own voice shaking as he tried to keep it together, “he's…he's not doing well.”

You choked out a sob before turning on your heel and running towards Kat's house. Your own body was screaming in pain but none of that mattered in the moment. All you could think about was getting to Joel. That was the only thing that mattered.

You burst through the front door of the house, lungs on fire as you headed towards the stairs. You took a moment to catch your breath, clutching the stitch in your side, “Kat? Kat!”

You started up the stairs, Kat meeting you at the top with a grim expression on her face. She was a kind, older woman that always had a way of making you feel better no matter the circumstances. She was a good doctor.

She took your face in her hands before sighing softly and pulling you in for a hug. You clutched onto her tightly, fearful for what she was going to say to you. When you pulled apart, she brushed some dirt off your clothes, “I'm going to have a look at you next.”

“There's other people that need your help more than I do,” you insisted, “where's Joel? I-I need to see him. Please.”

“Look,” she gave your hand a squeeze, “he's lucky to be alive. I hate to say that, I do. But he's lucky Ellie and Jesse found him when they did.”

“What happened?” You were reeling from her words; the idea of losing Joel was unbearable, “tell me. Please.”

“Seems like some people he made enemies of a long time back found him,” she sighed, “and they had some sort of vendetta against him.”

You couldn't wait any longer and gently pushed past her and into the room where you knew he'd be. As soon as you opened the door, you stopped in your tracks when you found him on the bed. You let out a shaky breath as you dropped to your knees by his side, “oh my god. Joel.”

“He can't hear you,” Kat followed in after you, grim look on her face, “he's out. He's gonna be out for a while.”

“What did they do to him?” His face was bruised and there were remnants of dried blood all over him. He looked so pale that it made your stomach drop. It took you a moment of notice that his leg was completely bandaged up.

“Shot in the side, his leg was broken badly. Ellie said…there was a girl beating him with a golf club before resorting to using her fists. He's got some broken ribs and lost a lot of blood. He's going to be a while before he's up and able to get, let alone get around.”

“But he'll-”

“There's no swelling in his brain and his lungs sound clear. He's past the absolute worst but he's not out of the woods just yet,” you hated that she wouldn't just confirm that he'd make it, “but its Joel. You know he's not going to give up fighting.”

“What can I do?” You asked, voice cracking as tears blurred your vision, “anything. Whatever it takes.”

“There's not much you can do right now. Its just going to take time,” she whispered, “take care of yourself. And the others. Things will be alright.”

“Will they?” You plopped onto the ground and reached for his hand; it was cold and stiff, “I can't…I can't lose him. I just can't.”

“We'll do everything we can do,” she promised, “we just have to be patient.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Here,” Tommy's voice pulled you of your stupor as he walked in and held a hot cup of tea out to you, “our mama used to say that there wasn't anything a cup of tea couldn't fix.”

“Thanks,” you clutched the warm mug in your cold, tired hands as you stared at the golden liquid. You stretched, your body tired and aching from the stiff wooden chair that had basically become your second home. You'd been camped out by his side, refusing to move unless absolutely necessary. You’d cleaned him up as best as you could but he still looked so…fragile. Broken.

“You can leave you know,” he said as you looked at him incredulously, “you can rest and take time for yourself. You ain't going to be helping anyone by not making sure you're okay.”

“I don't want to leave him,” you sighed, looking Joel over. It had been almost two weeks, and while he seemed to be healing, he still wasn't up and conscious, “what if he wakes up and I'm not here? O-or something happens?”

Tommy let out a low sigh as he looked forlornly at his older brother, “I keep thinking the same thing. But you know if anything happens, someone will get you right away.”

“Yeah,” you sipped the warm liquid and closed your eyes for a moment. You knew this was just hard for him and Ellie, “what happened to her? The girl?”

“She got away,” he gritted his teeth, “for now. We'll find her.”

“I keep thinking I want to go out there and kill her myself,” you whispered, reaching over and gently brushing a rogue lock of hair out of Joel's face, “that I want her to suffer as much as he did, or worse.”

“But…”

“Nothing excuses what she did,” you whispered, “but I can't imagine doing that to another living being. It makes us no better than them. But at the time I don't know if I care about that.”

“Its hard,” he agreed.

“It is,” you took his hand in yours, “I don't know what to do. For now, I just want him to be okay.”

“He's a stubborn old fool. He's not going to leave us that easily.”

“Promise?” Your voice was quiet and you weren't even sure you'd intended for him to hear it. Tommy nodded as offered him a small smile in return, “you better hurry up and get better soon, old man. Can't believe I'm saying this, but I miss your grumpy old face.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Time seemed slower than it ever did before as you remained by Joel's side. A few more days had passed and as much as you wanted to remain hopeful, you had to admit it was hard to. While his pallor returned and the dark bruising faded to green and yellow, he hadn't woken up. You never thought you could miss someone so much when they were right next to you.

“You know,” you had moved onto the bed, laying on the edge to be close to him without hurting him further, “I remember when we first met after I got here. It was kind of like this then too, except I wasn't hurt as bad. One of the first things you said to me was that you knew I was going to be a pain in your ass. Turns out you were right, but I could say the same about you.”

The room was silent, filled only with the combined sounds of your soft breathing. You tentatively reached out a hand and traced your fingertips along his side, barely a ghost of a touch.

“I miss you, you know,” you continued, “I always miss you when you're gone, even if its only a few hours, but this is so much worse. Its like you're right here but a million miles away. I want you to come back to me soon. We're all waiting for you. Ellie misses you so much too. She saved you, you know. She never hated you, which I think you know deep down. She loves you, you'll always be her Joel. I love you. So much.”

You laid there until you fell asleep, only moonlight filtering in. You weren't sure how much long your heart could handle this.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was going on three weeks and you were still a wreck as much as the first day. You were growing impatient and tired and angry, and a million other emotions.

“You know I hate to ask you to leave but can you give Maria a hand with some stuff at the stables?” You looked at Tommy and glanced at Joel before nodding. He hadn't woken up yet, and at this you weren't sure when he would. It was probably fine to be gone for a few hours.

“Of course,” you stood up, giving Joel one last look before heading out. You'd be back soon enough.

It was a few hours of some back breaking labor that you were finally able to take a moment to breathe. There was still so much left to do to rebuild Jackson, and as reluctant as you had been to leave Joel, you were happy for the work that had taken all of your attention.

You heard your name being shouted from the distance and looked over to Benji running towards you with Tommy running after him. You exchanged a look with Maria and bent down to scoop him up in your arms.

“Hey kiddo, what's got you so excited?”

“Uncle Joel,” he started simply, a big gap toothed smile on his face. Your heart stopped for a moment as you looked over to Tommy, who had managed to catch up.

“Tommy?” You tried to keep the excitement out of your face, “is he…?”

“He's awake,” he confirmed, “just woke up.”

“Oh my god,” you gently set him down and ran off without another word. You figured they'd understand.

You burst into the house and ran upstairs and into his room, chest heaving from the exertion. Kat raised an eyebrow at you but there was a smile pulling on the corners of her mouth, “just in time.”

“Joel?” Kat stepped out of the way and slipped out of the room to give the two of you some privacy.

And there he was; still looking worse for the wear but sat up in the bed and fully conscious. It might have been the most beautiful sight you had ever seen.

“Hey trouble,” his voice was dry and raspy but hearing him immediately brought tears to your eyes.

“Joel,” you took a few tentative steps towards him, part of you refusing to believe this was real. He moved his hand to reach out for you, “you're…you're…I thought I was going to lose you.”

“You can't get rid of me that easily,” his laugh turned into a cough and you handed him the glass of water that was by his bedside.

“Take it easy old man,” you joked through your tears, finally happy ones, as you sat next to him on the bed, “don't need you to hurt yourself now.”

He smiled at you, putting his hand on top of yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze, “you were here. The whole time.”

“Where else would I be?” You sniffled as he reached up and wiped your tears away. You put your hand on top of his and held it gently against your cheek.

“Preferably out living life,” he stroked his thumb over your skin, “not worrying about me.”

You studied him, taking in the brown eyes you'd missed so much. He was definitely far from recovered but he was here and he was alive. That was enough for now.

You gently took his hand off your face and took his face in your hands. You frowned at the bruising that was lingering but you knew it'd be gone soon enough. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his, kissing him as softly and tenderly as possible. With a relieved sigh, you touched your forehead against his, “I don't think I could ever stay away.”

“You know I'm never going to leave you,” he whispered as you nodded.

“I love you,” you promised, “even if you are a stubborn grump.”

“I love you too, trouble,” he shifted over gently before patting the same next to him, “c'mere.”

“I don't want to hurt you,” he scoffed and you kicked off your boots before getting into the bed next to him, slowly to make sure you didn't cause him any pain. You laid down and rested your head on his good leg, letting out a slow, deep breath. Joel started gently playing your hair, causing tingles to shoot through your entire body. You hadn't realized how much you missed his touch, “you should lie down too. You need the rest.”

“So do you,” he insisted, grinning as you yawned, “you've been here the whole time watching me, let me take care of you.”

“Only if you lie down with me and we both stay here for a while,” you insisted, turning your face to look up at him.

“I suppose,” he shifted with a grimace but was able to get himself comfortable next to you, draping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him, “you alright?”

“Better than I have been in weeks,” you turned so you were facing him, “I was scared that we'd never get to do this again. That I'd never see you again. That you would be gone…”

“Oh trouble,” he whispered, “that's never going to happen. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed, “I'm going to hold you to that, Miller.”

“I'd expect nothing less, trouble.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller fanfic #tlou #the last of us #pedro pascal #x reader

1K notes · View notes

oaksgrove · 2 months ago

Text

Fixer-Upper

pairing: John Price x Reader

synopsys: What starts as a simple date quickly becomes something else entirely—because apparently, Price can't flirt properly until he's made sure your place isn't a "death trap." But once the distractions are handled? Oh, he's got other things to fix. And you're at the top of that list.

warnings: Slow-burn to full ignition, Domestic flirting disguised as home improvement, Price being absurdly attractive while doing manual labor, Subtle dominance, Countertop moments, John being a man who takes care of things (and you).

word count: 1910

a/n: Oh god, I have never written anything like this, but it just flowed. I don’t know what happened. One minute I was thinking about Price fixing a door hinge, and the next, he was fixing something else entirely. Sorry or… you’re welcome?

thank you @leteddiebehappypls for the inspiration!

It started with a swipe.

A lazy Sunday afternoon, scrolling mindlessly through Hinge, when his profile stopped you in your tracks.

John, 38.

His pictures were simple—one of him in the soft golden light of a pub, a pint in hand, his beard neat but a little scruffy at the edges. Another of him in a heavy coat, standing near a lake, looking out at something unseen. His prompts were straightforward, no nonsense but with a dry wit that made you smile.

"You should not go out with me if…" "You prefer a man who can’t change a tire."

That made you laugh.

A quick glance at his profile details—he lived nearby, worked in the military (vague), liked dogs, smoked an occasional cigar, and enjoyed old films.

You sent the first message.

And from there, it was easy.

He was charming, but not in the way that felt rehearsed. He asked about your day and actually listened. His voice notes were warm, deep, laced with a quiet amusement whenever you teased him. You liked the way he flirted—subtle, gentlemanly, never pushing too far but always making sure you knew he was interested.

Three months later, after countless late-night talks and stolen kisses in the back of his car, you invited him over for an afternoon date at your place.

You expected a relaxed day—coffee, maybe a walk, maybe some kisses on the couch if things went well.

What you didn’t expect was John Price stepping into your home and immediately conducting a full inspection of the place.

—

"That door hinge is loose."

The first words out of his mouth after he kissed you hello.

You blinked at him. "What?"

He was already scanning the room like a man on a mission, his blue eyes sharp and assessing, he crouched down to inspect a loose cabinet hinge.

He was already moving, crouching to inspect a cabinet hinge, fingers running along the wood.

"You know this is about to come off, yeah?" he said, tapping the corner.

Your lips parted in disbelief. "Are you making a list?"

Price turned, arms crossed over his broad chest, giving you that slow, knowing grin that never failed to make your stomach flip. "’Course I am, love. Can’t have you livin’ in a death trap, can I?"

And the worst part? Every time he found something else, he’d glance at you—this warm, amused glint in his eyes like fixing things in your home was the only thing keeping him from dragging you against the nearest wall.

"John." You exhaled, exasperated, leaning against the counter. "I invited you over for coffee, not a home renovation. You know you don’t have to do all that," you teased, leaning against the counter, watching him with an amused smile.

John tilted his head, stepping closer. Too close. His broad frame filled the doorway between the kitchen and living room, and suddenly your whole apartment felt smaller.

"I know," he murmured, voice dropping just slightly. "But I’m already here, aren’t I?"

And oh, there was something about the way he said it—like he meant something more.

Your heart skipped.

John had always been like this—quietly attentive, always looking after you in little ways. Making sure you ate, texting to see if you got home safe, standing between you and the street when you walked together.

It was dangerously easy to fall for him.

But you wouldn’t admit that. Not yet.

Instead, you rolled your eyes. "Do you even have tools?"

"We’ll get ‘em."

—

It was supposed to be a quick trip.

But walking through the aisles of the local construction shop with John Price felt less like a casual errand and more like some kind of slow-burn seduction disguised by home repairs.

You watched from a few steps behind as he scanned the shelves, utterly focused—like a man on a mission. His sleeves were still rolled up, revealing strong forearms dusted with hair, and when he reached up to grab a toolbox from the top shelf? Yeah. You may or may not have gotten distracted.

He caught you staring. Of course he did.

And the bastard had the nerve to smirk.

"See something you like?" he asked, low and warm, that teasing rasp in his voice curling deep in your belly.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool. "I’m just impressed you’re taking this so seriously."

He stepped closer—close enough for you to catch the faint scent of tobacco and cedarwood, something distinctly him. "I take a lot of things seriously," he murmured, his gaze lingering on your mouth for just a beat too long.

And oh, the way he was looking at you—like he was barely holding himself back—made your knees go weak.

—

Back at your place, John’s standing in your living room with a fresh-cut two-by-four rested on his shoulder like it weighed nothing, and he had a tool bag slung over one arm.

You were so fucked.

"Alright, love," he drawled, adjusting his grip on the lumber. "Where do we start?"

Your brain short-circuited for a full five seconds.

Because, fuck, did he have to look so good while doing this?

You cleared your throat. "I, uh—John, you really don’t have to—"

He cocked a brow, stepping in just close enough that you could smell sawdust and the faint hint of his cologne.

"I do, though." His voice was low, deliberate. Gravel wrapped in velvet. "Can’t focus on anything else knowing you’ve got loose hinges and a lock that’s barely holding up."

Oh, that was unfair.

The way he was looking at you, like he wanted to flirt so badly but couldn’t until he handled the absolute crime of a squeaky door hinge—it was absurdly attractive.

Like some kind of gentlemanly home improvement seduction.

You folded your arms, tilting your head at him. "So what you’re saying is, you’d be distracted trying to flirt with me knowing there’s a leaky pipe under my sink?"

His mouth curved into that infuriatingly smug little smirk. "Exactly."

—

Watching John work was almost too much.

The sight of him standing at your kitchen sink, carefully fixing the drip with his broad hands and furrowed brow, was almost too much. Especially when he paused—wiping his hands on a rag—to glance over his shoulder at you.

"You’re staring again, love."

You huffed a laugh, crossing your arms as you leaned against the wall. "Can you blame me? Not every girl gets a full home repair service on a date."

John chuckled, that deep, warm sound vibrating in your chest. "Lucky you, then."

And God, he made it impossible not to flirt back.

"Yeah? What’s next—building me a bookshelf?"

His expression shifted. Darkened.

Something in his posture changed, the heat between you suddenly heavier.

"If that’s what you want."

Your breath caught.

And then he stood up, slow and deliberate, dusting sawdust from his palms. He turned to you with that look—the look—like he was holding himself back. Like there was a war raging inside him, one side demanding he be the gentleman and the other telling him to pin you against the nearest surface.

You barely had time to react before he was in your space, moving in like gravity pulled him there.

His hands landed on either side of you, caging you against the counter.

Heat rolled off him, thick and dizzying. The scent of sawdust, cologne, and him filled your lungs.

His fingers skimmed your waist, slow, teasing."So, tell me," he drawled, voice casual, almost teasing, "what else is wrong with this place? Besides the obvious lack of a proper man around to fix it?"

Your mouth fell open.

Oh, he was so full of shit.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him just a little closer. "Oh, so now you’re flirting?"

"Told you, love." His lips were right there, hovering over your jaw, breath hot against your skin. "Had to fix the distractions first."

Christ.

His breath shuddered.

And then—his hands were on you.

Sliding up your sides, tracing your curves, claiming you without hesitation.

"You know," you mused, "you could’ve just said you wanted an excuse to spend more time here."

John chuckled, voice dipping low, warm. He reached for a rag, dusting his hands off with that infuriating, deliberate ease. Then he met your eyes, something wicked flashing behind those deep blues.

"Darlin’," he murmured, "if I wanted an excuse, I’d just ask to stay the night."

"That somethin’ you want?" His voice was pure, slow-burning sin, dragging along your spine like velvet and gravel.

"Depends."

"On?"

"Whether you plan on fixing me, too."

His mouth brushed the shell of your ear. "Oh, sweetheart," he rasped, voice dripping with dark amusement, "you might be my favorite project yet."

Your head tipped back against the counter as his lips traced a slow, burning path down your neck, his beard scratching against your skin.

One of his hands slid lower, pressing against the small of your back, dragging you flush against him—against the unmistakable proof of just how badly he wanted you.

"John," His name slipped out between parted lips, a breathless whisper as your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging—not to pull him away, but to keep him right there.

A low groan rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your throat, and the sound alone sent another wave of heat curling through you.

His grip on your hips tightened—fingers pressing firm, possessive. A silent warning.

"Careful, love." His voice was low, thick, a heated drawl that wrapped around you like silk and smoke. "You start something, you better be ready to finish it."

Oh, fuck.

The weight of his words settled deep in your bones, in the press of his body against yours, in the way his mouth hovered just over your skin like he was barely holding himself back.

You exhaled a laugh, soft, teasing, tilting your chin up until your lips just brushed his.

"Guess we’ll be here all night, then."

His answering growl—low, dark, dangerous—sent a full-body shiver through you.

"Guess we will."

And then he was kissing you.

Hard.

Desperate.

The slow, teasing restraint snapped in an instant, replaced with something raw, something that burned hot between you. His hands roamed, strong and sure, mapping every curve like he was memorizing you by touch alone.

You gasped against his mouth, and he took full advantage, deepening the kiss, swallowing every sound you made. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you into him, fitting you perfectly against him, like he needed you closer.

You barely noticed when he lifted you onto the counter—barely registered anything beyond the feel of his hands, the press of his body between your thighs, the way his mouth devoured yours.

"Fuck," he murmured against your lips, his voice wrecked, his forehead pressing to yours as he tried to catch his breath. His hands didn’t stop moving, gripping your waist, trailing up your sides, claiming every inch of you.

"You okay?" he rasped, and fuck, the way he asked—like he was barely holding himself together, like he needed you but would stop the second you wanted him to—had your heart slamming against your ribs.

You smirked, breathless, brushing your lips over his once more, teasing.

"Oh, John," you murmured, dragging your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

"You better finish what you started."

His hands tightened.

His lips curled into a smirk against yours.

And then—he did.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash

#call of duty fanfic #call of duty #cod modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod 141 #task force 141 #captain price #john price #john price x reader #john price x you #captain johnathan price #captain price x reader #price call of duty #captain john price #price x reader #price

1K notes · View notes