#one day at a time this one's gonna end too

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Third Time's A Charm

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You and your husband are trying for a baby.

Disclaimer: Mentions and descriptions of potential infertility, slight smut, brief mentions of dangerous missions, fluff, Bucky being a caring husband who can cook, angst, hurt/comfort vibes, happy ending.

“What if it’s negative?” You turned around to face your husband, nervous as hell to even look at the test. 

“Then we’ll keep trying.”

“But what if it is?” You pressed, too afraid to look. 

Bucky took you by the shoulders, leaning down to keep his eye level with yours. “Then we’ll keep trying. Not a lot of couples have success the first time.”

You nodded. “Okay. Yeah, okay. We can keep trying.”

Bucky nodded before pulling you in and kissing your head. 

You’d been married just over two years, and had been trying for a baby for around three months. Each time, you’d gotten your period so there had been no point in testing. Until now. 

The timer rang from Bucky’s phone. “Do you want me to look?”

You stayed still for a moment, debating it. “No, I’ll look.”

It took you a minute, but Bucky remained patient. For a moment, he leaned against the bathtub as you walked closer to the counter. 

One line.

Negative.

You shook your head and turned around with the test in your hand. “Negative.”

There was a punch to his heart, but he stood nonetheless. “We’ll keep trying.”

You nodded before swallowing the sadness and looking at your husband. “Yeah.”

“Hey, I love you.”

You smiled. “I love you, too.” 

Pressing three kisses to your lips, he wrapped you in his arms and lifted you from the ground for a moment. 

It was another two months before you tested again. 

You used to be thankful to see your period. Now it just felt like it was Mother Nature’s way of mocking you. 

Bucky was in the kitchen cooking dinner when you came in from work. “Hey! Just in time,” Bucky said. “Sam finally gave me the recipe for his-”

“I think I need to do another test.” 

The sentence just fell out of your mouth. It had been on your mind all day and you’d stopped off at the drugstore on your way home. 

Your period was two weeks late. You’d never exactly been spot-on when it came to your cycle, but it had been getting better. So fourteen days overdue had to be a sign, right?

Bucky tried not to seem too excited since he could read the fear across your face. “Oh, okay.”

“I just- it’s been on my mind all day and I’m late and…I don’t know.”

Folding the heat-proof pan squares away, Bucky turned to you. “Do you want me to run down to the store-”

You held up the box from your bag. 

Bucky nodded. “Let’s go and see.”

Bucky watched as you paced up and down the bathroom as the timer ticked away. “We’ll be okay.”

You chewed on your nail, keeping the test in the corner of your eyes. “Yeah.”

Your mind was somewhere else. 

Standing in front of you before you sent both yourself and him dizzy, he held you close to him. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You looked at your husband, a little dejected. “We’ve been trying for almost six months and it’s not…what if something is wrong with me?”

Bucky felt like he’d been stabbed in the heart. He’d rather take all of Hydra’s torture again than see you feeling hurt. 

Bucky shook his head. “There’s nothing-”

“But what if there is?” You stepped out from your husband’s arms for a moment, trying your best to keep your tears at bay. “What if I can’t have children?”

Bucky didn’t fully know what to say. “We don’t know that. If there is something wrong, and that is a big ‘if’,” Bucky stepped closer to you and you held onto him. “Then there’s a chance it could be me.”

“Shuri did your labs. You’re as healthy as a horse.”

Bucky shook his head. “It’s not like they tested me for fertility issues.”

You closed your eyes for a moment. “What if this doesn’t happen for us, Bucky?”

Your husband hugged you and you wrapped your arms around him, holding on for dear life. “Then we’ll look into it. And, you know, there’s always IVF and adoption. Something this century grants us is more options. You know, back in the 40s, it was sex or going down to the docks.”

You chuckled, hitting him on the arm. “Stop trying to make me laugh.”

Bucky smiled, leaning back to look at you. “Can’t help it. I love your laugh.”

You smiled before he wiped away your tears. 

“I love you.”

You smiled, kissing him. “I love you, too.”

The kiss broke when the timer went off. “You look this time. I don’t think I can.” 

You moved away from the counter and stood away from your husband before he reached out for the pregnancy test. 

One line. 

Negative.

He held it up to show you. “Negative.”

You knew. You’d had the feeling in the back of your head. “Okay.”

Bucky looked at you, giving a little sigh for both of your frustrations. “Come here.”

He pulled you in, holding you tight. 

You’d both keep trying. And if that didn’t work, there were always other options. 

Three weeks later whilst you were at work, Bucky made a call. 

“White wolf,” Shuri said as she answered. “In need of a new suit? I’ve just made a discovery that if I-”

“I-I need you to run some tests.”

Shuri’s voice dropped a little as she turned at her desk. “Is everything okay?”

Bucky sighed. Shuri had been the first person he’d properly talked to about this. “Y/n and I…we’ve been trying for a baby.”

Shuri sounded excited. “Really? I expect to be Godmother. You know, I could make it a suit for it’s first-”

Bucky chuckled. “Might be getting a little ahead. Uh, we…we’ve been trying for a while and I just…I want to make sure there isn’t an issue with…me. Us, even. Y/n’s really worried and if it is me, I just…I want to know…”

Shuri nodded. “I’ve got you. I’ve still got some of your DNA samples in my lab. I’ll start running the tests now. It’ll be okay, Bucky.”

“Thanks, Shuri.”

“How many people know?”

Bucky scratched his head. “Uh, Sam…kinda. He knows we’ve been talking about having kids soon. But no-one knows we’re trying yet.”

“Well, your secret is safe with me. You know, maybe you and Y/n could come to visit soon. I can run more developed tests for both of you and, you know, a bit of relaxation has never killed anyone.”

Bucky nodded. “That…that actually sounds great. I’ll talk to Y/n when she gets home.”

“It’ll be okay, Bucky.”

“Thanks.”

He hung up the phone not too long after and by the time you got home from work, you’d agreed before he could even finish telling you. 

Bucky was on annual leave anyway since his last mission had taken up more case hours than anyone had been expecting. And you needed a break from work. 

Yourself and Bucky ended up spending three months in Wakanda. Shuri ran every test she could think of. 

“You’re both incredibly healthy. I can’t find anything.”

You and Bucky had looked at each other, shocked more than anything. “So, what? It’s just the universe’s way of saying, ‘no, you can’t have a child’?”

Shuri kept her eyes on the medical tablet. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“But…we can have children?” Bucky asked. 

Shuri looked up and nodded. “Yes. By all means, your egg shouldn’t reject the sperm.”

“Even with the serum?”

Shuri nodded again. “Have you ever been pregnant before?”

You shook your head. “Never.”

Shuri hummed and started walking around her lab. “It’s just a theory, but it could be that your body has to get used to the chemical difference. As everything is being done, I assume, naturally.”

Both yourself and Bucky felt a little embarrassed but nodded anyway. 

“It could possibly be down to something such as that-”

“Or it could just be down to timing.”

“Mother.”

Yourself and Bucky bowed. “Your highness.”

“Having children is a wonderful thing, but often, it can simply be down to timing. The universe will let you know when you’re ready.”

Yourself and Bucky kept trying. And trying. And trying. And trying. 

“Have you been testing?” Yelena asked you one girl’s night. 

You shook your head as you stirred the cookie dough and she snacked on it. “I think I’m just gonna wait until one pops out of me. I just feel like my period is mocking me. And everytime I see that one line…it hurts too much.”

“Well, whenever it does happen, you and Bucky will make great parents.”

You smiled at her. “Thanks, Lena’.”

A week later, you were standing in your bathroom looking at the opened box of pregnancy tests. From where you were standing, you could see Bucky. He was fast asleep on his front, his arms wrapped around his pillow. 

But as you pulled one test from the box, your phone started to ring. And so did Bucky’s. 

Haphazardly, you threw the box and test back under the sink and answered. “Sorry to call so late- early.” Yelena stopped herself. “This is an all hands on deck situation. Are you okay being in the field with us?”

Bucky had groggily pulled his phone to his ear. You could hear Sam’s voice talking. 

Two hours later, you were cleaning your weapons on the jet whilst Bucky tightened your holster to your side and your thigh. 

“Promise me you’ll be safe?”

Bucky nodded. “Always. Same goes for you.”

“I won’t let anything happen to her, Bucky.” Yelena said as she passed you both by. 

Bucky stood up, pressing a kiss to your lips as you cupped his cheek. He pressed his forehead to yours and closed his eyes. “I love you.”

You did the same. “I love you, too.”

The next fourteen hours were spent running and fighting for your lives, whilst also fighting for others. 

At one point, something had rocked the earth as it exploded to the south of you. Exactly where Bucky had been running to when you’d seen him last. 

“Bucky?! Bucky?!”

The relief that came over you after two minutes of dead silence, hearing the crackly voice of Bucky over your comms. “I’m okay, doll.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Sam’s voice spoke next. “I’m heading your way, Buck. Be ready.”

With helicarriers packed full, you and Bucky had gotten separated. 

“He’s with Sam. He’s okay,” Yelena assured you. 

You didn’t relax until you finally saw him. Having gotten back at different times and helping those to the medical bay that needed it, Yelena had sent you home. 

“When he gets here, I’ll send him home, too. Go.”

You couldn’t relax. The dead silence over comms kept running through your mind until you finally heard the door unlock. Within seconds, you were running towards the door. 

“Hey,” Bucky felt the weight get lifted from his chest once he saw you. But he didn’t talk much after that since you planted one on him, immediately. 

“We’re never doing that again. I thought I lost you.”

You kissed him again. 

“I promise,” Bucky said between the kisses and as he moved you further into your home. “We’ll stick together next time.”

“We work better as a team anyway.” You said quickly, feeling Bucky’s hands grip your hips steadily before softly kissing your neck. 

His mumble of a Russian, “Agreed,” rippled through your skin. 

You needed him. 

And he was more than happy to provide. 

Peeling the jacket from you once he’d hoisted you onto the side cabinet, you unbuckled his belt and jacket. And somewhere between the rough kisses, the strewn clothes and the scuff marks being made against the floor and walls, Bucky fucked you like you were both on borrowed time. 

Your relationship was loving, slow and filled with soft kisses. He’d spent a lot of his life being the tortured pet for Hydra, being forced into the brutal being they created him to be. 

Hard, fast and rough was rare in your relationship. 

But when it was…

You pulled him in closer to you as you climaxed, Bucky finishing as you whimpered into his ear. 

Between heavy breathes, Bucky’s tongue dragged across your collar before you felt his teeth beside your neck. 

“We both need a shower,” you eventually said. 

“Good. Because I’m not done with you yet, doll.”

As dirty handprints were washed away from the shower glass with the rest of the blood, ash and dirt, you fell asleep against your husband’s bare chest, his arms wrapped around you and his fingers tracing your spine. 

A few weeks later, you woke up in a similar position, only fully clothed. 

When Bucky had gotten back from work, he’d joined you on your bed and both of you had been asleep within minutes. However, when you woke a few hours later, you managed to peel yourself from his grip without waking him so you could go to the bathroom. 

As you were looking for a spare roll of toilet paper, you saw where you’d previously thrown the box of pregnancy tests. You hadn’t tested in a few months, and you’d hadn’t fully been keeping track of your cycle. 

Just as you were waiting to surprisingly give birth, you decided to just wait for Mother Nature to send Aunt Flo your way when she was ready. 

From the bathroom, you could see Bucky’s sleeping frame. It was probably going to be negative, but you decided to take one anyway. 

Only after three minutes had passed and you’d washed your hands and tidied the bathroom counter, you decided to look at the test. 

Two lines.

Two…lines. 

“Oh, my god.”

You pulled the box out from under the sink to triple check you’d read it right. 

“Oh, my god.”

Walking out of the bathroom, you went straight towards your husband. 

Bucky woke up to you lightly shaking his shoulder. “Everything okay?” He asked, a little groggily. 

“I’m pregnant.”

The tiredness was still heavy on him, but his eyes snapped open as he looked at you. “What?”

As you sat on the edge of the bed, he sat up and looked at the test you handed him. And, as clear as day, in front of him were two very prominent lines.

He looked up at you. “You’re…it’s positive?”

You nodded. “It’s positive.”

You were on the verge of tears before Bucky almost beat you to them and pulled you on top of him. “We’re having a baby?”

From behind you, Bucky held the stick up. You choked a laugh. “We’re gonna have a baby.”

Pulling back so you could see your husband’s face, you found him with the biggest smile on his face. “We’re gonna have a baby! We’re gonna be parents!”

Laughing out of joy, Bucky kissed you until you wiggled off him to lay beside him. You both looked at the test stick. 

“I’m pregnant.”

Bucky smiled. “You’re pregnant.”

“You’re gonna be a dad.”

“You’re gonna be a mom.”

Looking up at your husband, to find him already looking at you, you smiled. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Bucky said before kissing you and laying a gentle hand on your belly. “I love both of you.”

[casssmalefantasy]

she’s got game - paige bueckers x reader!

s: two years together and being with paige bueckers still felt like magic, even back at uconn, when she was just a flirty guard and you were the oblivious team manager. now she’s in the league, gearing up for her first preseason game with dallas, and even if she won’t admit it, you know she’s nervous. good thing you finally got time off to see her play.

w: smut, dom!reader x sub!paige, oral, praise, teasing, soft dominance, reader taking care of stressed paige, light angst, jersey kink if you squint, hotel sex, and p being down so bad

word count: 6.3k 👀

you get three mental health days after finishing a monster of a project at work, and you use every single one of them to hop a flight to dallas.

you tell paige you’re coming on wednesday. she tries to act cool about it over the phone, but you can hear the relief in her voice, subtle but there.

you know her too well not to notice the way her breathing evens out the second you say, “i got the time off. i’ll be there by noon.”

“you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to,” you say gently, already walking to your gate. “besides, you’re about to play your first pro game. what kind of girlfriend would i be if i missed that?”

—

you meet her outside her apartment.

her face lights up the second she sees you, eyes going soft, smile tugging at her lips. you drop your bag and let her hug you like it’s the first time all over again. two years together and she still makes your heart race like this.

“you didn’t have to look this good,” she mumbles against your shoulder.

you grin. “you saying i look better than you?”

“i’m saying you’re gonna be a distraction while we’re out tonight.”

—

she takes you out to dinner, insists on picking the place and driving even though you offer.

the restaurant is quiet, intimate. not super fancy, just paige. she orders for both of you and then smiles sheepishly after. “is this place too fancy?”

“no,” you tell her, “it’s perfect.”

she tries to play it cool the whole night. laughs a little louder than usual. tells stories about practice and new teammates, but her fingers stay laced with yours the whole time under the table, and her thumb keeps brushing your palm like she’s grounding herself.

—

back at the apartment, you sit beside her on the bed and ask, “how’s it really feel? being in the league. being here.”

she shrugs. “it’s good. just….fast.”

you raise an eyebrow. “paige.”

she exhales slowly. “it’s a lot,” she finally admits. “i love it. i do. the team’s great. everyone’s been super welcoming, the vets are nice. it’s just… the pressure’s different now. i was drafted first. there’s eyes on me every second. and it’s like—i know i’m good. but sometimes it’s like… do they know?”

you reach for her hand. “baby. all you ever have to be is you. that’s it. that’s what got you here. and dallas is lucky as hell to have you.”

her eyes flick to yours. you see the way the words land.

“you really think so?” she asks, voice smaller.

“i know so.”

—

by the time you land in indiana for the wings game at norte dame, it feels like the calm before the storm.

the team’s staying at a hotel just outside of notre dame’s campus. you booked your own room—insisted,—actually because you knew she’d be busy with shootarounds and media.

but the moment she arrives, she’s texting you.

p 💗

open the door.

20 minutes before we leave.

you open the door in a black denim skirt, her dallas jersey, and a fresh pair of white and baby blue 4’s. her jaw drops the second she sees you.

“you’re trying to get me benched,” she jokes, stepping inside and locking the door behind her. “you look…fuck. you look so good.”

you smile, stepping up to her. “just tryna represent the brand.”

she wraps her arms around your waist and leans in for a kiss. “if i miss a shot tonight, it’s your fault.”

you kiss her again, slower this time, tugging gently at the ends of her hair. “you won’t.”

she sighs against your lips. “i don’t wanna go.”

“you gotta,” you whisper, brushing her nose with yours. “but i’ll be in the crowd. just like always.”

she smiles. “don’t forget your family pass.”

—

the stadium’s packed.

the energy is electric. you find your seat with ease thanks to paige putting you on her guest list. your family pass lanyard swings around your neck, and you wear it with pride.

you spot her during warmups, crisp ponytail, focused face, that signature bounce in her step. she looks at home. and when her eyes meet yours, you swear she softens just for a second.

she jogs over.

“hi,” she says, breathless.

“hi,” you say, eyes roaming.

“you look really pretty.”

you lean in and press a quick kiss to her cheek. “go do your thing, number five.”

and she does.

she scores early, a clean left-handed lay off the glass. she runs the offense, keeps her composure, reads the floor like a seasoned pro, but you can still tell. the nerves are there. subtle, not overwhelming, but lingering.

and then there’s the ref call.

you don’t even catch the whistle before paige’s hands are in the air and she’s already in the ref’s face. classic. usually you’d be laughing, rolling your eyes at how quick she is to argue. but tonight? it’s different.

you watch the tension in her shoulders. the way her jaw clenches. the fire behind her eyes. she’s frustrated—not just about the call. about everything. and still… she looks so good. so dialed in. so herself.

dallas loses. it’s preseason, and she still finishes with ten points. but she doesn’t look satisfied. you text her before she even heads to the tunnel.

p 💗

i’m heading back to the hotel. see you soon, baby.

—

you don’t waste time once she’s in the door.

she barely gets a “hi” out before you’ve got your hand at the small of her back, guiding her into your hotel room with that slow, intentional confidence she craves. she’s still in her travel sweats and her dallas hoodie, eyes tired, lips parted like she’s waiting for permission to fall apart.

you kiss her first. deep, slow, and sure. the kind of kiss that tells her she doesn’t need to talk, doesn’t need to think. just needs to feel.

you both pull apart.

you let her be quiet for a minute. just hold her.

“you played so well,” you say softly.

“we lost.”

“you’re gonna lose games. it’s the w.”

she pulls back just slightly. “i could’ve done more.”

“paige.” you cup her face. “you did great. that was your first pro game. and you already look like you belong out there.”

she studies you, eyes glassy. “what’d you really think?”

you smile. “i think you’re electric. i think you’re fearless. and i think you’re mine.”

you pull her down to the bed gently.

“let me take care of you,” you murmur

and she just nods.

“take this off for me, baby,” you whisper against her mouth, tugging lightly at her hoodie.

she obeys without a word. hoodie, tank top, bra — all stripped away with trembling hands. she shivers, not from the cold but from the weight of your gaze. you push her gently on her back, and she lays back, legs slightly parted, chest rising and falling with quiet anticipation.

you kiss down her neck, biting gently at her collarbone, letting your tongue trace the curve of her chest. she arches into your touch, already breathing heavier, already so fucking responsive.

“you’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?” you ask, lips brushing over one nipple before you take it fully into your mouth.

“yes.” she gasps, hand tangling in your hair.

you switch to the other tit, sucking just hard enough to make her whimper. her thighs shift restlessly under you, hips trying to find friction, but you don’t give it to her yet.

“so needy,” you murmur, trailing kisses down her stomach. “you want me, baby?”

“yes i really do.” she breathes, voice shaking. “please i need you bad.”

you hook your thumbs into her waistband and pull her sweatpants and boxers off in one smooth motion. she’s already wet, slick and glistening, thighs trembling slightly with how on edge she is.

“look at you,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee. “so perfect. so ready for me.”

you spread her legs and settle between them, kissing slowly up her thigh. she moans when your breath hits the center of her pussy, hips twitching upward.

“you gonna stay still for me?” you ask, voice low. “let me make you feel good?”

“yes,” she gasps. “i need your mouth.”

you don’t make her beg much more.

you lick a slow stripe through her folds, savoring her taste, and she cries out, fingers gripping the sheets. your tongue moves deliberately—soft at first, then firmer when she starts whining your name.

“fuck, baby.” she’s moaning out.

you hum against her, letting the vibrations send her back arching off the bed. you slip two fingers inside her, slow and careful at first, curling just right until she nearly sobs.

“that’s it,” you whisper. “so fucking tight, baby. feel so good around my fingers.”

she’s a mess now—flushed, panting, hips rolling helplessly into your mouth. you keep your tongue on her clit, fingers working her open, pace quickening just slightly every time she moans louder.

“you close?” you ask, voice dark, teasing. “gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

“yes baby. i’m so close..”

you fuck her with your fingers while sucking her clit like it’s your only job. she falls apart fast, legs shaking, back arched, a breathless cry of your name on her lips as she cums hard—thighs clenching around your head, body trembling with release.

you don’t stop until she’s pushing weakly at your shoulders, too sensitive to take anymore.

you crawl up her body and kiss her slow, letting her taste herself on your tongue.

“you okay?” you whisper, brushing hair off her sweaty forehead.

she nods, dazed, blinking up at you like you just gave her the world.

“fuck.” she breathes. “that was…”

“yeah?”

she grins, cheeks flushed. “that was everything.”

you kiss her again, soft and warm. “you were everything tonight, paige. on that court and right here.”

she buries her face in your neck. “you’re gonna make me fall in love with you all over again.”

you smile. “good. that’s the plan.”

[suuuupernovaaa]

surprise

summary: despite your mid-level efforts at preventing, you find yourself pregnant with Joel’s child - and you really don’t want to be.

tags: pregnancy, jackson joel, fluff, comfort, established relationship

Based on this request.

MASTERLIST

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck!

The words repeat over and over in your mind, day in and day out. How could you have been so careless? How could you have let this fucking happen?

You’re not an idiot. Not some dumb teenager. You know exactly how babies are made. You know what you and Joel have been doing, damn near constantly, leads to this - and you haven’t been as careful as you could have been.

The two pink little lines haunt you. It’s been four days since you saw them in the bathroom, since they stared at you with their taunting little pink eyes until you vomited, and you’ve avoided Joel since.

Which has been super fucking hard. You don’t live together, even though you’ve discussed making that happen in the near future, but you and Joel have a routine.

He brings you coffee, every morning, to enjoy together on your porch. That is, unless you’ve spent the night together before, and then he doesn’t have to make the long journey Nextdoor to deliver it.

You part ways for your daily duties, whatever they may be, and always meet up again in the late afternoon. You take walks, make dinner together, maybe have a drink at the saloon or watch a movie. Sometimes Joel has more work to do at night. Often you sleep at his house, but you sometimes end up back at your own home, and then it starts again the next day.

You’ve left a note every morning the last four days that you had to head out early, and you’ll see him later.

It’s harder in the evenings to come up with excuses. A headache, sour stomach, spending time with a friend… Joel is too smart to let it go on too long.

But you can’t face him. You feel like a failure. You never really wanted kids, maybe not even before the world ended. Even in the safe town of Jackson Hole, motherhood doesn’t appeal to you. Safety isn’t guaranteed, and it doesn’t feel right to bring a child into a world like this.

But you’ve missed two periods now. You don’t feel right; you’re extra tired, so hungry, and soon, you know you’ll start to show.

You can’t hide it forever.

That evening, day four of avoiding Joel, he pounds on your door at dusk.

Shit. Fuck. Shit.

You take your time going to the door, and try to muster a smile when you pull it open.

“Hey there,” you say, and Joel scowls down at you.

“Don’t ’hey there’ me,” he replies in that gruff twang of his, and practically shoves you aside to enter your home.

You know there won’t be any avoiding it now. You can’t lie to Joel.

“You gonna tell me what the hell is going on with you? I don’t like you avoiding me.” He faces you, his hands on his hips like you’re a child he’s scolding. “I don’t buy it that you’re sick. Fess up.”

You rub your forehead with your fingertips and take in a deep breath that comes back out all shaky.

“I’m pregnant.”

Joel’s hands fall from his hips. Clearly, that’s not what he was expecting.

“Pregnant?”

You wince. “Yeah. I guess maybe, two months along or so.”

Joel walks to your worn leather couch and sits down, rubbing his jaw.

“Pregnant.”

You stay where you are, near the door, in case you need to bolt.

“I… am scared. And sick. I’ve been freaking out.”

“All alone?” he asks, his voice sad, and you feel your heart soften - just a little.

You take one step towards him. “I never wanted to be a mom. I don’t think I’ll be good at it. And I didn’t figure you’d want to, uh, do it all over again.”

He stares at you for a long moment and finally, pats the couch next to him.

You hesitate.

“Come on, girl,” he says, like you’re a skittish horse, but it works. You sink into the couch next to him, and he wraps his arms around you.

“I probably wouldn’t have chosen to have a baby, anymore than you would have. And we do have… options.”

You shake your head. “I know, but I don’t want that. I think I want it. But if you don’t…”

“I do,” he says, so quickly and so firmly, it makes your stomach flutter.

“You do?”

Joel nods, meeting your eyes. “I think you know that you’re the love of my life. If we’d met before, when I was younger, before all this, I’d have married you and had as many kids as we could’ve.” His expression is soft, nearly dreamy. “I’d have worked hard and bought a big house, with a big yard and some dogs. Maybe a farm or something. We’d have been happy.”

You sink into him, picturing it together. It doesn’t sound so bad. “But we met here, honey, and we’ve made the best of it. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. I want you to move into my house, I want to take care of both of you. Parenting ain’t easy, but we can do it together. Plus, Tommy and Maria will be around. And Ellie. We aren’t alone.”

Your throat feels thick and tears are pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Are you sure I can do it?” you ask.

Joel holds you close, his chin resting on top of your head. “Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

[victoryai]

THE ASCENDANT IN ASTEROID BODA (1487) PERSONA CHART: The obvious vibe of your wedding 💒.

ARIES ASC: Your wedding will have a bold look to it. You will see to it that the decorations and arrangements are outstanding. Your outfit will be on point and the attention of everyone will be on "you"

Your wedding will be loud 📢 and fun. It's the type of wedding where alot of things are happening: someone is dancing, the other crying 😭, mood swings here and there. The energy level is high and there's no dulling. Everyone is up and active. With this ascendant I don't see you having a quiet wedding at all 🚫

And at the end of the day you'll feel tired (a good tired🥱).

TAURUS ASC: Your wedding will be expensive 🏦. You or spouse will likely spend a fortune for everything to look plush on this special day

I see alot of varieties 😋 of dishes. The atmosphere will be chill and comfortable and so will everyone else be. You will comfortable in your outfit and will be composed throughout the day. Why do I feel everyone's attention is gonna be on your cake 🎂😭( maybe the Taurus- food connection).

I don't see tension and doubt with this placement except other placements indicate it.

GEMINI ASC: You/spouse might have to travel for the wedding (most likely short distance journey). Alot of communication and multitasking is happening here. Maybe you have to call up the wedding planner a thousand times, keep up with your hair appointment, send invitation cards to a lot of folks, pick up some guests lol etc. There's a lot of running around, either way. At your wedding, there's alot of chit chat going on, guests communicating or rather gossiping 🧐, you're likely to be nervous because gemini is a jittery sign 😭. It might also be a double wedding ( maybe you get married with another couple or you have two different types of wedding) Or also, you both might get married on the phone or FaceTime 😭😭

CANCER ASC: You are likely to have your wedding at your house or hometown. On this special day, family is going to be very important,maybe you've invited all your relatives and close ones you could think of. Your parents will have strong opinions about this wedding or will be very supportive. The wedding atmosphere might be very emotional and cozy 😭 maybe your friends and family are crying their eyes out. It might even feel like a family gathering more than it feels like a wedding. It's likely to be a very private and small wedding 💒 but with a lot of different moods 😂😭😩🥲🥱🥰😒. At the end of the day, you'll feel something only you can tell deep down in your heart.

LEO ASC: Your wedding will feel like a literal party 🥳🎉. It will be so much fun and might even be a popular wedding. I see a lot of kids at your wedding or you might already be pregnant. It's a very shiny wedding indeed. All eyes will be on you and you will be the center of attraction. Might be really really creative , maybe you do something that's not normally done at other weddings such as a bridal choreography or a short drama. Also there's possibility of something dramatic happening on your wedding day,(which could be positive or a bit negative) just something dramatic.

VIRGO ASC: Your wedding is going to be very put together, very organized too and pretty much minimalistic in nature.

I would say it's a simple wedding conducted in the formal way, everything is in proportion and there's also great attention to detail and cleanliness is top . However, this ASC could also indicate conflict at the wedding venue if other placements show so.

LIBRA ASC: Your wedding is a typical wedding. Both the bride and groom are looking very beautiful and handsome respectively, especially you! you will be pretty attractive on this special day and the attention will be on you and your spouse!. Everything is likely to go super smooth with the support of other placements. It's just as a wedding should be, not too loud, not too quiet, just in between, in proper balance. Might have a court wedding too.

SCORPIO ASC: Your wedding is going to have a heavy aura to it . Its like thickness can be felt in the atmosphere. This can be positive or negative but however way the atmosphere might be tensed up, maybe everyone has been anticipating this day and they can't just believe it's here!😨. This wedding might be conducted in secret or a secret gets spilled on your wedding day. Apart from all these, you might receive quite a fortune or inheritance from someone as a gift or something.

SAGITTARIUS ASC: You/spouse might have to travel long distance because of the wedding. You're likely to get married abroad. Your wedding will be exotic in nature and rich in culture. Most guests will be foreigners or coming from far away places. I would say very bright and lively . 2nd scenario is that your wedding will be religious e.g at a church, mosque, temple and would have you performing all the religious rites. A destination wedding.

CAPRICORN ASC: Planning your wedding up to the very last minute is going to be with a bit of stress and responsibility. Either of you might have a good social standing, so this might be a popular wedding that everyone is interested in, in the media, on the papers etc. Guests might be public figures and venue will be chic and dapper.

AQUARIUS ASC: Your wedding will be absolutely unique, with a somewhat weird taste. This is not the kind of wedding you see everday. This is actually special. Maybe instead of a wedding gown, you wear something very different. Your wedding is likely to receive attention on social media. Technology and innovative ideas might be of good use to you on this special day.

PISCES ASC: Your wedding will probably be near a beach/water body . It might be done very quietly too(did you runaway to have this wedding 😭). It could have an ethereal look and feel to it. You could decide to create a fairy tale theme for it.

There's also a chance it could be conducted in a very spiritual way too and it's aura can be greatly felt. It feels fated 😭. I bet you'll never forget this day!

[milfshotss]

Title: Smoke and Steel

Pairing: Sevika x Reader

Summary: You were sent by Piltover to monitor Councillor Sevika, not to end up tangled in her sheets with her mouth on your neck

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, g!p sevika

MEN & MINORS DNI: 18+ ONLY!!!!

————————————————————————

Zaun reeked of oil and heat.

You adjusted the cuffs of your too expensive coat as you stepped off the lift that had dragged you down from the pristine towers of Piltover into the underbelly of the undercity. You were sent as a delegate, an “observer,” your title had said. You knew what it really meant, a polite way of saying “spy with a smile.”

And of course, you knew who you’d be dealing with.

“Councillor Sevika will see you now,” said a gravel voiced assistant, barely looking at you as they opened the rusted iron doors.

You stepped inside.

She was seated like a warlord on a throne. A half burnt cigar hung from her lips, and the heavy coat of power weighed effortlessly on her broad shoulders. Her mechanical arm glinted in the low light as she leaned back, boots kicked up on her desk like she owned the whole city.

Because in many ways, she did.

“You’re the Piltie, huh?” Her eyes scanned you like a weapon… up, down, assessing. “I thought they’d send someone older.”

“And I thought they’d send someone less… arrogant,” you said, meeting her eyes without a flicker of fear. “But here we are.”

Sevika chuckled, low and sharp, removing the cigar and letting smoke curl between you. “I like the mouth on you,” she said. “Let’s see if you can keep it when things get real.”

⸻

Over the next few days, you danced around each other like fire and gunpowder. Every meeting was a battle of dominance, you in sleek Piltovan fabrics, her in leather and scars. You watched her command rooms with her voice alone, how even other councillors deferred to her without question.

But Sevika watched you, too.

She noticed the way you didn’t flinch in the face of Zaun’s chaos. She saw the sharp glint in your eyes when you asked hard questions and didn’t settle for easy answers. And when she caught you walking home alone at night… stupid, brave, or both, she didn’t offer you a ride.

She followed.

Just in case.

⸻

It was on the fourth night that it all snapped.

You were arguing again, this time about enforcement zones and territory neutrality. You accused her of protecting chem barons. She accused you of pretending Piltover wasn’t just as corrupt.

“You Pilties always act like you’re better than us,” Sevika growled, stepping into your space. Her voice was low, her presence suffocating.

“And you Zaunites act like pride makes up for a crumbling infrastructure and dying kids in alleyways!” you snapped back, chest rising.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Sevika’s eyes darkened, but it wasn’t just rage. It was something hotter. Rougher.

And then she kissed you… no, took your mouth like it had been hers all along.

You shoved her back against the door of her office, ripping open the buttons of your own coat, and she caught your wrists, spun you, slammed your back to the wall. The heat of her body pinned you, and her thigh forced its way between yours.

“You gonna act like you haven’t been wanting this since day one?” she growled against your throat, hand slipping beneath your blouse, squeezing possessively.

“I’m not acting,” you gasped, grinding into her.

Your lips are still tingling when you pull away, breathless and aching, Sevika’s hands tightening instinctively at your waist.

But your mind has already shifted, back to Piltover, to duty, to the world that doesn’t pause for lust or longing.

“I have to go,” you murmur against her mouth, eyes dark with a promise you don’t dare break.

You step back, smoothing your clothes, heart pounding. “To be continued,” you say with a crooked smile, and before she can stop you, you’re gone, leaving behind the scent of smoke, steel, and something dangerously unfinished.

————-

You didn’t expect to end up in Sevika’s office…again. The door slammed shut behind you with a definitive click, and the sound of your back hitting it came second only to her low, amused growl.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” she said, already crowding your space, one hand braced beside your head. The scent of smoke and leather clung to her, the heat of her body seeping into yours like wildfire.

You cocked your head, feigning boredom. “I came to renegotiate the terms.”

Sevika arched a brow. “With that mouth?” Her gaze dropped to your lips. “Yeah. I bet you did.”

You didn’t flinch as her fingers found the hem of your blouse… slow, deliberate, and began to undo the buttons one by one. She didn’t rush. She wasn’t the type. No, Sevika liked to unravel, and right now, you were the only thread in sight.

“You always wear this when you want to get your way?” she muttered, tugging the fabric aside to reveal the lace beneath. Her thumb brushed across the edge of your bra, just above your nipple, and you swore under your breath.

“Does it work?” you asked, lifting your chin.

That made her grin.

“Maybe.”

Her hands… one warm, the other cool and mechanical, skimmed along your sides, teasing as she pulled you closer by the hips. You hissed as her teeth grazed your throat, not quite biting, not quite kissing. You could feel her smirk when you shivered.

“I haven’t even touched you properly,” she murmured, voice rough against your skin. “And you’re already this wound up?”

“You talk a lot for someone who’s clearly dying to fuck me.”

That did it.

She shoved the rest of your blouse off and dragged her calloused palm across your stomach, dipping lower until her fingers brushed the waistband of your trousers.

“Off,” she said simply.

You toed your boots off, unzipped yourself… slowly, teasing while her eyes tracked every movement like a predator. When you stepped out of your trousers, she cupped your cheek.

“Turn around. Hands on the desk.”

You raised a brow. “Not even a kiss?”

Sevika leaned in, lips ghosting over yours… not quite touching.

“Earn it.”

You turned. The desk was cold under your palms, the metal biting into your skin as she stepped up behind you. Her fingers trailed along your spine, slow, reverent. She knelt behind you, unexpected, and then heat flooded you as she mouthed at the back of your thigh.

“Fuck,” you breathed.

She didn’t stop, lips and tongue trailing upward, over the curve of your ass, until she peeled your panties to the side and finally, finally buried her mouth between your legs.

One broad hand gripped your hip to keep you steady as her tongue worked you open. Her pace was maddening, slow, like she had all night. You whined, hips bucking slightly, but she just chuckled against you… deep and smug.

“Still think you’re in charge?”

“Still think… oh, gods… you’re clever?”

She sucked at your clit, tongue flicking until your legs trembled. When your knees nearly buckled, she stood, mouth shiny, eyes dark.

Then and only then, did she kiss you, rough and hungry, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

You were practically dizzy when she whispered against your lips, “Now you can have it.”

Her pants dropped, and you could feel her against your thigh… hard, heavy, real.

You blinked. “You…”

“Surprised?” she grinned. “Told you Zaun had better tech.”

And when she pressed against you… thick, hot, the stretch almost unbearable, you bit her shoulder hard enough to bruise.

She moaned like it turned her on.

“That’s it,” she whispered, thrusting slow and deep. “Take it.”

You grit your teeth as Sevika’s cock pressed deep inside you, slow and deliberate. Every inch of her was unapologetically real, a contrast to the polished, icy mask she wore in council meetings. Here, in this dim, grimy room smelling of oil and metal, she was pure heat and control, and you were caught somewhere between wanting to break and be broken.

“Look at me,” she growled, voice rough and commanding, fingers tightening on your hip like iron bands.

You did, eyes locked with hers… fierce, wild, almost predatory. She bit her lip, biting down hard enough to draw a line of blood. Your heart hammered, adrenaline and desire mixing into a potent cocktail that had you trembling.

“Gods, you’re tight,” she hissed, the sound vibrating through you like a shockwave.

Her hands roamed over your body with brutal reverence, nails digging into your skin, palms pressing hard, making you arch up to meet her thrusts. She didn’t hold back, hips snapping forward with controlled violence that had your breath hitching.

“Say my name,” she demanded, teeth grazing your ear.

“Sevika,” you gasped, voice rough and ragged. “Please, Sevika…”

Her smile was savage. “Beg.”

You clenched around her, slick and hot, the tension building fast, fierce. The noise of the city outside was muffled, the only sounds between you were your ragged breaths, her low groans, and the slick slap of skin meeting skin.

“I want to hear you scream,” she whispered, grinding against you, claws tracing fiery trails down your back.

You did… a raw, ragged cry that echoed through the room, reckless and loud. Sevika’s grip tightened, her own breathing growing ragged as she plunged deeper, faster, shoving you toward the edge you’d been holding back.

“Fuck, you’re mine,” she spat, voice cracking with need.

And when she came… hard, shaking, teeth clenched, you came with her, shuddering through the aftershocks, nails digging into her shoulders as she held you tight, skin slick with sweat and something hotter than desire.

When she finally pulled out, you were limp across her desk, panting.

She leaned over, brushing her lips against your ear. “Next time, bring your data sheets,” she murmured. “I’ll fuck you on top of your own lies.”

————————————————————————

[moondustbaby]

The Cabin Knows

bsf!Rafe x bsf!Reader

summary: A weekend lake trip with friends means bonfires, backflips, shared beds, and way too much flirting between you and your best friend. You’ve always been attached at the hip—but this trip might make it a little harder to pretend that’s all it is.

⸻

You call shotgun before you even get outside.

“You don’t even know who’s driving,” Rafe calls after you, lugging your duffel over one shoulder and the cooler over the other like he’s your own personal pack mule.

“I don’t care,” you yell back. “I’ve earned this seat. I’ve trained for this seat.”

Rafe sighs dramatically but tosses your bag into the back of Kelce’s car like it’s second nature, because it is. He’s already ditched his hoodie in the morning heat, tanned skin and that stupid silver chain glinting against his collarbone, and he looks absurdly hot for someone who’s about to spend three hours trapped in a car with snack crumbs and you.

Kelce honks once from the driver’s seat. “If you two lovebirds are done flirting, let’s go.”

“We’re not—” you and Rafe say at the same time, but Topper cuts you off from the backseat.

“Yeah, yeah, best friends since birth, totally platonic, we know the speech.”

Rafe just grins at them, leans in behind you, and mutters, “Don’t worry. I’ll hold your hand if you get scared of the winding roads.”

You flip him off and climb in. He climbs in right after you. He always does.

⸻

The lake house is straight out of a Pinterest board. Big wrap-around porch, old wooden dock, kayaks tied up along the shoreline. It smells like sunscreen and pine and cheap charcoal, and it’s perfect.

“This is so cute,” you say, stepping inside the cabin. “I’m gonna force all of you to play board games and drink sangria.”

Topper groans. “Please don’t make us do crafts again.”

“Don’t disrespect my homemade friendship bracelets.”

Rafe bumps your shoulder, grinning. “Mine’s still in my truck.”

Your stomach does the dumb thing it always does when he says stuff like that. Like maybe you’re not the only one who keeps souvenirs.

⸻

You end up sharing a room with Rafe. Of course you do. No one even questions it anymore.

There’s only one bed, but it’s queen-sized and familiar, and you’ve shared less.

You dump your stuff on the left side—your side—and flop down dramatically.

“I call the good pillow,” you announce.

Rafe tosses his duffel down beside yours. “Joke’s on you. I’m the good pillow.”

“You’re the hot pillow,” you correct. “You radiate like a furnace.”

He shrugs. “Built-in heater, baby.”

You try not to let that word echo too long in your chest. He always calls you that. You shouldn’t still feel it.

⸻

The first night, everyone drinks a little too much.

There’s a bonfire. Someone plays country music from a speaker that keeps cutting out. You sit on Rafe’s lap without thinking about it, his arms bracketing your waist like they belong there.

“Too many people, not enough chairs,” you say, even though there’s literally an empty camping chair two feet away.

“Guess you’re stuck with me,” he says, and doesn’t let you move.

Kelce hands you a marshmallow. Rafe roasts it for you without asking.

You don’t talk about it. You never do.

⸻

By the second day, it’s hot enough to make the dock feel like a frying pan.

You and Sarah sunbathe while the boys throw themselves off the end of the dock like idiots.

Rafe does a backflip. Lands it. Immediately looks over to you, grinning, hands in his hair like you saw that, right?

You clap slowly. “Wow, so talented. Incredible form.”

“I deserve a prize,” he calls back.

“You deserve a towel.”

“You volunteering to dry me off?”

Sarah groans. “You guys have to know how you sound.”

You glance at Rafe. He winks.

So no. You’re not going to stop.

⸻

That night, you both crash into bed around 1 a.m. Rafe’s shirtless. You’re in your favorite sleep shorts and one of his old t-shirts.

You don’t even think twice before curling into him, cheek on his chest, leg thrown over his thigh. His hand rubs slow circles on your back like it’s muscle memory.

“You have fun today?” he asks quietly.

“Mmhm. This place is nice.”

“You’re nice.”

You lift your head to squint at him. “You’re drunk.”

He grins. “Little bit.”

You roll your eyes and drop your head back down. “I like you when you’re wine-drunk. You get flirty.”

“I’m always flirty.”

“Not with everyone.”

He doesn’t say anything to that.

But his hand keeps moving on your back. And neither of you move apart.

⸻

On the last morning, you wake up to Rafe trying to steal the pillow out from under your head.

“Give it,” he whispers, tugging.

“No,” you groan, holding it tighter.

You crack one eye open and squint at him. His hair’s a mess, his voice is scratchy, and he looks infuriatingly good.

“You’re lucky I love you,” you mumble.

It slips out. So casual. So automatic.

You don’t even register it until he goes still.

Then: “You love me?”

You freeze. “I mean—you know what I meant.”

He shifts closer, nosing at your cheek. “No, no. Say it again.”

You bury your face in the pillow. “I hate you.”

“I love you too, bug.”

You lift your head just enough to see him smiling like a menace. Like he’s known this all along.

You roll over and shove him onto his back. He laughs, pulling you with him.

You stay there. Tangled up. Warm. Happy.

Maybe there’s something to be said, later. Maybe not.

But for now, his hand is in your hair, your leg is over his, and the whole cabin is asleep while you pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

And for the first time, pretending feels a lot like the real thing.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: ugh i need a weekend lake trip with rafe and summer and shared beds and his stupid little chain and the way he calls you “baby” like it’s nothing. anyway. if you’ve ever said “we’re just friends” while wearing his t-shirt and sleeping in his lap, this one’s for you. bsf!rafe is my absolute favorite to write for so if you have any requests for him send them my way. 🤩

♥️ lani

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Masterlist

𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉:

@psychicnatural @superlegend216 @rafesbabygirlx

[dolcecherub]

surprise pit stop ➶-͙˚ ༘✶

★ pairing: oscar piastri x female reader

★ tags: op81, female reader, dirty talk, established relationship, phone sex, smut, riding, belly bulging, 2024 F1 season, excessive pet name

★ yap: second oscar fic!! lowkey very happy with this one and it was so fun to write so hopefully y'all enjoy - also please ignore any mistakes its like 2am when im posting this lol :)

★ word count: 3.2k

It had been a week since you had last seen Oscar, given that the past week and the one upcoming were part of the triple header in Spain, Austria, and Silverstone. Work had been far too busy for you to be able to go, unfortunately. But he made sure to call you before bed every night, telling you how much he missed you and having you at the end of every race.

Your heart ached. 

You were used to not seeing him for a few weeks at a time during the season, but that didn’t mean it was easy. Sporadic texts, late-night calls, seeing media posts wishing you could stand next to him in support. 

The Spanish Grand Prix did not end as Oscar had wanted, finishing 7th, and although he scored points, he was evidently snappy later that night, beating himself up for the performance he gave. You listened to his rambles about the track and how the garage was insufferably hot, laughing when he made an angry quip. The conversation fizzled as he relaxed, his tone soft as he murmured about how much he missed you, eyes hazed with sleep.

Long ‘goodnights’ and murmuring ‘I love you’s’ preceded a restless sleep for you, heart aching to hold him, body filled with need. 

Days had passed, fewer chats with Oscar, given that you were both a bit busy. Wednesday dragged on, the sun setting as you finished a few last-minute emails before calling it a day in the office. You hopped into your car, ready to drive home, when a notification flashed on your phone, seeing Oscar’s name light up the screen. 

You smile subconsciously before putting the car into gear and heading home. The ride home was peaceful, excited to get home and finally chat with Oscar. Pulling into your driveway, you grab your belongings before heading inside. You drop your bag near the door, sliding off your coat and hanging it up. Walking into your bedroom, you grab a change of clothes and get settled for bed before grabbing your phone. 

Tapping the notification, your chat with Oscar opens, your breath hitching as you process what he has sent you. His first text read, “thinking ‘bout you baby” and “I miss you.” 

What really got your heart racing was the picture that followed. 

A mirror selfie with Oscar sat on the corner of his hotel bed, shirtless, his hair tousled from a shower. His legs were spread, pyjama pants doing very little to hide the hard-on he was sporting. His biceps bulged, holding up his body as he leaned back a bit, abs clenched. Your mouth watered, imagining yourself settled between his legs, pleasing him. You sent a text back, body flushing with need. 

"Fuck Osc, that’s not fair"

He reads it immediately, typing back a quick emoji, before you see his contact pop up on your screen, an incoming call. You answer right away, giddy to hear his voice. 

“Hi, baby,” His voice is soft and raspy, your mind immediately calming, smiling at the nickname. “Hi, Osc, I miss you.”

“I miss you, wish you were here, bed’s empty without you,” 

“Only thing you’re missing?” You tease, looking back at the picture he sent you. He chuckles lowly as you hear rustling around. 

“You know exactly what I’m missing, darling.”  Your thighs clench at his tone, cheeks flushing red. You slide off your top, pushing your tits together and snapping a quick picture, sending it to Oscar. He groans, “Fuck. I’d do anything to have you here right now, baby,” His tone was needy. 

“Yeah? Gonna touch yourself thinking about me, hm? Imagining my mouth around you?” You teased, your hand sliding across your body. He groaned, a slick noise coming from his end of the phone. Your words continued, riling him up without fail as he brought himself to release, hearing your voice. 

Sweet goodbyes and a ramble of how much he loved you followed before you both settled into bed, miles apart. 

─── ⋆⋅✩⋅⋆ ───

Thursday morning came, your mind made up. However it may be, you would be in Austria to support him. 

And so it began, calls with some of his PR team members, a message to co-workers letting them know you’d be working from home for a few days, quick packing, as well as booking the soonest flight. You had a rough plan, hoping to fly in Saturday night and surprise him after the race on Sunday, and although a last-minute flight would never be cheap, you knew it was worth it. 

You packed a small suitcase with essentials, as well as making sure to pack Oscar’s McLaren jersey and a cute lingerie set. You made sure to do a bit of housekeeping, not having booked a return flight just yet. 

Calls with Oscar continued, the surprise nearly slipping off your tongue a handful of times. Thankfully, a team member at McLaren had been able to snag a paddock pass to ensure you’d be able to watch the race while also letting you know his hotel information so you could wait for him after the race. 

Saturday had come quicker than expected, and next thing you know, you were settled into a hotel room in the same hotel as Oscar, antsy that he was so close yet so far. He tried to call, and you brushed it off, saying you weren’t feeling well and planned on sleeping early. He bought it, thankfully, wishing you a good night’s sleep and hoping you felt better in the morning. 

The sprint race had gone well for Oscar, placing second and scoring a few more points. However, qualifying was far less exciting, having placed seventh on the starting grid. You tucked into bed, falling asleep fairly quickly, excited for the next day. 

─── ⋆⋅✩⋅⋆ ───

You woke up early, snagging a quick breakfast in the room before getting ready. You popped on Oscar’s jersey atop the lingerie you had brought, sliding on a pair of baggy jeans and a hat. You left your hair naturally, with slight waves and a light face of makeup, spritzing yourself in Oscar’s favourite perfume.

You grabbed the paddock pass you were given the night before and slipped out of the hotel room, making your way to the track.

You made sure to time it so that Oscar would likely already be in his car before you arrived to ensure he wouldn’t see you. Some of the team members smiled at your presence, knowing it would make Oscar happy. 

─── ⋆⋅✩⋅⋆ ───

The race had gone better than you could have imagined, Oscar having started seventh and finishing second. You cheered loudly, proud of his performance and excited to treat him after the race.

As he finishes up with post-race interviews, you slink back to the hotel, grabbing the key card to his room and slipping in. His room looked lived in as you navigated it, sliding off your jeans and folding them on the chair before slipping into his bed. 

It felt like hours had passed when you received a text from a friend on the McLaren team letting you know that Oscar had just left the paddock and was headed back to his hotel room. Your heart sped up with excitement, hands brushing through your hair, trying to fix any loose hairs. 

The black set you had on underneath was one of Oscar’s favourites, the lace cupping your breasts perfectly, the colour stark against your skin. You hoped his jersey on top would make him feel some sort of way. 

You heard a click, the door swinging open as Oscar sighed, he hadn’t seen you yet, toeing off his shoes at the doorway before walking in. He emptied his pockets onto the table and tousled his hair as you shifted in bed, his eyes snapping to the motion and sound. 

Your eyes locked with his, a small smile adorning your face. His eyes widened in shock, “Oh my god,” He murmured before nearly catapulting himself into bed with you, arms wrapping tightly around you as he buried his head into your neck. 

“You’re here,” He mumbled, placing a delicate kiss to the crevice between your neck and shoulder. 

“Congratulations, Oscar, you did so well. I’m so proud of you.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding him close and praising him. 

“You watched?” He said shocked, pulling his head back to look at you. You pointed to the paddock pass sat atop your jeans on the chair. “You watched it live?” His voice octaves higher with surprise, “You didn’t come see me.” He pouted. 

“I wanted to surprise you, thought it would be fun,” you confessed, feeling a bit nervous suddenly. He dipped his head back into your shoulder, laughing. “I’m so happy you’re here you have no idea.” He spoke, trailing kisses up from your neck to your jaw as you lightly scratched his back, body still cooling from the race. 

His lips met yours, slow and hungry, his body impossibly pressing against yours. Days of desire pouring into his kiss, his tongue swiping over your bottom lip as his teeth nipped your lip. You gasp, letting his tongue in as it licked over your own. Your hand trailing up into his hair, tugging lightly as he groans into your mouth, your thighs clenching at the noise.

His thigh slid between yours, pressing against you, Oscar’s body on top of yours, his tongue swirling with yours messily.

You whined against his mouth, heart racing as his hands slid across your hips holding them tight. You pull back to look up at him, lips glossy, eyes dark with want and his cheeks flushed. 

“You look so good in my shirt,” He mumbled, his lips trailing delicately on your neck as his hands pushed the shirt up, revealing your black lace panties that were nearly drenched from his kisses. “For me, darling?” he asked teasingly, his hands leaving the jersey midway up your stomach before grabbing your thighs and pushing them a bit farther apart. 

You nod, biting your lip as his fingers brush the inside of your thigh. “You’re so sweet to me,” He murmurs, giving short and sweet kisses between words. Your hands trail down his chest, fingers grabbing the waistband to his shorts, tugging open the button and sliding down the zipper. You peered up at him, his eyes following your hands, cock throbbing. Sliding out from under him, you stand to the side of the bed, his expression a little confused. 

“Sit back,” You asserted, grabbing your hair and pushing it to one side. Oscar swiftly moved, sitting back against the headboard, his legs spread as you climbed back onto the bed, sitting on your knees between his legs, leaning forward toward him. He watches you intently, grabbing his shirt and slipping it off, tossing it to the side, his heart racing. You tugged the top part of his shorts down, his boxers tight against his bulge as his breath hitched at the contact. You looked up at him, tugging his boxers down and pulling his cock out, tip leaking. 

You wrap a hand around him, thumb rubbing the slick precum from his tip over his cock as you pump him a few times, Oscar groaning. He slips a hand into your hair, brushing it away from your face. Leaning forward, you slide your tongue up the bottom side of his cock, eyes locked with his as you wrap your lips around his tip, swirling your tongue around him and savouring the tip. He lets out a ragged groan, “Fuck, baby.”

You moaned at his words, the noise reverberating through him. You let a little spit dribble onto his cock before sliding his length into your mouth, hands pumping whatever you can’t fit. “Shit, look at you,” Oscar mumbled, his hands tangling into your hair tighter, pushing your head down slightly as you gagged. Your head came back up, hands still pumping him wetly as you caught your breath, Oscar’s leg twitching at the sensations. His hand quickly stopped yours, letting out a sigh, his reddened tip leaking. Your thighs clenched, feeling sticky from your arousal. 

“What?” You giggled shyly, hands still slowly pumping him despite the resistance. “You’re gonna make me cum, darling,” He chuckled breathlessly. You opened your mouth, slapping his cock on your tongue a few times before slipping it back into your mouth all the way, your nose touching his body, his cock throbbing. Oscar let out a guttural groan, head slamming back against the headboard at the sight of you.

You pulled him out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting you to him as you licked your lips. Oscar lifted his hips, sliding his shorts and boxer off in one smooth go, tossing them with his shirt as he beckons you closer. Crawling onto his lap, his hands grab your hips pulling you closer as his lips landed on yours, tongue sliding against yours, hotly tasting himself on your tongue. 

You moan into his mouth, feeling him press against your core. “Take ‘em off baby,” Oscar says, snapping the edge of your panties against your hip. Obeying, you tug them off, thighs slick with arousal as you drop the panties to the side before climbing back onto his lap. His hands return to your hips, your wet heat sliding against his cock, teasing him as he groans. His hands slide back, squeezing your ass and pushing you forward. 

“You look so good in my jersey, my name on your back,” his lips suckling light marks on your neck as you grind your hips. You get up on your knees, his cock popping up, tip meeting your entrance. Oscar grabs himself, rubbing against you teasingly wetting himself as you begin to settle. His tip slides in, your mind dizzying at the stretch. You slide your hands to his shoulders, slowly taking inch by inch till your hips meet his, Oscar mezmerized by you. 

“You’re so big, Osc, fuck,” You whine out, moving your hips back and forth getting comfortable with the stretch. 

“You can take it, baby,” He assures, his hand rubbing over the slight bulge evident on your tummy under his jersey, his eyes hooked onto it watching himself inside you, the other moving your hips. 

You whimper at the pressure, finally moving your hips up and down slowly, Oscar grabbing your hips as he groans, watching you bounce. Your hips moved slowly in a menacing pace, unintentionally teasing him. You clenched around him, moaning as he fucks up into you, hands holding you down. 

“C’mon baby, you’re doing so well for me,” He praised as you whined, “You want me to help you darling, need my help, hm?” 

You leaned forward, ass pushing back a little as your forehead fell to his shoulder, “Please Oscar, n-need it,” You whimpered, begging him as his cock throbbed. His hands tighten on your hips, surely leaving marks for the next morning. He pumps his hips up into you, your mouth leaving sloppy kisses on his neck as he hits a spot inside you making you whimper loudly. 

“Look at you taking my cock, darling.” He praises, hips pistoning at a brutal pace, your mind dizzy as you fail to answer, whimpers and moans spilling out, your hands grabbing his shoulders. 

“Missed you so much,” He groaned, slowing down his thrusts to a teasing pace dragging his cock before thrusting back up into you. “Osc… fuck.” You moaned, looking at him with glassy eyes and flushed cheeks. He continued murmuring sweet praises, a knot building tight in your stomach, your inner thighs sticky as Oscar continued his dizzying thrusts. 

“You’re so good for me darling,” He groaned, his abs clenching, “Treating me to this sweet pussy, letting me fuck you like this,” His filthy words making your head spin as you whimpered. His cock filled you deliciously, feeling yourself clench around him as you tumbled closer to the edge. 

His jersey clung to your damp skin, your mouth slack as he fucked you, the slow drag of his cock leaving you breathless. “Pretty girl,” He mumbled, suckling another mark onto your neck before leaving a soft kiss to your lips, your mind far too fuzzy to kiss him back hungrily. 

“Osc I- fuck,” You whine, “I’m gonna cum,” You whimpered, your stomach tightening with need. “Cum for me baby, c’mon,” He teased, his one hand sliding between your thighs, rubbing slow circles on your clit as he continued thrusting his hips up into you. 

You feel your legs shake, clenching around him as you let go, mind fuzzy as you nearly collapse onto him, moans and the filthy slap of skin filling the air. Oscar’s hip faltered slightly, feeling you cum around him but he continued, his cock throbbing with need to finish.

“Your pussy was made for me, baby. Gonna let me cum?” He groaned, hips thrusting faster with need. You whimper at his words, too far gone to speak as you nod your head, biting your lip. 

“Let me fill that sweet pussy, darling.” Oscar moans breathlessly. His hips stutter as you tighten around him, his cock twitching inside you, warmth filling you as he groans. Oscar’s head drops to your shoulder, hips slowly fucking into you as his release filled you. He brings his head up, placing a sloppy kiss on your lips, hand sliding comfortingly against your back as you feel his cum drip out of you and coat your thighs, a filthy sight that Oscar revelled at. 

“You’re so good to me, darling, I love you,” He praised, pushing the damp hairs off of your forehead and placing delicate kisses across your face as he pulled out slowly. You whined at the loss, feeling empty as he leaked out of you.

He let out a sigh, holding you closer, before moving to get up, still holding onto you. He places you down on the bed gently, quickly grabbing a cloth to wipe both of yourselves down before getting settled for bed. Slipping on a pair of boxers, he grabbed an extra t-shirt for you, helping you peel off the jersey and slip on the t-shirt before bed. 

Oscar slid into bed with you, your eyes fighting to stay open as you curled yourself around him, leg propping onto his hip, his arms bringing your body closer as he gently kissed you. 

“I love you, Osc.” you mumbled, kissing the tip of his nose before nuzzling it with your own. A small smile on his face as he pulled you impossibly closer. “I’m happy you came,” He spoke, cuddling into your hair, you couldn’t help the joke. “Oh, I am too.” You giggled, twisting his words lightheartedly. He chuckled, squeezing your hip at the innuendo, placing a soft kiss on the crown of your head before you both silently lulled to sleep. 

─── ⋆⋅✩⋅⋆ ───

Silverstone wasn’t all that bad, Oscar having placed fourth. 

Perhaps you were good luck, you thought, as Oscar ran over to you following the race, kissing you like he had never been happier.  

─── ⋆⋅✩⋅⋆ ───

[quandaledlnglepink]

 ࣪ 𝜗𝜚 ̟ ⸻ ❝ I GAVE YOU A BONER, DON'T IGNORE ME. ❞

𝜗𝜚 synopsis; i'm gonna describe some of the bllk boys dick's and how they engage in sex because i have free will, just keep in mind i wrote this out of my pussy at like 11PM and i'm tired asf so sorry for any typo's or shit that doesn't make any sense xoxo. w.c; 1k. 𝜗𝜚 character's; isagi yoichi ; michael kaiser ; shidou ryusei ; nagi seishiro ; meguru bachira ; hyoma chigiri ; itoshi rin.

⸻ 潔 世一 ISAGI YOICHI ⨾ is about average, not skinny but not thick either, has an even girth. he doesn't shave, but he's not super hairy either, his pubic hairs more on the thinner side. his cum isn't thick or watery either, it's in the middle, and it doesn't really taste of anything. he's about 5.8 inches when hard. this doesn't mean at all that he's not good at the game, his technique makes up for it. after all, his greatest talent is his adaptability. he may not be able to bruise your cervix, but you'll still go dumb on his cock. his mouth is filthy, other than on the football field, the bedroom is the only place he'll let his degrading tone slip out in the heat of the moment. he's always embarrassed after, but you always reassure him you enjoy it too.

⸻ 蜂楽 廻 MEGURU BACHIRA ⨾ on the other hand, is packing an absolute monster. most people would assume he would be small, but they're so, so wrong. he's not grandly thick in girth, but he's not average sized either. he doesn't shave, his happy trail small. he's about 7.7 inches hard, two of your hands could fully stack on top of each other from base to tip. his cum has a more thick consistency, and it tastes a little on the sweet side. he's the only one, (besides shidou and nagi) who will leave your cervix bruised and battered, your legs wobbling like a fawn for the next few days. don't ever doubt his stamina, he'll have you cock–drunk for hours, and two–three measly rounds won't satisfy him. he likes cowgirl because he just ends up pulling you down, pinning you flush to his chest, fucking up into you until your stupid and drooling.

⸻ 凪 誠士郎 NAGI SEISHIRO ⨾ also packs an absolute monster, but it's expected for his looming height. he has the longest cock out of all the bllk boys, a good 8.3 inches, he's got an even, average girth. his pubic hair is a pure, snowy white, more thicker on his pelvis and looks like swirly waves. his cum is more on the watery side and a little salty. out of the big long dick bllk holders, he and barou are the only ones who aren't rabid animals when it comes to putting it to use. in fact, nagi's rather lazy and prefers eating you out or having handjobs. it's still work, but less then trying to fuck you. though, his favourite position would be cowgirl, and that speaks for itself. his sex drive is shockingly through the roof though, say, more than bachira's and shidou's.

⸻ ミヒャエル・カイザ MICHEAL KAISER ⨾ is longer than average, but more on the skinny side, with an even girth. his tip is a pale purple, a thick vein running along the underside. he doesn't shave, his hair light, fine enough where he kinda looks bare. his cum doesn't tastes of anything either, maybe a slight bitterness, and his constancy, like nagi's, is not that thick either. his length is around 6.5 inches, in all honesty, he doesn't use it much. he prefers to use his tongue and digits, that way he's in much more control, plus his sex drive isn't that high in terms of wanting to get himself off, it's more about you. if he's stressed, he prefers to be buried in between your thighs then you taking his length. doesn't mean he can't use his dick, on the rare occasion he uses it your cumming at least three times until he's satisfied.

⸻ 士道 龍聖 SHIDOU RYUSEI ⨾ longer, thick base that gets thinner when it reaches the tip, dark brown and plump. like bachira, he doesn't shave at all, he thinks the more natural the better; though his happy trail is purposely dyed pink, a gradual ombre to golden blonde the closer you get to his dick. his cum is fucking thick, like honey syrup, its taste a sweet, salty mix. he's always ends up either busting on your face, tits, tummy or back. he's a bit longer then kaiser, 6.8 inches, but it doesn't matter what length he had, your poor pussy is always weeping when he's done with you. he's a freak and a horn dog, and he's rather skilled at being able to hold his orgasm off. he's able to go for hours without getting tired, and you get overstimulated so quickly. you cum in like the first five minutes because your body reacts almost on his own when downright pornographic moans come from his mouth.

⸻ 糸師凛 ITOSHI RIN ⨾ is very long and very skinny, around 7.5 inches. his cum is of a normal taste and consistency, and he doesn't cum a lot. his tip is a light pink and he's super sensitive. i'm talking just wrapping your hands around it has him hissing through clenched teeth. he's twitchy and tends cum rather quick, which he gets rather sheepish about when he realises. he has a dark snail trail, he doesn't shave but he trims, his pubic hairs on the finer side. you get rather scared in an excited way, because he gets quite rough in the bedroom. he's a hair grabber when you go down on him, any harsh sucking from you results in your scalp stinging from how hard he fists your loc's of hair. like kaiser, he just prefers going down on you, he's a no.1 pussy eater.

⸻ 千切 豹馬 HYOMA CHIGIRI ⨾ has a pretty cock, any girl he's fucked says it to. he's about 6.6 inches, an average sized base that gets smaller more towards the tip, he has a few freckles speckled on the underside, his tip a perfectly pink mushroom. his pubic hairs a pretty pink swirl, he shaves his happy trail and trims his pubes. his cum doesn't taste of anything (hygienic king, he eats so healthy.) and the constancy is more thinner, his output of cum is rather normal as well. don't be fooled, when he puts it to use it takes you completely off guard. he'll have your knees to ears, pressing you into the mattress as if your body's like putty. he leaves you barley coherent, and yet he hadn't broken a sweat, a wicked smile would cross his face as he innocently asks you if you still think he can't fuck you right.

Quandaledlnglepink © 2025

[tojisteddy]

how would Simon react if you safeworded out?

would he be gruff but still sweet and soft and apologetic? would he fuss over you or play it cool while taking care of you? (“oh, lovey im so sorry…” or “its alright, thank you for telling me, i wont push you so far next time, kiddo…”)

why would blackcat!reader safeword out? stress? just not feeling it? maybe emotional?

I think there are two things in this world that Simon Riley is (and always will be) very serious about and that’s aftercare and your safety.

Like yeah he’s an asshole and gruff guy but when it comes to you, he really is a big softie at heart. So when he tells you off when you get back after not texting him back all night or gently making sure you walk on the inside of the street when your with him, it’s for good reason, he’s showing he cares. He loves you to pieces. Will do any and everything for you. So if he’s pushed too far, he makes mental note of it. And if he wants to push that far again, he’ll end up doing a check. Making sure you know your safeword, or right before he knows you’ll ‘give’ he’ll tap you out himself.

So when he hears you say the safeword, he doesn’t hesitate. He knows the first thing you need is comfort and reassurance. So he pulls out, and holds you in his big arms. Kisses you all over while you cry, getting you to calm down and listen to his words because he means them, truly.

“Simon was too mean, yeah? I Shouldn’t ‘ve pushed you like that, doll.”

“Dad’s sorry kitty, you were perfect, did everything I said so well. Always so good f’me.”

And if you refute his words, too in your own head, he’ll hold you just a little tighter. So you can hear his heartbeat, rocking you in his arms,

“You’ll never be the one at fault baby, ‘ts on me. My job to watch over you, right kiddo? Thanks for tellin me Princess, love you so much.”

Blackcat!reader would safeword out from stress or better yet, Simon just instinctively knows you’re off. Sad to say but I think blackcat!reader has been through a shit ton and can be pushed (and has found comfort in Simon pushing you to the limit). You’re the type to hold shit in like a tower until someone knocks it all over. let’s say a day where the cards just were not in your favor. It was terrible day at work and both of your dogs were acting up when you got home and you yelled at Simon, like really yelled at him (which is something neither of you do). Simon would be 10 spanks to thirty and either you grip at shirt and tell him you ‘give’ already sniffling or he notices you’re not crying. You’re just trembling, taking everything he’s giving you. And Simon will sit up you, ask you what’s wrong and then the dam in your eyes just breaks.

Choking on your own sobs,

“Pa I- I-“ boo-hoo, snot everywhere, clutching onto him, balling your eyes out till their puffy.

Simon doesn’t hesitate to pick you up, he lets out a soft sigh in his head because he hates to see you like this. And he hated that he always has to be the one to push you to cry (of all people). But he’s working on it, working on getting you to communicate and doing so makes him want to get better at communicating for himself too. He wants to be his best for you.

He coos, “Let’s give the princess a bath, hm kitten? Gonna get ya nice ‘nd clean ‘nd then get you in bed with that little Sanrio rabbit. Then we can talk tomorrow.”

You nod, taking a shaky breath followed by a hiccup. You manage to squeak out a ‘sorry’ halfway through the bath, and that’s when Simon gets playful, he boop your nose or tickles right under your chin making you squirm.

“What’s there to apologize for? Used your safeword like the big girl I know you are. Couldn’t be more proud ‘f you honey.”

He’ll nibble at your jaw and rest his head atop of yours while he rubs your back after getting you in bed.

“Just a bad day gorgeous, you’re not bad. Tomorrow’ll be better.”

a/n: I think crybaby, feenin & a little comfort are like prime examples too. Thank you so much for asking anon!!! I fuckin love with ppl ask questions!!

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱<3: @bruisedfig @tessakate @sevikasblackgf @mocha-the-muse @nightfwn @mims900

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[captain-huggy-bear]

Congratulations, well deserved!! Can we pls have Quinn Hughes with “Every morning I fall in love with you all over again."

1000 Followers Celly Finished Requests are currently closed while I work through current ones <3 Writing Masterlist

Quinn's not sure how he managed it, but at some point, most likely season after season of early wake ups, he'd managed to turn himself into an insufferable morning person. Gone were the days where he could lie in and sleep till noon, now he naturally woke up at 5am, unable to go back to sleep.

The biggest benefit to this was you. Each morning he'd wake at 5am and each morning you'd still be sound asleep next to him...and each morning Quinn would take the time to just watch you, to fall a little bit more in love with you.

This morning was no different, he woke to the sun streaming in through a slit in the curtains, your cat's tail swishing into his face and tickling his nose, and most importantly, you. You laid across his chest, cheek smushed against his pectoral, mouth slightly open, drool forming at the corner of your lips. Quinn knew that you'd be embarrassed by it. By the drool, the way your hair stood up on it's ends, random strands all over the place, by the heavy mouth breathing you were doing deep in sleep. But to him? To him it was nothing but endearing.

He wanted to wake up every single morning for the rest of his life at 5am to the sight of you drooling on him, your sleep shorts riding up your thighs, wearing one of his old t-shirts, toes digging into his leg.

Quinn can't really help himself but press a kiss to the top of your head, leaning forward slightly, shifting you gently as he sits somewhat upright. You grumble as he moves but don't wake, just burrow closer to his chest like you can get inside his skin. He'd let you if he could.

One of his hands reaches for your arm, tracing circles into your skin, tracing over each finger on his chest and back down again, each knuckle is traced, every bone in your wrist, every mark on your skin. He gets too careless though, fingers trailing up to your cheek, over the tip of your nose, the ticklish sensation causing you to start to wake, nose twitching, grumbles leaving you as you blink up at him sleepily.

He's blurry in the early morning hours and you just about comprehend that it's his finger tickling your skin and not some sort of insect.

"...Quinn?" Your voice is hoarse from sleep, dehydrated from a long night and you can already tell it's far too early for you to be awake.

"'m sorry, baby, go back to sleep..." Quinn keeps his voice quiet, a low rumble that you feel under your ear more than you hear. You ignore him, your typical sort of stubbornness coming through that has you trying to force yourself to stay awake.

"What're you doin'?"

"Just admiring you 's all, go back to sleep, baby." his fingers fall into your hair, massaging at your scalp and the back of your neck in a way that has your eyes blinking slower and slower like you're resisting falling asleep in place.

"Okay..." Your voice is sweet, sleepy and cosy as you nuzzle back down against him, eyes closing finally.

Quinn waits until your breath has evened out, till he's certain you're asleep again before he even dares to whisper the thoughts in his head.

“Every morning I fall in love with you all over again...fuck, think i'm gonna marry you, baby." Truth is though, he doesn't think, he knows. Quinn is absolutely certain that you're it for him. From the way you drool on him in your sleep to the way you squint when it's too sunny out and how you always seem to find him in a crowd no matter how many people are in the way.

You're 100%, absolutely it for him.

[robbysreaders]

pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!reader warnings: not beta read, barely proof read oops word count: 3k idk what happened i started with the bar scene and then felt like it needed some lead up and here we are notes: be kind to me, i am not a writer but these doctors have awoken a monster in me.

Robby got roped into a frontline workers’ talk at a local elementary school.

Shen’s mom’s friend is the principal if some public school and somehow that’s how Robby ends up walking into a fluorescent-lit elementary school foyer the same morning Shen’s leaving for his bachelor party weekend.

“You owe me big time, buddy.” he texts Shen.

“We’re naming our firstborn Robby,” Shen fires back.

“You know I’ll hold you to that,” he replys

He walks in with AirPods in, sunglasses still on, looking a bit lost. You glance up from your clipboard and do a double take.

He pops one AirPod out just as you mutter, “Oh… you’re not Dr. John Shen.”

“Nope, I’m not. He’s on a boat somewhere. Bahamas, I think. You’ve got me instead. Dr. Michael Robinavitch. Older. Not as good-looking.” taking his sunglasses off.

“I never said that,” you say, blush creeping up your neck. “I think he must’ve told our principal and it didn’t get passed along. No worries—I’ll just update my intro slide.”

“Sorry for the switch-up,” he says, finally meeting your eyes properly, and holding the look a moment too long.

“Really, it’s fine. Come on, I’ll show you to the gym. Kids will be filing in soon. Just a quick overview of what you do, your schooling, then a few questions. You’ve got backup—a fire chief, a nurse, an EMT. You’re not on the hook for the whole thing.”

As you walk, he points to a motivational poster taped to the wall: a kitten dangling from a tree branch.

“‘Hang in there.’ Very ER-core.”

You nod, straight-faced. “It’s more for the teachers than the students.”

He chuckles.

He introduces himself to a room of squirming third to fifth graders with “So I work in a place where people try to die and I spend most of my time convincing them not to. It’s great.”

They’re hooked.

He talks about trauma bays, night shifts, a time he held someone’s heart in his hands. The kids go wild.

One kid asks if he’s famous.

Another asks if he’s seen poop.

A third says: “You look like Iron Man.”

Robby: “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

After the assembly wraps up, your work bestie sidles up to you.

���So we’re just gonna ignore that Dr. McHottie was eye fucking you the whole time?”

You don’t look up from the stack of worksheets you’re grading. “Literally no idea what you’re talking about.”

She tilts her head. “You should’ve gotten his number. Or I should have. What do you think they’d say if we just called the hospital?”

“I think it violates HIPAA.”

She shrugs. “I don’t think that you know what HIPAA is.”

You roll your eyes.

But the universe isn’t done.

Later, still riding the post-event adrenaline, you stop at the grocery store on your route home. This day earned you cake and a bottle of wine. You’re crouched down in the wine aisle, scanning for the cheapest red on the shelf, when someone clears their throat behind you.

“I think you’re better off with a white. With, uh, berry chantilly cake,” he says, peeking into your basket.

You look up. It’s him.

“An ER doctor and a sommelier? A modern renaissance man.”

“SAT words. The future’s in good hands,” he teases.

“So what’s your wine recommendation then?” you say standing up.

“Oh, I don’t know shit about wine.”

You laugh, and the silence lingers a beat too long.

“I—” “Not—” You speak at the same time.

“Ladies first,” he smiles.

“I was just going to thank you again for coming this morning. Not to show bias, but you were definitely the kids’ favorite.”

“Yeah, the heart story always kills. No pun intended.”

“Well, they had plenty of questions after you left. I told them they missed their chance.”

“I could give you my number. Y’know, in case more vital questions pop up. Or… you could use it to talk to me. Maybe even plan a time for me to take you out?”

You chuckle. “That line work on every elementary school teacher you try to pick up?”

“So far I’m one for one.”

“Not sure that’s statistically significant,” you reply, handing him your phone.

You text him your name—just your name and a smiley.

His phone starts ringing. He glances at it, then winces.

“I’m so sorry—I have to take this. Yeah… I’m just around the block. Okay. Be there in seven.” He turns to you, regret softening his expression. “Really sorry. I’ll text you later?”

“Of course, Dr. Robinavitch. Go save lives.”

”Everyone calls me Robby, or you can call me Michael” he says heading out. Just before the door closes, he glances back once more.

Later, you’re finally home. Glass of red in hand, cozy on the couch. You scroll, half-buzzed from the wine and the day, when a new text pops up:

Michael: My research says champagne’s actually the move next time—for the cake, I mean.

You grin.

You: Not a ton of room in the budget for a Thursday night champagne toast on a public school salary. Think I’ll stick to my $9 red.

You snap a selfie: you, the wine, a smirk.

Michael: Could be my treat? Next Thursday?

Followed by a link to a cozy bar you’ve been wanting to try.

Your fingers hover for only a second before typing:

You: It’s a date ❤️

You get there first.

The bar is small, dim, and full of mismatched chairs and candlelight. The kind of place where couples whisper over charcuterie. You’re nursing a glass of something bubbly, trying to look casual and not like you checked your makeup in your phone camera twelve times already.

Then the door creaks open, and there he is.

Button-down rolled at the sleeves, hair mussed just enough to look effortless—though he’d never admit it took longer than it should’ve. He spots you instantly and smiles like he doesn’t do that often. Like it caught him off guard too.

“You clean up nice,” you say as he slides into the chair across from you.

“You clean up… irresponsibly good,” he says, raising his eyebrows and making you laugh.

You clink glasses and dive straight into easy conversation. It flows, faster than either of you expected. He tells you about the time a raccoon got into the ambulance bay. You tell him about a class trip gone wrong and how a goat chased the entire third grade around a petting zoo.

There’s food—fancy grilled cheese, olives, tiny things with aioli—and more wine. You talk about work, but not too much. You learn he’s been at The Pitt longer than he planned. That he’s not from Pittsburgh, but ended up staying because… well, because.

You don’t push.

He watches you talk with his chin resting on one hand, doing that thing again—looking at you like you’re a puzzle he doesn’t mind not solving.

Midway through dessert, a berry cream tarte— the closest thing they had to the cake you bonded over a week ago— he leans in a little.

“Be honest,” he says. “What’d you actually think when I walked into the school?”

You smirk. “I thought you were a dad who got lost on his way to drop off a forgotten lunchbox.”

Robby laughs. “Brutal.”

“Okay, and also… I thought, oh no, he’s hot.”

He raises his glass. “That’s better.”

He offers you a hand to help you out of the booth and follows beside you, hand barely there at your lower back.

You’re standing outside, the city quiet in that just-past-bedtime way. There’s a light breeze and the smell of something warm from a nearby bakery.

“I had fun,” you say.

“Me too,” he replies. “Thanks for not fleeing halfway through.”

“Thanks for not turning out to be a wine snob.”

“I told you, I know nothing about wine. I was just trying to impress you. I was frantically Googling wine recommendations so i could have a reason to chat with you.”

You both laugh, and then there's a pause. A beat of quiet.

He tilts his head. “So, uh… what’s the move here?”

You step forward. “Well, you did save a lot of lives this week.”

“And you wrangled children into making a thank-you card with the word ‘trauma’ spelled wrong.”

“Tramua is the French spelling,” you deadpan.

That makes him laugh again—but softer this time.

Then he kisses you. Slow and warm, like he’s been thinking about it since the grocery store.

When you pull back, he looks at you like he wants to say something—but doesn’t.

Instead, he laces his fingers with yours.

“Did you park around here?”

“I walked. I’m only a few blocks away.”

“Can I walk you home? Make sure you get there safely.”

You smile. “Of course. It’s that way,” you say, pointing left.

He releases your hand just long enough to move to the curb side, then grabs it again without a word.

You walk in comfortable silence. That kind of quiet that doesn’t need filling.

“This is me,” you say as you reach your stoop. “I’d invite you up for a nightcap, but… it is a school night.”

Robby chuckles. “Can I kiss you again?”

You don’t answer—you just lean in. And suddenly you’re a teenager again, making out on your front porch under a flickering streetlamp.

This time, he’s the one to pull back first, forehead resting against yours. “Alright,” he murmurs. “Guess I have to be the responsible one.”

You steal a few more kisses anyway, laughing softly, before finally saying goodnight and slipping inside.

You’re curled up in bed, grading a stack of vocabulary quizzes, red pen in hand, when your phone buzzes:

Michael: Made it home. Thanks for a great night.

You: I had an amazing time. Up until I got home and got a paper cut on a stack of quizzes I need to finish before tomorrow.

Michael: Sounds serious. I can’t diagnose over text. Could I see it in person? Maybe Saturday?

You: I’d love that, but I won’t be in town—I can’t believe this didn’t come up. I leave tomorrow for an elementary STEM conference. Riveting, I know. I’ll be back Wednesday.

Michael: My schedule’s rough next week. Could you do Friday?

You: One date in and we’re already juggling calendars. I think that’s a good omen 😊

But yes—I’ll pencil you in for Friday.

Michael: Pencil? Ouch. That kind of hurts.

You: Okay, okay. Permanent marker. Color coded. Red for Robby.

Michael: That’s more like it ;)

The days go fast—seminars, lectures, hands-on demos. You barely stop moving.

But every spare second you get, you’re texting him.

Sometimes flirty. Sometimes funny. Sometimes just: Here’s what I’m eating. What about you?

It’s been a while since you’ve been in something like this. But it’s never felt this easy. And you’re really hoping he feels the same way.

Little do you know.

It’s almost time for handoff , and shockingly the ER is in a lull which gives the team time to strike an inquisition on Robby. Dana kicks it off, perched on a nurses station desk.

“Alright Robinovitch, spill”

He looks at her over his glasses, “I just finished handing off to Shen, theres nothing else to spill.”

“You’re smiling.”

“No I’m not.” he says with a frown.

“All week your face is trying so hard not to smile, it’s giving your wrinkles wrinkles.”

Shen turns from the drawer hes been rummaging in for snacks. “Wait, are we talking about how Robby’s been… weirdly chill?”

“I’m not chill.”

“You told a med student that it was alright, we all make mistakes sometimes.”

“I did not.”

“You did. I was there,” Dana grins. “Who are you?”

Robby leans back in his hair, sips his coffee. “Maybe I’m growing. Emotionally.”

Dana gasps. “Oh my God. He’s in love.”

Robby chokes slightly on his drink. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve had your nose in your phone every free moment you’ve had.” Dana adds. “You’ve taken real breaks where you go talk on the phone in the ambulance bay.”

Robby sets his cup down, but he’s not denying it. Just smirking like someone caught red-handed.

“Alright who’s the lucky lady?”

“You don’t know her and you’ll never know her.”

Shen looks like he’s doing calculus in his head and leans in. “Wait this started when I was on my trip, oh my god, did you meet a hot mom at the elementary school?”

Robby pauses. Just long enough.

“Holy shit, I don’t owe you any more – you got your repayment a hot MILF.”

“Oh my God,” Dana says.

“Jesus Christ, she’s not a mom, she’s a teacher”.

There’s a beat of silence before Dana grins. “You know what? I love this for you.”

Robby rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.

“Wait,” Shen says. “Does she know you’re, like, emotionally stunted?”

“She’s a 3rd grade teacher. I think she’s prepared.”

Dana hops down. “I’m gonna need details.”

“You’re not getting details.”

Friday rolls around and you’re more excited than you’ve ever been for a second date. It’s cozy and dimly lit—more plants than light fixtures, menus scribbled on chalkboards, and the faint buzz of a bar that feels like a well-kept secret.

You spot him at the bar, already seated towards the back. He’s dressed down again, but there’s something intentional about it—like someone who spent an extra minute wondering what shirt to wear.

He catches your eyes and smiles like he forgot how to do that for a while until recently.

“You’re punctual,” he says, clearly pleased.

“You’re early,” you reply, shrugging off your coat. “I was promised a perpetually late, cynical doctor.”

“Tragic. He’s been replaced by a man who googled ‘cozy date spots that don’t feel like you’re trying too hard.’”

You laugh. “And did it recommend this place?”

“Nope. Shen’s girlfriend did. Which I now realize makes this deeply traceable.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait—do they know?”

Robby sighs. “Dana cornered me in central. I didn’t confirm or deny. Shen said I was glowing. It was… a dark time.”

You smirk.

The food is good—small plates, easy to share. The conversation is even better.

He opens up, just a little—enough to mention the long hours, how emergency medicine pulls you in like a rip current, how sometimes it feels like it’s the only thing he’s really good at.

You tell him about your student who tried to fake a cough for three weeks to get out of a math test, and the tiny triumphs that feel like wins no one else sees.

He watches you talk, head tilted slightly, the corner of his mouth pulled into a lazy smile. His fingers rest near yours on the table. Not touching. Not quite.

Finally, he says, “I’ve gotta be honest—I haven’t really… done this in a while.”

“Tapas?”

He chuckles. “No, like—dating. Letting someone in. It’s easier to stay busy. Stay… guarded, I guess.”

You nod. “Well, I haven’t really dated someone who sees more blood before lunch than most people do in a year, so.”

“So we’re both out of practice.”

“Guess we’ll have to wing it.”

He leans in and kisses you. Slow. Deliberate. This one without surprise. This one because he wanted to all night.

You’ve fallen into a comfortable cadence. You see him a few times a week, more often than you thought you would, but you don't complain. You love his company.

Your schedules do still clash at times.

You planned to go home after parent-teacher conferences. Michael had already mentioned he had plans—finally joining his coworkers for a long-overdue drink after weeks of skipping out.

It doesn’t take much to convince you to meet your own colleagues for a post-conference drink. It’s been a day, and you deserve it.

But as you walk into the bar, you spot a familiar profile near the corner.

You don’t even hesitate. With a little liquid courage in hand, you stroll over and place a hand on his shoulder.

“So… they really just let anyone in here nowadays?”

Michael turns, eyes lighting up in that way that makes your stomach dip. “How’d you find me?”

“Coincidence. We needed to lick our wounds after the parent-teacher conference firing squad.”

One of the guys at the table leans toward the person next to him. “Ahhh. This is the teacher.”

Michael grins and slides his arm around your waist, his hand resting easily at your hip. “Right, where are my manners?” he says introducing you to the team.

You smile, trying not to let the arm-around-your-waist thing short-circuit your brain. “It’s so nice to meet you all. I’ll get back to my workplace complain-fest and let you return to yours.”

You squeeze his shoulder lightly, but before you step away, his hand shifts on your waist, catching your attention. He leans in and lowers his voice just for you.

“If you head out before we do… come say bye?”

You meet his eyes and nod. “Of course.”

The moment you slide into your seat, your coworkers pounce.

“What the hell was that about?”

“You don’t have friends outside of school.”

“Thanks for introducing us to your hot doctor friends???”

“Wait—HOLY SHIT, was that Dr. McHottie with his arm around your waist? Did I miss a chapter?!”

You laugh and give them the short version. You field a rapid-fire round of teasing, eye-rolls, and maybe a few not-so-subtle attempts to angle to get set up with his coworkers, but eventually the conversation drifts to who cried in the hallway today, who mispronounced “photosynthesis,” and whose turn it is to deal with the PTA bake sale disaster.

Your group starts calling it a night. Long day, longer week. You say your goodbyes and make your way back toward Michael’s table, which has thinned out significantly as well.

He stands when he sees you. “My friends couldn’t hang. I’m calling it a night too—just wanted to say bye.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay if you want another drink, honey,” Dana offers, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, I couldn’t impose—”

“You could never,” Michael says, standing and lightly touching your elbow. “What are you drinking?”

You smile. “Whatever you’re having.”

You settle in at the table. The conversation is easy, flowing from hospital horror stories to favorite dive bars to why Dana is banned from karaoke at two different establishments.

Michael returns with drinks, sliding yours to you and casually resting his hand on your thigh under the table, thumb tracing slow circles that make it a little hard to concentrate on anything Dana is saying.

You laugh, you listen, you really like his friends.

The convos come to a close and you all start heading out. You shrug on your coat, and Michael helps, fingers brushing lightly down your arm.

“Want to walk me home?”

He smile. “I’d love that.”

The conversation is light—teasing, wandering, nothing too deep. You talk about favorite childhood snacks and your worst Halloween costumes. He tells you how Jack once sliced his palm on a pineapple slicer and tried to pretend it wasn’t bleeding.

As you reach your apartment steps, you stop and turn to him.

“That was really fun,” you say, quietly. “I like your friends. I hope I didn’t make anything awkward.”

“Not at all,” he replies. “They loved you.”

“Good. Glad I passed the first big test.”

He chuckles. “Teachers and their testing.”

There’s a pause. Then: “So… want to come up?” you ask, voice soft but steady.

He hesitates, not pulling away. “I’d really like to. But I just came off a twelve-hour shift, and I’ve probably had two more drinks than I should’ve. If I sit down, I’m going to be half-asleep in seconds.”

You take his hand and start walking him toward your door.

“Then that’s settled,” you say. “Can’t have you falling asleep in the Uber.”

You open the door, letting the warm light spill into the hallway, and look back at him with a little smile.

He follows you in without another word.

You flick on the light and immediately cringe.

“Wow. Sorry. My place looks like my classroom exploded in here.”

Michael steps in behind you, taking in the scattered worksheets, the pile of books on your couch, and the half-folded laundry draped over a chair.

“You should see the trauma bay on a Tuesday,” he says, tossing his jacket over the back of a stool. “This is a spa by comparison.”

You kick aside a rogue glue stick. “I did mean to clean today, but then 30 small humans and their guardians demanded to know if their kid is ‘thriving academically’ while also asking what ‘phonics’ actually is.”

He snorts.

You pad to the kitchen and grab two glasses of water, handing one to him. “Doctor’s orders.”

He grins. “Responsible and charming.”

You sit on the couch, tucking your legs underneath you. He follows, moving slowly—like someone who’s used to being on his feet for twelve hours and finally has permission to stop.

He slouches into the other end of the couch, long legs stretched out, one arm thrown over the backrest. He takes a sip of water and closes his eyes for a second, just breathing.

“I’m gonna fall asleep right here,” he murmurs.

You smile. “Go for it. My couch has a strict no-judgment zone.”

There’s a long, easy silence after that. Not awkward—just soft.

Eventually, you get up and offer him a hand “you’re not sleeping on the couch, come on”

He reaches for your hand —warm fingers curling around yours for just a second longer than necessary.

He follows you to your room, hands still intertwined. It’s not the first time you’ve shared a bed, but it is the first time you’ve shared one without hooking up before. It all feels very intimate.

There’s a surgical precision to how he fits into your evening routine that leaves you a little breathless as you settle into bed.

“Night,” he murmurs wrapping an arm around you and nuzzling in.

You squeeze his hand once, gently. “Goodnight, Michael.”

[joelmillers-wife]

take my hand (joel miller x f!reader) chapter eight

18+, MDNI series masterlist: here | please check this for complete series warnings and tags pairing: joel miller x f!reader chapter summary: a quiet night in with joel and ellie wc: 3.8k THIS IS A SHORTER CHAPTER SORRY BUT I PROMISE THE NEXT LIKE 3 WILL BE LONG AND WORTH IT- this is the calm before the storm one might say… rating: this story is 18+ (minors, do not interact), there will be eventual smut in later chapters  chapter warnings and tags: cursing and tlou lore accurate outbreak content below, fluff, reader has no description besides she has hair, jackson!joel, age difference: reader is in her 30s and joel is in his 50s, sloooow burn ao3 | follow @writtenbynic and turn on notifications for chapters! dividers made by: @saradika-graphics , check them out!

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VIII. TO BUILD A HOME

There is a house built out of stone Wooden floors, walls and window sills Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust This is a place where I don't feel alone This is a place where I feel at home

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Joel?!”

You’ve never seen the way Ellie looks at Joel right now before, the way she speaks to him with so much malice in her voice. You have no choice but to nervously look between the two of them, sitting on opposite ends of each other—Ellie glaring and yelling at Joel in such an accusatory way. It scares you enough to sit in silence and simply watch the two of them hash out their frustrations.

“Ellie… I’ve been tellin’ you for the past twenty god damn minutes. All I have is seven draw 4 cards and two green cards, and you keep changin’ the damn color to blue. I don’t got no fuckin’ blue!”

“Yeah? Well I do! All I have is blue because you keep making me draw more fucking cards dude.” She lets out a frustrated huff before shaking her head and closing her eyes for a moment before continuing. “Who even shuffled this fucking deck in the first place?”

“You did!” You and Joel yell.

Ellie begins opening and closing her mouth, fumbling to find a response. “Yeah? Well… you guys shouldn’t have let me do that!”

The three of you sit around the coffee table set up in Joel’s living room while music plays softly in the background coming from the vinyl Joel had set up earlier in the night—snacks and drinks are scattered across the table, and each of you hold your own hand of cards. Ellie had found some old Uno cards at Maria and Tommy’s board game collection the other week, and thought it would be a fun idea for the three of you to play a round of Uno.

The “fun” part ended over an hour ago.

Nights like these have become a regular in the time that has passed since your injury. The following day, after Joel had stitched you up, word had gotten back to Ellie when a friend of Jesse’s had shared what had happened to you and him on patrol. That night, Ellie had knocked on your door and demanded she spend the evening hanging out with you, with Joel accompanying. You’d said yes, because since when have you ever been able to say no to her, and that first night was spent watching some movie the two of them seemed to always be watching—Curtis and Viper, the second one, specifically. From that day on, your days of the week were spent with Joel and Ellie more often than not. Trading between watching a movie, playing a board game, or making dinner and talking for hours, whether it was at your place or Joel’s.

You watch as Ellie puts down another draw 2 on your turn and you mutter out, “Oh my god,” looking at your own hand of cards that you had to lay out on the floor beneath your side of the table thirty minutes ago, because it was becoming too much to hold.

Grabbing your empty glass of wine, you move to stand up, throwing your other hand out in surrender. “Nope. That’s it. I’m done. If I pick up one more fucking red card, I’m gonna let the clickers get me.”

Receiving a dismissive reaction from the two of them, you walk into the kitchen to pour yourself your third—wait, no, fifth glass of wine for the evening. You let your eyes lazily pass over the kitchen island scattered with empty plates and glasses that you all had used over the course of the night. Heading back into the living room, you see the two people you have grown fond of still sitting there playing that god forsaken game. 

Joel stares at his own cards in intense concentration. You’ve always known he was stubborn, but tonight you learned he is also competitive. That wouldn’t be much of an issue, if it weren’t for the fact that Ellie, too, is both stubborn and very competitive. They both have taken the game much more seriously than you have—the two of them taking more time than you would think one would need on their turn to really figure out what the best play is.

Ellie groans. “Dude, can you just let me fucking win so we can end this shit?”

Joel shakes his head with a frown and a half-offended look. “Hell no I’m not just lettin’ you win, kid. You wanted to do this tonight so this is what we’re doing.”

The teenager throws her head back, letting out a sound that’s been a groan and a dramatic broken sob until she looks at you after calling your name. “Please, please make this end. Please make him stop, I’m begging you!”

Settling back down onto the carpet, you give her a small laugh before looking over at Joel. “Come on, Joel, she’s been through enough—we’ve been through enough of this. Just let her win.”

Joel gives you a look of betrayal as you side with Ellie, before you look at him desperately saying one more please. You watch as his resolve crumbles after only mere seconds of you pulling your best puppy dog eyes on him—the alcohol you’ve been drinking warming your cheeks and making you act more theatrical. 

Sighing out with a shake of his head and a muttered, “Unbelievable,” Joel throws his cards onto the table. “There, you win. Happy now?”

“But I didn’t get to say Uno!”

You can’t help but laugh as you mindlessly swirl the wine in your glass. Looking at Ellie incredulously, Joel groans and grits his teeth before asking her what colors and numbers she has, letting her put her cards down one by one before shouting, Uno, and slamming her final card down onto the deck. “Ha! I won!”

Pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, Joel lets out a sigh of relief at the game ending. You can’t help but giggle at his exhaustion, watching as he looks up at Ellie and points at her accusingly. “Low fuckin’ blow gettin’ her involved with your beggin’,” he says, turning his finger to point at you.

Ellie shrugs with a smirk. “Hey, I gotta do what I gotta do.”

Joel exasperatedly shakes his head, but you catch the soft huff of laughter he lets out under his breath. Looking over at the clock hung above his fireplace, he tells Ellie, “Alright, kiddo—it’s time for you to head to bed. I’ll walk you over to your room.”

Receiving only a few groans of reluctance from her, you say goodnight and goodbye to Ellie, watching as Joel walks her over to their backyard. A few months ago, Joel had cleaned out his garage and set up her own little space in there. Back when he first started working on it, he had said something about her recently turning seventeen and wanting to give her a better sense of independence without having her too far away so that he couldn’t keep an eye on her.

You take the time to clean up the mess the three of you had made—making sure that all the cards are back in the tattered old box, clearing the coffee table of your glasses and of any stray pieces of food that may have fallen to the floor. In the process, you take the time alone to really feel the effects of the red wine you’ve been nursing all night—your stomach feeling warm and your face flushed. 

You’re in the kitchen washing the empty wine glasses you and Joel had been drinking from, when you hear the back patio door open and Joel walks into the doorway. For a moment, he looks at you with a small smile as he leans casually against the doorframe. Once his eyes drop down to your hands in the sink, he walks over with a pout. “You don’t need to be doin’ that, darlin’.”

You look up at him as you rinse out the soap from the glasses. “Nah, I don’t mind. I happen to like washing dishes if you’d like to know.”

He raises an eyebrow at that before picking up the kitchen towel set on the counter beside the sink, and begins drying the now clean glasses. “Oh, really?”

Giving him a soft hum, you tease, “Sure do. Although, you wouldn’t know that because you never let me do any cleaning or maintenance myself.”

At that, he laughs. “Alright, touché. But it’s not like I don’t let you do those things…”

He trails off when he sees you give him a deadpan look. Laughing harder, he says, “I just like doin’ things for ya. Don’t want you to have to be doin’ anythin’ that I’m more than capable of myself—includin’ dishes. Besides, you shouldn’t be movin’ too much with your shoulder.”

You throw your head back with a soft, yet annoyed groan. “Not this shit again.”

It had been almost three weeks since Joel had stitched up your wound. Despite being a tad sore if you strain it for too long, your shoulder was completely fine. You felt fully recovered, yet Joel had still been convincing Maria and Tommy to keep you off patrol for a few weeks—giving you some tasks around town to keep you busy and get you moving enough for you to flex your muscles. But Joel was still worried over your injury. So much so that he insisted on coming over multiple times over the days to help you with meaningless household chores, or bringing you things from the market. The most you were able to convince him to allow you to do was going on walks around town with him to shop, which he only agreed as long as you let him carry any items you were to bring home.

You set down the clean dishes onto his side, turning the water off before turning your whole body to look at him. “Joel,” you say, waiting for him to turn to look at you before you continue. “I am fine. I promise. Perfectly healed and it doesn’t hurt at all anymore, see?”

You lift your now-recovered arm all the way up to prove a point to him, but the speed of which you did so made you lose your balance slightly and stumble.

Joel’s reflexes kick in as he reaches out to try and catch you if you need to, but you quickly catch yourself by leaning your hip against the counter. You look up to see him giving you a lighthearted glare, noticing your own body was disproving your point. 

“Okay…” you say. “That doesn’t count. I’m a bit tipsy so my balance is off.”

Joel looks back at the empty bottle of wine on the island behind him, before his eyes widen to find a second bottle next to it that is nearly empty. “How many glasses did you drink, darlin’?”

You look at the ceiling, squinting your eyes as if to act like you were thinking before answering him. “Um, only like two… or five,” saying the last two words in a whisper, hoping he doesn’t catch it.

His eyes widen further before he puts down the dishes he was drying and turns to face you directly, grabbing your upper arms with his hands gently. “Sweetheart, I think you’re a lil’ past tipsy, and it’s only now catchin’ up to ya.”

“Oh, so it’s ‘sweetheart’ now, too?”

You hadn’t expected to say that out loud, but your mind was too fuzzy to stop yourself, or to catch the way Joel’s cheeks redden at you calling him out—not being mentally present enough to think about what you were saying.

He sighs, shaking his head lightly and offering a small smile before beginning to guide you out of the kitchen. “Let me walk ya home, alright?”

Your body catches up to your drunk mental state, and you let yourself be led out by Joel. You walk by his staircase before you remember something. “Oh! I lent Ellie one of my sweaters—do you know where it is?”

He nods. “Yeah, should be in the closet upstairs. I’ll go look for it real quick.”

“I got it–”

He shakes his head at you. “Darlin’, I do not trust you to walk up or down any steps right now.”

You roll your eyes at him, already walking up a couple of stairs before you turn back to him at the bottom of the stairs—your body twisted to look behind you, one arm holding onto the railing as you lean in close to his face below you. “Oh, come on, I’ll have to do it when I get home so I might as well practice here. Besides, you’ll catch me if I fall, won’t you, Miller?”

Your face inches away from Joel’s own, you watch his eyes linger on you, briefly flicking around your face. An unreadable expression washes over him—one that, had you been a little more cognizant, and if your vision wasn’t blurred at the edges, might’ve made your heart stutter for a moment. 

His features soften after his scan over you before he lets out a word in a soft whisper. “Always.”

Giving a nod of approval, you dramatically bring down your hand onto the railing of the staircase and slowly make your way up the rest of the steps. What you don’t notice is Joel's hand that hovers on your back as he walks two steps behind you the whole time.

Only stopping three times to look at the paintings that adorn the walls along the stairs, you reach the top and spot three doors a few feet in front of you. The one on the right, closest to you is barely ajar, but to the left is an open door to what looks like a small closet space—a single rack of clothes drying, with a large bucket underneath them. 

You spot your sweater and walk over, checking that it was dry before removing it off the hanger. Looking to your left, you see a closed door—probably Joel’s room, you think. 

You turn, holding the sweater up with a thank you as Joel starts to take down some of the other clothes in there, placing them in a laundry basket that sits outside the closet and against the wall. 

Joel turns back to you. “Of course. Let’s get you to your bed now, alright?”

Beginning to lead you back over to the staircase, you look at that first door you saw that was partially opened. The realization that you hadn’t seen any of Joel’s personal space doesn’t hit you as you take a peek into the room, something in the corner catching your eye.

Your eyes wide at the sight. “Is that a guitar?”

Joel turns to see that the door to what you assume is some sort of office space is halfway open, and a guitar is in view.

You look at him with a surprised smile, eyes wide with excitement, and see his demeanor has become shy and almost child-like for a moment. Rubbing the back of his neck, he says, “Um… yeah that’s, uh, that’s mine.”

Noticing that his gaze has turned down to the floor, you realize you may have come off as mocking. In an attempt to correct your reaction, you place a hand onto his arm, bending your head down to meet his gaze. “Do you play guitar?”

At the contact, he looks back at you to see your face is filled with genuine warm curiosity. Bashfully, he responds, “Yeah, I know how to play a bit.”

Your smile grows as you ask how long. He still seems somewhat vulnerable while he says, “Been playin’ since I was a teenager, really. Didn’t get the chance much for the past couple decades obviously, but when I got to Jackson, Tommy gave me one he’d found. Took some time to tune properly and fix ‘er up but she sounds pretty damn good.”

Looking off to the side with a reminiscing gaze, he adds, “I actually used to want to be a, um… a singer.” The words leave his lips hesitantly, as if trying to feel out what your response would be.

“No shit,” you speak up, wonder and giddiness filling you. At your words, he looks at you slightly startled, as if he didn’t intend to share that detail out loud. “That’s so…” you shake your head, trying to find the words without making him feel embarrassed. “Just… really cool. I didn’t know you played guitar.”

He gives a sheepish smile at your reaction and words. “Yeah, I don’t talk about it much, or really at all. Promised Ellie I’d teach her how to play when we got to Jackson.”

The realization hits you suddenly. “Oh my god—I knew she played because she’d talk about it and I’d see her guitar in her garage. I never knew you were the one who taught her.”

You can no longer discern the warmness you feel to be due to the wine… or Joel.

Joel breathes out what sounds like a laugh before he looks around for a second, seeming to realize you are still standing at the top of the steps, and begins to guide you over to them to walk down. “I better get you home. You need all the rest you can get tomorrow, because the followin’ day is our first patrol back together.”

You almost stumble at the bottom of the steps, looking up to see Joel smirking. Jokingly, you say, “Has Jackson’s very own Dr. Miller deemed me fit to go beyond the gates again?”

Joel walks past you to open the door—the slightly chilled air of the late night hits you, making you shudder. At your words, Joel laughs as the two of you begin walking across the street to your front door. “Yes, he has. Figured I forced you to spend enough time with me here that maybe you’d like a more open scenery to combat my face.”

“Hey, I happen to like looking at your face.”

You did it again. Said your inner thoughts out loud without realizing. Thankfully, if Joel heard you, he doesn’t make a comment on it. When you reach your front door, you open it and expect to turn to see Joel hovering on your porch to say goodnight. Instead, hear his footsteps cross the threshold and feel the warmth of his body close behind yours. Slightly shocked, but not uncomfortable, you look up at him with confusion before he says, “Wanna make sure you make it up those steps and into your room safely, if that’s alright?”

A smile sheepishly curls at the corner of your mouth as you nod, walking up your steps with him following close behind until you reach your bedroom door. At that moment, Joel speaks up to say, “You get changed and settled for the night, I’m gonna be downstairs for a second.”

Confused, you nod anyway, too tired and out of it to try and figure out what he is doing. You make your way to your bathroom and close the door behind you as you splash your face with water quickly, before heading back into your bedroom to change into your pajamas for the night.

As you’re putting your t-shirt over your head, you hear a knock on your bedroom door and walk over to open it, revealing Joel standing there with a glass of water and a couple of white pills in his hand.

Holding them up, he says, “Figured you’re gonna have a pretty nasty hangover in the mornin’, so, got ya a glass of water and some pain meds for tomorrow. That way it’s right there on your bedside when you get up.”

The idea of Joel thinking ahead for you like that seems to sober you up in the slightest—just enough for your stomach to flutter and your cheeks to turn red. “Thank you, that’s so thoughtful,” you softly mutter as you grab the items and go to place them on your bedside table.

Joel shrugs off your thanks, as if it wasn’t a big deal to him. He looks behind him to your stairs briefly before back at you, saying, “You alright if I lock up behind me so you can go straight to sleep?”

After the incident a few weeks ago, which resulted in your door being broken down, you felt bad for worrying him. So, you offered to give him a spare key to your house in case he needed to get in due to anything bad happening. You felt good about the decision—trusting him enough to let him have open access to your private space in case of emergency. In return, he had given you a key to his place as well, saying at the time, “You come over anytime you need me, got it? Don’t care what time it is. You come to me for anythin’.”

You nod in response to him, assuring him you were set for the night. You stand there thinking for a moment, watching him begin to turn around and walk away, before saying, “Hey, Joel?”

He looks at you with a soft frown as he waits for your next words.

“Do you… do you think you could play guitar for me one day?”

His eyes widen in the slightest, small surprise covering his features as you assume he hadn’t expected that question out of you.

His silence makes you think you crossed some sort of line, causing you to look at the floor before you begin rushing out, “You don’t have to. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I know it’s probably a bonding moment between you and Ellie–”

“Sure.”

You look up to see a smile on his face and a look in his eyes that you can’t quite place—one similar to what you briefly remember seeing on the staircase at his house. Then, you notice his hand move from his side and look down to see him raise his right hand in front of you, extending out his pinky finger with a smirk on his face.

You stifle a laugh as you twist your lips to the side, bringing your hand to link your fingers together and shake. 

He drops your hand with a soft laugh. “You let me know if you think of any song requests, yeah?”

You match his smirk. “You got it, Miller.”

Joel turns his body around, heading out the room to walk downstairs before looking back at you one more time. “Sleep well, darlin’.”

“You too, Joel.”

Standing in your bedroom doorway, you watch and listen as he makes his way down your stairs, hearing him open and close the door behind him before you hear the soft sound of the lock turning.

You turn and walk over to your bed, settling in and laying down. Sleep finds you quickly as your dreams are filled with the sounds of a soft guitar playing.

reblogs and comments are appreciated! i hope you all enjoy <3 follow @writtenbynic and turn on notifications for updates!

a/n: sorry for the shorter chapter! I had grad school orientation yesterday that lasted 12 hours😵‍💫 and I had to spend the week doing all the modules lol. the next few chapters will be much longer, I promise. also some of my fav chapters coming up ;) 🏷️: @dendulinka6 @suzysface @koshkaj-blog @orcasoul @emmasveinyahhdih @thatoneperson38747 @silksepia @orodaeh @ithinkimokeei @emnull0 @warriorkarol @luvwanda @pascal-mynightlyobsession @grayandthyme @crlsummer @ashleyfilm @darling-imobsessed @tjohn63 (if i missed any tags pls let me know!)

[whosyourmommy69]

Still mad at me?

this story contains mature content

The argument had been simmering all day.

You slammed the passenger door shut as you got in, the truck’s cab thick with tension. Rafe’s jaw flexed, knuckles white on the steering wheel as he stared ahead, not starting the engine.

“I can’t believe you went behind my back,” you snapped, voice low but sharp.

He scoffed, turning to face you. “You think I was just gonna let you handle it? You’re not invincible, Y/N.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me, Rafe!”

His eyes burned into yours, blue and furious. “You’re reckless. You don’t think, you just do, and then I’m supposed to clean up the mess.”

You leaned in, close enough to feel his breath. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you actually trusted me.”

Silence.

Then, suddenly, he grabbed the back of your neck, dragging your lips to his. The kiss was rough, angry, teeth clashing and breath hot. His hand fisted in your shirt, pulling you across the seat, practically into his lap.

“You drive me insane,” he growled against your mouth.

“Good,” you hissed, tugging at his hoodie. “Maybe you’ll finally feel something.”

That did it.

He shoved the seat back, hands everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding beneath fabric, leaving bruises that would bloom tomorrow. The fight didn’t stop, it just changed form. Every touch was punishment and apology, every kiss a battle.

The windows fogged, the truck rocking slightly as the storm outside matched the one between you.

Your back hit the cool leather seat, legs spread over Rafe’s lap as he gripped your thighs tightly, his fingers digging into your skin like he wanted to leave a mark, like he needed you to feel just how angry he was.

“You don’t get to pull that shit,” he growled into your neck, lips dragging over the sensitive skin there. “Act like you don’t need me, like I’m just some guy you can shut out.”

You gasped, his teeth grazing your collarbone as his hands pushed under your shirt, raking up your sides. The frustration in him was palpable, every move urgent, every touch a little too rough, but you didn’t push him away.

You wanted this.

“You think I like fighting with you?” you shot back, voice breathless as he slid a hand between your thighs, thumb pressing down with cruel precision.

“I think you like it too much,” he said low, lips brushing your ear. “I think you like when I get like this.”

He wasn’t wrong.

You moaned as his fingers moved faster, his other hand pulling your head back to kiss you again, all tongue and teeth and fire. His belt buckle dug into your inner thigh, and the cramped space of the truck made every movement tighter, more desperate.

“Rafe-” you gasped, your voice caught between a whimper and a warning.

He smirked, lips wet and eyes dark. “You gonna be good now? Or you want me to remind you who you belong to?”

You bit your lip, pulse racing. “Remind me.”

The truck rocked harder, windows fully fogged now, breathless moans swallowed by the storm outside. You lost track of time of where your clothes ended up or how loud you got, but the fight was long forgotten.

Now there was only the heat of his skin, the burn of his mouth, and the way he said your name like a promise and a threat all at once

Your breath hitched as Rafe shoved the seat even further back, his hands gripping your waist and dragging you fully into his lap. The cold metal of his belt buckle grazed your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat building between you both.

“Clothes off,” he muttered, voice low and dark, dragging your shirt up over your head without waiting. His eyes raked over you like he owned you, like he always had. “You pick a fight with me, then expect me to play nice?”

You barely had time to reply before his lips were on your chest, teeth grazing sensitive skin, tongue following the sting. You arched into him, fingers tangled in his hair as you tugged, needing more, needing him to just break you the way he was breaking himself.

“Rafe-”

He groaned when you said his name like that, fingers sliding under your waistband, pulling everything down in one swift, impatient movement. He didn’t stop kissing you, didn’t stop tasting and biting and owning every inch of your skin as he worked his jeans open with one hand.

“Look at you,” he growled, voice wrecked. “Always so mouthy until you’re like this. Messy. Mine.”

You gasped as he finally pressed against you, thick and hot, dragging the tip through your slick folds with slow, taunting strokes. You moved your hips, desperate for more, but he held you still with a bruising grip.

“Beg,” he said, lips brushing yours but not giving you the kiss you wanted.

You hated how fast the word left your mouth. “Please.”

And then he gave it to you all of him, deep and hard and without mercy. You cried out, nails clawing down his back, the tight space in the truck only making every thrust feel deeper, rougher. His hand wrapped around your throat lightly, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“Keep looking at me,” he said. “Wanna see your face when you fall apart.”

You obeyed, lips parted, breath ragged as he drove into you like he had something to prove. The rhythm was brutal, each snap of his hips pushing you closer to the edge, his name falling from your lips over and over like a prayer.

And when you came, shaking, gasping, unraveling, he didn’t stop. He chased his own release with a growl, holding you down against him like he was anchoring himself in the storm of you.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you breathless, tangled in sweat and heat and everything unspoken.

After a moment, his fingers threaded into your hair. “Still mad at me?”

You smiled weakly against his neck. “Still mad at you.”

He laughed, low and dangerous. “Good. Maybe I’ll have to fuck the attitude out of you, again.”

[unsuperingyournatural]

it's the beskar

Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader

masterlist

You were almost at the end of the press day, and it showed. Hours of cameras, handshakes, soundbites, and smiling just a little wider than you felt. But this last interview felt looser, more relaxed. It was just the three of you—you, Pedro, and the journalist—in a small studio space with two chairs and a crew that had clearly been at it all day too.

Pedro sat beside you, half-sunken into his seat, one leg stretched out comfortably, the other lightly bouncing in place. He looked like he belonged there, like the chair had formed around his body. He was relaxed in that Pedro kind of way—composed but never stiff, warm but not performative. His energy had mellowed, his eyes still bright but softer now, especially whenever he glanced over at you.

The interviewer smiled brightly as she held up a cue card. “Okay, final segment. This is the fun one. Ninety seconds of random questions, no time to overthink, just say whatever comes to mind. You ready?”

You nodded, adjusting slightly in your seat. Pedro gave a mock salute, his grin crooked.

“Alright,” she said. “Who goes first?”

“Ladies first,” Pedro said immediately, turning toward you with a flourish of his hand. “Always.”

You gave him a playful side-eye. “How generous.”

The interviewer glanced at her timer and smiled. “Here we go. What’s your go-to comfort food?”

“French fries,” you said without hesitation.

“Favorite city you’ve ever worked in?”

“Florence.”

“Last song you sang out loud?”

“‘Espresso,’” you said, already cringing with a laugh.

Pedro choked on a breath, visibly trying not to laugh out loud. “You are so real for that.”

The interviewer chuckled, but didn’t slow down. “Alright,” she said, flipping her card, “one a little more playful. If you were into roleplay, which one of Pedro’s characters would you want him to dress up as?”

Without thinking, you blurted, “Din Djarin.”

There was a beat of silence. A pause so perfectly timed it could’ve been scripted.

Pedro turned toward you slowly, brows high and eyes wide. His mouth parted slightly, caught between amusement and disbelief. The interviewer gave a nod of impressed approval, her expression somewhere between amused and intrigued.

Your heart dropped. You blinked, cheeks starting to warm. “Wait. You said cosplay, right?”

The interviewer gave a grin that was all teeth. “Roleplay.”

You groaned softly, your hand flying to cover your face. “Same thing,” you mumbled through your fingers.

Pedro broke into a full, unrestrained laugh beside you, doubling forward in his seat. “Oh my God,” he said between chuckles. “I wasn’t ready.”

You peeked at the interviewer, who was clearly enjoying every second of it. “Great. That’s gonna go viral,” you muttered.

“There are probably at least three different fanfictions being written as we speak,” she teased.

Pedro sat up, still grinning, and reached over to lightly brush his fingers down the center of your back, his touch brief but warm as he shifted in his chair. He leaned toward you just enough to be heard without the mic catching it all.

“Guess I’ll be asking Jon and Dave if I can take the helmet for a weekend,” he said under his breath.

You gave him a warning look and lightly swatted his arm. “Stop.”

He threw his hands up. “Just kidding. That thing is on lockdown. You think they trust me with it unsupervised?”

He was clearly enjoying himself now. The grin on his face was pure trouble. “But good to know. The Mandalorian, huh? So what is it? The beskar? The cape? The mystery? No, wait,” he said, eyes lighting up, “it’s the Vibroblade.”

You groaned and dropped your head into your hands again. “Oh my God. Would you stop?”

Pedro laughed again, one hand patting your shoulder with mock sympathy. “You brought this on yourself. You could have said Oberyn. But no. You said the guy who never takes his helmet off.”

“Because I thought she said cosplay!” you said, muffled behind your hands.

The interviewer was nearly crying with laughter now. “Honestly, this might be my favorite interview of the entire tour.”

You finally looked up, still flushed, your eyes narrowing at Pedro’s smug, delighted expression. He caught your gaze and only grinned wider.

“I’m never living this down, am I?” you said.

“Absolutely not,” he replied cheerfully. “But I will be respectfully obnoxious about it.”

There was nothing left to do but laugh, your cheeks still burning as Pedro leaned back in his chair, practically glowing with amusement. He looked over at you again, a soft warmth behind the teasing.

You knew, deep down, this story would never die.

And somehow, despite everything, you were okay with that.

Even if he brought it up for the rest of your life.

[verloonati]

Thoughts on the Interstellar song contest:

Okay this was beat for beat a very predictable story, but enjoyable enough with plenty of side characters that actually feel pretty fleshed out in a few lines with the exception of the hellions, more on that later, but for an episode that was supposed to have a lot of cool alien design it's a bit of a shame that they were mostly in the background. I would have loved a bit more songs as well.

Now the Hellia plot is really fucking tacky, especially in the context of it being an eurovision episode and the eurovision being, in reality, one of the biggest zionist propaganda outfit towards its european allies. Making the Hellia thing a direct parallel to the palestinian genocide makes it really gross that the story's resolution is 'if your getting genocided you shouldn't take arms about it, you should instead sing a good song to an impossibly global audience and gain their sympathy'. Which also makes the Hellion's plot of wanting to kill everybody in the audience really disenginuous. It's a typical case of the 'rebel for a just cause is taken by extremism' trope and ESPECIALLY within the context of an actual real life genocide it puts itself against as direct comparison, ESPECIALLY on the very day that genocidal state is pushing yet another of their deadlier offensive yet, it just makes it a really liberal take that has no bearing with how the world works.

the hellion design also feels really weird because 'human (or human adjacent since earth blew up) with horns' are victim of the worst discrimination is a RWBY 'no but anime girl with animal ears are the one being discriminated against'. Also plays into that trope of a black man being the most space racist character, but fret not he learns the error of his ways after hearing a sad song.

Freddie fox's performance as Kid is the one thing that kind of save his character despite the writing and implications of his character. He just oozes that maneskin cringy Bisexual Mick Jaeggery emo adjacent asshole persona, it's awesome. i bet he reeks of cold tobacco as well.

Belinda change of heart on warming up to the doctor do feel a little bit sudden, we only had her for four episode and that only just started in story and the engine. Another gap to fix for big finish with an ellipse or something

The songs were awesome i do wish they were more

Dugga doo Dugga doo Dugga doo Dugga dugga dugga doo

I have no idea who the fuck rylan is. But his inclusion as actual real life tv host Rylan Clark is so stupid it cycles back to awesome. So does Graham Norton's inclusion. The implication of Earth being gone since 2025 at this point is hilarious cause it means that Rylan is gonna get cryogenically frozen and smuggled out of Earth to eternally host the space eurovision within the current real life week.

The visuals of the actual terror attack are awesome. Like genuinely horrifying and haunting. there's that one shot with a mass of people getting sucked out in the void, it's one of dw's most beautiful visuals ever imo.

On that note, i really wish people would have stayed dead. I understand that would maybe be a little too far, but come the fuck on. it gives the doctor's crash out a lot less impact, because like. He just told us that 'they can survive' which like. we know how a dw episode goes, if we're told they're actually still alive, we know they're gonna get revived at the end. The optics of the doctor beating the shit out of a desperate guy trying to do something about his people's genocide is yeah. not great. tho love the character detail of him doing all he can to not bloody his actual hands.

I'll wait until the finale to give my thoughts on susan.

wish they would stop calling him last of the time lords. The Second Gallifrey destruction killed a lot of people sure but like. This wasn't during the war, there was a LOT of exiles and renegades. Where are those. The master is out there, rassillon is out there, the sisterhood is out there. Tecteun made it out until flux. like why does he keep saying that, it's good branding but it makes no sense

RANI TRUTHER KEEP WINNING, mrs flood cameos were really fucking annoying but yeah she is the one and only, hate that she does get bigenerated it's supposed to be a rare almost unheard of thing, i do hope it's the last one we get, but god do i love Flood getting immediately subservient to her new self.

[cherrywriterrr]

where you are is home

warning?: blue collar rafe / domestic softness / suggestive at the end

you hear the door creak open at exactly 11:07 p.m.

you don’t need to look. you already know it’s him—because the room shifts. something in the air settles the second rafe cameron steps inside. it’s the weight of him. the gravity. the way he carries the whole goddamn world in his shoulders and still walks through the door like he’s starving for you.

the tv is still playing, soft flickers of an old movie dancing across the living room walls. but the second you hear the click of the door locking behind him, you pause it.

he doesn’t say anything at first. just drops his keys in the little dish by the counter like always, then leans down to untie his steel-toe boots, muttering a low, breathless “fuckin’ finally.”

you glance over your shoulder and catch him in the kitchen light.

sweaty. exhausted. his shirt is clinging to his back, damp with effort.

he’s got grease on his forearm, dried oil smeared in streaks across his hands and under his fingernails.

his work jeans are dusty, heavy with the grime of another 13-hour shift. and god—the hat. backwards. curls sticking out under the brim, his forehead damp, jaw stubbled and tight.

you swear he’s never looked better.

he looks up, eyes catching yours across the room. and then—he smiles. not the kind he gives anyone else. not the cocky grin or the bored smirk or the patronizing sneer he wears in public. this one’s soft. crooked. home.

“hey, baby,” he murmurs.

your heart fucking skips.

“you’re late,” you whisper, already curling your knees up on the couch to make room for him.

“yeah,” he groans, dragging his feet toward you. “framing went over. boss made us stay, said it had to be done tonight or he’d have my ass.”

he reaches you and kneels down in front of the couch with a grunt, hat tipping back a little as he drops his forehead against your knee. you bring a hand up and run your fingers through his hair, damp and thick and smelling like lumber, sun, and sawdust.

“you smell like… wood,” you mumble with a smile.

“pine,” he mutters. “cut beams all day. shit got in my hair, too.”

“you’re filthy.”

“mm. you love it.”

he doesn’t move at first—just nuzzles into your leg, sighing like he hasn’t breathed properly all day. his hands slide slowly up your thighs, rough palms dragging against your skin like he’s grounding himself. you can feel the heat radiating off him, the sheer weight of him. the need to press you under it.

you tug gently at the brim of his hat. “get up here.”

“not yet,” he says, voice low, eyes flickering up. “lemme just… stay here for a second.”

and you do. you let him.

because you know rafe. you know this is how he unwinds. not with words, not with talk—just touch. presence. warmth. you.

after a minute, he finally shifts, groaning as he lifts himself onto the couch beside you. the weight of him sinks into the cushion instantly. he smells like cedar, salt, and sweat. something industrial and earthy. something him. his arm slings around your waist without hesitation, pulling you flush against him.

you wrinkle your nose. “you’re gonna ruin the couch.”

“so?” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck. “i’ll buy you a new one.”

you laugh, and he hums, burying his face in the curve of your shoulder.

“missed you,” he says, muffled.

“you saw me this morning.”

“still. missed you all fuckin’ day.”

you run your hands over his chest, fingertips catching the edge of a sweat-stained pocket. “you been lifting shit again?”

“mhmm. three flights. no elevator.”

“jesus.”

he shrugs. “kept thinkin’ about you, though. kept me sane.”

you blush. even after all this time, even after countless nights like this, he still makes your stomach twist in the sweetest way. and when his hand slides lower, gripping your thigh with a bit more pressure, it only gets worse.

“you eat?” you ask, voice breathy.

he shakes his head. “just coffee. and a granola bar.”

you make a disapproving noise and start to move, but he tightens his grip around your waist.

“no. stay,” he growls. “please. just… need this. need you.”

you let out a soft sigh, sinking back into him.

his body molds to yours like it was carved to fit this shape—this spot on the couch, in the quiet dark, surrounded by the flicker of TV light and the hum of the old ceiling fan. his hands wander slowly, not sexual, just possessive. like he’s making sure you’re still here.

like he needs the reassurance that something in this world still belongs to him.

you lean your head back against his shoulder, fingers lacing with his. his other arm stays wrapped around your middle, thumb brushing the skin beneath your shirt.

he still hasn’t changed. still in his dirty jeans, boots kicked off lazily by the door. work shirt rumpled and riding up slightly. you can feel the dried sweat on his skin. it clings to you, familiar and comforting in its own way. real.

you press a kiss to his jaw. “you should shower.”

“don’t wanna move.”

“you’re getting the blanket dirty.”

“fuck the blanket.”

you smile, eyes fluttering closed. “so needy.”

“you like it.”

he shifts, suddenly—one arm scooping under your knees, the other behind your back. you squeal as he lifts you into his lap, settling you across him like you weigh nothing.

“better,” he says, voice low.

you’re breathless. “you’re insane.”

he just smirks, hat still backwards, hair messy and curling at his temples. “nah. just obsessed.”

he adjusts you slightly, palms rough as they slide up your thighs. the muscles in his forearms flex, and you trace the veins without thinking. he watches you the whole time, eyes heavy and dark.

“you’re mine, y’know,” he says suddenly.

you blink. “obviously.”

“no. like. mine.” his grip tightens just a little. “i think about it all the time. when i’m up there on the scaffold or carrying drywall or some shit. just keep picturing you right here. like this. on me. warm. soft. safe.”

your breath catches.

his voice dips even lower. “i’d kill for this. for you.”

“rafe—”

“not jokin’.”

you look at him, and the intensity in his eyes almost makes you squirm.

you reach up, brushing the hair from his forehead. “you don’t have to. you just have to come home.”

he nods once, jaw clenched. “always.”

his lips brush your collarbone. your neck. the edge of your jaw. not asking for anything—just there. you melt into him completely, and he holds you tighter. like something might take you away if he lets go.

his hands are everywhere now. one on your hip, the other tracing circles on your thigh. not sexual. not yet. just a man claiming his peace. the only place the noise dies.

you kiss him—slow and soft and tired. he groans against your lips, hands tightening.

“you sure you don’t wanna shower?” you whisper again.

“if i do, you’re coming with me.”

“that’s not a punishment.”

“i didn’t say it was.”

you bite your lip.

his voice turns rough. “if you keep lookin’ at me like that, i’m gonna make a mess on this couch. don’t think you want that.”

you laugh, burying your face in his neck.

“stop,” you mumble. “i was trying to be sweet.”

“i know, baby. i’m just sayin’. you get me too worked up.”

he breathes you in again. deeper this time. his hand slips beneath your shirt, fingertips pressing lightly against your stomach.

“love you like this,” he murmurs. “all soft and quiet and just mine.”

“you always say that.”

“’cause it’s always true.”

you lie there like that for a long time. the movie still paused. the world outside gone. just the two of you. his skin against yours, his smell, his weight, his presence. everything warm and real and achingly good.

his breathing slows.

yours matches.

and even though he’s covered in dust and sweat and sawdust, even though his boots are probably leaving marks on the rug, you’ve never felt cleaner.

never felt safer.

never felt more home.

tags: 🏷️ @rafesbabygirlx @rafesfavegf