#the past 3 sessions have been so painful!

[tastyflowers]

man, therapy is such a trip.

[crookedteethed]

18+ loss of virginity, mentions of non-con, brief smut descriptions

⋆ ★ Thinking about how the Rafe's would take your virginity. <3

Season One Rafe would so take your V card at one of the kook parties, or maybe even in the secluded rec room at the Country Club during Midsummer's. Either way, I can see you losing your virginity to him in a public place. Somewhere where his friends are too, so after he fucks you, he can immediately boost about it.

Ugh, I could see it now, his stupid hair slicked back, his suit bluer than ever, and that silly smile on his face whispering into Topper's ear: 

"Guess who I just had face down ass up on the pool table in the rec room." (Bonus points if you're the hottest girl on the island everyone's been trying to touch.) 

He'd nag you about having sex with him, especially if you'd been talking to one another for months (Not dating. Talking.) 

He would make pass after pass at you every time you'd make out with each other: His hand would sometimes snake its way underneath your skirt, and he'd press on your clothed mound with his thick fingers, or he would (very childishly) start popping you in the back with your bra strap to try to get you to take it off. He'd stopped when you went braless.

When telling season one Rafe that you were a virgin, you almost saw an uncontrollable smile creep onto his face--it's just something having ownership over ones very FIRST sexual interaction (This would be a recurring theme for him in each season.). 

But with that being said, this man would not go soft on you. 

Season Two Rafe, he's got a lot of shit on his plate: he wants to get in the good graces with his father, those stupid pouges have his gold, and he suspects that something could be wrong with him, but no one wants to listen to him. The last thing he needs is a girlfriend that won't put out.

In season two, Rafe knew you were a virgin, and he knew you'd been waiting until you had at least been together for a few months--which, surprisingly, he was okay with--as long as you two could do oral on each other--which you did. 

But one day, a violent fight between Rafe and his father broke out on a date night. 

You'd offer to reschedule the reservations you made for dinner--reschedule the whole day, but to your dismay, Rafe still wanted to go for it. 

It wasn't until after dinner when you were both sitting outside of Tanny Hill in Rafe's truck, that Rafe got himself worked up going over the events from earlier with Ward. 

It wasn't until you both were inside his house that he started complaining about other things--more evidently about you and your stupid virginity saving.

Nonetheless, you just let the boy rant because he was mad; it didn't stop you from your heavy make-out session on his bed later that night.

Something was particularly rough about this make-out session; every time he went to kiss your lips, his hand would wrap around your throat, and every time you protested, his other hand would cover your mouth. 

In the moment, it only felt right to Rafe to overpower you completely, hiking up your dress and pulling down your panties to your knees, along with his slacks and his briefs. 

He cooed you when you cried--as if he weren't the one inflicting your pain, he held you tight when you tried to push him away, and he'll whisper in your ear, "How could you hold out on me with such good pussy like this." every time you told him 'no."

You would almost lose your virginity to Season Three Rafe in a heated moment of vulnerability. 

Rafe would open up to you about his troubles, which ultimately led to him telling you about the bad things he's done to the pouges—to his sister—in the past and how bad he felt. 

And there was something so attractive about THEE kook king breaking down his exterior just for you. 

When the moment got heated with a shared passionate kiss, as Rafe lips left a wet trail down your neck, you moaned, "Rafe, I'm a virgin." and then he stopped. 

Rafe knew he wanted to take your virginity, but he didn't want to make any more brash decisions; he wanted your first time to be special. 

A month or so later, he takes you with him on a business trip to  Guadeloupe--he doesn't tell you what type of business he's doing; all you know is that when he's done, you can have him all to yourself. 

And fuck is he so charming. 

He rents a condo for you two, takes you shopping, and takes you to fancy dinners.

After being out all day, you'd come back to the condo with a trail of roses leading to the bedroom (very cheesy, but he's doing his best). 

Now, don't get me wrong. Just because season three Rafe did take the liberty of making your first-time special doesn't mean he will go all soft on you. 

He does let your cunt adjust to his length for a few slow strokes--until he's completely wrecking your shit--I'm talking about his tip kissing your cervix and him making you squirt for the first time.

[6esiree]

A Jealousy-Fueled Makeup Session

Imagine Alastor and Lucifer leave you after you jokingly break up with them, but they immediately regret it when they watch somebody else get close to you?

Notes: Not proofread, I think I have brain fog </3

Alastor:

Alastor watched Husk console you from the shadows, his eye twitching and his sharp nose crinkling in displeasure as a clawed-hand delicately swept down your spine, your back arching at the sensation and consequently bringing your sides flush together. The scene that unfolded before him was too intimate for his liking, the relieved sighs the bartender was unrighteously eliciting from you driving him mad.

But how could Alastor intervene when he had been the one to initiate your separation, ignoring the desperate, apologetic pleas that seeped past your quivering lips that fateful night you broke up with him in jest? It was only natural you yearned for comfort in his absence, even though you’d found it in somebody that made his stomach churn with jealousy and an inkling of betrayal, the grip on his cane unfathomably tight.

“S’alright, babydoll, I’m here for ya,” Husk’s low, baritone voice alleviated the pain in your aching heart, his cold nose gently bumping against your temple. “Don’t ya stain that pretty little face with ya tears no more, alright?”

Alastor’s claws irritably flexed at that, eager to summon the invisible chain Husk was tethered to under his contract; however, that wasn’t a side of him he liked to display in your presence.

But oh, was he asking for it, especially as he spared him a knowing glance over his fuzzy shoulder, pursing his lips and placing a tender kiss on your tear-stained cheek. Your body stiffened, instilling some hope in him—until you relaxed once more.

“Husker, may I have a word with you?” Alastor’s static-like voice suddenly penetrated the parlor, the crackling and the popping assaulting your ears, but it wasn’t until he said “Now,” in a demanding tone that you pulled away from Husk.

You watched him get up from the couch, staring at him in a way that would hopefully communicate how apologetic you were for seemingly getting him into trouble, but all he did was wink at you. Your brows scrunched together, confused, your eyes following his receding form. You only made sense of his response when you manifested on Alastor’s bed not even a few seconds after their short-lived conversation ended.

“Out of all the residents in this God forsaken hotel,” Alastor hissed against your cheek, forcing half of your face into the pillow, your wrists held hostage above your head as he menacingly loomed over you. “Why did you choose Husker?”

“What? I didn’t choose anybody,” You whimpered, your eyes clenched shut as two of his fingers pumped vigorously into your cunt, his thumb circulating your swollen clit. “He was just trying to make me feel better.”

Your words hardly repelled the jealousy in Alastor’s gut, however, the memory of Husk’s filthy lips kissing you still fresh in his mind. At least the breathless moan that graced his ears reminded him that only he could have you like this, his cock painfully straining in his slacks, eager to replace the fingers hitting up into that spot within your warm, wet gummy walls that had you writhing and squirming underneath him.

“And what about the kiss?” Alastor asked you as he picked up the pace, the sound of his knuckles wetly smacking against your cunt enveloping the room. “I didn’t know he was going to do that!” You said, “But you didn’t pull away,” he bit back.

Alastor’s eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth twitched downwards when you didn’t have a response for that. He pulled his hand out of you, a trail of your slick draping down his fingers and staining his slacks as they worked away at his belt, the sound of it hitting the carpet snapping you out of your shock. ‘I’m sorry, I just felt so lonely,’ You eventually admitted, but there was nothing you could say at this point to comfort Alastor.

He suddenly snapped his hips forwards, a loud cry escaping your throat as your hole pulsated around his thick cock, desperately trying to accommodate him. He sighed against your cheek, the hand that had been pleasuring you only a few moments ago holding onto one of your legs, spreading your cunt apart. It was then that you finally turned your head to look at him, your lips brushing against his in the process.

In Alastor’s jealous-addled mind, you deserved the painful intrusion. But as he finally took in the full extent of the prominent rings encircling your usually lively eyes, your clumped lashes, and your tear-stained cheeks, he realized that he couldn’t punish you for accepting Husk’s gesture. Evidently, you had spent much of your time lamenting over him, only seeking out comfort when your loneliness drove you to do so.

“Oh, my darling,” Alastor’s lips glided against yours as he spoke, the hand once holding your wrists hostage now tenderly cradling your jaw. While you were confused over the sudden shift in behavior, you didn’t dare question him.

You missed him, and you made that clear through your actions, carding your fingers into his hair despite your aching wrists to bring him in for a slow, passionate kiss. And oh, would Alastor be lying if he said he hadn’t missed you too, his pelvis rubbing against your clit as he leaned in to indulge you. A pleasured gasp seeped into his mouth, his cock instinctively throbbing inside of your cunt, making you jut your hips forward.

“I’m so sorry, Al, truly. I love you and I never meant to hurt you,” You said after you pulled away from him, your eyes nervously darting across his face. “You don’t need to forgive me, I just wanted to let you know that—“ But he interrupted you.

“Enough,” Alastor demanded, pulling out of you as he leaned back, hastily removing his clothes, yours soon following afterwards. “We can speak of that later—this moment is reserved for us and us only, understood?”

Your breath hitched as Alastor pushed you towards the center of the bed, his clawed-hands pushing your legs back until they were on either side of your head in a mating press, his exposed chest heaving at the way your hole excitedly fluttered. ‘I love you too,’ He murmured—and with no static behind his voice. You clutched onto his back, kissing at his neck while the head of his weeping cock leisurely parted your folds.

It wasn’t often that the two of you had sex, so when you did, you made sure to enjoy every second of it. But his hard, even-paced thrusts and the barely audible huffs and puffs that tumbled past his lips as you unashamedly moaned into his ear about how good he was making you feel was just different. You raked your nails down his back, eliciting a proper groan from him, but he quickly muffled it by dipping his head into your shoulder.

“No, no, don’t do that,” You whined in a mixture of disappointment and pleasure, your words almost drowned out by the sound of skin on skin. “Do what, hm?” Alastor shakily asked, feigning innocence. “I want to hear you too, Al.”

Alastor chuckled before revealing to you that you had the rest of the night to procure all sorts of lovely noises out of him, his mouth latching onto your shoulder, sucking a generous bruise that would surely be present for days. You grabbed his hands and placed them over your breasts, his thumbs pressing against your hardened buds as you locked your legs around his gyrating hips. ‘Eager, aren’t we?’ He teased you.

You reached up and tugged Alastor’s ears back, his eyes widening and his mouth falling open with a bleat, burying himself to the hilt as his cock spasmed inside of you. You arched up into him at the feeling of his thick, hot cum painting your walls; and to make matters worse, you rubbed your clit underneath him, quickly bringing yourself over the edge so he could feel your cunt clenching around him, overwhelming him.

What a dirty move you had pulled—but Alastor flipped you onto your stomach, entering your cunt once more. He was set on fucking you till you couldn’t form a single coherent sentence and his cum was trickling down your thighs in a heaping, squelching mess. Why? Because he was secretly broadcasting your lovemaking on Husk’s radio in revenge, his shadow making sure he didn’t touch himself as he restlessly tossed and turned in bed.

Lucifer:

Lucifer never anticipated that a separation would result in Alastor befriending you, regret immediately sinking into the depths of his stomach as his wretched, clawed-hand slowly familiarized itself with you in the span of two weeks. He always seemed to be touching your shoulder, the small of your back, but mostly your face, his knuckles kissing your cheekbone whenever he happened to walk into the room.

But what right did Lucifer have to intervene when he had left you? None—or at least that’s what he tried to remind himself as he stole longing glances at you from the bar, the glass in his hand threatening to shatter with Alastor gallantly twirling you around, the elated gasps he elicited from you almost drowning out the soft jazz music playing in the background. All of this had to be purposeful, the timing too convenient.

“Oh, isn’t this just fun, my dear?” Alastor asked, pulling you into his arms, your back flush against his chest. You stared up at him through your lashes, offering him a shy nod. “I told you! You younger folks are, hm, what is the term again?”

You let out a laugh that had Lucifer’s heart aching. He used to make you laugh like that, he bitterly recalled, taking a generous gulp of his whiskey.

But as you answered Alastor’s question, he rolled his eyes. ‘Lame?’ It was such a common term, and yet the old-fashioned bastard refused to utilize it for whatever reason. Lucifer cringed at the way he repeated it.

“Ha! Yes, lame indeed,” Your breath audibly hitched as he grabbed your jaw to meet his face, his breath caressing your lips. “Well, except for you, of course,” He hummed, his smile too genuine for Lucifer’s liking, “You’re quite alright.”

Lucifer quickly downed whatever was left of his drink without even grimacing once, sliding the empty glass towards Husk before addressing the creases in his hat and his coat. He couldn’t stand seeing you in Alastor’s arms for a second longer, the suggestion that tumbled past his lips to head out to Mimzy’s club encouraging him to ask you to dance—well, that and the alcohol churning in his bloodstream, of course.

“Oh, hello there! Uhh, you two seem to be having a lot of fun,” Lucifer snapped his fingers, the friendliness in his voice forced as Alastor glanced down at him from over his shoulder. “I’d love to join in. Perhaps I could have this next dance?”

“It’s hilarious that you think I’d want to dance with the likes of you, ha-ha!” Alastor tossed his head back, well aware that he was referring to you, but he couldn’t help but poke at him. “I meant the lovely lady here,” Lucifer deadpanned.

The tension hung heavily in the air as Alastor effortlessly turned you around to face Lucifer, his clawed-hands gripping onto your waist in a possessive manner. ‘Tell me, dear, do you want to dance with this buffoon?’ He leaned down, his lips moving against your temple as he spoke, the sensation naturally sending a shiver down your spine. Lucifer narrowed his eyes at that, silently seething at the effect he was having on you.

Your fingers anxiously twitched towards Lucifer’s direction, your body yearning to touch him. But with Alastor practically breathing down your neck, you couldn’t help but hesitate. The two of them didn’t like each other—that was a known fact—however, you only opened yourself up to the man holding you because he had been the first one to offer you some sort of comfort, alleviating your loneliness with his charming nature.

“I think I’m going to call it a night,” You eventually said, pulling away from Alastor. He shot Lucifer a displeased look before nodding, ‘Very well, then,’ grabbing your hand and bidding you a goodnight, his lips tenderly pressing against your knuckles.

Your face flushed, flattered by the gesture; but at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that Lucifer had to see that. You hardly spared him a glance as you promptly turned on your heel, leaving him feeling hurt and somewhat betrayed. Still, that didn’t stop him from following after you with a silent precision, only becoming aware of his presence when his shoe stopped your door from shutting closed.

“Lucifer? What are you—?” You tried to ask, but he slammed the door behind him with his tail, tackling you with a searing kiss. “I’m sorry,” He shakily spoke against your lips, his hands hastily undoing your pants.

“About leaving you—about coming back to you because I couldn’t handle seeing that asshole touch you,” Lucifer continued, eliciting a gasp from you as he suddenly pushed you back into your dresser. “I’m so fucking sorry, honey.”

Within a matter of seconds, your pants and your underwear were pooled around your ankles, the cool air causing goosebumps to litter your flesh. You braced yourself on the dresser, your nails threatening to splinter the wood as Lucifer shoved his face into your cunt, his forked tongue parting your folds. A part of you wanted to be upset at him for barging into your room, taking you like you belonged to him, but oh, had you missed him.

While Alastor distracted you from your sorrow, comforting you with his gentle caresses and his kind words—that’s all he had been to you, a meager distraction. Every night you cried yourself to sleep, hoping, praying even, that Lucifer would spare you a simple glance. And now he had his arms wrapped around your legs, moan after moan tumbling from your lips as his tongue relentlessly kissed, flicked, and sucked at your swollen clit.

“Fuck, Luci, I’m the one who should be sorry,” You said, burying a hand into his soft hair and affectionately scratching at his scalp. He shook his head as he focused on your clit, the action making your thighs tremble. “Yes!”

Lucifer couldn’t tell whether your ‘Yes’ was directed at him or simply a product of his ministrations; either way, he refused to let up on you. He dropped one of yours legs, using his free hand to collect your slick. Your gummy walls welcomed his fingers with a warm, wet, tight embrace despite the two weeks you had spent apart, his cock stirring in his pants. But he had to focus on you first.

The pads of his fingers curiously felt around your walls, the spongey spot inside of you that usually had you crying out in ecstasy in the forefront of his mind. ‘Oh, fuck!’ You cried out, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. ‘Right there—yes!’ He had found it. Lucifer stared up into your heavy-lidded gaze, the sight of your furrowed brows and your flushed cheeks spurring on his passionate assault on your fluttering cunt.

“Oh, thank you,” Lucifer groaned when you finally came, immediately replacing his fingers with his forked tongue, your thighs clenching around his head at the feeling of him lapping at your walls. “Thank you so fucking much, honey.”

You pulled him back by his hair when you began to feel overstimulated, a blush creeping up your neck as you observed the dazed look on his face, his chin glistening and his cock painfully straining against his pants. He looked absolutely fuckable like that, sinking down onto your knees to join him on the ground. A strangled groan escaped his throat as you pushed him back onto the carpet, capturing his slick-stained lips.

You straddled his hips, your fingers fixing to undo his pants, but he quickly snapped his fingers and had you pinned underneath him on the bed, nude. It was a surprise, but a welcome one nonetheless, clutching onto his back as he parted your legs and leisurely pushed past your folds with his weeping cock. Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of him buried deep inside of your cunt, his pelvis soothingly rubbing against your swollen clit.

Lucifer’s mouth latched onto your skin as he pulled out entirely, slamming his cock back into your hole, a loud whine gracing his ears. He etched your shoulders, your throat, and your jaw with his teeth—every part that would grant him a scolding. It was an attempt to ward off Alastor, but he would find out the next morning that that would do nothing to deter his efforts, his wretched lips kissing at your supposed injuries.

Taglist:

@cosmiiwrites @pumppkinlynn @spookieroz @gxstiess @polyo-nym-y @vvzhyxx @shinynewboots @freakyfrye @leonotlara @angelicribbons @megumibbg

[chososluv]

𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫

Plug!Choso being a good boyfriend and taking care of you drunk

choso art: @omagatokii

✎₊˚⊹♡ summary: coming home drunk and horny to plug!choso. i got drunk and got in my feels !

🏷 tags/warnings: fem!reader, black!reader, mating press, squirting, creaming, petnames: (ma,mamas) , choso being the best boyfriend, uh something small for the wait on plug!toji and plug!choso 3, sortve proofread this was spur of the moment lol word count: 1.7k

You should blame your friends really.

You told yourself prior to going out it would only be for a few hours. You would have a couple drinks, catch up, gossip, plan to meet up again soon and then leave. You would head back home and snuggle up to your boyfriend and probably call it in for the night. You told Choso this while you got ready and he listened diligently as he was laying casually sprawled out on the bed, looking at the dress you had on. The dress you picked out silhouetting your curves sensually and Choso tried to listen fully but was so distracted by your ass. However he finally snapped out of it shaking his head, as he realized what you had proclaimed.

"A couple drinks and out my ass you gonna do a lot more than that," he stares at the heels you picked out, "feet finna be hurtin too, mama." He also says, remembering from past experiences and you looked at him over your shoulder, frowning. He shrugged and went back to his phone.

"Why must you doubt me?"

"I don't doubt you," he sucked his teeth, "I know just your ass there's a difference." All you do is pout at his words, knowing he was right but the heels completed the outfit so well. Again, another reason you would be in and out with this social outting.

And to no one's surprise, you ended up not in fact "in and out" and had shots, losing count after five, multiple drinks, and your 10:30 return turned into 2am uber vs lyft ordering session between your friends seeing which one had the cheapest rate. You pulled out your phone lockscreen lighting up and you see Choso. You bite your lip, remembering that your boyfriend was at home, hair down, with grey sweats on and you got excited.

"I need yall lyft or uber to hurry up because I got a man to get home to!" And that was all you needed to say because your friends stopped bickering and settled on a rate.

you arrive home, body fuzzy and otherworldly feeling as you made it through the door of your shared apartment. You manage to catch yourself after stumbling through, ankles and heels throbbing at the pain caused by your heels. You giggle to yourself, remembering Choso was right about these damn heels hurting your feet but you really didn't plan to be out that long. It really was your friends's fault! They were nice enough to send you in the first round of ubers after you dropped hints you were ready to go home and climb your man. That ache you had been suffering with between your legs.

That ache that started hours ago the moment you had your first taste of liquor.

You walk through the bedroom door, seeing a small light illuminated by a phone and you immediately settle on Choso's face. He looks at you, sleepy grin stretching across his lips and the ache on your feet seemed to vanished. You squealed, startling him briefly but then he saw that glazed over look in your eyes and just knew you were gone. You ran over, hopping on the bed and jumping on top of Choso. He grunts at your sudden attack but he doesn't mind, he's tossing his phone to the side to give your drunk ass his full attention.

"have fun?" He asks.

"I missed you so much. Baby, I'm so horny but my feet hurt but I'm so horny." You start spilling your immediate thoughts and he's laughing. He sits up, balancing you in his lap and brings a warm arm around your waist. You mewl, bringing your hands to his biceps but his hands reach for your ankles. He's ready to do his duties of the sober boyfriend before he even lays a hand on you sexually.

"One thing at a time," he's chuckling, "let me take these shoes off for you mama and we can go from there."

"Choso, keep sucking on me." You're pleading, his soft lips wrapped around your clit and he's licking the sensitive nub. He looks up at you from between your legs, seeing your eyes roll back as you drunkenly whimpered for more. He's happy to spoil you all night and to be honest he looked forward to this side of you when you told him you were going out. You promised him you’d only have a couple drinks but when he checked the instagram stories and saw shots were involved he knew you would stumbling in here drink. When the “imy” texts started rolling through he knew that liquor was heading straight between your legs.

You didn’t remember, but you sent him a text 45 minutes prior to arriving home saying he better be prepared for you to “dance on that dick.” You would wake up tomorrow feeling a little embarrassed but would find it funnier than anything.

"Let me see those eyes." Choso says, tongue flicking and knocking you speechless. You whimper, knuckles clenching and fisting his hair. He would moan when you tugged on it a certain way, not thinking you would notice -you did.-

"Chosoo..." You're whining when he licks his finger quickly before sinking into your hole. You take him instantly, sucking him gently and physically asking him to stretch you more. A mewl leaves your mouth, hips stirring as if they searched for another finger.

"Greedy fucking pussy its that alcohol huh?" He teases, sinking a second, then third finger inside with no warning and you whimper. You throw your head back, spine curving and you lose grip of his strands. He chuckles as he continues to curve his fingers deep and earning yelps and moans from you.

"Its the fucking Crown shots," you sigh, "I need that dick now, please Cho." You beg, his fingers not enough and you wanted to feel him deep in your lower stomach. He can't even try to tease you because he's been waiting to fuck you since you put that dress on.

"Don't worry ma, Ima give it to you. Now hold them pretty legs up for me."

To say being folded into a mating press by Choso was satisfying was more than an understatement. You only let out huffs and grunts each time he dug himself back inside you. Your juices spurting out when he nudged his tip just right. You were howling, ankles on his strong shoulders.

"Fuck you feel me in yo stomach, baby?" He grunts in your ear, listening to the way you whine loudly and struggle to keep up each time his large cock left and came back into your little cunt. One of his favorite things about you was just how small you felt against him. He fits you in his massive arms and cradles you to help coax you through getting your cunt assaulted by his cock.

"Cho, want you to fuck a baby in me." You're absolutely out of it, gone and its the first time something like that has ever came out of your mouth. Choso has to hold off from cumming right there, he moans, balls twitching at the thought of you being his baby mama but he reminds himself of your state. You were nowhere near sober and he was damn sure not gonna to try be selfish.

"We'll talk about it when you're sober, ma," You only coo when he kisses your cheek, "right now I want you to focus on cumming on me."

He continues pounding deep in you, balls slapping against the curve of your ass with a lewd and sticky sound. The substances courtesy of your cunt that just continues to leak and ooze with arousal and cream. It's dripping obscenely, decorating your lower bodies and the sheets below. You still cannot form words. Helpless cries and moans left your lips each time he came back bullying his way through your walls. Strangled grunts and gasps for air when his tip kissed the lower parts of you kept Choso wanting to bring his hips down harder. He does, earning a squeak from you and a gush of liquid. He can only groan at his thighs being wet but continues to look at your helpless face. Screwed up and twisted as pleasure consumed your brain and the only thing was him and his cock.

"Cho-So!" You cry out, borderline wailing as you felt that knot in your stomach about to unwind.

"You close baby?" You nod, tears coming out your eyes as the pleasure was becoming too much for you to fathom. Choso only continued, thrusting faster and you choked out before letting out a ear-piercing wail.

"Cho!" You're screaming, legs spasming against his shoulders and your orgasm wails were enough to send him over the ledge. Your cunt squeezed tight around him and it took everything in him to pull out. He finishes, cumming on your stomach and letting out desparate grunts.

"Fuck, ma this pussy will be the death of me." Choso chuckles and you only giggle softly, sliding your legs down off his shoulders. Orgasm knocked the last bit of strength you had in you and now you were exhausted between the post sex haze and the alcohol comedown. You felt your eyes fluttering shut. Choso saw, shaking his head before grabbing wipes you two kept in the nightstand.

"You better not go to sleep you still gotta take your makeup off." Choso shook you after he started cleaning you off. You open your eyes, huffing at him from waking you up.

"Why you gotta be a good boyfriend." You pout, knowing he was only looking after your drunk ass.

"Because I love your goofy ass now get up all you gotta do is get to the sink I'll wash it off for you."

Choso stays true to his word and washes your makeup off. Boyfriend of the year should go to him because not only does he wash your makeup off, but he manages to get you in a quick shower and brush your teeth before you started trying to sleep again. He was just securing the bonnet on your head before you fought your eyes from shutting again. He could only laugh, putting your ass to bed, throwing the cover over you and within moments you were out. Choso took care of himself and came back to hearing you snore. When he slid into bed it was like you were waiting for him because you instantly cuddled up to him, seeking his warmth. He could only throw an arm around you, embracing you with his love and body heat.

He would only do this for his favorite girl.

You.

©chososluv ╰┈┈➤ MASTERLIST!

[munariplans]

forty, love | natasha romanoff

part 2 | part 3

synopsis: winning was everything, and losing was a sin. unfortunately, you were on a losing streak, and natasha loved winning.

natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader

word count: 4.9k words

a/n: inspired by that one scene from challengers.

masterlist

“slice forehand.”

thwock. 

“inside-out forehand.”

another thwock.

“move to the volley. hurry. your feet aren’t keeping up.”

despite the insult, the thwock lands. the ball bounces and hits right where you want it to hit. the singular drop of sweat that dripped onto the ground between your feet is not wasted, as you look up to your performance coach across the net, unamused sneer hidden behind his thick moustache. 

“not fast enough?” you quipped. 

he sighed, shaking his head. “don’t get ahead of yourself. you’re still number 2 in the state. if you want a shot at beating the princeton team, you’re still going to have to move much faster than that.”

you wiped the beads of sweat on your forehead, fixing the slightly loose hair tie, before nodding understandingly. still, you weren’t too happy at his latest onslaught of insults this past session. “you could have at least given me credit for the dropshot earlier when you came in. it was perfect.”

“perfect shots don’t get you the win. defeating your opponent does.”

he signalled that practice was over for the day, and you walked off court at the same time as he did to gather your things. the woman watching from the stands stood at that moment, and began her descent down to meet you in the locker room. 

natasha romanoff walked up behind you as you changed, the sudden feeling of her hands on your bare skin a welcomed intrusion, as you sighed into her touch. she let herself have her hands full for a minute, roaming over your muscles until she was satisfied, before settling them on the edge of your shoulders, massaging the tight knots out of them. you were still so tense.

she pressed her lips lovingly on a scar, waiting for you to finish panting at the feeling of where her hands had been. “you were great out there today.”

“coach said otherwise.”

“mm,” she let you put on your shirt, turning you around to kiss you after, “you were fighting him back just as hard. are you okay?”

you zipped up your bag then, taking a moment to avoid her question, before, “do you think i’m like what he says? what they all say…?”

natasha motioned for you to continue. “that i’m all bark, no bite, now? that i’ve lost my mojo?”

“baby–”

“–because you can tell me straight up. i can take it. you’re my girlfriend, you can tell me, i can take it.” the room had suddenly gotten tense, a stark drop to your composure that you had managed to hide so well on the court. in the locker rooms, you were angry again. you had been angry for a while now. 

“losing a few matches isn’t going to hurt your record, baby. you’re this college’s star player, you know this.”

“but losing four matches in a row is going to shatter my ego. my confidence. you of all people should know this!”

you had backed away from natasha, eyebrows raised, posture standoffish. she hated this. she hated seeing you like this. as bad as it was to say, she hated seeing you lose. it was the worst part of yourself that you let her see, when you lost. but what was she, as a partner, if not to stand by you through your career, your ups and down? she should be sharing your pain, taking some burden off of your shoulders, at the very least. 

“just last week, i let it go to break point, and i still fucking lost!” you had raised your fist at this point, nearly punching it at the steel frames of the lockers, when you reminded yourself of just the complications that could arise from shattered knuckles. your coach would never let this go. but still, the gesture was there, and the fire in your eyes remained all too dangerous. 

suddenly, you were pressed against the lockers, the weight of natasha’s body engulfing yours, as her arms came to hold you tight against herself. you were forced to embrace her back, despite your slight protests and pleas, but she was having none of it. she had wrapped you up in her tight, strong embrace, and her hands were finding themselves to bring your face towards hers, eyes boring into your own. 

“nat–”

“–last week, last week, you were against a professional, baby. a nearly retired one at that, but she was fighting for wins at the australian open not too long ago. she’s been doing this longer than you have even started learning how to hit the ball. don’t be so hard on yourself, will you? nobody, nobody else, could have gotten to where you were with her. break point is a feat in itself.”

you didn’t look convinced. but she didn’t need you to look convinced; she needed you to listen. “do you understand? you need to look at things from a different perspective, from my perspective. not your coach’s, not your teammates, certainly not that player’s fucking groupies, who were gloating about your loss all the way out of the stadium. you need to believe in yourself, as i have always believed in you. and you can’t keep going on like this. do you understand me?”

natasha’s eyes never departed from yours, her gaze firm. her hands were shaking, a little unsure of your reaction, because as far as she knew, you didn’t look like you were going to back down from a fight. either with yourself or her, she didn’t know. she certainly hoped it was at least the latter.

but then, your gaze cast downwards, you nodded ashamedly. sighing into the air, you pressed your face into the crook of her neck for a moment, the height advantage letting you lift her up, and she cooed as she let you gather yourself. 

“i understand.”

she patted the back of your head. like a mother would a petulant, but repenting child. “good. now let’s go get dinner, then a massage for your shoulders. then back to the gym first thing tomorrow morning.”

– 

natasha watched you push around your vegetables for nearly half of dinner. she knew the campus meal tickets didn’t exactly provide for five-star dishes, but she had never seen you so down like this before. it was almost as if you had become a ghost of yourself. 

“steve’s birthday is coming up soon.” she decided to change the topic, and hopefully, get your mind off of tennis for a minute. 

you gave a nonchalant grunt, finally stabbing the piece of broccoli. she steadied herself. “should we get him the pair of boots he’s always wanted? i figured we could pull in wanda and clint too, if we want to get him a bigger gift.”

your eyes were still unfocused. it was as if she wasn’t there at all. “baby.”

you looked up, half-expecting natasha to be pissed. but she only gave you a small smile. “steve’s birthday?”

“we can get him the boots. i don’t mind paying for them. but i don’t think i’m going to his party.”

“why not? your match on that day ends in the afternoon.”

“yeah, but i think i’m going to be pretty tired.” not to mention if i lose.

natasha decided not to argue with you on it. she knew enough how touchy the subject of your career already was. instead, she jabbed the last piece of corn with her fork, and gestured for your mouth to open. 

the both of you left shortly after. 

– 

in a friendly match the next weekend with the neighbouring college, you were faced up against the top ranking player once more. being a finals round, you had imagined that the crowd would be roaring with applause for how far you’d come, but when the sets began to balance after your first few strong starts and the heat of the afternoon sun began beating on everyone’s backs, the crowd dwindled out one by one from boredom and, to you at least, the possible disappointment of you losing. 

it was only expected, from a disenchanted champion. the college’s once pride and joy, the one who was once regarded as a candidate with potential to win grand slams. unfortunately, people only really like you when you win. 

but natasha stayed. and so did her friends, and your friends that she had managed to force to stay. you had gestured that they could leave if they wanted to, during the breaks, but they were afraid to even nod, or make a move, lest they wanted to be subjected to natasha’s ferocity, sitting behind them. it was almost humiliating that they stayed only because your girlfriend was forcing them to, you thought. 

thwock. a missed shot from your end.

another thwock. “out!”

by your last mistake, the crowd had only left natasha, steve, and some die-hard groupies of yours that were slowly losing hope too. so when the final set was determined by your failure to execute a passing shot, and subsequently touching the net, the roars from the other side seemed almost mocking. you had lost. 

natasha rushed down to the locker rooms again, only this time, your friends followed, and the absolute mortification that you felt, along with the pure anger and frustration of losing, overpowered any remaining sense of decency you had left. 

the moment you spotted her coming in, then the company behind her, you almost felt like the first time the instinct to shatter your racket came to you. 

“out! all of you, out!” you had screamed, not caring to be decent even to your teammates. 

“come on, we just wanted–”

“–i don’t care, out! you’ve just come in here to humiliate me, haven’t you? gloating how i could lose, even in a friendly! how shit of a player i am, now!”

the people behind natasha grumbled, but one by one shuffled out. it was better to tell you about how unfair you were being another day, not when emotions were running so high. natasha was thankful they understood. but it didn’t make what you did any less unfair.

she sat beside you as you kept your head down. “that wasn’t very nice.”

“losing isn’t very nice.”

“they meant well, baby.”

“no, they don’t.”

“how many times do i have–”

“–a ton, okay, natasha?” you looked up, slamming your drink between the both of you. “a ton of times, you have to remind me. that my friends love me, that they’re here to support me. but how the fuck am i supposed to believe that when i don’t even have anything for them to support me for?”

“your friends don’t just love you because you’re good at tennis, my love. i don’t love you just because you’re good at tennis. this is ridiculous! i can’t believe we are arguing over this, i can’t believe you think of yourself so lowly like this.”

natasha was met with a deafening silence the moment she finished her last words, her chest heaving up and down from her own disappointment. the rest of the players had filtered out, upon hearing your argument, leaving only you and her there. like always. 

your hand rubbed over your face resignedly, hands covering the beautiful eyes natasha loved loves staring into. she wanted to reach out, to pull your hands away from yourself, to even get you to answer her, to let her know that you at least believed you were better than this. but she was afraid of the answer she was going to get. 

then, she heard a sniffle, and a small, choked sob afterwards. and that was it. 

you were up standing the next second, and slinging your racket bag over your shoulder. “i’m going to the gym. i know you have class after this. don’t wait up.”

she was left there alone, the dismay and disappointment of it all weighing down on her, the moment the doors to the locker room were slammed. 

– 

i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have lashed out on you like that, i apologised to my friends, now i want to apologise to you. i love you, i’m sorry. the words didn’t seem enough. the guilt that accumulated and eventually avalanched into your heart was almost insurmountable, after the incident with  natasha. you weren’t even sure you were worthy of being forgiven, you thought as you sat in your car later that night, still angry at her, but making sure that she was safe in the short walk home from her class to her dorm. 

which was why you found yourself in the florist off campus a few days later, asking the employee what flowers best represented i’m sorry for being such a terrible girlfriend, and which flowers were most likely going to help you be forgiven. the white and blue carnations reminded you of the colours in natasha’s room. 

“how much is it?” you asked, to which the cashier then showed you the till. you cursed internally, not even knowing flowers were so expensive nowadays.

checking the contents of your wallet for a minute, you cursed even louder at yourself at the emptiness that greeted you. losing matches meant losing money, that was for sure, and it wasn’t a secret that you were mostly funding your life with prize money won from big matches in the state, with college at least funded with the athlete’s scholarship. yet another reason why i can’t keep doing this, you thought.

it was between dinner for the next few days and gas for your car, and the flowers. fuck it, skipping dinners once in a while wouldn’t hurt, and you could walk from place to place. 

you handed over your card, and began the walk to natasha’s dorm. 

when she received you, natasha noticed you looked almost like a kicked puppy, none of the anger or smugness you carried with you on and off the court. no, with her, you were soft, and vulnerable, and all-too pitiful for her love. she knows the power she has over you. she never had to worry. 

so she brought you in, allowed you to apologise, to beg at her feet, and for her mercy and forgiveness. she allowed you to worship her, taking her to her bed and whispering how much you messed up to her skin, how much you loved her when you were making her see stars, how much you thought you would hurt yourself if she ever left you when she was chanting your name over and over again, begging you to let her come undone.

– 

steve’s birthday rolled around, and natasha was once again seated in the front row for you. she never missed your matches. 

you thought she should have missed this one, when the match reached a break point and you lost again. when you had gotten so frustrated, so furious, over a careless choke that you had, that you received a punishment for smashing your racket into bits as the opponent screamed in celebration. 

she came down to sit with you in the locker room after, but it was in silence. there was nothing to say, and nothing to be said. there were tears streaming down your face, dripping onto the floor. your vision was obscured by the tears, and you would have lost yourself if not for the hand that was holding your own, firm, steadfast. somewhere along the line, she was kissing you, then slowly pushing for you to get up, and bringing you to her dorm. you didn’t really remember anything more after that, busy curling into a ball and crying yourself to sleep afterwards.

when she woke you again to accompany her to steve’s party, you felt almost bad that the ringing in your ears hadn’t gone away, and so had your misery from the match earlier. but natasha needed a ride, and you weren’t going to let her drive back later if she had been drinking for the night. 

– 

you encouraged natasha to mingle around at the party, and to not worry about you, as you stuck around your few friends for a bit. she was unsure, but you were firm, and soon enough, she too had disappeared into the crowd.

your eyes never left her after you found her again, though, leaning back into a pillar as your friend sam went on and on about his own matches so far. you didn’t have the heart, or energy, to tell him that tennis was the last thing you wanted to talk about right then. 

she was by the birthday boy, his arm slung around her waist as the both of them guzzled down cups and cups of spiked punch. their circle was closely-knit, you had always known this, but somehow, the lingering touches, and his hand slowly travelling up and down her back, was ticking you off this time. you had almost half a mind to ask steve what he thought he was doing, but you knew natasha would get embarrassed, and upset. you knew you already made her upset enough today. 

but then, sam quipped, “they’ve been awfully close lately, haven’t they?”

he must have forgotten he was talking to natasha’s girlfriend, of all people, as he continued, “steve’s on a winning streak recently. on track to become valedictorian, potentially getting drafted by the top teams next season, it’s only a matter of time before he wants someone by his side to share it with too, huh?”

“...right.”

“you know how natasha likes winners,” he hit your elbow playfully, breath reeking of alcohol and other illegal substances, “she just loves the game. i bet that’s how you got her to fall for you too.”

“not my good looks, or horrible attitude to anything outside of tennis?” you tore your eyes away from natasha for a moment to glare at sam. he chuckled. 

“i’m just saying, better to keep your girl by your side, future federer.” he disappeared shortly after, and when you found natasha again, she was laughing and putting her head on steve’s shoulder. 

instead of feeling angry this time, you were dejected, and a little bit ashamed. of course. natasha liked winners. and you certainly weren’t one anymore. 

you bit back a harsh breath, and went outside to get some fresh air when steve stole a glance at her that was far too intimate to be one of merely friends. you should have known. if she wasn’t winning with you, she was winning with someone else, somewhere else. 

that night, for the first time in your career, and relationship, you thought about retiring.

– 

but when the competition season rolled around, and the WTAs approaching, you had managed to pull yourself up in the rankings enough to secure a spot at a challengers’ round to hopefully beat princeton and start a domino effect that could lead you to participating in a grand slam. 

natasha was walking beside you, struggling to keep up as she checked your schedule haphazardly. “the princeton girl, she’s on the other side of the roster. i doubt the two of you would be playing each other unless she reaches the finals too. which…at this point…”

you didn’t want to know if she meant that you wouldn’t stand a chance of reaching the finals, or that the princeton champion would be knocked out early. you were afraid you knew the answer. 

steve had dropped her off at the stadium when you went outside to pick her up, his smug smile as he waved her goodbye, and his eyes following yours, making you want to reach over inside the car and beating him with your racket. you had to arrive earlier to discuss strategy with your coaches, and while you were more than willing to pay for natasha’s ride in, she had mentioned that steve would be dropping her off. she sounded almost excited, so you dropped the topic and went back to your practice. like you have been doing for the past few months. 

turns out it wasn’t so hard to succeed, and win matches, when you were more or less resigned to your fate that nobody was ever going to expect anything more of you from your streak of losses all those matches ago, and you had effectively lost the love of your life to some football player who kept winning, and winning. 

you were at a challenger’s round this time, so you didn't need to worry. you won, and won, and won a little bit more. 

–

thwock. right over the net. the opponent misses and falls to her knees.

a serve that would have made williams roar in awe. thwock.

last one. the set was done if you landed this one. thwock. 

the ball landed inside the court, right by the opponent’s feet. and you advanced to the finals. 

you remembered natasha rushing down, not even waiting until you entered the locker room. she was running, running, and jumping into your arms, kissing you like her life depended on it. you spun her around, giving her a smug smile, trying to hide a bleeding heart that knew she too, was surprised that you ever stood a chance of winning. 

the crowd roared behind you. people were liking you again. but you had never felt worse. 

–

it turned out that the princeton champion had advanced to the finals, and would be playing against you, after all. there was no surprise for her, but certainly a surprise for you, as the newscasters and fans had aptly put, a grand shocker. they had all thought you had seen your glory days over. 

natasha caught you watching the latest telecast from the hotel’s television, gaze zeroed in on the anchor who was comparing your statistics over the last few games. almost perfect scores. leaving opponents with loves in sets. behind her, were the students of your college, decked out in the colour of the university and your face and initials printed on their shirts, caps, flags. all of it. they had never looked more proud. the college had even rolled out a banner in your name, in lieu of the upcoming finals. you knew natasha enjoyed all of it more than you did. 

when it came to the broadcast from princeton, the college’s president had come to give a special interview. he mentioned that he never doubted his champion from the start, unlike what your college had to go through with you. you found yourself wanting to spit at the television. 

but from behind, the sound of running water from the shower had stopped, and she had come out, in a robe and her wet hair in a towel. she saw the glazed look in your eyes, and promptly picked up the remote to shut the programme off. 

she settled into the spot beside you, nuzzling into your comfort. she had to pull your own arms off of the couch to wrap around her. you thought she must have known. she couldn’t be so stupid. she knew that you knew about her, and what she had always liked. 

but then you remembered, beyond the resentment, and grief, of the past few months, of just what she had been through with you. when you lost your very first match in college, natasha had been your friend, still. she was dating the captain of the basketball team, you remembered, but she had gone with you afterwards to walk the long way home, encouraging you and telling you that it would get better. it always would. you only half-believed her.

but then, you won. and won, and won, and won. by the tenth streak of winning, natasha had broken up with said boyfriend, and began hanging around your dorm, the tennis courts, even the cafeterias more often. she went where you went, showed up to most of your games, was the loudest one in the crowd when you secured sets. she would wait for you after your mini celebratory sessions with your teammates, and fans, and friends, all for a moment alone with you. then, she would bring you out for drinks, for dinners, sometimes the occasional walk down memory lane to her dorm. she was kind, she made you laugh, and you were on a streak. so what was there stopping you? 

you fell for her just as easily as you fell in love with winning.

to your surprise, she stuck around when you lost a few matches along the way, never letting it phase her, or you. to everyone else’s surprise, she stuck around when you twisted your ankle in your second year of playing. she had left a pattern in her wake, you see, of leaving all of her past lovers when the going got tough, or when they had simply stopped winning. it was inevitable, you thought. but no, not this time. when you fell to your knees during that tournament, screaming in agony as your ankle felt like it was folding in on itself, she was there. she was right beside the medical officer, holding you up as he inspected the injury, face looking even more panicked than yours as they wheeled you off to the hospital. 

she was there, as they wheeled you in for surgery, and wheeled you out to recover. she never left, even when the doctors told you it would take months to recover, let alone get back to playing on your level. she helped you recover, was the driving force in your physical therapy success, even became the sole reason that you returned to playing so quickly after your injury. you hadn’t wanted to disappoint her, much less lose her at all. you were too afraid of the possibility of her becoming someone else’s because of your failure in your sport.

natasha stayed through your losing streak. she never got mad, or lost her patience, with you. it had been three years now, with her. she had never lasted in a relationship so long, so had you. she had talked about getting married before, right after college, to which you had entertained, but still never gotten the full grasp of. how could she talk about marrying you, with such a reputation that preceded her? what if you had lost, would she have run off before the altar?

what if you lost tomorrow? you looked at her again, this time, and she was on her phone. she was texting your friends to make sure they came for your match tomorrow. you felt horrible.

“nat.”

she looked up. “yes?”

“tell me it doesn’t matter.” 

natasha sat up this time, her hand holding yours. she looked confused. “what doesn’t matter?” “whether i win or lose tomorrow.”

her face remained unchanged for a moment, but at the quiver of your lip, and the coldness in your hands, she broke her composure. she shook her head slowly, gaze steely. “no.”

“why not?” it was your turn to harden the look on your face. “why won’t you tell me at least that?”

“because,” she bit the inside of her cheek, “you’re the professional. you’ll tell me whether it matters or not.”

you sat up as well. “i just want to know that you’ll love me…no matter what…whether i win or lose tomorrow.”

natasha’s eyes suddenly couldn’t meet yours. she looked down, at your shirt, then away, but never back at you. you pleaded, “natasha, please.”

“no,” she remained firm, “no. i won’t tell you that, because i know you’ll beat her. you’ll win tomorrow. and you’ll go to the grand slams, you’ll be the best tennis player that’s ever played in them, and you’re going to win. every. single. one. of. them.”

“and what if i don’t? not even the grand slams, not even tomorrow? what if i come in second again, after all this time?” 

you were growing desperate, and she was growing distant. you suddenly thought that you would have done anything, absolutely anything then, for her to tell you what you wanted to hear. to tell you that she would love you no matter if you won or lost.

natasha watched as you dropped to your knees in front of her, eyes already teary. your hands scrambled to hold her shirt, her waist, any part of her. she held them back, but to stop you from reaching further. then, she held your face again, but this time, it was you that was begging for her. you looked downright pitiful.

she wiped the stray tear off your cheek. she knew what she was going to say would either make or destroy you. “i’ll tell you this instead.”

“please.”

“baby, if you lose the match tomorrow, i’m leaving you. for good.”

– 

thwock. thwock. thwock. 

princeton parried, the ball is sent to the line. you return it with ease. princeton flicks back, you work twice as hard to send it over.

your moves were clean, cleaner than ever before, aided by a brain filled with rage and a heart filled with fear. 

princeton served, out. you served, in. the advantage stood, and the crowd stood to cheer. princeton hit back, you hit harder. it was a game both colleges hadn’t seen in decades. there were talks of both of you dominating the grand slams, even possibly working together, even being the next best duo to ever hit the sport. 

break point. the ball whizzes. and finally…after all the pain, the fear, the lost matches and the weight of the world on your shoulders, it was over. 

you weren’t quick enough. princeton won. 

a/n: i just love pathetic, pitiful characters who are down so bad for natasha romanoff, is that so wrong?

[reddesires]

It Was Everything.

Part 3 of Is It Casual?

Previous Part

Logan Howlett x Mutant Reader

Warning: Angst (with happy ending.)

Fandom: Wolverine/X-Men

A/N: ngl I struggled so bad when writing this like omfg, I'm tweaking with how much I had to push myself to write this Ugh. I think this is the longest I've ever written a fic like, bro. I was so stressed. I hope you guys like it, I tried my hardest 😪

You can feel the frustration building in your chest as you stand outside the Professor’s office, the conversation you had just moments ago echoing in your mind as you sharply bite down on your lip as you try to keep your cool, your eyes narrowed as you briskly walk down the hall.

Whatever is going on with your mind, it’s holding you back and it's becoming more burdensome as you try to reach your former potential, the sharp pains radiating deep from within the recesses of your head.

Your hand clenches and unclenches in agitation, everything seems to have a domino effect all around you, and it all starts with your lack of control over your mutation.

The Professor has been more than encouraging as he walks you through your sessions and he’s scoured through your mind countless times looking for the source of your problem but is cut short as it seems like your mind has built up defenses against outside potential threats, blocking out other telepathy users from reaching the vulnerable parts of your mind.

You’ve poked and prodded in an attempt to get past some sort of breach, but the lightning bolt of pain that passes through you is precise, leaving you defeated and with a bloody nose to prove it. You've expressed your desperation to Storm and she tries her hardest to comfort you with the idea that it’ll take more time for you to make a breakthrough but you’ll get there, and though you appreciate her optimism you have been finding it more and more hard to share the same sentiment.

The others have noticed that you have been walking around with that dark cloud over your head and they have made an effort to take away your attention from it but it always creeps back up slowly but surely.

Logan is especially worried about you and how much it’s been weighing down on you and though he doesn’t say a lot of his worries aloud you can see it through his actions and the way he looks at you. The way he lays his hand gently on your back as he sees you deep in thought and the way his gaze catches yours as he intends to bring your attention on him and him only, he’s become possessive of your attention not accepting the weak smile you throw at him in an attempt of appeasing him.

He always manages to make your breath hitch and catch in your throat as brings himself into your personal space, it’s almost like he's relying on some underlying feeling and he’s allowing his body to act on it and it’s gotten to the point where he’s been open enough to display this in front of the others earning some raised eyebrows which is met by his blank stare.

There are times where you stand toe to toe with him and as he looks down at you with that smug smirk you find yourself mirroring back his expression relishing in the self satisfied feeling that builds up from your stomach. Whenever he was around, it was like a switch went off in your body, and there was an instinctive way your body reacted, like it was as easy as breathing, no effort at all.

If only you felt that way all the time, have that confidence dancing on the tip of your tongue instead of that bitterness, the bitterness that lingers as the remnants of your paramnesia lays locked away from your use, your only allowed to use it in small intervals before the pain becomes too unbearable for you. As you walk with your head down, your nails dig into the tender skin of your palms, you hear your name being called from behind you, and you look back, unclenching your tight fists.

“Oh, hey Jean.” You feign your happy tone as she walks up to you with a small smile. “Hey, you doing okay?” Her tone has that worried edge again, and it does make your smile waver before you sigh decidedly against continuing to fake your way through the unsavory conversation coming your way.

“The Professor still hasn't been able to get past the blockages placed in my mind. He thinks I built it in an attempt to protect myself as a last resort.” Jean nods, a contemplative look on her face, her brows furrowed as the gears turned in her head.

“That would make sense, but does that mean there was someone trying to get into your head?” You can only shrug your shoulders falling back down heavily as you felt just how tumultuous this topic actually is. Was it really an outside source?

All these unanswered questions you have and so little to show for it, you are constantly told to have patience and the answers will come to you soon enough but the fact that those answers are blocked off from you along with your mutation makes you irate.

Jean places her hand on your shoulder, her smile sympathetic as she looks you in the eye seeing the frustration bleeding into your expression and the air is filled with a tension you're unsure of as she considers her next words.

“Maybe..I could take a look?” You raise an eyebrows as you fully comprehend her words, it does raise an interest in you but you're apprehensive as you think of the possibility of your defenses hurting Jean if she tries to get through what the Professor can't get pass himself, you open your mouth to voice your worries but she beats you to it.

“I'll back out if things go awry, I just want to see if I can see anything the Professor can't.”

You weakly smile, nodding. “Okay, but please don't push yourself. I don't want you to get hurt.” She nods quickly as she standing in front of you, you lower your head slightly as she places her fingers on your temples and you know that it wasn't necessary for her to do so but she's more than likely using you as an anchor to reality to pull her back from the complexity of your mind if need be, your sure she'll have to pull back since your fortification is aggressive in nature.

“Take a deep breath and relax.” You do exactly that, you try your hardest to keep all distractions at bay and open your mind up to her to the fullest extent but you know there's only so much you could do before she hits that blockade.

You can feel her fingers twitch on your temples and you're aware of where exactly she is in your head as she looks for any sign of frailty or low security but your mind holds up against her, as she looks through the memories available to her trying to decipher where it all went wrong, she gasps in sudden surprise as your defenses grab hold of her, the pain radiating to her own head in bursts.

“Jean! You need to let go.” You hurriedly say, squeezing your eyes shut as you try to will your mind into not retaliating against Jean. “I'm trying..” Her voice strains as she tries pulling back, her chest heaving in panic, with all the strength you can muster, you take hold of the connection between you two forcefully pushing her out of your head, your sudden action causing you to fall to your knees as you breath heavily, the sweat on your brow now noticeable to you as you panically look back up at Jean.

She's already looking down at you, her breathing slowly returning to normal as her hand is gripping the side of her head. “Are you okay?” You asked worriedly, she nods hastily as she nervously smiles in response as she extends her hand to you, you grab it exasperatedly, feeling the adrenaline rushing out of you just quickly as it came in.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, Jeanie.” You laugh breathlessly. She shakes her head, mirroring your laugh. “I nearly had one myself. Your mind is on high alert. I felt the pain when it grabbed hold of me.. But it immediately stopped when you broke the connection..”

You sigh as you wipe your brow “Now you know what it's like being in my mind.” Her smile’s incredulous as she places her hand on your shoulder, and you know for a fact that she's shaken just by how strong the security of your psyche truly is. “That's one hell of a mind then.”

○●○●○●○●○●○

As you walk to your room, you're filled with thoughts of what just happened. Going into your head is not only dangerous for you but others too, so what could you possibly do?

If you don't do anything then your mutation will stay dormant, you’ll be left with little to no access to the full scope of your powers and though you know the others will never think lesser of you if that was the case but it's not how you want to go on, whatever happened to you it’s taken a part of your identity and you refuse to give up on that half of you.

The chatter of the buzzing students pulls you from your identity crisis as you look up, smiling and waving back to the students who happily crowd around you, their voices intermingling as they whine and express their want for your classes again.

“Hey hey, you know what's up, I'll be back and teaching all of you soon again.” The statement only seems to pull unanimous whining as they complain of how they are forced to do textbook work instead of the interactive lessons you've been adamant about doing with your students.

“Who’s your sub?” You smile, crossing your arms. Rogue, who has been standing to the side of you, laughs as she crosses her own arms. “Who do you think?” Rogue is a part of the class you teach for the older kids in the school.

Your class is an extracurricular class that helps the students understand their powers with more in-depth understanding and ways to use their mutation for more than what they think is the only option for them.

Gives them more purpose to life and a safe way to explore their powers in a more logical sense. Your class is a fan favorite since you tend to stray away from all the boring textbook assignments and come up with interactive lessons and projects.

“Hmm, why do I have a feeling, Mr. Howlett has been covering for me?” The groans and laughs uproar from the students, and Rogue shakes her head, her smile only growing as she looks at you.

“History is definitely more in his depth, Ms.Anamnesis.” You try to cover your laugh with your hand as the students complain of how boring it's been, but you hold your hands out, quieting your teenage crowd.

“Hey, cut him some slack! I know I'm more your vibe, but just endure just a little longer. Now get to your last period before you're late!” You place your hand on Rogue’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly as you smile at her.

“Don’t let them bully him too much, okay?” She puffs out air in amusement as she waves her hand. “As if they would do it to his face, that old man scowl intimidates everyone.” She giggles before she turns to her last period. “See ya later!”

You smile widely, waving back to her. You’ve always enjoyed Rogue’s company and your proud of how far along she's come since the first day she arrived to the mansion, you’ve always put yourself in a position to welcome the new children who come to the school, always quick to comfort and get to know the child so they could have some sort of connection while getting adjusted to their new environment.

You also treated Logan the way you would with a new student, allowing him the space he needed but always available when needed, you were not afraid of rejection or the hard exterior that protects the vulnerability that lays below that, he was rugged and harsh but your kind and nonchalant behavior got through to him and soon enough he became comfortable and open to your reasoning, you would never tell him outright that your method was a well used tactic, you’d feel he'd take offense despite it working well with him.

Speaking of the devil, he turns the corner with his all too well favorite brand of cigar hanging out of his mouth, the smoke haloing around his head. “You know how the Professor feels about you smoking inside during school hours.” You smirk, tilting your head, his eyes snap in your direction as he takes the cigar out of his mouth.

“Well, it’s a good thing he's not around then.” He smirks in response as he steps in front of you teasingly, blowing the smoke up above your head. Moments like this makes you question whether Logan puts up the brooding front of the others intentionally because he tends to fall into this laid back and smug air whenever your within his sights, your convinced that if he could he would push every button of yours possible just so he could have an excuse to be in your space.

His moodiness is few and far between the two of you as he much prefers your small glares and witty comebacks. “I shouldn't be surprised when it comes to the likes of you.” You roll your eyes as you flick your wrist, the cigar slipping from his fingers and up into the air far from his reach as you take advantage of your telekinesis to smugly stare back at him, his disgruntled grunt a sound so pleasing to your ears.

“Always one to put me in my place, huh princess?” You shrug, twirling your fingers as the cigar in the air imitates the movement. He looks to you with a raised eyebrow. “Who else will if I don't?” He smacks his lips, tilting his head as he heavily places his hand on top of your head causing you to lose focus and the cigar to fall down right into his palm as he puts it out with his closed hand.

“Wouldn't have it any other way, darlin.” He practically purrs in your direction as he leans closer into your space, you just push your open palm against his cheek pushing him away as if you were annoyed but you wouldn't admit that you enjoyed him most when he acted this way, but it does little to deter him as you can feel his amused expression against your hand.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He pulls back chuckling, as he runs his hand through his hair, the little tufts cause a smile to pull over your lips amusingly. “Anyway, we're training today in the danger room, so get ready.” He's quick to lightly flick your forehead playfully as you groan at the mention of training.

You and Logan aren't paired as often as he would like when it came to hand to hand combat training, it happened very rarely so he's always on top of the schedule for those times and although you did enjoy training with Logan, it could be pretty brutal when it came to the soreness of your bones the day after, it was an upside that Logan looked pretty good in those tight compression shirts you convinced him to start wearing for training.

“Ugh, fine.” Your lackluster response brings a glint to his eye as he ruffles your hair. “Don't be late.” You mockingly mimic him as you sludge your way to your room to get ready, mentally preparing yourself to get thrown around the danger room in the least sexy way possible.

○●○●○●○●○●○●○

You breathe in deeply, stretching your neck side to side loosening you limbs in front of the steel door to the danger room, you know you could do all this inside but you couldn't help but stall knowing that Logan was waiting for you inside, he more than likely knew you were outside anyway due to his enhanced hearing but you really didn't care as you try to calm your beating heart.

This isn't anything new to you but it is without the full scope of your powers at your benefit, it often gives you an upper hand knowing that you have a multitude of options when it came to both of your powers but your basically down to only 1 option with a small interval of time with the other, you'll have to make due.

As you tap the screen opening the door, you see Logan stretching his arm above him, the other hand gripping his right elbow as he tugged in the opposite direction, the movement causing his tight black shirt to ride up giving you an eyeful of his sculpted abdomen and the happy trail leading down into his sweatpants, you quickly look away coughing into your closed fist.

“Glad you finally made it. I thought you were gonna run off again.” His small grin is telling that he knew you were stalling, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes as you threw your towel to the side before cracking your knuckles, relieving the tension in between your fingers.

“Uh-huh, as if that would ever happen.” As you crouch touching your fingers to your toes, he stands cracking his neck, his head flicking to the side, his eyes hooded as he towers over you. “Let's see what you got today, Kid.” You jump up, flicking your finger under his chin as you turn your body away from him as you walk to mats, hyping yourself up.

“Sure thing, ol’ man.” You just know that he's taken slight offense to that as he makes his way to the opposite end to you, the narrow of his eyes and the slight condescending smirk making you feel like your heart may have skipped a beat, he's probably gonna make you eat your words, you don't know if you should be scared or excited.

“We'll see who's old by the end of this.” The two of you position yourself, the tension of the air shifting entirely as you stare the other down. “We'll see.”

The stare down was intense as you observed the other's stance, it was almost like a game of chicken, challenging the other to make the first move but Logan isn't known for his patience as he rushes forward toward you.

You run forward with your hands clenched and when your just within reach of him, you skid to the side completely springing yourself into the air, your hands pushing downwards using your telekinesis to propel your body up and over him as you shift your body around last second kicking him in the back sending him stumbling foward, he's quick to turn grabbing your wrist and swinging your body in the opposite direction.

You crouch, your fingernails digging into the mat to prevent yourself from slamming into the wall behind you. Logan surges forward grabbing you by the waist and allowing his body to fall forward in a attempt of slamming you into the ground but your open palms allow your mutation to stop the momentum as you knee his shoulder, freeing yourself from his tight grip. you twist yourself, lifting your leg up and over his head and onto his opposite shoulder, his head now between your thighs and completely under your mercy as he tries tossing you off.

You slap your hands over his ears, your mind allowing you to emit a high pitched static in his ears causing him to yell out and a feral growl rips from his chest as he manages to toss you off of him, you skid a foot away and before you know it he's on all fours, using his claws to propel him forward towards you and as you try to create distance between the two of you, it's no use as he manages to pin you down.

Your deep breaths intermingle with his as he has you pinned between his body and the training mat and as he gazes down at you, his eyes shift from your eyes and lips, his mouth slightly agape displaying his sharp canines. His smirk finds its way back on his lips as he pushes your hair from your face, his eyebrow raising teasingly.

“Who's old now?” You huff, suddenly raising both your legs pushing into his stomach and kicking him off of you and jumping up, back into position as you motion a ‘come hither’ to him with your fingers. “We're not finished yet, ol’ man.”

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

There it is, the ache and soreness settling in your bones that you've been dreading the day after. You knew that training with Logan was gonna become a competition of who was gonna tap out first, it only ended on a agreed truce since you two refused to give in for hours and others needed the danger room for their own training sessions, the mat was in dire need of replacement from all the claw marks that shredded through it.

As you lay in your bed trying to stretch out the pains in your body, you hold your hand out in front of you, your big mission is just on the horizon and all you have is your telekinetic power to make up for it. Dragging yourself out of bed for the recap meeting with the Professor was excruciating in all ways to be expected.

The grunt and groans only increasing as you heard multiple knocks on your door, one is fast and is intentionally rhythmic and the other loud and with an all familiar annoying edge to it, your door swings open with swiftly as your met with the faces of your beloved friends who love getting on your nerves.

Logan and Ororo smile at your laid out figure sprawled out on the floor, your whines and groans only egging them on to annoy you even more.

“Get her, Logan.” He salutes Ororo as he’s quick to scoop you up on his shoulder, your yells echoing down the hallways as you kick your feet and hit his back. It doesn't faze him at all. “Quiet down, girl.” His hand smacks down hard on your ass, your indignant scream loud as you smack the back of his head in retaliation. “You asshole! Put me down!”

As he strides down to the lower floors, you all pass by Scott, and he’s not even surprised by the commotion as his head turns slowly following after your movements before sighing, shaking his head.

“Logan, can you stop roughhousing her.” Scott follows after while you yell in agreement, kicking your legs. “yeah, you brute!” He chuckles as the hidden door to the elevator opens only, then he puts you down.

“You like it.” You scoff before turning to Ororo with a scowl. “I can’t believe you let him treat me this way.” She pulls your arm stepping into the elevator, a grin on her lips as she innocently lays her head on your shoulder, fluttering her lashes at you. “There’s only so much I can do, sweetness.”

You roll your eyes as you pull Logan by the front of his shirt into the lift. He stumbles in his arm, stretched out, caging you between him and the wall as he grins slyly at you. “Hey.” You're quick to flick your wrist, causing him to be pushed into the side of the elevator. “Move, you dog. Scott, get in." Scott is lowly laughing into his fist, clearing his throat, but the smirk is obvious as day on his face as Logan scowls at him. “Let's hurry up before we're late.”

○●○●○●○●○●○●

The atmosphere is serious as you go over the details of the mission. You're up against the Acolytes, and you are to retrieve their documents for their next plan to exterminate the human race once again. They have resorted to taking in innocent mutant children, manipulating them into thinking that in order to have a safer life, they'll have to take on humans.

Your task in this mission is to defend against the enemy mutants outside the compound along with Logan, Scott, and Colossus while Jean, Storm, and Rogue make way into the compound to get to the documents and rescue the mutant children.

You are to fight until the government can step in and arrest the enemy mutants, or at least until you have the desired results, then can you retreat.

“We are fighting against those who have turned their back on humanity. Be on look out for Magneto,” You can feel the irritation building in your chest, the twitch in your brow grabbing Logan's attention as he’s leaned against the wall next to you, his hip bumping into yours. You nod in acknowledgment, bumping him back.

“Remember we fight as a team, stick together.” Scott's voice is tense with encouragement. He looks around the room, a way of reassuring you all of your purpose to this team. “Let’s suit up.”

Sharp and short, it’s showtime.

○●○●○●○●○●○

It's times like this that wrings your insides with unmeasurable nerves as you approach the designated spot of operations, the black bird within the cover of Storm’s dense clouds.

You worry for the safety of your team and your ability to protect them from the uncertainties that hover over you all, the air thick with unspoken apprehension, the tangibility of the situation heavy on your shoulders.

You outstretch your hands out as you shroud the teams minds with comforting images taking advantage of the easiness of manipulating deja vu, easing the tension by triggering that sense of familiarity.

You felt like you were choking on the on edge atmosphere, so when there’s a unanimous sigh released, you felt your taut shoulders drop with relief.

“Approaching at approximately 0500.” Storm voices as she switches notches on the panel in front of her, you sigh deeply cracking your knuckles releasing the tension from your hands, Logan mimics you from the side of you and as you look at him, he shoots you a reassuring smile.

“Relax, Princess. I got your back.” You smile back, your hand reaching towards him, he’s quick to envelope your hand with his, the hold anchoring the both of you.

“Right back at ya, Wolvie.”

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

Panic struck through you as you watched the chaos ensued around you, the wind blistering your skin from the sudden snow storm Ororo commenced.

You blocked the path that the others took into the compound throwing a huge pine tree in the direction of the enemy mutants, pushing them far back into the battleground where Logan and Scott parlayed their attacks.

Colossus was occupied with Juggernaut as their fight tore down half the forest. As you turned to back up the others, you felt a startling pain take hold of your head gripping your head as you looked at the source, a woman’s hand held out as she attempted to mind control you, her face contorted with strained effort.

Your teeth grinded harshly, you eyes narrowing as you allowed the defenses in your mind to strike her with precise aggression, she screams out in pain, her hands grabbing her head, shaking her head incessantly

You jump up and rush towards her. You towered over her hunched over figure, cupping your hands over her ears and emitting a high-frequency ring into her ears immediately knocking her out. You took off towards Logan and Scott, blocking the flame wall from Pyro with your telekinesis, protecting Scott from getting caged in, you pushed back against him.

“Scott, shoot the headlight!” Scott nods as he laser the headlight over Pyro, causing it to topple over him immediately, ceasing his fire show. You quickly tear off his wrist, contraping tossing it behind you.

“Where’s Logan?” You ask Scott as he looks around in search for the dark haired man, it wasn’t long before the two of you heard his rage filled scream from the crumbling compound, you two ran in that direction.

“You need to look for the others, take them to safety!” You yell to Scott, he quickly nods as he heads in the opposite direction where Jean and Ororo last was, you hoped that they all made it out safely. 

Your blood ran cold as you took in the scene before you, Magneto had Logan pinned to the wall, your fingers tingle with the pulse of your power, your breathing heavy as you stalk closer the lights flickering with energy building around you.

Your anger boils over as Magneto sends Logan flying through the walls causing the metal ceiling to pin him down, his lack of movement causing an angry yell to pull from you as you lift all objects around you, the static of your powers sizzling in the air and catching Magneto’s attention.

“Oh Anamnesis, how nice of you to join us,” You toss everything in your path in his direction, your hair standing from the overwhelming power stemming from your body. “I see someone’s been practicing.” He chuckles as he blocks the debris. You clench your teeth as you levitate off the ground, and the compound shakes all around you.

“It’s too bad the same can’t be said for Logan.” All the windows crash in as you throw your hand in his direction. “SHUT UP!” He tries to block but the glass shards slice through his skin, a expression akin to panic crosses his face, you can feel the immense rage building in your body as you continue to power up your mutation and you ignore the growing pain in your head until you feel a snap in your mind.

Everything rushing back to you as the blockades and defenses deteriorate, the memories and the anguish pulling you into the depths blinding you to everything as your scream echos to unbelievable distances, your mind pushing out the deafening sound waves and illusions right before Magneto’s eyes.

He backs away as the walls and roof top of the compound comes crumbling down. He retreats before he can be pulled down with the building.

You hear the Professor’s voice in your mind, pushing past the anger and anguish that you're drowning in. “Come back to us, don't let it control you.”

Your powers slowly falter as you close your eyes allowing the Professor's voice to talk you down, you allow your body to fall to the ground as the tears well up in your eyes before your head snaps up.

“Logan!” You run over to him, lifting the debris off him. He’s still as you try to wake him. “Professor! Logan’s not waking!” You sob, the panic enveloping you as you bring him to your chest.

“Please Lo! Wake up!” You shake him, but it’s no use as you don't even see a flutter of his eyes. “I can't seem to get through to his mind,” the Professor’s voice echoes in your mind, your eyebrows furrow as your teardrops land on Logan's cheek.

“Something seems to be blocking me.” You sob as you bring your forehead down on his, your hand going over his eyes. “I'm so sorry, Logan,” you whimper, undoing all the blockades and delusions from his mind. “It was all my fault. It was me.” You caress his cheek as you cry in silence before the Professor speaks up.

“It's done with, worry, not child,” You squeeze your eyes shut in shame as you hear the acknowledgment in his voice. “He’s gonna be okay.” You can only hope so.   

○●○○●○●○●○●○●○

The familiar smell of the antiseptic smell in the infirmary fills your senses as you sit by the table that Logan's laying on, you have refused to move an inch in fear of not being there when he wakes.

The steady beep on the heart monitor doing little to settle your nerves, he's gotten so many head injuries that you worry he may never wake up, you've checked him over a hundred times already, every cut and bruise long since healed by his impressive regeneration.

Jean has been constantly reassuring you that he'll pull through, worriedly looking over to you each time she steps into the lab but she knows better than to try and pull you away from him during a time like this, you and Logan are two of the most hard headed people there ever was to walk this earth when it comes to each other.

You gently caress your fingers over his knuckles, your eyes red and hazy as you think back on everything that you blocked out of your memory, the long nights spent in each other's arms, the warmth of his body on yours, the way he tasted right on the tip of your tongue.

You sigh deeply, you truly are way out of your depth, it was dumb decision after dumb decision, you could've killed yourself and possibly mess with Logan’s mind irreparably, the pain of not being his truly was a big pill to swallow, the love you have for him may have been the death of you otherwise.

Your head snaps up when you hear the groans escaping Logan, his body twitching and his face scrunched with an indiscernible expression. “Logan? Can you hear me, love?” Your only met with a groan before he springs up, the all too familiar ‘snikt’ of his claws reverberating off the infirmary walls, his head turns in a panic before his hazel eyes land on you, his voice breathy and with a relieved edge when he says your name as he jumps off the table enveloping you into his arms.

You wrap your arms around his neck, and his face is buried into the crook of your neck as he lifts you off the floor. “Oh God, Logan. I was so scared.” His grip tightens as he refuses to release you from his hold. “You're all alright?” His voice is muffled as he asks the question, you nod feeling the tears already welling up in your eyes. “Yes, everyone's safe.” He sighs deeply as pulls back to look you in the face, past the relief that everyone is okay, there's the anguish you've been dreading, everything is intact in his mind and you're confronted with the aftermath of your actions.

“Why?” The question comes out choked as he tries to understand your actions, his eyes glassy but stubbornly refuses to shed any tears. “I'm so sorry, I never intended to hurt you.” He pulls away from you as he looks to the door, his body desperate to escape the pain taking hold of him, he feels all the emotions gripping his subconscious as all the memories of you return to their rightful place. “I trusted you, you promised..”

Your hand reaches out, but you drop your hand out of defeat. There is no way of excusing your actions, and you hurt him while trying to protect what was left of your aching heart. “It hurt too much, I just wanted it to stop..” he turns to you, the furrow of his brow making your heart hurt wildly at the thought of him being angry at you, but you deserved his anger, his resentment.

His chest heaves as he looks you over, his mind trying to conjure anything up to help him fully access the situation, to somehow alienate his emotions from you. His hand reaches out towards your face as if he was gonna brush back the strand of hair in front of your eyes before he snaps his hand back and storms out the door, your tears trailing down your face in silent resignation.

○●○●○●○●○●○●○

That night, you laid in your bed as sleep evaded you. You stared up at the ceiling of your room. It was like everything was coming back to you with vengeance, biting at every surface on your body as punishment.

The empty feeling that consumes you is painful and dull at the same time, you try to hold back the tears but they slip out of your eyes with no effort, sticky and hot against your skin as your eyes stare with an empty gaze into the darkness. You would be haunted by this feeling. You would never forgive yourself for the harm that you caused.

You wouldn't forgive yourself for breaking your promise to Logan. Your thoughts stall as you hear a knock at your door. You groggily pull yourself from your bed as you wipe your eyes harshly, the puffiness of your eyes causing you to sigh. You pull your oversized flannel that you stole from Logan down to cover the top of your thighs as you open your bedroom door. 

Logan lurches forward, kissing you roughly as he pushes his way into your room. You yelp in surprise, but your eyes flutter close as he pulls your body into his before he pulls back “You fucked up bad but God, I love you.”

He kicks the door closed with his foot as he lifts you up and you immediately wrap your legs around his waist. “I'm so sorry, Logan.” You whisper into his lips as he trails down your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin.

“Apologize by being mine and only mine, doll.” His tone is aggressive with want as your hands run through his dark hair, his dog tags clinking in the otherwise quiet room. “I love you, Logan.” He's quick to kiss you again as he sits on the edge of your bed, his hand gripping the back of your neck.

“I love you too, this whole damn time.” His voice is genuine, and his eyes tell you everything you need to know. This whole time, it wasn't just casual. It was everything.

《 TAGLIST 》

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[owliellder]

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x Painter f! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author Note: You know how each president of the U.S. gets a painting at the end of their term? I'm thinking like that. Plus, my favorite hobby is recreating renaissance art, so I figured this was a good fit (hopefully).

Cross posted onto AO3

Session 1: The Sketches

It was late at night when Leon made his decision to retire fully.

He had gotten home over an hour ago from reviewing mountains of paperwork, most of which pertained to missions that other agents have gone on or will be going on.

Younger agents. More energized agents.

The fact that he hadn't gone on a full mission since San Francisco was driving him up the wall. But that's what he wanted. He requested to hang back the last two years.

Both Chris and Claire had fully retired themselves right after San Fran, Claire being the first to retire to focus on her growing family with Chris following suit only a few months later. Jill was still around, but she was doing similar work that Leon was, only she was in a completely different department which was states away.

Of course Leon still talked with them all as regularly as possible, he'd go insane if he didn't, especially with Claire having a couple kids now. He wasn't the greatest with children, but it was refreshing seeing his friends achieve such normalcy. He wanted them to have the best life they could away from everything.

Having turned 40 a few some months ago, Leon was having a bit of a mid-life crisis. The mission to San Francisco a couple years ago had made him realize just how much toll the job itself had taken on his body. After being assessed and allowed home a few nights after returning from the mission, his body ached; joints creaking, back nearly thrown, just... tired.

Don't get him wrong, he was always tired after missions, but this was different. This wasn't just the regular aches and pains he dealt with after being tossed around like a rag doll, this was age.

Deep in his mind, Leon was still that 21 year old boy in Raccoon City. He never got the chance to properly grieve and move on, his mind forever changed by that event. Mentally, he was stuck there and had been this entire time.

It had taken the man this long to truly recognize the fact that he's older now. He's not that boy from Raccoon City anymore. He hadn't been in a long time.

What was he do to now? Leon had wanted so badly to serve and protect the people, but not like this. Not like he has for the past 29 years.

He spent his most formative years fighting unimaginable horrors, watching people suffer, watching people die. You don't just come back from something like that.

And unlike the friends he's managed to keep close, Leon didn't have someone he trusted. Hell, he barely trusted himself most days.

So now here he was, sitting drunk in his shower with his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms resting atop his knees while the water pelted down on him, silently mulling over everything he's ever seen and done during his time as an agent.

The water had grown cold at this point, Leon having quickly lost track of how long he was sitting spaced out like that for. Thankfully, he'd already cleaned himself before he ended up sitting down, so the hardest part now was just standing back up to get himself back out.

It took him a couple more minutes before he finally hoisted himself up with a tired groan, both his knees popping from being stuck in position for such a lengthy amount of time.

Once out of the shower, towel loosely wrapped around his waist, Leon stared at himself in the mirror; busy studying the crow's feet on both outer corners of his eyes as well as the prominent bags sitting under them, the smile line around his mouth, his now brown hair, the stubble on his face and neck that's he's neglected to shave, and just how exhausted he looked.

How has he never noticed any of this before? Why's he look so different now?

Settling into bed after this brutal realization was a tough task. The man followed his nightly routine of taking four Tylenol and two of his prescription sleep meds before setting his a/c 65 degrees Fahrenheit. He learned quickly many years ago that tossing and turning at night would make him overheat and sweat.

But tonight, nothing Leon did could ease that sinking feeling in his chest, that feeling of unfulfillmemt and shame weighing on him more than ever before.

The poor man barely slept at all last night, hangover evident by the way he was still slightly uneven on his feet as he leaned over the center island in his kitchen, head between his forearms while his hands sat clasped together.

Leon knew what he had to do. He's been feeling it ever since Chris and Claire made their departure, but it was so easy to deny. How was he suppose to give up the one thing that made him important? Sure the stress of his work was heavily tasking on the mind and body, but it's what gave him purpose. He felt useful doing what he did.

The man showed up for work late that day, barely having managed to dress himself. He didn't know exactly who to go to in this scenario, but everyone seemed surprised that the Leon Kennedy would show up for work in some ratty t-shirt and grey sweatpants. The stares were making him incredibly uncomfortable and he was quickly regretting showing up at all.

After sitting in his own office for awhile to avoid the looks and whispers, Leon eventually sauntered over to his superior's office, an almost solemn look on his face as he let himself in after knocking.

Needless to say, Leon was relieved his superior knew this was coming. Slightly offended, but relieved nonetheless.

It had been a long time coming, and it was only a matter of time before Leon threw in the towel, especially since he was now just working behind the scenes instead of on the frontline.

He was allowed to return home for the rest of the day if he wanted to, which Leon quickly took. He really didn't want to be in that building for much longer.

As soon as he returned home he went right back to drinking. And as ashamed as he is to admit, he even cried a little, half empty whiskey bottle in one hand while the other was clenched tightly into a fist as he gripped the pant leg of his sweats.

There wasn't anyone Leon could talk to about this. Chris and Claire had their own respective partners to come home to after retirement, but Leon? Leon had nothing besides a dingy and cold two bedroom house with only the basics inside, including his alcohol cabinet.

The man didn't even give himself time to date, only the occasional one night stand with randoms from the bar. He was too afraid that he would endanger anyone he allowed into his life like that, not to mention he'd been betrayed one too many times to trust in someone that way again. It was his way of keeping himself and everyone else safe.

The therapists he was assigned throughout the years all had the same concern regarding his love life, and deep down Leon was just as concerned, but he rationalized it with that hero complex he developed.

But he just couldn't rationalize it anymore. Leon was alone. He was alone, sad, and afraid.

About a month after Leon's retirement was processed and announced, word spread quickly throughout numerous government branches. There was a celebration set up at the White House to honor his service as a field agent.

The President had separated him and Leon from the party to slowly walk through the many hallways in the building. The old man could tell just how bothered the now ex-agent was by his retirement, so he figured now would be the best time to talk to him about his final task.

"You know," The President spoke up after a couple minutes of the two walking in silence, prompting Leon to slowly turn his head to listen. "I'm sure you've heard it so many times tonight, but you truly were one of the best agents I've ever seen."

Leon chuckled quietly, shaking his head a bit at the compliment. He had heard it a lot tonight, but obviously it was different coming from him.

"I'm serious. This county, probably the entire world, would've been in shambles if not for your hours spent." The President continued, slowing his walking to a stop.

"It means more than you know." Leon responded simply, voice a bit gravelly from the few drinks he's had. He took a couple steps more before stopping as well, turning around to face the prominent old man.

The President sighed, giving him a sympathetic smile while nodding. They stood in silence for a brief moment before the old man spoke up again, pointing lazily down the hall. "Follow me, I've got something I want to show you."

From there, the two wandered further down the halls until eventually reaching one hall that had lights more centered towards the walls, highlighting the picture frames that sat evenly spaced out amongst them.

Leon seemed a tad confused until he was able to focus on the first painting they walked by. He knew each president got a portrait painted after their full term was served, but the man in this painting wasn't a past president.

He stopped walking to stand in front of the painting, admiring the details it had before glancing down at the bottom of the elegant frame, a placard reading a name he didn't recognize. What he did recognize, though, was the word Agent that sat in front of the man's name.

While zoned into the placard, Leon didn't register the gentle hand that had been clasped on his shoulder, the President's voice breaking through his trance. "For as long as there's been bioweapons, we've had agents fighting to stop them. But only a few agents have truly outdone themselves. Agents like you."

Leon blinked a couple times before turning his head to look at the hand on his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. He wasn't quite understanding what he was saying.

The President took his silence as a cue to continue, his sympathetic smile turning into a happier one as he gently tugged Leon's shoulder to get him to start walking again. "The D.S.O. has produced some of the greatest agents since Benford created it back in 2011. You were amazing before, but you've outdone yourself time and time again."

Leon still wasn't quite understanding, really only half listening as he kept his eyes trained to the numerous portraits of agents as he slowly passed them.

The two stopped in front of the last painting in the hallway, only a few spots away from leading into another hallway. It was Chris and Claire in this painting. Chris was sitting down in a chair while Claire stood next to him, hand resting on back of it, both of them smiling.

He studied the painting for a minute longer before whipping his head around to face the President, who was still smiling, as the realization slowly settling in.

"I-" Leon struggling to speak, glancing back at the painting before quickly looking back at the old man standing next to him.

The President simply nodded his head, smile widening with a gentle laugh. "Right. The painting process takes a bit of time, but I think you've more than earned this."

The ex-agent had so many questions. Firstly, why hadn't Chris or Claire mentioned this? But more importantly, he gets to have his own portrait painted?

"The painter knows all about you. She's excited to meet you." The President started down the hall again, Leon not far behind, still stuttering out nonsense as he attempted to form even a sentence. "I'll give you the information you need to get started with her. I have it written down back in my office."

A painting?

A painting. A painting for him. A painting to honor him. What?

Leon was once again sat on his couch, blankly staring at the small business card with a date and time written on it in pen. He'd read the info on the card so many times already, wanting to make sure he got absolutely nothing wrong.

Apparently he didn't have to call and confirm, all he had to do was show up to this random address at a specific date and time, which was soon. In a couple days kind of soon. Also, he thought he was reading the time wrong, but no, it was four in the morning, not four in the afternoon. What an odd and rather inconvenient time.

Even after memorizing the business card front to back, Leon would be lying if he said he didn't forget about meeting up with this mystery painter. He'd been rather aloof the past couple months, it was hard to pull himself out of that funk. He'd been staying up late and sleeping in even later, so hitting snooze on his alarm a good few times was just muscle memory at this point.

It was almost 5am when he realized where he was suppose to be, eyes shooting open as he yanked himself out of bed, desperately trying to clean himself up enough to be at least presentable.

The man was mentally chastising himself the entire drive. It was a short drive, which he was surprised by, and the building seemed quaint; red brick with large windows that sat on what looked like either a second or third floor.

He parked his bike right near what he assumed was the main door, pulling off his motorcycle helmet before knocking and waiting.

The last thing Leon was expecting was you to unlock and open that door; young and pretty, so pretty...

"Mr. Kennedy?" You asked, eyebrows raised slightly with a small smile. He nodded, just barely noticeable, reaching a gloved hand up to wipe at his eyes as he caught himself staring.

Your smile only widened at his nod, stepping aside to allow him into walk in. It took him a minute to realize you were still talking, shaking his head out to refocus himself.

"-again, really, no need to worry about being late. I was trying to work with your schedule but I should've known it's changed up a bit by now, right?" You lead him up a set of narrow stairs, though he was mostly following the smell of your perfume. It was such a light smell but he definitely picked up on it.

You opened a door immediately to the left of the stairs, letting Leon follow you inside. The sun was just starting to rise, shining through the large windows in the open room.

The place was cluttered, yet organized. Crowded, but that just made it all the cozier to Leon. His house was bare and lacked any sort of personality, but this... this place was covered in you.

"I'm glad you like it in here." You said in a quiet voice, looking up at him as he took in your workspace. He was smiling ever so slightly, which you mimicked with a smile of your own. "I try to make it welcoming in here, my apartment is the same way.."

Your voice trailed off as you walked over to a mostly put together set up near the back of the room where the only wall without windows sat. There was a chair sitting close to the wall, the same chair Chris was sitting in for his portrait with Claire, along with your easel sitting empty a few feet away.

Leon stood frozen, only moving his head around as he took everything in. He followed you with his eyes as you fumbled around with something, eventually producing a blank 24" x 36" canvas that was still wrapped in thin plastic.

His mouth made an 'o' shape as he pulled himself from his small trance once again, beginning to slowly make his way over to the set up you've made. He placed his helmet down on the floor beside the chair.

After placing the canvas on the easel, you walked back over to where you'd gotten the canvas from before grabbing a heavily used sketchbook. It was a large one, the paper a light brown instead of white.

Leon had only just realized that there was a faint sound of some form of classical music playing from somewhere in the room, glancing around for speakers before looking back over at you.

"I'm not getting started today, we're a couple steps away from that, so don't worry about appearance just yet." You said softly with a breathy laugh, quickly making your way back over to where he stood next to the plush chair in your setup, his hand feeling over the worn maroon fabric.

Leon nodded silently, moving to sit down once you requested he did, furrowing his eyebrows as he watched you drag over a small table. You worked fast, that's for sure.

Eventually, you'd set up a little tabletop easel to sit on the table you'd dragged in front of him, grabbing your swivel chair to sit in as you placed your sketchbook on the easel, open to a blank page.

"I just need to get some basic ideas of your facial structure since that's most important when it comes to these kinds of paintings. You're gonna be wearing a nice tuxedo when I do the second- no, third sketch for the final painting, but this is just for me to get a feel for you and vise versa." You rambled quickly, pulling out a pencil from one of your pockets before fully sitting down on the chair, bringing your legs up to sit criss cross.

"Uh.. Alright..." Leon responded, clearing his throat a bit. He didn't really understand what you'd said, you spoke a little too fast for his tired brain to keep up, but it seemed like whatever you were doing was necessary so he just rolled with it.

He was left a little speechless again at how you just began sketching, glancing up to his face and down to the page you were working on over and over. "...do you need me to, I don't know, pose or something?"

The way you kept looking at him was making feel a little uneasy. Granted he's never been in this sort of situation before, this whole process was very unfamiliar to him.

"No, no. You can move your head around and stuff. Get comfortable." You waved off, eyes wrinkling as you smiled at him. Leon nodded again, deciding to take the opportunity to look around your workspace again.

It really was a cozy space. Full of color and life, even the curtains you had lining the windows offered so much pattern and detail to the room. The back of the room where the two of you sat was more cluttered with less decor, but the front of the room was a whole different story with those massive floor pillows, blankets of all sorts strewn about, that big fluffy looking area rug, it was all so... homey. It was even inspiring him to decorate his own house a bit.

The sound of your pencil scribbling on paper and the faint sound of the classical music playing was all Leon could hear for awhile, eventually letting out an anxious sigh before beginning to talk. "So... a painter, huh..?"

"Oh yeah, I've been doing this since I was little. Obviously I wasn't that good back then, but I really improved after high school." You immediately responded, voice a little louder than his. Clearly the topic excites you. "If you want, I can hand you one of my other sketchbooks to look at while I do my thing over here?"

Leon patted his hands against the arms of the chair before nodding to the side, pursing his lips slightly. "Mm, sure. Let's see what ya got.."

As soon as he agreed, you stood up and shuffled over to the corner of the room where some desks sat arranged in a makeshift cubicle. You opened a drawer and pulled out a couple sketchbooks, still as raggedy as the one you were using now.

Walking back over, you carefully handed them to him, which he slowly took after meeting your eyes for a brief moment.

Once you made your way back to your chair, he placed both sketchbooks into his lap, opening up the one on top first. The man flipped through them silently as you began to sketch him out again.

You'd zoned into your work, adding just a bit of shading to your sketches to help emphasis some features when Leon cleared his throat again. You leaned to the side to look at him, your smile quickly returning when you saw his baffled expression.

"These are... wow, okay, how old are you?" Leon asked, head jerking upwards to meet your gaze once more. You just giggled in response, using the pencil as a fidget before returning to sketching.

"Sorry-uh, I don't mean to come off as rude or anything, but to be honest, I was expecting you to be some old lady when I saw the portraits you've done." Leon was quick to try and explain, probably misinterpreting your lack of response for unease.

Your giggle turned to a small laugh, leaning to the side once more to look at the man. "Well, I'm glad I could surprise you a bit. Hopefully I don't look old."

Leon groaned and wiped his hand down his face. "Again, sorry. Didn't mean to imply." He shook his head and looked back down at the two sketchbooks sitting in his lap, continuing to flip through them.

It was only a couple hours until you decided you got a good enough feel for drawing his face. Grabbing the sketchbook, you stood up, pencil still in hand, looking down at the sketches you made as you slowly walked over to him.

The man noticed you standing up, quickly moving to close the sketchbooks you'd given him in favor of seeing your new sketches.

"I... I think this'll be enough today. I don't want to keep you too long." You said, handing him the sketchbook. Leon took it from you, careful not to smudge anything as he finally got to see what you've been doing for the past two hours.

He furrowed his eyebrows as he studied the sketches you'd made of his face, seeing all the different angles, even the smile, how'd you get his smile?

You seemed to grow nervous the longer he stared at your sketchbook in silence, his intense look making it seem as if he didn't really like them. "Are they... Are they okay?"

Leon jostled the sketchbook a bit in his hands before standing up, now towering over you as he kept his eyes on the paper. "Just okay? These are beyond amazing."

You let out a small breath you didn't notice you were holding, heat rushing to your cheeks as you smiled at his compliment. "Oh, thank you.. I'm sorry, normally sketches don't take this long but it was stressed to me that your portrait was very important so I wanted to get everything as perfect as I could.."

"Seriously, you're a mad woman if you think these wouldn't be good." Leon chuckled, handing the sketchbook back to you. He kept his eyes trained on you, even after you turned to look down and close the sketchbook. Only a fool would miss that blush on your cheeks, it looked good on you.

"Anyways, when should I come back for the next.. uh..." Leon paused, crossing his arms loosely as he struggled to think of the word.

Luckily, you finished the sentence for him. "Session. Again, this painting's importance was stressed to me a lot, so probably the next time you're available?" You talked while you shifted the small table back to where it had originally sat under one of the numerous windows, tossing the sketchbook down on the chair cushion.

"Alright, since it's importance has now been stressed to me as well, I can probably clear up some stuff in my schedule. How's tomorrow sound?" Obviously, Leon had a completely free schedule, but you didn't need to know that.

"Tomorrow works great! The sooner the better!" You laughed, placing a gentle hand on his bicep as you walked past him to grab a sticky note. "I'll give you my personal number, just let me know when you're thinking of coming over and I'll meet you here, okay?"

Leon looked at your number before pocketing the note, nodding his head with a smile of his own. "Sounds good. Same way out?" He pointed to the door that you brought him in through, bending down to pick up his motorcycle helmet right after.

You confirmed with a thumbs up, now drinking water from your water bottle as you'd forgotten too while focused on drawing. You felt bad for not offering him any water while he was here, but you won't forget next time.

The man gave you a curt wave before leaving the room, quietly shutting the door behind himself.

You had to admit, you've worked with a very small handful of agents since it takes a lot for them to earn their own portrait, but Leon Kennedy had to be the one of the most handsome men you've ever worked with. Maybe even one of the most handsome men you've ever seen.

Lucky you pay attention to detail, cause you definitely didn't see a ring on his finger.

[kaisacobra]

Let You Go - Tara Carpenter

Summary: It's been a while since Tara has seen you. She misses you, but maybe she's broken your relationship to a point beyond repair.

Warnings: Violence, blood, mentions of death, angst

Word Count: 7.9k

a/n: thank you so much for the ride guys! Here we have part 3 of second best, which (kind of) ends this trilogy. Of course, I'm still writing the alternate ending so stay tuned if you're interested!

third part of Second Best

It was two in the afternoon when Tara began rummaging through that box she kept at the back of her closet, sorting the contents into "burn" and "don't burn," all in line with what her therapist had advised. She needed to overcome the past, even if in small steps, and what better way to start than by burning traces of when everything started going wrong?

She looked into the box, examining the contents that would survive the purge. To no one's surprise, most of the photos contained you.

Tara reached for a specific photo among the others. A polaroid depicting a hug between the two of you, both with radiant smiles and faces so close that your cheeks touched. Mindy had taken this photo just before you both visited an amusement park that had been in town for a while. Tara's heart throbbed painfully. She missed you. A lot.

The girl sat on the bed with slumped shoulders, clutching the polaroid as if it were a precious possession. She couldn't take her eyes off the image of the two of you, with a happiness and innocence that would soon be ruined by her own actions. With a tired sigh, Tara closed her eyes, remembering her therapist's words.

The initial sessions were slow and unproductive, mainly because Tara kept her guard up and refused to talk much about her life to a stranger. Over time, the man became a pleasant presence, and Tara began to see him as some sort of a grandfather figure trying to advise his granddaughter. That's when she started sharing her problems and actively sought solutions.

"Do you think she'll forgive me?" she remembered asking, looking at her hands with shame. The bright white light in the room made the sweat on her palms stand out on her tan skin.

"Tara..." The man sighed, taking off his glasses as if he was preparing for a battle. "Don't you think you should worry about forgiving yourself first?"

The girl frowned and looked at him as if he were crazy. If anything, she was guilty of not only ruining her own life but also becoming a problem in everyone else's. She had no right to see herself as a victim. "What do you mean?"

"From what you've told me, I've realized you harbor a lot of resentment towards yourself on the inside." He pointed to Tara's chest, and she noticed no hint of judgment in his expression. Still, she felt strangely exposed. "Have you ever really reflected on this internal conflict you feel? About feeling guilty for things beyond your control?"

Tara scoffed and leaned back until her shoulders rested against the chair again, crossing her arms and staring at the walls like a stubborn child avoiding conflicts. "Beyond my control? I was awful to the best person in my life! I let a murderer into our life for-"

"See? You're doing it again." He smiled with a patience that bordered on irritating for the girl, crossing his hands on the glass table that separated them. "I'm not saying you're not at fault for being rude to your friend, but I'd like to focus on your past. That girl's attacks, parental abandonment... You're not to blame for that, Tara, but it doesn't stop you from carrying the pain anyways. Don't you think it affects you?"

She remained silent, but now her head was bowed in embarrassment. Her arms, once crossed, now enveloped her elbows in a half-hug, as if that would protect her from something. Without more exchanging words, the therapist followed the cue and continued speaking in a gentle tone, as if trying to educate a wounded animal.

"Tara, have you ever talked about your concerns with anyone, or have you just kept all these grievances inside until they exploded? Have you ever had any healthy coping mechanism?"

I don't deserve one. That's what she wanted to say, but didn't, because she knew it would make the situation even worse.

"Do you think I don't recognize the signs? Troubled young adult refuses help out of fear of abandonment and ends up driving everyone away, taking the opportunity to take out your emotional wounds on others? You won't be the first or the last person I've seen with this pattern." He spoke as if he could read her thoughts, leaving the girl a little scared.

Sitting up straighter in the chair, Tara turned her gaze back to the therapist, momentarily becoming interested in the conversation again. "Okay, what do I do to end this? What do I do to not be like this anymore?"

Broken, she wanted to say.

The man smiled gently and pulled open a drawer in the wooden cabinet to his left. Tara watched impatiently as he took out a black notebook and placed it on the table between them, looking between her and the object with a certain expectation. "I thought you could start documenting your feelings on paper, instead of keeping them locked within you. I think it can help you in the long run."

"Do you think writing in a journal will make me less of an ass and make y/n forgive me?" Tara replied with a sarcastic tone.

"I think it can influence a change in behavior, yes." The therapist reaffirmed, deliberately ignoring the girl's foul language. "And this exercise is not about y/n; it's about you. How do you expect her to forgive you if you can't do it for yourself?"

As stubborn as Tara was, the words had truly left an impression on her. That's why, on top of her messy desk, was the damn black notebook. The calluses on her hand throbbed with the memory of the force with which she wrote each new entry, trying to release her negative feelings onto paper.

She knew that your name was probably the most repeated word on all the pages, like a sacred mantra that she had to honor. Tara couldn't escape the fact that many of her emotions were so directly intertwined with the idea of you, and honestly, she accepted having to carry that burden as her own Sisyphean stone. She deserved it, after all.

Looking again at the polaroid, she sighed and slowly ran her thumb over the smiling image of your face, almost wishing she could offer you the same affection in person.

She was going to change. She had to change. For you.

_

"That was pretty good!"

The floodlights on the university’s sports field lit up as it began to get dark, allowing the young athletes to continue their training even at night. There weren't many people around, but you could see that the track team seemed to be gearing up to practice for the 100 meters a little to your left.

"Kate, I hit the white part." You grumbled in response to your friend's encouraging words. Kate Bishop had convinced you to attend one of her archery practices to "see her talents firsthand," and at some point, she thought just watching wouldn't be enough, and that you had to experience the sport for yourself.

That's why you were now on the archery training field with her, holding a semi-professional bow that was much heavier than you expected, proving over and over again that you were definitely not a natural at this.

It didn't seem to discourage Kate, however, as the girl still smiled with enthusiasm while looking at your target with a single arrow stuck in it. "At least you hit the target! You're improving; it could be worse."

"True! You could have hit someone's foot, like Miss Bishop did once." One of Kate's teammates, Yelena, commented with a laugh. The two, along with Maya Lopez, made up the Blackmore University women's archery team and were surprisingly good at it, having won all the recent competitions.

You laughed along with the other two while Kate gradually turned redder and assumed a betrayed expression. "Hey!" She protested.

It was amazing how people you had known for such a short time could make you feel so good. You couldn't even remember the last time you had laughed so freely since the incident with Tara happened, and that was already a significant victory for you. It's not like being with Mindy, Chad, Anika, and the others didn't make you happy, but it was hard to enjoy the moments with them when you remembered that, in any other situation, Tara would be there with you too.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, and you leaned the tip of the bow on your foot, letting its weight rest on your shoulder so you could reach the device with your hands. Through the lockscreen, you could see a message notification from Mindy, as if she had read your thoughts.

Best Twin: Movie night at the Carpenters' house, are you coming?

Best Twin: Sam misses you

Best Twin: We all do

You sighed deeply and looked at the notification with a grimace, not sure exactly what to do. Of course, you would love to spend time with your friends, and you definitely felt guilty for avoiding Sam by extension, even though she understood the reason. But your palms started to sweat just at the thought of sharing a small space with Tara again.

Mindy had already told you that Tara had started therapy after the encounter you had in some of the university’s corridors some time ago, but she had also said that it was entirely valid if you still didn't feel ready to see Tara after everything.

It was a strange feeling, as if two forces were fighting for dominance within you when it came to Tara. On one hand, just thinking about her made your chest ache. A wave of anger, sadness, and pure humiliation invaded you, and your eyes threatened to well up. What she did to you, what she said to you, marked you like a painful burn that might never stop pulsating.

But on the other hand, you wondered if there were still traces of that other Tara who loved and treated you well. The Tara who made you soup when you were sick and promised never to leave you. Maybe it was your foolishness, but you didn't want to believe that that part of her had simply gone away forever.

"Are you okay?" A soft voice reached your ears and quickly snapped you out of your thoughts, causing you to loosen the tight grip with which you had involuntarily held the phone. Looking up, you came face to face with Kate's kind blue eyes, patiently waiting for your response.

Kate Bishop had been an angel in your life, fitting in perfectly at the moment you needed her most. You had met her in the waiting room of the counseling center after spending a week living like a zombie following everything that happened with Tara, and you could barely comprehend that you were sharing the same space with someone like her.

At first glance, Kate Bishop didn't seem like someone who needed to be in a counseling center. She carried herself with confidence, always with impeccable posture and a calm expression on a model-like face. Always dressed in neat clothes that you were sure were designer and carrying a sports bag indicating her athletic background.

But when she approached you and started a conversation, saying she needed to talk to someone or she'd explode with anxiety before her first appointment, you began to realize that Kate might not be what you expected. She was, in fact, much kinder and more attentive than you could have predicted.

You talked a lot that day, and the next day, and the day after, until there came a point where you got along well enough to consider her a friend. Kate listened to everything about your issues with Tara and provided advice and emotional support. In return, you listened to her vent about her problems with a father who died in childhood, a mother imprisoned for fraud, and an inherited company she didn't want to have to run at that age.

They were quite different dilemmas, just as you were quite different people, but still, you felt at ease in her presence, and it was good to have someone who truly noticed you for once in your life.

"Hm? Okay. It's fine, yes, I just..." You searched for words but gave up, opting to speak the truth about what was bothering you. "Mindy invited me to watch movies with the others, and it's at Tara's house, and I didn't want to have to refuse, but I don't know if I'm ready for-"

Kate widened her eyes and raised her hands as if asking for a pause, interrupting your rapid and anxious flow of words. "Woah, hold on, champ. You don't have to go if you don't feel okay. They'll understand."

"Yeah, I know, it's just that..." You sighed, looking down at your feet planted in the field's grass. "I miss them, but... I can't."

As much as it hurt and was embarrassing to admit, you knew it still wasn't the right time. Not when you sometimes still woke up crying in the middle of the night with nightmares involving her.

"Then how about this?" Kate began to suggest, getting closer to you and gently shaking your shoulders. Physical touches had always been her way of offering comfort. "There's a party at my place tonight with some of my childhood friends, and I'm officially inviting you. You can tell your friend that you'll be busy spending time with a very beautiful, charming, and talented company."

You smiled as you let yourself be shaken by the cheerful girl in front of you. "A very humble company, apparently." You teased, poking her ribs playfully. "I don't want to disturb you, but thanks for the invite."

"Disturb? I'd be the one disturbing your illustrious evening by forcing you to hang out with my friends! Believe me, it's torture listening to Peter for 2 hours when he gets excited about his nerd stuff." Kate tried again, and by the way she looked at you with the expression of a begging puppy, you knew there would be no escape. "Please? It'll be nice to have you there."

There were two available possibilities. In the first, you could go back to your dorm, watch a bad movie alone, and spend the rest of the night thinking about how your friends would be having fun, specifically wondering if she would be having fun. In the second, you could take another step in getting rid of your codependent friendship (if it still existed) and enjoy the night with new people and a person who was becoming more and more important to you every day.

If Tara didn't want to be stuck in the past, you also had the right to do that. You deserved it too.

So, you accepted and only remembered to inform Mindy when you were already in the passenger seat of Kate's black Audi RS7.

_

Tara was distraught. Actually, saying that she was distraught was an understatement.

Last night had already started off as garbage from the moment Mindy announced that you wouldn't be coming to see them at the apartment. Sure, she should have expected it, but that didn't mean she didn't have any hope. She couldn't stop thinking about what you might be doing, the reasons why you hadn't come, how everything would have been better if you had.

But mostly, she felt relieved that you hadn't been there, because that meant she hadn't put you in danger again with another ghostface attack. It was a selfish thought. Quinn, her roommate, had died in front of her, Anika had her belly almost cut from end to end and was now in surgery, and all Tara could think about was finding you to see with her own eyes that you were okay.

She urgently searched for your face in the midst of the crowd of students walking through the Blackmore University campus, seeking the slightest fragment of your presence anywhere. She cursed herself again for not being able to just call you like she would if she hadn't messed up and made you block her in practically every possible place.

Finding you and making sure you were okay, in addition to delivering the terrible news, was her obligation. Mindy and Sam were with Anika at the hospital, and Chad had gone to check Ethan's alibi in the damn economics class. She needed to find you.

Fortunately, her prayers seemed to be answered by whatever entity it was. She saw you in the distance, radiant as she hadn't seen you in a long time. Tara's heart skipped a beat, and she opened her own smile after yours. It was bittersweet, the feeling of seeing you so happy but knowing that this happiness would be ruined the moment you laid eyes on her.

In a moment of distraction, a new wave of people passed in front of her, blocking her view of you. Fucking height. She thought with some annoyance as she tried to make her way through the students, trying to get closer to where you were.

When Tara finally managed to locate you again, the scene was quite different from before. Instead of laughing, looking forward, you had your back turned, seemingly struggling while a girl wrapped her arms around your neck. Tara felt a wave of anger rise through her veins and marched in your direction, ready to free you from whoever that crazy bitch was.

The younger Carpenter approached you with a speed she couldn't quite explain, and her motivation only seemed to grow when she noticed that the mysterious girl looked a lot like that senior she had seen with you in the hallway some time ago. Choosing to embrace her negative feelings, she used her strength in a way that would make her sister proud and aggressively pushed the girl away. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Tara?!" You exclaimed in shock, your voice carrying surprise, and your expression wavering between anger, astonishment, and anguish. "What do you think you're doing, are you crazy?!"

Tara saw you getting closer to the girl (Karen, Kendra, she couldn't remember.) and gently placing your hand on her shoulder, as if checking her condition. That small gesture made more anger bubble in her stomach. She wanted to scream, throw a fit, damn, she wanted to destroy something just to get rid of that rotten feeling corroding her from the inside.

But she looked into your eyes and could see a glimpse of the sadness she had caused in the past by this same line of thinking. She couldn't do this to you again, especially because that wasn't even why she had come looking for you. Tara swallowed hard and clenched her fists, deciding to save her frustration to take it out on calluses on her own fingers later.

"She was attacking you," Tara mumbled reluctantly, knowing that the explanation sounded stupid but that she also owed some reasoning for her actions.

You clearly didn't seem satisfied with her motivation, as you only stared at her with a frown and crossed arms. "Kate is a martial arts expert, Tara. She was just showing me how to escape from an arm lock."

Well, how was I supposed to know that? Tara thought, but she decided it was better not to worsen the situation. Before you could ask why she had been clearly looking at you for some time, she decided to explain.

"Look, I'm sorry. There was a ghostface attack in the apartment yesterday, and I just needed to know if you were safe."

"What?! An attack?! How- Are you guys okay?!" You asked exasperated, and Tara saw it. She saw the exact moment when you had to restrain your arms by your sides before doing something you would regret.

Tara remembered that being the first thing you did when you could see her after the surgeries last year. You ran to her on the gurney and held her face with both hands, as if she were fragile. You ran your thumbs over her cheeks, right above the freckles, wanting to make sure nothing was injured. She remembered feeling well cared for and loved.

But that was before she messed everything up. Now, all that was left was that. You restraining yourself from offering your heart to Tara, and she wanting to die realizing the damage she had done between you two.

"Sort of. Anika is in critical condition in the hospital, and... Quinn died." Tara delivered the news with a solemn voice, trying to control her own tears as she remembered what happened. She saw when Kate raised her arm to offer a comforting stroke on your back, and, for the first time, all Tara felt was emptiness knowing she couldn't comfort you in that way.

You let out a few sobs before trying to compose yourself. It was clear that you had been affected by the events, and Tara knew you well enough to know that you would want to go after the others to comfort them. "Which hospital is Anika in? And where are Sam, Mindy, and Chad, I... I need to talk to them."

Tara felt a bit of pride in realizing that she still knew your way of dealing with things, even though she was worried that your priority was always to take care of others' pains. Of course, much of that was her fault, and a knot closed in her throat every time she remembered that fact. "Sam and Mindy are at the hospital waiting for Anika to be discharged. Chad went with Ethan to handle something about an alibi."

"I can take you if you want," Kate offered you  in a chivalry that almost made Tara vomit. "It will be faster if we go by car."

"Or maybe it would be faster for her to take the subway with someone who knows the address, like me." Tara retorted sarcastically, crossing her arms to try to cause, at least, the minimal intimidation to her rival. It didn't seem to be working, which made her even more irritated. "Speaking of addresses, where were you last night, Kate?"

Feeling that the conversation would only escalate, you quickly shook your head. "Stop it, Tara. There's no way Kate could be the ghostface."

"And why not?" The girl asked defensively, with an offended tone almost similar to one she would have if you had accused her. It was frustrating for Tara that you seemed willing to vouch for a person you had barely known. "She suddenly appeared in your life, got so close to you in such a short time, don't you find that a bit suspicious?"

"This might sound a bit surprising to you, Tara, but some people actually like having me around." You retorted with irritation, throwing daggers at the girl with a look so intense that she almost stumbled backward. "Kate can't be ghostface because I spent the whole night with her, okay?"

Suddenly, Tara felt dizzy, with a buzzing in her ears. Apparently, you hadn't had the best problem in overcoming your feelings for her. She felt weird inside, as if something were stuck in her throat. "Oh, I didn't know you guys..."

"No! Not like that, I just..." You widened your eyes and hurried to correct the double meaning of the sentence, waving your hands frantically in a way that made Kate open a smile in amusement beside you. "...I slept at her apartment, but not with her. Not that I owe you an explanation anyway."

Your phone vibrated with a notification, and all three pairs of eyes turned to the device. You quickly checked the message and let out a sigh of relief. "It's Sam. She sent me the address of the hospital; I'm going there now. Without any of you, please."

"Okay. Just be careful, alright? And call me if you need anything." Tara watched reluctantly as Kate pulled you closer by the shoulders and planted a small kiss on your forehead. She swallowed the envy and looked away, trying to think of the last time she had offered you any kind of affection.

You said goodbye to Kate with a warm smile and a hug. For Tara, your lips pressed into a line, and you nodded briefly, almost as if you were greeting a stranger.

She wondered if that's what you two were now.

The Carpenter girl prepared to leave, maybe to find Chad and help him or just take a walk to ease the tornado swirling in her chest. However, she was interrupted by a hand on her arm. Kate Bishop tried to get her attention, wearing a conflicted expression on her face.

"What is it?" Tara grumbled, shaking her arm to free herself from the other girl's touch. She was used to being shorter than most people, but with Kate, it became even more annoying, especially when she had to look down at her.

"Look, I know you don't like me, and, to be honest, I don't like you one bit, but I need you to do something for me," Kate said seriously, putting a hand in her pocket and retrieving an object that Tara could only identify as a car key.

The shorter one scoffed. "Listen, I know Y/N and I are on bad terms, but I don't need you to ask me to take care of her. I'm going to do that anyway because I care about her, believe it or not."

Kate rolled her eyes impatiently. "I know. I can see that in you the same way you can see it in me."

It was true, as much as it bothered Tara to admit. She wasn't blind, and she had enough experience in reading people to know that the way Kate looked at you was sincere, and the girl genuinely cared about you. Putting aside her own jealousy and envy, Tara was relieved to know that there was someone good enough to show these feelings for you. You deserved it, after all.

The girl continued, "This device here is a prototype from my mom’s—my company. It's for security." She raised the object and placed it in Tara's hand, who could now see the details of what she had previously thought was a car key. It was a black oval keychain with a single button in the middle, also black. "I pulled some strings and turned it into an emergency button. As soon as you press it, a signal will be sent to police cars and ambulances, and it will be their priority to get to you. That's one of the advantages of being rich and having contacts, I guess."

Tara turned the button in her hands, feeling the object weigh more now that she knew its function. "And why are you giving this to me and not Y/N?"

"Because I know she would use it on anyone but herself." Kate sighed in frustration. Tara knew it was implied in the sentence that you would use the button for her. "I'm giving it to you because... despite the fighting and you being a jerk..."

"Wow. Thanks for the honesty."

"... I can still see that you care." The taller one finished her sentence without caring about the interruption. She looked between Tara and the button with a bit of uncertainty. "When you press it, a signal will also be sent to my phone, and I'll come running wherever it is."

There were more implicit intentions in that sentence that Tara could pick up. I'll come running to help Y/N. I'll take her away from you. I can protect her better than you can.

Tara just offered a short nod and turned to leave, with the emergency button weighing as much in her pocket as her heart weighed in her chest. Thousands of thoughts filled her head, and all of them were about you and your safety. It was Tara's duty to keep you safe, first because it was her fault that you were even in that situation, and second because she had already hurt you enough.

It was her mission to protect you. To prove to herself that she could still be good for you. To prove to you how much she still cared.

And if she couldn't, if she had to press that button... well...

Maybe it would be the sign she needed to understand that Kate Bishop deserved more of a place in your life than she did.

_

The lobby of the abandoned cinema ironically looked like something straight out of a horror movie that Tara would hate. Dust had piled up in heaps on all surfaces, and the orange lights were so dim that they threatened to go out at any moment.

The others were in the center of the other room, where Richie Kirsch, being the maniac he was, left his extensive collection of items from stab movies and real life ghostfaces. Tara, however, thought it would be a better idea to follow you wherever your feet and lost expression took you, just so she wouldn't have to leave you alone, of course.

You had your back turned to her while leaning on the filthy counter with your elbows. Tara couldn't tell what you were thinking, but obviously, you were not okay, just like everyone else in that situation.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a box of Milk Duds on the other side of the counter that seemed untouched, just a few inches to your left. She approached with light steps, not wanting to make any sudden movements as if that would scare you away, and reached out to bring the box closer. "You like these, right? You can have them if you want."

You didn't respond to the joke, and you didn't even turn around to look at Tara. She felt your indifference like a stab to the chest, but she continued nonetheless. "Or not. This must be like a thousand years old anywa-"

"Tara, shut up." You finally responded sharply, making the younger girl look down in shame. She really needed to get used to your new treatment of her. You ran your hands over your face, covering it as if you were tired.

"Sorry." Tara whispered back weakly. She deserved it, but more than anything, she wanted to be able to offer you some kind of support in that difficult moment, just as you had given her all the support she needed in the past.

You scoffed, in a gesture so hostile that the younger Carpenter almost couldn't believe it came from you. You were still facing away from her, but now slowly taking steps away with tense shoulders. "Did you learn a new word? Didn't know it was in your vocabulary."

Tara felt the anger in your voice, and it made her hands begin to tremble with anxiety. You were right, and it was long overdue for you to know that. "I’m sorry, Y/N. I know it's too late for this, but I'm sorry for everything I did."

"Do you even care? Seriously, Tara, do you really feel sorry, or do you just miss having some idiot around who would do anything for you?" You retorted, your voice rising even as your vocal cords trembled. A dam had just burst open between you two, and now it was time to deal with the flood.

"Of course, I care, I love you!"

"SHUT UP!" You shouted in response. Tara recoiled from you with a start, startled as she had never seen you raise your voice at anyone. You were still facing away, but Tara could see that, even though you had wrapped yourself in a hug to control your reactions, it wasn't working. Your entire body was tense, as if your brain was struggling to choose between fight or flight, and the result was the tremors that seemed to spread through your system. "You have no right to do this to me! To play with me like this!"

"I'm not lying!" The shorter one retorted, and in an impulsive move, she grabbed you by the shoulder and forced you to turn until your gazes met. Tears were already streaming down your eyes like waterfalls, and your entire face seemed contorted in excruciating pain. Tara wished she could absorb all your hurt for herself. "I know I messed up, but I really love you!"

"You're toxic, Tara! That's what you are!" You shouted back with strength, holding the girl's gaze as if it were a challenge you needed to win. "You hurt me! And I was getting better, damn it, I was getting better away from you!"

"I know you were! I know! That's why I'm apologizing, okay? Because you're the best person I've ever met, and I ruined you like I ruin everyone! Because the best moments I've ever had were with you, and I feel like tearing my eyes out when I remember that I hurt you by being this way!"

"Tara..."

"No! Please let me finish." She rejected your interruption, taking the opportunity to relieve all the pain and guilt she felt inside her. "I'm getting treatment, okay? And I know you're not obligated to forgive me for anything, but I want you to know that I'm trying to be better for you! I'm trying to fix my shit to be someone you and Sam and the others can be proud of!"

"Tara..."

"And I know I hurt you a lot, but please don't doubt the love I feel for you because it's the only good thing left in me. I won't blame you if you never want to see me again, but..."

"TARA, GET DOWN!" You shouted, and before Tara could react, you were already pushing her toward the dusty wooden floor.

Everything was happening too fast for the Carpenter's mind to process. She hit the ground with a grunt of pain and a potential bruise on her arm, but she could see the exact moment when an arm covered in a black cloak descended toward your leg, making a deep cut in your thigh.

You screamed in pain, and Tara screamed next, watching your blood soak through the fabric of your pants and start dripping onto the floor. In a surge of adrenaline, the small girl ran to your side and almost reached for your arm when she was suddenly engulfed in a tight grip, with her two arms pinned to her back and a hand holding a knife to her neck.

She struggled against the masked person holding her, futilely trying to break free to get to you. Tears streamed so quickly down her face that she could taste the saltiness invading her senses. "Let me go! Y/N, run! Please, run!"

A sinister laugh reached her ears like the hiss of a snake. "Oh, Tara. Did you think it would be that easy?"

She recognized that distorted voice with effects all too well. She still heard it in her nightmares, calling her name in the dark. Ghostface was back. "I'm going to kill you, you motherfucker!"

"Oh, but I don't think so." The voice spoke in an amused tone as another killer, wearing the same mask and black cloak, approached your figure on the ground. Tara wailed like a banshee when the other pulled your hair forcefully, forcing you to stand up as he placed a knife on your neck.

She struggled a little more. "Leave her alone!"

"And where's the fun in that?" The ghostface holding her responded, almost as if they were laughing. "Come on, Tara. Weren't you the one who liked to release your anger by hurting Y/N? Why should only you have that privilege? Let's see, where was it that you got stabbed again?"

At the same time, as if reacting to a code, the ghostface holding you advanced in quick and precise movements, gripping you by the waist with one arm while thrusting the knife into you with the other, just above your kidney.

You let out another gasping scream as the blade pierced your skin, and Tara felt your body sagging as if you were about to collapse. She herself wanted to fall to her knees and plead for you to be released, but she couldn't. Whoever was holding her had great strength.

"Don’t you want her to feel the same pain you felt, huh, Tara? Don't want her to suffer what you suffered?" The voice continued to growl in her ear, sounding increasingly excited by the escalating violence. The knife on Tara's neck kept her head in place, so she couldn't look at anything other than your agony.

"No, I don't. Please, PLEASE." Tara pleaded with a tearful voice as another stab was delivered to you, this time in the center of your abdomen. Your shirt gradually turned into a pool of blood, and Tara feared you would faint at any moment.

"Tara..." You could barely pronounce her name, your voice choked and your own blood streaming down your lips. Tara's gaze met yours, and she shivered when you shook your head. She knew what that meant.

You looked feverish. Sweat and blood mingled on your skin, creating the most disturbing of the paintings. Your eyes were vacant, and Tara was so afraid they would close at any moment, never to open again.

And yet, with that nod of your head, Tara understood that your top priority at the moment was to make her understand that it wasn't her fault.

The girl's knees threatened to give up as the knife entered you one, two, three times. She shook her head but couldn't close her eyes because she needed to see you, needed to see that your eyes were still open, that you were still alive.

You couldn't die. You promised not to leave, even if everyone else did. You couldn't die. You couldn't die. You. Couldn't. Die.

"I love you. I'm sorry for loving you, I'm sorry," Tara whispered because she had no strength to speak louder. She felt on the verge of giving up and letting those maniacs do whatever they wanted with her. Nothing mattered anymore if you weren't here, and it was all her fault.

The ghostface holding her laughed with a deep voice. "You know, I could turn this into a Romeo and Juliet scene, but I think it would be more fun to kill you while Sam is watching."

With that, Tara felt her body being thrown backward, and she hit the dirty wooden floor again, this time landing with her head in a wound that would undoubtedly become a concussion.

She got up in a frenzied pace, in an adrenaline rush, thinking she could try to save you now that she was free. But, looking ahead, she realized she was outside the lobby’s door, and the maniac murderer already held the handles. Despite Tara's attempt to advance, the ghostface had already sarcastically waved and locked the doors, creating a deadly separation between you and herself.

Tara pounded on the hard wooden door, ignoring the pain in her knuckles. She hit and hit and hit, feeling cuts open on her skin and burn from the repetitive contact. She was crying, screaming, punching, cursing, doing things she couldn't even rationalize because it didn't matter anymore.

Nothing mattered anymore. Not without you.

She collapsed on the floor, tired, injured, and desperate for you. Her sobs echoed in the seemingly empty hallway, and she was too afraid to put her ear to the door and hear screams of pain like your last breath. Tara felt lost until she remembered that she was no longer trapped.

Rushing to reach the device in her pocket, she sighed in relief to find it unbroken. She pressed the button multiple times without a second thought. If she had a chance to maybe save your life, she would grab it without a doubt.

Tara remembered what she had thought before, how pressing that button might symbolize that she shouldn't be in your life. She stood up and leaned against the wall, trying to rid herself of the wave of nausea, and left the button hidden near the door. If help came following the signal, the first place they would look would be where you were.

If help came and you made it out alive, that was a promise. Tara would finally leave you alone. That's what you deserved.

---

Tara was almost sure she had developed a hospital phobia since the events of last year.

There was no other explanation for why she felt uneasy in that environment, even after they had taken all precautions for her. She still hated the white walls and the smell of chemicals and couldn't wait to get out of there.

For now, she decided to ignore this feeling and continued following Sam through the corridors of fluorescent lighting. It was important for her to stay inside until they finally found the doctor who could tell them what they wanted to know.

She checked her hands again, finding the tanned skin covered in some bandages but free from the mixture of her blood and Ethan's after she... lost control.

After she was separated from you, everything happened so fast that Tara could almost think it was all a delusion. All the revelations, the attacks, her adding another victim to her count, the police arriving... All of that had taken a back seat because nothing was more important than you.

It was as if her life had turned into a black and white movie in the moments she was without you. Everything felt colorless, purposeless. Fortunately, she was pulled out of her own spiral of melancholy when she saw you being taken out of the old movie theater on a stretcher by paramedics. She tried to get closer, but it was needed to give you space so that nothing touched your wounds and caused an infection.

Tara tried to go in the ambulance with you, but she and Sam were pulled for another checkup, and you needed to be rushed to a surgery room urgently if you wanted to have the slightest chance of survival. So, Tara let you go, but there was not a moment when you weren't on her mind.

That's why now, she desperately searched for your surgeon with Sam. No one seemed to know about your condition, and she already felt like tearing her hair out from anxiety. Tara just needed to know if you were at least breathing.

"Dr. Isley?" Sam called the attention of a red-haired doctor who was passing by them in a hurry. Tara sighed in relief that her sister was paying attention to her surroundings because her mind was in a completely different place. "We were informed that you performed emergency surgery on a family member. Her name is Y/n Y/L, admitted with multiple stab wounds."

"Oh, yes. Miss Y/L." The doctor replied in a professional tone, but there was impatiency all over her body language. "It was a difficult surgery, and she lost a lot of blood, but fortunately, no vital organs were hit. I won't lie, the recovery will be painful, but at least she survived the operation without any apparent severe collateral effects."

This was the best news Tara had heard in days. She opened a smile and didn't even try to hide her own happiness as she prolonged the conversation. "Is she in any room? Can we see her?"

"Miss Y/L is in room 604, but I'm afraid only one person is allowed in at a time to avoid any disturbance."

"No problem, we can take turns." Sam pointed between her and her sister. Despite seeming much calmer than the younger one, Tara knew Sam was just as relieved as she was to know that you were still alive.

"No, you didn't understand. There's already someone in Miss Y/L's room." Dr. Isley warned and, seemingly losing the rest of her patience, she began to walk away. "Sorry, but I have other patients to attend to."

The two Carpenter sisters looked at each other alarmed. Who could be in your room? Chad was still in his own surgery, Anika had gone to stay with Mindy while she received some stitches, and frankly, your parents had never been present enough to travel between states so quickly for your sake.

They walked down the corridor, moving as fast as possible without disturbing the other people being treated or working in the area. Tara's heart threatened to jump out of her mouth as she looked from door to door, searching for the numbering of your room. 601. 602. 603.

Tara stopped so abruptly at the door that she and Sam bumped into each other, their sneakers making noise against the shiny white floor. The simple door had a small window through which it was possible to see the inside of the room without necessarily entering. Tara looked inside, ready to break the handle and force her way in if necessary.

But it wasn't, because Tara Carpenter recognized exactly the girl sitting next to your bed, holding your hand gently and stroking your hair, even though you were sleeping. She remembered, with a tightness in her chest, that Kate Bishop would be notified the moment she pressed the button.

And, in her own words, she would come running to take care of you.

"Tara, who-"

"I have to go." Tara interrupted her sister's words, looking at the scene in front of her without blinking. She knew what she had to do; there was no reason to fight the facts.

"What? What do you mean? You just got here." Sam asked, partially annoyed and partially confused by the younger one's actions.

"You heard the doctor. Her recovery will be painful, and if I stay around, all I'll cause is more pain." Tara opened a small smile just to try to pretend that she wasn’t dying inside. She knew Sam could see the truth, that she could see her broken heart and internal conflict, but she also knew that was the only possible solution.

"Tara..."

"Sam, you know I'm right. You told me that yourself a few days ago, remember? I hurt her." The girl shook her head in surrender and took a few steps away from the door. Away from you. "She needs peace, Sam. And the only way she can get that now is if I'm not around."

Tara took one last look inside the room, seeing how peaceful you looked. Sleeping, without any worries, and with an incredible and caring person by your side, ready to help you in whatever you needed.

Someone much better than her.

Perhaps that was the first time Tara had made a selfless decision in a long time, but she didn't feel deserving of any credit for it. What she had to do now was get better. Maybe more entries in her journal and more visits to her therapist would eventually fill the void she felt within her.

For now, she just turned around and started walking away from room 604. Each step hurt, like a razor cutting her skin, but it was the right thing to do. Tara had hurt you for far too long, and now...

Now it was time to let you go.

[cyberrose2001]

Hi hi! Your op drawings are so good?? My bby aaa drawing him (bots in gen) is so tough, I get too caught up in the details TT

Anyway, since I miss him lol I was wondering if I could request some... uh, gosh I hate this word but idk anything synonymous. Could I request pussydrunk tfp op?

Hope you're having a nice day/night btw <3

- 🍄

TFP pussydrunk!Optimus x reader

Hi hello!!I am very proud of this and it's probably up there with my list of my favourite fics I have ever written. Thank you so much for requesting and liking my silly sketches of the blorbo. I've written this as gender neutral <3

(lowkey ive been writing heaps of OP eating pussy,,, its a canon event for me i cannot intervene..... anyway its 11AM and i havent slept yet but i needed to finish hggggh *dies of horny*)

Warnings: Oral sex (reader receiving), edging, reader has a vagina.

Word count: 657

18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI

Spending time alone with you has learned to be one of Optimus' most treasured past times. But as much as it pains him, relaxing with you is a rare treat. The usual business of the base either keeps him up all night, or he genuinely has no time. However, he tries his best to make the most of it, whether he's relaxing with you, cuddling you, or with his head glued between your inner thighs. 

Like right now. It was nearing two AM. Optimus has you sprawled out on your shared berth, his face pressed against your aching heat, finally finding sweet relief from his built-up arousal. It's been too fragging long since his face was buried in you. He misses it, and if Optimus had a choice, he would sacrifice everything he's worked for to keep you bare before him.

Two hours. Optimus had been lazily lapping at you for two hours now. At one point, his helm had lulled to the side to rest against your right inner thigh to not strain his neck. His glossa grows tired, and his energon roars through his hot frame.

His stamina is almost depleted compared to when he initially delved into your drenched pussy. Despite this, Optimus still has the capacity to tightly grip your hips, gently massaging them as you lie still for him. He is weary, yet he perseveres, ignoring his aching joints and pulsing spike painfully pressed against the berth because tonight is about you. He will make up for all those lonely nights you've spent in berth alone in one lengthy oral session.

It's very often that when Optimus gives you oral, his mind feels like he's been transported to a higher plane of existence, one where he has no responsibilities or obligations to lead a team, just the mind-numbing taste of you. It makes him dizzy and light-headed, similar to the buzz he gets when he has a high grade or two, but Optimus prefers revelling in you instead to get his high. 

As ever patient as you are with your star-crossed lover, your hips still gently roll and shudder involuntarily against his glossa, and Optimus fucking loves it. He loves your soft cries when he sucks on your clit, and he loves when you clamp your legs around his helm when your orgasm is merely within reach. But he won't let you finish just yet, not when he's yet to relish and thoroughly drown himself in your sticky sweet.  

His warm optics remain lazily trained on your face, only fluttering close when you squeeze his helm. The pressure from your thighs only heightens his hunger, a carnal desire to swallow every drop of your aphrodisiac juices. 

"Mmmmm," You mewl, sweaty palms digging into the berth, "Fuck, I missed this… why don't we do this - aah - more often, baby…."

Optimus doesn't respond, and he can't because his processor is so intoxicated and aroused that he can't even form a single coherent sentence. It's quite ironic, he thinks. A mech of his nature that is so poised and articulate in his vocable is conned by his own desperate need to surrender his intake to his humans' essence.

"Mmmffh," He purrs into your heat, parting your sensitive lips with his glossa, lazily swirling around your bud before pressing a gentle kiss against it. He can't help but grind his spike into the berth below at your whimpers, servos kneading into your soft flesh, "More… Primus, I need more…."

You titter breathlessly, snaking a hand to the top of his helm to lightly press his face further into your pulsing heat, and Optimus delightfully grunts. You shiver, biting back a moan at the vibrations, "Go ahead, hun, you've got me for the rest of the night."

Optimus may need to blow a hole into the sun to prevent it from rising, since one night will never be enough to satisfy his thirst for you.

[yeosbbm]

A helping hand..

Smut | MDNI

starring: roommate! yunho x roommate! reader

genre: (somewhat-fluffy) smut, friends to lovers, revealed feelings

summary: the company you work at has been overworking you leading to you being stressed and burnt out. you can hardly even keep up with your own life anymore ! however, your roommate yunho notices this and decides to help you destress.

warnings/prevs: service/pleasure dom yunho, big focus on his hands, massaging, light choking, fingering, oral (fem received),, overstim, praise, protected piv, there’s a moment that seems like the smut will start but it’s a tease 😭

A/n: motivation for writing this is an old yunho live + reread studio sessions and it gave me ideas, but enjoy ! Ciao 🤍

Your eyes have a droning ache to them and are beginning to burn a bit from staring at a screen. Back aches from sitting at your desk for many hours begins to set in and you feel soo cold despite the cardigan you chose to wear.

You’re mindlessly typing at all the documents your boss has forced onto you due to 3 coworkers randomly taking a vacay.

You’ve doubled your hours and tripled your workload. Barely having time to take care of yourself or hang out with your roomie yunho. You’ve had to blow him off so many times because of this overbearing schedule.

You needed a break from the eyesore of files so you open your emails. Big mistake, hundreds of emails with “URGENT” load making you groan and have your head fall into your hands.

“Hey y/n ! I didn’t think you’d still be in the office.” Your coworker chirps to you. You look up from your hands, eyes low and barely able to curl the corner of your lips into a greeting smile. “Woah you look….”

“Terrible, yea I know it’s the 15 hours of being awake.” You mumble. “Wait have you…not clocked out yet.” her eyes are wide in shock, you’ve been here since before opening time up until after hours.

“..was supposed to leave like 3 hours ago but, boss sent another folder of docs to go through.” You can barely keep your eyes open.

Minutes of persuasion later, your coworker finally convinces you to head home. You trudged your way there, body feeling spent. You finally get to your shared apartment and open the door. Yunho had been waiting for you in the living room.

“Finally I was worried, what kept you at work so late ?” Yunho stood from the couch rushing to you. He takes your work bag and helps you take your cardigan off.

“I already told you Yunho, ‘have to work overtime because 3 people called off.” You’re stumbling a bit taking your shoes off, and Yunho looks you up and down concerned.

You looked washed of all color and personality, your eyes lost their spark, an overall tired look. In Yunho’s eyes you’ll always be pretty no matter what; but it hurt him to see his bsf that he loves deeply cares about the most so overworked.

“I made some dinner go wash up and if you have energy left eat a bit.” He watches you slowly step to the bathroom.

After your shower you head into the living room. Yunho sees you emerge from the hallway and plop yourself on the couch. You look better and refreshed, but still have a burnt out expression. He brings you your dish.

While lifting your arms up to grab the dish from him you wince and groan. Your shoulders in pain from the terrible office chair posture you’ve been stuck in for the past 5 days.

“God my back and shoulders are killing me.” You sit the dish down and begin to eat. He can’t stand to see you like this. He sits close by you, and runs his large hands across your shoulders and runs them down your back. You sigh from comfort, which encourages Yunho to run his hands back up to your shoulders and begin to massage.

But..the breaths and small noises you’re letting out are making Yunho…feel a type of way. The way you’re being so pliant with a face of pure submission. Then the kicker comes.

“Harder…” you say while adjusting your back.

“W-what huh.” Yunho double takes and pauses.

“Harder please.., add more pressure.” His face is red , is he really getting worked up from some words and noises out of you. Your attire doesn’t help either, a tshirt of his and some fitted shorts. “Oh..ok..” Yunho presses a bit harder and runs his longs finger deeper into your shoulder’s muscle tissue.

“So good..I needed this so bad.” You whisper, tilting your head so Yunho could have more space to massage. You’re unknowingly driving him crazy . He just wants to take all your stress and pains away by making you feel good..even if it’s just by his hands alone.

He wonders how much relief he can give you by moving his hands down into your shorts. Making you relax by massaging and filling your cunt with his fingers.

“Y/n…I want..” Before he can finish he notices you’ve gone extremely quiet and your breathing slowed. You’re asleep. Damn it. All he could do is sigh and carry you to bed.

——————-

Today was finally your day off, or it was supposed to be.

Earlier in the day you and Yunho were sat together on the couch watching tv. You’re leaned into his shoulder and had both of your hands on your lap. Every now and again..you’d glance at his hands.

They were on top of yours, lightly stroking your pinky with his thumb. They were so big and pretty. You liked Yunho’s hands. Holding them, him helping you with your hair, they’re just so satisfying you start to wonder what else he could do with them.

But those thoughts get shut down quick when your phone buzzes with a message. It’s from your boss.

“There’s a meeting from 5pm to 10pm. It’s your day off but we need more members to come. Be there.”

Yunho glances and sees the message. “Ugh, can’t believe how much of an asshole your boss is.” He sees you taking quick looks at your work bag. “God (y/n) don’t go please.”

“But Yunho what if it’s urgent or serious.” You sigh.

“It’s your day off. You’ve been working almost everyday for the past few weeks. You’re literally drained and sleep deprived.”

“I know but…” You know it wouldn’t be wise to go but you fear how your integrity is viewed at the office.

“But nothing…you’re not going.” Yunho now got a text on his phone. “Shit I forgot.” He pauses the tv and heads to the shoe rack to toss on sneakers. “ Jongho needs me to go by the guy’s place and help with his car.”

You get up to open the door for him. But he stops you mid step and opens it himself. “When I get back you better still be here resting and not at that stupid meeting.” He says sternly pointing a finger. “Understood ?” “Fine..understood.”

You tried staying put at you two’s apartment you really did. Distracting yourself with your phone + tv. But your boss kept sending text after text and update after update. One specific text had your attention however. “Your position will be threatened if you don’t come.”

Despite wanting to respect Yunho’s wishes. You get dressed and head over to the office.

——————-

It’s been 3 hours. You feel regret for even sitting your ass down into this office chair to be at this meeting. You’ve gotten a text but weren’t able to open it since the meeting required high attention from everyone involved.

Your boss leaves for a quick phone call and everyone else is immersed in their paperwork. You pull your phone from your pocket and see the message you had missed.

“Get back home, right now.”

Could he really be mad at you for heading in for a meeting on your day off ?

A secretary comes in. “Hey y/n someone has called for your dismissal, something about an emergency.” Oh wow.

You leave the meeting early and begin to head home. Once again, feet and back hurting, worn out from the 3 hours you were present for in the meeting.

You get home and Yunho was there waiting, but something was different. His demeanor was as serious as his text.

You start removing your coat and kick off your shoes. “Sorry Yun I know you said not to go but it seemed so urgent.” While hanging your coat up you wince because once again, your body is overwhelmed from the lack of sleep, being stuck to an office chair, and walking to and from work.

Yunho notices your discomfort immediately, and how you’ve overworked yourself.

“Sit down.” he opens his legs, leans down and pats the space on the floor. You look around confused but head your way over. You finally sit and Yunho let’s out a big sigh and begins lightly rubbing up and down your back.

“So tense..” He whispers feeling out your back. His touches this time wakes something in you. He adds more pressure, you can feel his fingers press and rub. “You know you work so hard…but never give yourself time to unwind…..can you relax for me ?” A tinge of arousal sits in your lower half.

He starts rubbing your shoulders in a strong round motion, eliciting a gentle noise out of you. He brings his hands up to your neck, carefully rubbing it, it feels so sensitive you begin to let out hums of satisfaction.

Then he ghosts his hands down your back, onto your thighs. “You must be sore here too, hm ?” He rubs into your thighs flesh. “Fuck…” You squirm a bit, “Hold still for me.”

After him rubbing and pressing into your thighs with his large hands, you’re officially wet. His soft words and touch has you feigning for more.

“Yunho…please.”

“I can’t give you what you want unless you tell me.” He says, ghosting his hand closer to your clothed cunt.

“Use your fingers on me..” He’s been waiting for this, now he can truly make you feel good and have you unwind. “Go ahead and take your bottoms off for me.”

——————

You’re sat in the same place between Yunho’s legs faced away from him but now your bottoms are gone and legs are spread.

He’s behind you arm reached down carefully finger fucking your cunt. His long thick fingers filling you so well. They reach places inside you can’t even reach with your own.

You can hear his fingers go in and out from you, his fingertips rubbing and pressing on the right spot inside. “Such a mess for me,, my good girl.” Your arousal is spread from your inner thighs onto his hand. You’ve came about twice by now.

You’re moaning loud, please’s and yes’s spilling from your mouth. Yunho doesn’t want a noise complaint from nosy neighbors, so he brings 2 of his fingers from his free hand into your mouth. “Sssh baby.”

You’re leaned back, head resting on his thigh clenching around his fingers at this point. “So close aren’t you,,,go ahead cum on my fingers again.” A few more pumps into your cunt and you cum, some more arousal leaking onto his hand.

You look down and see the mess. Embarrassment starts to run through you. Not because of what you’re doing and who it’s with, but because you’ve never been so exposed and vulnerable with Yunho before.

“Aah no no you’re thinking too hard.” He kisses the top of your head. “ ‘supposed to be relaxing for me right baby ?” He picks you up and carries you into his bedroom and strips himself of his clothes.

All you have left on is your button up shirt and bra. Yunho gets back on the bed and hovers over you.

“…Yun..kiss me.” He leans down and kisses you roughly. Starting with bruising kisses into him letting his tongue in your mouth; unbuttoning your shirt while kissing you and you remove your bra.

He takes opened mouthed kisses down your neck into the space between your tits. He starts to grab one with his hand and nips and sucks on the other, he kisses further down and finally gets to your cunt.

He doesn’t tease or waste time, he’s already lapping and eating you out. Bringing his tongue in and out your hole and swirling his tongue around your clit. Occasionally bringing 3 fingers in and pressing kisses onto your bundle of nerves. “Need to make you dumb, can’t let you think about that shitty job again.”

Within an hour…3 times. He makes you cum 3 more times and swallows your release and orgasm each time. You’re cunt is sensitive now, every lick and touch of his tongue has your hips jerking up and mouth agape. You can’t let it end this way though.

“Your cock…lemme cum on it.” Yunho’s head is spinning, it’s already one thing he has you dumb from his mouth and hands alone..he can’t believe you’re asking for his cock. He gets up and grabs a condom from his drawer, tears the packaging with his teeth and slides it on.

He softly kisses you a couple times, “Breathe ok..relax…” He aligns himself and pushes his cock in. He begins with slow long drags of his cock, placing his fingers on your neck and they wrap around it oh so perfectly. Seeing your eyes roll back makes him start snapping his hips.

“This is what you needed right, to be fucked dumb..forget all your responsibilities while on my cock.” You’re a babbling mess. His thick cock stretching you so good and rubbing against that spot just like how his fingers did. “So good Yunho fuckk”. Your whimpers begin to grow louder, he leans down to kiss you and swallow your moans and pants.

You can feel the building up of sensations deep inside. You didn’t have much time to last and Yunho knew it. “Is my good girl about to cum.” You nod slowly, focusing on how the tight knot of pleasure in you was about to burst. He starts pounding you, the beds beginning to rock.

“About to cum…I’m almost there.” you breathe out.

He can feel your walls clamping tighter and tighter. “Cum with me..cum with me and let all your worries go.” After a couple more erratic thrust you cum all over his cock. His orgasm coming close behind, his hips stutter and he releases in the condom.

After a few moments of panting, Yunho carries you into the bathroom sitting you on the counter and takes a rag to clean you both up a bit. He leaves for a bit and comes back dressed into pjs holding a tall glass of water and some of your pjs.

“I’ll make us something to eat and after we can take a nap so you can rest, ok ?” You nod and take the water from him.

“Meet me in the kitchen when you’re all done .” While he’s walking out you tug his shirt back and lean into him. You kiss Yunho before he leaves the bathroom.

While getting ready to make you both a quick meal, he sees your phone that you left on the counter. It’s multiple texts from your boss. So many rude, demanding messages.

Then bam, your boss is calling. And Yunho decides to pick up.

“Finally you answer your damn phone, we need you because we’re a person short for our next presentation Monday so bring yourself right bac-” Yunho hangs up on him.

You wander into the kitchen asking who it was he was on the phone with.

“Oooh nobody.” He strokes your face and lands a kiss before continuing to prepare your meals.

[girlgenius1111]

you could see the best of me

leah x r

Leah has barely touched R since her surgery a few weeks ago. R is slowly losing her mind.

smut 18+

The combination of aroused and annoyed was not one you were used to; it had been weeks since your injury, and therefore, weeks since you'd done anything with Leah. There weren't really an physical limitations stopping you; Leah was terrified to hurt you, and she refused to do anything more than kiss you in the past few weeks.

At first, you hadn't really noticed, all hopped up on pain meds, but as you stopped taking them, the desperate need for your girlfriend that you always seemed to have, returned. Still, even when you tried to get Leah to go farther, she always pulled back, smiling apologetically at you.

You really didn't understand. Leah was normally all over you, and your surgery had been weeks ago. You weren't sure why she didn't seem to want you; you really underestimated how worried she was about hurting you further.

It all came to a head one night, 4 weeks [4 entire weeks] after your surgery. You had managed to pull Leah into a heavy make out session, and you thought that maybe, this time, she wouldn't pull back. When she did, pressing a kiss to your forehead and walking off into the kitchen for some water, you couldn't help the frustrated huff you let out. Or the tears that flooded your eyes.

It was embarrassing, honestly, that you were crying because of how badly you needed your girlfriend to touch you, but you couldn't help it. Since getting together, you and Leah had barely gone more than 3 days without having sex. These past 4 weeks had been both unprecedented and torturous.

When Leah walked back into the room, looking annoyingly attractive in a dark green sweatshirt and joggers, you were still wiping angrily at the tears falling from your face.

"Baby? What's wrong?" She asked, smile falling from her lips. You rolled your eyes, thinking it was pretty obvious. Leah seemed to disagree, as she came to sit next to you on the couch, placing a gentle hand on your cheek. "What is it? Does something hurt?"

"No Leah, nothing fucking hurts," you spit out, and the blonde removed her hand from your face, blinking in surprise.

"Okay," she said, pausing. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" she asked patiently. She was being too nice to you, treating you like you were fragile, and it was infuriating.

"Stop being so nice to me," you cry, really overwhelmed now with frustration, aware you weren't really making much sense. Leah's brow scrunched adorably.

"You're upset because I'm being too nice to you?"

"No. I'm upset because we haven't had sex in weeks, Leah. Weeks." you reply, face flushing at the confession. Leah was quiet for a few moments.

"Love, I know it's been a while, but we need to be careful with your knee, I don't want to hurt you."

"Leah, my knee is fine. Definitely fine enough to have sex."

"I don't want to risk anything, y/n," she started, but you cut her off, rising unsteadily to your feet. You'd recently started walking completely unaided, but it was slow. It took some of the sting out of your words as you shuffled into the bedroom.

"I'll just take care of things myself then, if you won't help me." You say over your shoulder, leaving behind a bewildered Leah. She hadn't realized how bothered you were by this. She was considering her options when she heard you cry out from the bedroom. She was on her feet in a second, moving quickly into the room.

"What happened??" she asked, taking in the way you sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the comforter under you tightly. Your shorts were pulled down one leg, still resting around your bad knee.

"They got caught," you said miserably, motioning to your shorts. You couldn't even get undressed yourself, couldn't even tease Leah without having her help you. She walked towards you, ignoring your partially naked body, attempting to wrap you in a hug. You shrugged off her arms.

"No, Leah, I was just so mean to you, please don't." The blonde ignored your attempts to shrug her hug off, shushing you lightly, and pulling you into her.

"I'm sorry you're frustrated, love. I know it's hard not to be able to do things, and I don't meant to hover over you. I just want you to take your recovery seriously."

You lifted your head, resting your chin on Leah's abdomen to look up at her.

"Leah, please. I need you," you say, hoping desperately that Leah will take pity on you. To your excitement, she sighs, a sign she's relenting.

"Alright, baby, but we're doing this my way. And if something hurts, we stop right away. Got it?"

"Yes, I promise," you say, before gripping her face in your hands, and pulling her down for a kiss. She chuckles into your mouth at how desperate you are, but you're past caring about seeming needy.

You're knee was starting to ache from the position you were in, and you knew you needed to say something. If you didn't, there was no way Leah would let it go. You break the kiss, reaching down to attempt to finish pulling your shorts off your body.

"Let me," the blonde says, carefully pulling the shorts down around your knee, pausing when you're completely naked from the waist down. "Are you sure about this?" she asks, studying you closely.

"Leah, please just fuck me," you beg, pulling her closer by her shirt. She keeps her eyes on you as she pulls her hair into a ponytail, getting it out of the way. It makes your stomach flutter with excitement. She strips you of your shirt and bra, tossing them onto the floor to be dealt with later. Leah doesn't speak as she guides you to lay back on the bed, ignoring your eye roll when she props up your knee on a pillow, before leaning over you from your other side.

Her lips ghost over yours, blue eyes boring down at you as you stare up at her, all of your willpower focused on not grabbing her and pulling her onto you. She's made it clear that she's going to take it slow, and she won't touch you before she's ready. She traces your jaw with her fingers, enjoying the way you twitch slightly at the simple touch. She leans down as if to kiss you, instead taking your bottom lip between her teeth, and tugging lightly, before letting go. You can't help the whimper that escapes your mouth, or the plea that follows it.

"Lee, please,"

"How do you want me?" She asks, breath a hot whisper on your lips.

"Anything, fingers, mouth, just touch me," you reply. She only hums in response, and without any more preamble, brings her hand to your hot core. You bend your good knee, pulling it out of the way, and Leah breaks her eye contact with you to look down at where her fingers have found themselves.

"You're wet," she says matter of factly, choosing that moment to press lightly on your clit, before beginning to rub slow, small circles over it.

"Fuck- it's been 4 weeks, Leah," you remind her, ignoring the smug look on her face. She keeps her attention focused on your clit, 2 fingers on it, increasing their speed. After only a minute of this, you're panting, unable to believe how turned on you were. Your eyes fall shut, and you gasp in surprise when Leah's mouth connects with your chest, kissing her over to your nipple, and sucking it into her mouth. She flicks her tongue over it in sync with her fingers on your core, and you're, embarrassingly, already close.

You feel your face turning red, feeling that this is another level of desperate that you weren't eager to fall too. You tense your muscles, wanting more than anything to last longer, throwing an arm over your face to hide your blush. Evidently, Leah takes your movements as an indication of something other than pleasure. You cry out in disapproval when her motions come to a halt.

"Talk to me," she says, pulling your arm away from your face. "Are you hurting?" The smirk is gone from her face, replaced with Concerned Leah's face, brows scrunched, lips pressed into a hard line.

"No, god don't stop," you whine grabbing her hand, and trying to direct it back down; you can feel your orgasm slipping away.

"Your knee feels okay?" she checks again. You sigh, heavily, trying to remind yourself that she was being a good girlfriend, regardless of how frustrating her constant questions were.

"Yes it's fine, but I was close and you ruined it," you pout.

"Oh!" Smug Leah has returned. You don't even care, because her fingers are moving back to your core, and she's picking up right where she left off. It doesn't take long before you're on the edge again, coming with a loud cry of her name as her hand holds your hips down on the mattress, and the other works your through the waves of pleasure.

You got a glimpse of the Leah you knew normally, as she slid down the bed, slotting herself between your legs, barely giving you time to catch your breathe. She hovered over your cunt, taking in the abundant wetness there, but doesn't put her mouth on you. Instead, she rests her cheek on your thigh, gazing up at you.

You look down, frustrated, expecting her to be checking on your knee again. Instead, she's looking at you through hooded eyes, clearly waiting for you to beg for her. Her favorite thing.

"Please," you sigh, reaching for Leah's head, trying to push her closer to you.

"Please what, pretty girl?" She said lowly, not moving any closer.

"Please, I need your mouth on me," you plead, hips bucking up towards her face.

"My pretty girl, dripping all over the sheets for me," Leah said, before burying her face in your pussy. Her tongue feels perfect against you, as she laps at your slick, humming into you, enjoying the salty taste of you.

"Leah, shit, so good," you cry, beginning to grind up into her face.

"Don't worry baby, I'll take care of you" she says, pulling away for just a second to speak, before taking your swollen, sensitive clit into her mouth and suckling. Her fingers move to your entrance, two digits easily slipping in.

"Fuck baby," you moaned, hands lacing through Leah's hair, and holding her against you. She curls her fingers, pressing perfectly against your sweet spot, sucking hard on your clit. Your orgasm hits you harder than the previous one, and your body jerks up into Leah's face as you cry out.

"So good, so pretty when you come for me," Leah says, pulling her mouth away, but keeping her fingers inside of you, only slowing slightly.

"Leah, more," you say, barely coming down from your last orgasm before you feel yourself tumbling into the next.

'There you go, baby, so perfect for me," Leah says, adding a third finger, fucking into you harder. You come for the third time, your body jerking uncontrollably. Your bad knee slips off the pillow it was resting on, and you feel a sharp stab of pain, ending your bliss prematurely.

"Fuck, fuck my knee," you cry, and Leah pulls away from you, hands fluttering over your knee, afraid to touch it and hurt you more.

"Baby?" She asks, as you press your face into the pillow, breathing hard, trying to let the extremely different sensations flowing through your body. "Y/n, are you okay?" Leah asks again when you don't respond.

"I'm okay," you whisper, keeping your face hidden away, trying to blink away the tears in your eyes before Leah can see. You feel her leave the bed, hear her footsteps going down the hall. You roll onto your back again, carefully moving your knee back onto the pillow, breathing through the pain. You don't know where Leah's gone, but you take the opportunity to wipe the tears from your eyes.

The defender returns quickly, and you watch as she speed walks in, hands full with your brace, and ice pack, and several different pill bottles.

"Tell me what you need? Should we go to the hospital?" Leah asks, resting a hand on your cheek. You swallow a laugh, knowing her concern is genuine.

"I'm okay Leah, I promise. I just tweaked it." You assure her, placing your hand over hers and holding it in place.

"Let me put the ice pack on, at least," She says, pulling her hand away from your face, and expertly wrapping it around your knee. She stays standing by the edge of the bed, looking down at you, guilt etched across her features.

"Leah," you start, before she interrupts you.

"No. I knew that wasn't a good idea, we should have waited, and I hurt you." Leah says.

"It's not your fault, Leah," you say, grabbing her hand to try to pull her closer.

"You're right," she says after a moment. "It's your fault. You talked me into this." she glares at you, crossing her arms. Your jaw drops almost comically.

"4 weeks Leah. 4 weeks. I cannot be blamed for my actions." Leah rolls her eyes, snorting. You reach for her hand again, giving her your best pout.

"Come lay with me, please?" You can see Leah's frustration melt away, and she nods, quickly moving to the other side of the bed, wrapping you up in her arms. She's fully clothed, and you're completely naked, and the vulnerability feels good. It's a different kind than the one you'd been forced into the past few weeks; Leah having to help you do everything. This was different, intimate, and it felt good.

"You promise you're okay?" She whispers into your hair.

"Promise." You reply, letting your eyes flutter shut.

"Hmm." She says, considering. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Oh I see, but I'm the needy one," you laugh.

"4 weeks was long for me too," Leah defends, laughing with you. She presses a kiss into your hair, absentmindedly running a hand up and down your arms. The pain in your knee has faded away, but even if it hadn't, your sure it would be gone, even from just a minute in Leah's arms.

-----

[holllandtrash]

gone | daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x driver!reader (part 3 to fragile line)

I just know You're not gone You can't be gone

The 2023 season is painful, its challenging and Daniel is still very much in your life in all the ways he shouldn't be.

word count: 9.9k (i dont even know how) warnings/tags: angst, heartbreak, all the painful stuff

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” 

You exhaled a breath that made your entire body shake, “You know what, Daniel.” 

Of course he did. For the last few months, he was experiencing the exact same things you were. The uncertainty, the tension, the sleepless nights, god you were so tired. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be you and him. You were supposed to be a team. 

So much went wrong, too much. Daniel stood in front of you now as you asked yourself if you were too far gone. 

And you both knew the answer to that one. 

That first race back in Hungary…you were a mess. You probably would have been a little bit more put together had Oliver not pointed out the lineup for the driver’s press conference. 

“You’re kidding,” your jaw dropped, staring at the list. “Who’s smart idea was it to put myself and Daniel together?”

“This is Formula 1,” Oliver sounded apologetic, he did feel bad about the situation. “The FIA doesn’t care if he’s your ex.”

The FIA didn’t care but the entire world watching did. Speculations on what would happen, where you would sit, what would be asked flooded social media. 

When you showed up on Thursday, Lando patted your back and told you to breathe.

“Easier said than done, Lando. I don’t see you being forced to sit with your ex.”

He chuckled at that because you had a point. “Look, I love Danny, but don’t let him get to you, alright?”

Originally, Lando did try to switch the sessions. He talked to Zak, PR, everyone, just because he knew how much you were dreading it. But alas, it was you who was now standing outside the media room, leaning against the wall as you waited to go in and get these next twenty minutes over and done with.

Your plan was to just say as little as possible to everyone. You were banking on the fact that the attention would be solely on Daniel and his return, and that was made clear when he walked into the hallway, getting warm greetings from other drivers and those standing nearby.

He had absolutely no reason to stand next to you, not when there were about ten other people who would have been dying for a few seconds of his time. 

Daniel cleared his throat, hands behind his back as he leaned against the wall as well. 

You counted six seconds before he opened his mouth, speaking to you for the first time since the awards dinner months ago. 

“Not even a hello?” He asked, but he wasn’t the least bit surprised that you were completely avoiding looking in his direction. You ignored him and Daniel laughed to himself at your lack of response.

The door opened again and you took a breath of relief when you realised you were about to be called into the press conference. Just get it over and done with.

Daniel didn’t have the same priorities and spoke up again, “I just want to know-”

You promptly cut him off, you had to. “Look I think it would be best if we just-” god this hurt, you couldn’t even look him in the eye. “Let’s just not talk, okay?”

You pushed yourself away from the wall when one of the media assistants handed each of you a mic and gave you the thumbs up that it was time for the five of you to head out onto the couch. Daniel quickly followed behind you, voice low enough that you could hear but it was unlikely anyone else could.

“So that’s it? You have nothing to say to me?” He asked. “For the person who got you into Formula 1?”

You as well spoke in a harsh whisper, “You may have fast tracked my career but I could have made it to Formula 1 without your help.”

You liked to believe that was true. Was it? You’d never know now.

“But you did take my help,” he pointed out, a groan slipping past his lips as he sat down on the couch. You made sure to distance yourself from him, leaving room for Carlos to sit between you. Even still, Daniel wasn’t done. “You took my help, my resources and then my seat.”

“And what did you do?” You hissed, arms crossed over your chest as different media personnel started to slowly trickle into the room, the lucky ones who claimed the first row were probably close enough to hear you and Daniel.

“Pardon?” He turned his head towards you. Carlos instinctively leaned further back, not wanting to be in the middle of this conversation, but watching and listening intently, as were the other drivers.

“What did you do, hmm?” You repeated, eyes scanning the growing crowd before you snapped your head in his direction. 

For a moment, this feud didn’t matter. Your heart skipped a beat, like it had the hundreds, thousands, of other times when his eyes met yours. The same brown eyes that for months you allowed yourself to get lost in. One look from him and everything around you faded to black. Nothing else seemed important when Daniel was looking at you, giving you his undivided attention.

But this moment wasn’t like all of those other ones.

You snapped out of it, returning to your original thought, much to Carlos’ dismay as he thought you guys were done and had started to relax in between you. 

“We both replaced a driver before their contract was up, Daniel.” You stated, wanting to point out the hypocrisy in his actions. “You are no better than me. We did the exact same thing.”

“It wasn’t the same and you know it,” Daniel retorted, not skipping a beat. He had those words lined up for weeks now, waiting for the chance to say them because there was no way in hell you weren’t going to point out the similarities in your actions.

But Daniel was right. It wasn’t the same. The biggest difference being, you were in love with Daniel when you signed that contract with McLaren, and he was in love with you. 

It wasn’t just a driver screwing over another driver. You drove a wedge between the two of you.

You had the thought to stand up and walk out. The press conference hadn’t officially started yet, the last few reporters were just finding their seats. You could say you’re ill, something came up, really any excuse to get out of here and away from Daniel’s harsh stare.

Don’t let him get to you. Lando’s reminder floated to the front of your mind and you forced yourself to just sit back and look at the small crowd instead. It was clear to everyone who even glanced your way that you did not want to be sitting there, but thankfully Tom Clarkson got the session up and running.

Of course Daniel was the star. Tom had questions about his return, about his short break, about being back with familiar faces. Daniel answered them all with such ease, the familiar heartwarming grin on his face that you couldn’t bear to look at. 

You zoned out, really, arms crossed in front of your chest as you tried to ignore the double standards coming from your right. You doubted Daniel was going to get as much hate online as you had gotten. No one was asking him how he felt about taking another’s seat, everyone was just happy he was back.

“And Y/N, onto you-”

You snapped your head up, plastering on your best smile.

“Last year you finished quite high in Hungary in Formula 2 and after your best finish out in Silverstone, you must feel quite confident going into this weekend?”

You lifted the mic up to your lips, “Yes and no, you know the car’s upgrades are proving to be paying off and we’re hoping to use them to our advantage this weekend but one can never be too confident. As a team we’ll be fighting to be at the front again but in the back of our minds we know that everyone else is doing the same.”

Tom nodded, content with that answer, “And is it nice to have another familiar face on the grid? Daniel acted as a sort of mentor for you during your time in F2, did he not?”

You tensed up and next to you, Carlos felt it. He nudged his arm against yours, a subtle move of encouragement. Carlos, like most of the drivers, knew how uncomfortable the situation was for all involved.

But you couldn’t process the kind gesture. Not when you could practically feel Daniel staring at you, burning holes into the side of your head as he waited for your response.

“I think, yeah a lot of people are probably happy to welcome him back,” you spoke quietly, and not at all convincing. But hey, at least you removed yourself from the answer and gave a general response. One that no one could flip on you.

Tom tried, though, “But personally, what’s going through your mind right now?”

You had so much media training. You knew the proper answer would be something along the lines of how Daniel is a great asset to the sport and how the grid is better with him. Nothing personal, but just facts the general public could agree with. You knew what to say.

But you scoffed instead, “Why aren’t you asking the other drivers how they feel?”

Max spoke up from the opposite end of the couch, “It’s great having Daniel back.”

You shot him a quick, yet thankful, smile. While he was good friends with Daniel, anyone on that couch could see how that question was only given to you because of your history with the Australian. And this press conference was supposed to be about motorsport, about the racing coming up. 

You stayed quiet for the rest of it and as soon as it ended you bolted out of that room. 

Unfortunately, so did Daniel.

He caught up to you with ease, “Hold up, Y/N, I want to talk.”

Daniel reached for your arm and you pulled it out of his grasp as you turned around to face him, “I don’t think there’s anything left to say. No, you said plenty last year. What was it, exactly? Something about how taking your seat before your contract was even up was the worst thing I could have possibly done? I’m not going to sit there and listen to everyone praise you for coming back when you dragged my name through the dirt for the exact same fucking move. I’m not going to listen to a single thing you have to say, knowing you’re the biggest hypocrite this sport has ever seen but won’t admit it.”

Daniel huffed out a short breath. For a second, you thought he was going to apologise, but that thought quickly left when his forehead creased, his jaw tightening, “Sometimes you gotta burn a few bridges in this industry, but you figured that out all on your own, didn’t you?”

You shook your head, taking a few more steps backwards as heavy sarcasm dripped from your tongue, “Nice to have you back, Daniel.”

It really was anything but nice. Not when that entire race was focused on how you and Daniel interacted in the paddock- or the lack of interaction was probably a better way to phrase it. Everyone knew you two to be connected at the hip. Now you were turning around and walking in the opposite direction to avoid him.

The next race was worse. Spa. It was a challenging track already, you knew this going into the practice sessions. You were prepared for a difficult weekend.

What you weren’t prepared for was leaving the garage towards the end of Q1 to set a lap time, only to be blocked by Daniel before you could cross the finish line. He slowed down before the straight, like many drivers did before giving it all they had on their way to start a flying lap. 

But Daniel didn’t speed up like you expected him to. He kept you behind him for as long as he could before shifting gears and taking off. When it was your turn to cross the line and get your time started, you heard the call come in from the garage. 

“Times up,” your engineer, Ronnie, said through the radio. “You didn’t cross the line in time.”

Once that timer hit 0, no one was allowed to start a new lap. Every other driver made it across in time, but Daniel’s little move kept you from throwing your hat into the ring for Q2. 

You embarrassingly made your way back around the track, pulling into the pit lane to park in the garage. It wasn’t long before other drivers followed, but they had all set lap times. Climbing out of the car, you noticed that Daniel didn’t make it through either.

Serves him right, you thought. 

God, you wanted to give him a piece of your mind. 

Right on time, you watched on the screen as Daniel dove into the pit lane. You ignored the calls from Ronnie and Oliver, not a single thought in your mind except to ask Daniel what his problem was.

Oliver knew what you were doing as soon as you stepped out of the garage. You ripped your helmet off and shoved it into his hands as he hurried to walk at your pace. Your eyes were set on the AlphaTauri garage just up ahead and you could hear Oliver warning you, telling you to just turn around and go back to McLaren but the second you saw Daniel get out of his car, you snapped.

“What the hell was that?” You asked, eyeing him up from where he stood at the garage opening. 

Daniel wasn’t the least bit surprised to see you, but he did stand up straighter, already anticipating whatever you had to say to him. 

“You’re a prick, you know that?” Your insult did little to offend him. 

“It's not my fault you left the garage late,” Daniel shrugged, taking no responsibility for your inability to set a lap time. 

“It’s completely your fault for slowing down more than necessary.”

“I didn’t want to run into traffic.”

“You fucked up my qualifying, Daniel.”

You felt Oliver’s hand on your shoulder. He wasn’t trying to pull you away, but the touch was to get your attention. Aside from AlphaTauri crew members watching this interaction, there was also a camera pointed directly at the two of you, streaming live to F1TV and whatever else broadcast that chose to air it. 

Daniel wasn’t as concerned about his media appearance, stepping forward the slightest bit so you were only inches apart. 

“If I were you, sweets, I wouldn’t be blaming your problems on the person who got you into this sport.”

You were so close to losing it on him for that comment. You probably would have, had he not thrown in his old nickname for you. Only it wasn’t sweet anymore. There was a distaste on his tongue as he said it, you heard it. He only said it to throw you off, to remind you that he no longer cared for you the way he used to. He was using it against you now.

Daniel saw the way you froze, completely losing your train of thought and he used it to his advantage to walk away from this conversation. He was happy to get the last word in and all you could do was drop your head and walk as close to Oliver as humanly possible as you made your way back to McLaren.

The altercation was heavily split down the middle by all who watched. Some people agreed that Daniel slowed down purposely to keep you from crossing the line in time to start a lap. They also agreed that he should have owned up and apologised for it, saying that it wasn’t in his character to leave another driver so defeated after something that was clearly his fault.

Other people agreed that it was your fault for leaving the garage too late, taking Daniel’s side. They said that it wasn’t very mature of you to confront him like that, or to swear at him. It only added to the conversation of how women weren’t ready to have a place in Formula 1. 

Your PR manager advised you to put out a statement about it, an apology. You ignored her advice. In your opinion, the only person who had to apologise was Daniel.

Of course he didn’t, though. 

Which meant you didn’t apologise when after the summer, In Zandvoort, you braked a little early when Daniel was behind you. You played it off saying you anticipated the turn too early. Daniel happily complained about you in the media pen when he was forced into the grass and then ultimately the barrier, forcing his race to end early. Social media blew up, like usual, feeding into this childish feud. 

That’s how it went for most all, of the races. It wasn’t as though you were purposely trying to ruin his weekends, nor was it his goal to ruin yours, but if you happened to be alongside each other during the race or near each other during qualifying, fans started to put their money on who would target who first.

You didn’t like that that was what your weekends turned into. It was one thing to want to know where the rest of the drivers were in comparison to you, but to be so focused on Daniel was taking it to the extreme.

But you were determined to prove you were a good driver without him, that you were a better driver than him. That taking that McLaren seat wasn’t a mistake and if anything, he should be regretting being so harsh on you. You wanted him to eat his words, and it helped your case that he was definitely struggling in the AlphaTauri. 

You finished ahead of him a handful of times. You could try and convince yourself it was skill, but a determining factor really was how horrible Daniel’s car was. That was proven when you were struggling with an upgrade package in Singapore. Some analysts compared the pace of the McLaren to the AlphaTauri, and said that the upgrades were really more like downgrades. 

When Daniel finished ahead of you, claiming sixth that race while you crossed the line in 17th, you were furious. You told the team that as a whole, you were much better than that. That the McLarens should not be finishing in the bottom five considering how successful you had been mid season. 

Those closest to you knew what you meant. You shouldn’t be finishing behind Daniel. 

Things weren’t perfect after that, despite going back to the old set up. You were back to fighting for points, but so was Daniel. And you hated it. You thought you could rely on the McLaren being better than the AlphaTauri, but you forgot to take into account that Daniel truly was one of the best drivers on the grid.

It got to the point where you and Ronnie had a code. If you finished ahead of him, on the radio, Ronnie would say way to go champ. If Daniel finished ahead of you and you weren’t already aware of it during the race, Ronnie would say there’s still work to be done. 

Again, those closest to you knew how much it meant to beat Daniel. 

You wanted to prove to him, and everyone but you wouldn’t lie to yourself it was mostly him, that you deserved that fucking seat. That you made the right choice by signing the contract, despite it meaning he was without a car for a few months. You shouldn’t have felt guilty for putting yourself first, your career first, if you were doing something great, which you were. 

Plus, the better you did, the less of a reason Daniel had to judge you. How could he still be upset with you for taking that McLaren seat when you were doing what he couldn’t? Scoring in the high points, being consistent, for the most part. How could he say that taking his seat was the worst thing you could have done when ultimately, it would boil down to jealousy? Daniel struggled in that McLaren, and he assumed you would too. That wasn’t the case. 

And deep down, even if you didn’t want to admit it, there was still a part of you that aimed to make Daniel proud. Even if you couldn’t get back to when you were each other's biggest fans, you hoped that he had moments when he looked at the driver standings and nodded to himself, smiling maybe, because even if you weren't on the best of terms, you were doing what he always knew you could do. 

You had no idea, but moments like that did come for Daniel. They were far and few between, rarely caught on camera or at least, never brought to your attention. You had no way of knowing Daniel was leaving the AlphaTauri garage, conflicted about how he felt about your accomplishments. You were doing better than him, there was no denying that. He just chose not to admit it.

The only time that season where you knew he was proud was at COTA. One of his favourite races on the calendar.

You qualified well, P3. That hadn’t happened since Silverstone. The race itself didn’t produce anything too horrible, aside from a few drivers at the back of the grid collided early on and unfortunately Daniel was one of them, being forced to retire. 

You, though, you were flying. Your biggest competition was Lando who had started P2, again, similar to Silverstone. For most of the race, your job was to defend Carlos who was aiming for that podium, wanting to take P3 from you. 

Typically, you would have boxed first. That’s usually what happened to give Lando the advantage. And with Carlos most likely being on an undercut strategy, you expected the call to come in to box ahead of him. 

But that didn’t happen. Instead, you watched Lando pull into the pit lane, giving you the automatic second place position. In your mirrors, you watched as Carlos pulled into the pits as well.

“What’s going on?” You asked Ronnie through the headset. 

“Plan F.”

Plan F was one you joked about, but never actually executed. Plan Fight you and Lando called it, but both of you knew that you’d never actually be given the go ahead to fight it out for the podium positions, not wanting to risk damage to the cars.

“Plan F?” You repeated, the shock in your voice evident. That made for good content on F1 Twitter.

“Box this lap,” Ronnie instructed before going on to explain. “Carlos is struggling with his pace, we believe his main goal will be to defend.”

From what you knew, Lewis was behind him, and if Carlos was struggling with his pace he wouldn’t be fighting for a podium, he’d be fighting to keep that fourth place position. 

Which meant you and Lando were also free to fight. 

Pitting for new tyres dropped you back a bit, but it didn’t take long at all until you were right on Lando’s tail again. You stayed there for the majority of the last half of the race, the gap wavering anywhere between half of a second to three seconds behind. 

You tried to pass, truly. But Lando’s defensive game had always been strong. You looked for the opportunities in the corners, along the straights, but it wasn’t until the third to last lap did the chance come. 

You had closed the gap as much as you could, not needing to worry about whoever was behind you, you figured it was still Carlos. As you approached the back straight, you knew Lando was expecting you to dart to the left in an attempt for an overtake on the inside, you had tried it in five out of the last ten laps and each time you were still left eating his dust. 

You veered slightly to the left, giving Lando the impression that was your goal and the second he made the move to defend, you steered the car to the right and gave it everything you had. It was a tricky move, vying for the outside overtake going into the tight corner, but when it seemed to work out, you had the inside line for the following turn and Lando was soon in your mirrors. 

He tried to take that position back, but you took advantage of the clear air and set off, determined for your first podium, determined to finish ahead of Lando.

Lando ended up claiming third, crossing the finish line only a second after you did. After a victory lap, where he jokingly flipped you off, the two of you pulled into parc ferme. Immediately, you collapsed into Lando, arms tight around him because not only was this a success for you, but for the team. Both McLaren drivers on the podium for the first time this season.

Through the cheers, you could hear Lando yell something about making history. Whether that was in regards to both of you or the fact that you were the first female to ever podium in F1, you weren’t sure. It didn’t matter anyway. You just knew you were proud.

You jumped into the arms of your team next, those standing behind the barrier. Adrenaline was pumping through you, you just wanted to celebrate with everyone. When you eventually took your helmet off, a few tears were streaming down your face and you didn’t even think about the risk of turning into the new George Russell crying meme. 

You were shaking as you stood in the cool down room, too amped up to sit. Max had been through this dozens of times before. Nor was this Lando’s first podium either, but you were on top of the world.

The ceremony went by in a blur. As did the post race conference. You really did try to take in each second of it, thankful that Lando was there at your side the entire time. This entire process was new to you and if Lando wasn’t in your ear telling you to breathe, where to go, to enjoy the moment, you would have been a mess.

There was so much that happened following that race, there was no way you could have known what was going on with any of the other drivers. It wasn’t until you got back to your hotel room at the end of the day with instructions to ‘get changed because we’re going out’ from Lando, did you see what you had missed.

It felt like hours since you even looked at your phone. You had called your parents, but you didn’t have much time for anything else. Now that you were sat on the edge of your bed, you were able to scroll through your texts and notifications. 

You were able to see the clip you were tagged in way too many times, on way too many platforms.

It was short, but any longer and you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. You clicked play and watched the video of you crossing the finish line. Lando was following behind, but whatever broadcast this was from didn’t care about his finish. The shot switched to Daniel, from where he stood in the AlphaTauri garage.

Whoever was filming caught his live reaction of you coming second at COTA.

The nod, the faint curl of the corner of his lips because as much as he tried, he couldn’t fight the smile on his face as he watched you take your first podium position in F1, something that he once dreamed for you.

But you not being part of his dreams anymore didn’t mean that he stopped wishing you accomplished yours. 

This brought you back to the first video you watched of him a few years back, before you even met him, where he spoke so highly of you. He wanted you to succeed so badly back then and he wanted to be at your side while you did so.

Now here you were, succeeding, but where was Daniel?

Maybe that’s where some of his hostility lied. You didn’t need him, clearly. Or at least, that’s what he thought. 

The reality was, you wanted to prove you could do this without him, but you wished you didn’t have to. 

You were conflicted, you both were. And it didn’t help that you weren’t speaking civilly to each other because my god a simple conversation would probably do wonders for both of you. 

That was Lando’s thought, as he sat down next to you in the booth and handed you the glass of coke, no rum much to his dismay. You didn’t drink during the season, even if you had something to celebrate, Lando knew this. Champagne on the podium was the only exception.

Tonight, though, as you sat in your thoughts and replayed the image in your mind of Daniel smiling up at the screen, you figured that another exception wouldn’t hurt. 

You turned down the coke and grabbed his drink instead, downing it in one gulp and instantly regretting it because you were fairly certain it was tequila based and tequila just wasn’t something you ever enjoyed. Lando laughed and handed you the coke to chase it down with. 

“You’re letting loose tonight?” He asked, sitting down beside you. His arm stretched across the bench behind your shoulders. He didn’t even try stifling his chuckle as you struggled with the bitter taste left in your mouth.

“I need to,” you answered. 

“You deserve to,” he corrected. Lando reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet and then a sleek black card. He didn’t say anything to you, nor to the server who came by and knew that by him dropping the card on the table meant he was asking for bottle service. 

It wasn’t long before you had a row of shots to split between the two of you and a few others who had crowded the booth, some you knew, some you didn’t. Not that it mattered, you just wanted to drink, you didn’t care who you were with.

Lando being there was a godsend, though. He knew that you were a lightweight and told you that the glass in your hand was a vodka soda when in reality he asked the server for you to just be given water after a few hours of the most carefree drinking he had ever witnessed from you. 

The music was blaring, you had gotten up to dance at one point, but you kept finding your way back to the booth. Clubbing wasn’t your thing and Lando, whether he liked it or not, was an anchor for you tonight. He kept you safe, kept you from drowning in the sea of people and alcohol. 

He could do a lot that night, but he couldn’t prevent the inevitable storm that was Daniel Ricciardo making an appearance at that Austin night club.

Lando saw him first and turned to you with the intention of suggesting that you both called it a night. But no words came out when he saw the painful look of desire and despair mashed together on your features as you spotted the Australian driver. 

You didn’t drink often, but if you did, you would know that feelings are often elevated under the influence. You’d also know that alcohol lowers inhibition, giving you a false sense of security to say what was really on your mind.

“I don’t get it,” you spoke quietly and Lando leaned in closer to hear you over the music blasting from all corners. 

“Get what?”

You pulled your gaze off of Daniel before you could accidentally make eye contact and looked at your teammate instead. He seemed concerned for you, he always did when Daniel was involved. 

Lando always did what he could to get your mind off Daniel and the past. He was a good friend, a good person to have in your corner but he wasn’t who you wanted there at the end of the day. You had grown to love Lando, not in the way you loved Daniel, though, so you couldn’t deny that you wished it was the Aussie sitting next to you in the booth, celebrating your podium. You hated that you wanted that.

“Do you miss him, still?” Lando prompted, knowing you had lost your train of thought. 

When you shook your head, Lando gave you a look that clearly showed he didn’t believe you, but it was true. You didn’t miss Daniel. What you felt was much worse.

“I don’t miss him,” you answered, glancing towards him again. He stood at the bar talking to a girl that you envied because at least she was talking to him. “But I think he’s my missing piece.”

You hadn’t felt whole since the day you and Daniel split. You walked out of his flat but you left a piece of you there, a piece you desperately tried to get back through race weekends and training and distractions but it was no use. It would always belong to Daniel and you feared he had no intention of giving it back. You feared, that no matter how much time had passed, you’d always feel a little incomplete. 

You stood up to leave soon after, thanking Lando for the drinks and assuring him you’d send a text when you got back to the hotel. 

Lando tried to follow you to the door, wanting to tell you that he would go with you, the concerned friend making another appearance, but before he could get a word out he watched as someone cut him off, also making a direct line towards the door of the club.

It took Lando a second to realise it was Daniel who was walking after you now. Lando just stood there and raised his hand to the back of his neck, asking himself if he had just made a mistake by not stopping Daniel.

When Lando asked the next morning if Daniel spoke to you, you gave him a questionable look, telling him that you didn’t talk to him at all. Lando explained that he had seen Daniel leave the club right after you, but you just shrugged, chalking it up to getting into the uber before Daniel had the chance to catch up to you.

But Lando saw the photos. He, like everyone else, saw images of Daniel climbing into the car right after you. He wasn't the least bit surprised you lied about it. 

You didn't want to tell Lando that Daniel had grabbed the side of the car door before you could shut it, pulling it back just enough for him to slide into the backseat next to you. You shuffled over to make room, but you couldn’t get a single word out. All liquid courage vanished and instead your palms were clammy, the car felt stuffy and you couldn’t even look at him.

Daniel as well, didn’t say anything. His legs were spread out slightly, knee hitting yours as his hands were folded together in his lap. 

Why did he follow you?

This was the first time in ages you had been alone together, minus the driver. 

The hotel was a short drive away, but it felt like ages, the two of you sitting in uncomfortable silence. You weren’t bickering like you often did if you were in the same room, but at this point you’d rather that than whatever this eeriness was. 

You thought maybe, maybe, this was your saving grace. Maybe Daniel had followed you out of the club to tell you he was proud of you, to tell you he still loved you, to tell you he was tired of this feud and wanted you back.

But the longer you sat in silence, the more it sank in that that wasn’t the case. 

You used to love each other. Now you couldn’t even hold eye contact.

Daniel waited until the driver pulled onto the street of your hotel before saying anything. 

“Checo’s gone after this year.”

You turned to him, unsure if you had heard correctly. “What?”

“He’s gone,” Daniel repeated, more confident this time, still not looking at you though. “Marko told me on Friday.”

You had way too much alcohol flowing through your system to be able to process this. Checo’s contract wasn’t supposed to be up until the end of 2024. 

But Nyck’s wasn’t supposed to be up in June and Daniel’s wasn’t supposed to be done at McLaren in 2022. These things happened in Formula 1, as unfortunate as it was for the driver getting the boot, these things often happened. 

And Daniel…why did he know this information? Why didn’t the rest of the grid know it? Did Checo even know?

You inhaled sharply, “Does this mean-”

“The news is dropping tomorrow morning, but I wanted you to know first,” Daniel cut you off, his forehead creased with tension. His jaw was clenched, like he wasn’t happy to be saying this but felt the need to anyway. “I’m driving for Red Bull next year.”

The first thought that came to mind was he’s done it again. Taking another driver's seat before their contact ended. 2-1 now. He was officially a shittier person than you were and you so badly wanted to rub it in his face. 

But you could see now that that was why he told you personally. He didn’t want to wait until you heard the news like everyone else, he didn’t want to give you an opportunity to attack him for this, to make him feel like the bad guy even though that’s how he made you feel this entire season so far.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t all that difficult to bite your tongue. 

“Congratulations,” you settled on, quietly but you meant it and you caught him off guard because he truly was expecting some sort of lashing out. 

The driver pulled up to the hotel right at that second and you thanked him before stepping out, not giving Daniel a second look, again catching him off guard because you always looked back at him when you were together. 

Daniel waited a second. And then a few more before he bolted out of the car and into the hotel. You had made it to the elevator by that point and Daniel had to slide his hand between the doors to keep them from shutting. You watched as he pushed his way in and just like the car ride, said nothing.

You were on your way up to the twelve floor and Daniel waited until you arrived at the level before opening his mouth, waiting till the last second, wanting to cling onto this civil moment with you because who knew when it would come again?

“You’re not mad?” He asked.

The door opened and you had to brace yourself before standing up straight and walking out of the elevator, needing a moment to remember what side of the hall your room was on.

“I’m livid,” you answered, honestly. You were happy for him, but you were also angry about the situation. You didn’t know it was possible to feel both things at once, but in your drunk state, it was extremely possible. 

“Livid?” Daniel walked behind you, trying to gauge the rest of this conversation because you didn’t sound livid. 

“Enraged,” you said.

“Enraged,” he repeated.

“I want to wring your neck, Daniel,” you said, hearing him chuckle behind you because you didn’t sound the least bit threatening as you fumbled to unlock the hotel room door. The lock kept lighting up red and after your third failed attempt, Daniel took the card from your hand and unlocked it with ease, pushing the door open for you. 

You didn’t thank him, instead relying on the wall once you stepped inside to lean against as you pulled your heels off. Daniel followed you inside, standing at a cautious distance until you dropped your shoes because part of him thought that maybe you would throw them at him. You were enraged after all.

You weren’t sure why he was still there. He had told you what he wanted to tell you and he had no reason to still be hanging around. 

“What?” You finally asked, now sounding a little more on the annoyed side as you turned to stare at him. “What do you want? Why are you still here?”

“I want to talk.”

“About what?” You scoffed at him. “About the Red Bull contract? Congratulations, Danny. You deserve it. You deserve every fucking seat on this grid apparently.”

There it was.

“I knew you were mad.”

“I said I was mad!” You exclaimed, appalled that he was saying it like he discovered what you had already made perfectly clear. “I’m pissed, Dan. You have such a cult following that no one is going to bat an eye at you taking Checo’s seat, just like no one complained about you taking Nyck’s. Whereas I do it, I get offered the chance of a lifetime, to make history and I’m considered the villain? I didn’t end your contract, Daniel, I just replaced you and for some reason, no one cares about that narrative! They just care about you.”

You were yelling now. Daniel was probably regretting having followed you but it was too late for him to turn and walk out at this point.

“You know what the shitty part is?” You asked, stepping closer to him. Daniel could smell the vodka on your breath. That's how minimal the distance was between you. The last time you were this close you were wanting to rip his head off outside the AlphaTauri garage. 

“What?” He raised his eyebrows. Daniel couldn’t even begin to guess where you were going with this.

“This news is going to drop and my name is going to be circulating in the media again. They’re going to compare this, you taking his seat, to me taking yours. I will never be known as the first female signed to McLaren. I will forever be linked to you, no matter what you do in this fucking sport.”

You shook your head at him when he stayed silent. Pulling your eyes off of him, the heaviest exhale passed through your lips and you turned around, wanting this night to end. After you waved your hand in the air you muttered something about how he could see himself out.

But he didn’t go anywhere. 

And because he didn’t go anywhere and because you were drunk, you easily thought of more to say.

“You didn’t even like McLaren,” you sighed as you turned back around to face him, leaning against the wall. Your head was spinning. Maybe if you were lucky, this conversation wasn’t actually happening and it was a drunk figment of your imagination.

“No, but I loved you.” 

You definitely didn’t imagine him saying that.

“I loved you,” he repeated, the past-tense admittance felt like a stab to your chest. “And I wanted nothing more than to race alongside you without feeling the need to prove something, to be your partner off the grid. I wanted to love you and race at the same time and you ruined that.”

All you could do was shrug your shoulders. You had said everything you needed to say at this point in defence of your contract, “I’m a driver, Dan. The race, the seat, it comes first, everything else second. You of all people know that.”

“We could have had both.”

Both. Love and a spot in Formula 1. 

Clearly not.

“Could we have?” You asked, unsure if you even had an answer, but you needed him to really think about it. To think about it if that really was a possibility for the two of you. 

Daniel and you held each other's stares for a minute, waiting for the other to say something. You were still waiting, hoping, for him to say he was proud of you, that he still loved you, that it didn’t matter what happened in the past, but it did matter. Daniel was still waiting for a sincere apology, but you had nothing to apologise for. Signing that McLaren contract was the best thing you’d ever done for yourself, despite the strings to Daniel you had now found yourself tangled in, McLaren was where you were supposed to be.

“I’m tired, Dan,” you shook your head and glanced towards your room down the hall. Physically, mentally, you were drained. And you weren’t ready for what was to happen tomorrow when his contract news came to light.

It didn’t even feel like you had gotten a podium a few hours ago. The last thing you wanted to do was celebrate. You just wanted to crawl into bed and forget that Daniel had followed you here.

He didn’t stop you as you walked down the hall. He waited for you to look at him, but again, you were past that. What was a second look going to do at this point? You wiped your makeup off as best as you could and slid under the covers of your bed, quickly falling into a dreamless sleep.

And sure enough, the news dropped of his contract, of his new seat, and it wasn’t long before people started comparing it to what you had done the year prior. 

The first thing you saw when you woke up that morning, aside from the glass of water that Daniel had put next to your bed, was the news alert on your phone stating that Daniel was to replace Checo for 2024. 

The second article you read was about you. Speculating how you would feel about Daniel’s permanent return. The article highlighted the moments of your relationship, starting from the day he signed on to be your mentor to the time in the AlphaTauri garage when you were fighting over the qualifying lap he ruined.

And then there was a photo of you climbing into the car from last night, followed by Daniel getting into the car shortly after.

His name was trending. Your name was trending. Half the people online cared about his return to RBR. The other half wanted to know if you two were getting back together.

No one gave a single shit that you made history yesterday, landing that podium. 

You were the first female to score a podium position in Formula 1 and all anyone cared about was your connection to Daniel. Just like when you won the Monaco Grand Prix during F2, all anyone cared about was Daniel’s influence in your racing. When you were signed to McLaren, all anyone cared about was how you were replacing Daniel.

Daniel. Daniel. Daniel.

People didn’t care about your accomplishments. They only wanted to find a way to connect them all to Daniel.

You scrolled through the article and a new one was suggested for you at the bottom of it. Why Y/N Y/L/N Owes Her Career to The Honey Badger.

Instead of reading it, you threw your phone with as much strength as you had down the hall, out of your sight. You heard it hit the floor and slide across the hardwood. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you read something positive about yourself without a hint of Daniel’s influence. 

This wouldn’t have been as hard of a pill to swallow if he was still in your life the way you wanted him to be. If he really was still at your side, supporting you, cheering you on, you could look past the articles and speculations about how he was the only reason you were in the sport. It wouldn’t matter what people were saying if Daniel was in your ear reminding you of your potential, reminding you that you deserved that F1 seat.

But he wasn’t going to do that, not anymore. What you had was gone and you were left with the bitter memories and an unforgiving path you had to walk alone to prove yourself in this field.

You wanted to prove you didn’t need Daniel, but the entire world was making it their mission to remind you that at one point, you did. Maybe you still did, maybe you didn’t know who you were without him because let’s face it, everything you did on the track still revolved around him.

You cared about where he finished. You went out of your way to outscore him and only him. You didn’t do anything to relieve the tension in the paddock. You were very much playing into the narrative that he was still a key player in your life.

How could the world move on if you hadn’t?

Hearing footsteps make their way towards you, you sat up in bed, already knowing it was Daniel who didn’t leave when he should have.

You weren’t concerned about your appearance, he had seen you in a much worse state. He had better mornings as well, still wearing his clothes from last night, the bags under his eyes gave away the fact that he was about as tired as you were.

He had your phone in his hands, but he didn’t spend much time looking at the article on the screen. Instead, he dropped it to the table next to him and leaned against the doorframe, exhaling a heavy breath.

You didn’t move, content with the distance between you now because you had to be. Despite wanting nothing more than to be with him, you couldn’t have that anymore. Everything had to be at a distance.

Your phone chimed. Once, twice, and then about four more times. You knew it was people telling you about Daniel’s contract, not knowing that you had been given the inside scoop last night. 

At one point, you loved being connected to Daniel. Now, it was a burden. It was haunting. Each time someone mentioned him to you, sent you something about him, asked you a question about him, you were reminded that the connection was gone. 

Your lips parted and you had to take a quick, self-assuring breath before finally saying what had to be said.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” 

Your entire body trembled as you spoke, “You know what, Daniel.” 

Of course he did. He was as tired as you were. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this and yet here you were, staring at each other knowing that you were both too far gone to ever find your way back. 

You thought, maybe, possibly, you could work things out. For a brief moment, when you knew he was proud of you, you thought you saw a silver lining amongst the grey skies. And maybe you did, maybe it was there, but it was way beyond your grasp. You couldn’t reach out and grab it, you could only dream of it.

There was one solution. One that broke you, knowing you were stuck with it. You didn’t want to admit it. You wished you could push it down and keep living the way you had but you just couldn’t do it anymore. 

You were tired. This was hopeless. You both needed closure, but he wasn’t going to say anything which meant you had to.

“I’m stuck, Daniel. I’m stuck living in the moments between the day we met and the day I left because those are the moments that meant the most to me and I haven't been ready to let them go. I’ve never wanted to move on but you forced me to. You forced me to become the bad guy, to do this without you, to grow without you, to prove that I don’t need you but I do need you, I’ve always needed you. From day one, I needed you. My first time in the F1 car, I needed you. If I crashed out, I needed you. I always needed you, Daniel, and then after a five minute conversation you decided that I didn’t anymore. You made that decision for me, for us.”

You paused, you took a breath, you weren’t done. Despite being so painfully close to breaking down, you weren’t done.

“And now here I am, finally succeeding, finally making history in this sport, but it doesn’t mean anything because no one cares unless they find a way to connect it to you. I will always be in the shadow of the man I love and for this entire season, I’ve let it happen because it was the only way you’d still be in my life.”

Daniel cleared his throat when he heard that four letter word, standing up a little straighter, “You still love me?”

You glanced down at the duvet wrapped around your hips. It was heavy, suffocating, much like this conversation. “Truthfully, Daniel, I can’t imagine the day I stop.”

Daniel didn’t need to say anything for you to know he no longer felt the same. He had stopped loving you the day you signed the contract with McLaren. He may have been proud of your achievements, he may have appeared to have extended a short olive branch, one that gave you false hope, but he didn’t love you. 

Because it always came back to that one question. How could he love you- how could he be in your corner when you had pushed him out of his own? You may not have been the one to initiate his leave, but you gave him that final shove. 

That was a move you had to live with. 

“I love you,” you repeated, your eyes then trailing towards your phone where that stupid article was still displayed on the screen. “I always will, but I can’t be tied to you anymore. I can’t do this anymore.”

Even though Daniel was the one that had broken up with you all those months ago, this hurt more. Hearing you finally cut ties, knowing you didn’t want to be done but had to be, broke him. There was no salvaging this. 

“I think-” your voice cracked as you spoke, but for the sake of this conversation you did your damn best to hold it together. “I think we need to be done.”

We are done, Daniel wanted to say, but he knew there was more to your words.

Watching your bottom lip quiver made him want to pull you into his arms one last time. He wanted to apologise and hold you close before the tears could fall. 

“No more comments to the media,” you stated firmly. Daniel nodded. 

You were stronger than him, maybe you always were. Daniel could barely get a word out and here you were, laying down what had to happen moving forward.

“No more interactions,” you then said, raising your hand to your arm, a soothing gesture or maybe an anxious one, he couldn’t tell. “No more- no more following me out of clubs for people to see. No more giving anyone a reason to connect us. I don’t want you in my life as anything more than another driver on the grid. You’re not my teammate. You’re not my partner. You’re not in my corner. I don’t want to worry about what you think about me anymore. I don’t want to worry about where you finish and I don’t want you to care about where I’m at. I want you to focus on driving just like I want to focus on driving. That’s it. That’s who we are. We’re drivers, Daniel. That’s all we’ve ever been. Strip back every layer of us and racing remains. That’s how it should be. We’ve-” you sucked in a breath, your words getting caught in your throat for a second. “We’ve always known that, I think. That at the end of it all, we’re drivers first. We were foolish to think we could be anything more.”

You couldn’t have both. You couldn’t be in love while on the grid together.

You were only ever drivers. That’s why you signed the McLaren contract. That’s why Daniel didn’t think twice before replacing Nyck and now Checo. You both put your careers first. It wasn’t selfish, it was in your blood, and you couldn’t hold it against each other anymore. 

And you couldn’t hold onto it either.

As much as you liked to think there would come a day where you would still be in love, both of you on the grid, you accepted now that it would never happen. It was a dream, one you had to let go of. You had to mend the hole in your chest that he created. You couldn’t let him be that missing piece.

You had to respect Daniel as a driver, much like he had to with you. But that was it. No more conversations. No more subtle comments made about each other or to each other. You needed distance. No more missed looks in the paddock, because surely someone with a camera would catch it. No more watching the screen if the other was showcased. No more petty feuds. No more interactions. No more caring.

You had to cut ties with Daniel. It was the only way you could focus on yourself and your career.

Surely, enough time would pass where an article would be written about you that didn’t mention his name and his assistance in getting you to where you were now. But that wouldn’t happen if you were still holding onto him. You had to let go for the rest of the world to.

Daniel pushed himself away from the wall without saying a word. You watched, tense, as he slowly made his way towards you and sat down next to you on the bed. Knees touching like they were in the car ride last night. As you turned your head and stared up at him, you could make out the details in his face that you used to cherish, that you had memorised so early on in your relationship. 

But he had changed. There was a sliver of unfamiliarity in his eyes, a reminder that this wasn’t the Daniel who was in love with you anymore.

You had to look away.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” you whispered. You kept your hands folded in your lap, worried that if you unclenched your fingers you would reach out for him. 

Daniel nodded, agreeing with you. He raised his arm up, tucking it over your shoulders and pulling you against his side. You inhaled a sharp breath at the gesture, knowing this would be the last time you’d feel his touch. He rubbed his hand over your arm, neither of you thinking to say anything else, because there really was nothing left to say.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You were supposed to be in love. 

And maybe, in another world, you would be. If you didn’t make the move to F1, you could still be in love. If you settled with F2, if you moved to a different series, he could still support you and you could still be his biggest fan. 

But you were drivers. Career focused, determined, passionate drivers who wanted nothing more than to win. You both craved the honour and prestige of a Formula 1 seat more than anything, more than each other. You’d be lying if you thought otherwise.

You were drivers, so inevitably, it was always going to end like this.

__________________

is this the finale or is there one more chapter for these loveless drivers?

taglist: @torossosebs@whatthefuckerr@jspitwall@oconso@tsarinablogs@landowecanbewc@somanyfandomsbruh@christianpulisic10@storminacloud@sunnytkm23@formula1mount@azxulaa@icarus-nex@spideyspeaches @moonvr @destourtereaux @baw-sixteen @cinderellawithashoe @love4lando @alesainz @blueanfield @itsmeempar @vellicora

for some reason im struggling to add anyone else to the taglist, i deeply apologise. i would recommend turning on post notifs but i know its sometimes annoying, but i rly am struggling with my mentions

[theweasleytwinsownmyjuicyass]

You belong with me | L.N.

Lando Norris x driver!reader

Summary: Nothing is more painful than two people being scared of how much they love each other.

Warnings: angst, fluff, idiots in love <3

Word count: ~2.3K

^^ It‘s funny to look back at the past that had brought you into this situation. Which is being an F1 driver and helplessly in love with your best friend and racing partner.

Lando and you have been inseparable since your early karting days, in turn developing a strong bond over your shared love for the sport which grew more as you got to know each other better. You were both childish still, no matter the fact that you were nearing your mid 20‘s. But that was what you loved about you two as a pair. There was never judgment from the other and what one lacked the other filled perfectly.

Throughout the close friendship there were a few mishaps when the threshold of friendship had been overstepped but there was always a girlfriend or a boyfriend at the time holding you two restrained and loyal.

So naturally when you two finally became single at the same time and got signed into McLaren’s F1 team all you could think about was. This is it. Now is our time.

And as on queue Lando organized you a surprise. Just the two of you, middle of the starry summer’s night with the city lights below your feet. You were smiling so much that night, your cheeks had started to hurt, but how could you not smile when he was next to you, paying his whole attention to you and making you laugh.

You were sure that he was going to ask you out that night.

And then he didn’t’. It could not have been a more painful experience, but you kept up your smile even if your eyes had faded, no longer admiring the boy next to you, that was just too miserable.

Unrequited love was miserable.

Or so you had thought until about a month later when Lando brought in a girl for everyone to meet calling her his girlfriend.

Just then unrequited love became agonizing.

Your Lando was known for his cheerful disposition and infectious laughter. He was easily the happiest boy around! Well until the said girlfriend…

It was only a few weeks later that you noticed your friends’ colours fade.

About two months in the others started noticing and drilling you about it.

“What do you mean you don’t know? You two are best friends, you have to know what’s causing him so much stress lately” Carlos was making too many hand movements due to his own distress.

“I just don’t know, we don’t talk that much these days” you tucked your hair into your cap and stomped away from the Spaniard.

You didn’t want to admit it to Carlos or anyone else, but you and Lando weren’t the great friends you used to be.

You surely kept your distance since he got his girlfriend out of sheer respect to their relationship (and respect to your own mental health). Although it still seemed not enough for his girlfriend as on a few instances you caught her yelling at Lando in the cool offs to stop the friendship you shared.

To say the least that definitely put a wall between you two, but nevertheless it didn’t completely break your bond.

Now, nine months and one nasty breakup later the unrequited love feels excruciating.

A shadow has fallen over Lando’s already tainted personality. He was going through a painful breakup with his now ex-girlfriend. She had been a constant presence in his life for the past year, controlling his every move, every word and god forbid he didn’t get the right amount of points… Safe to say she was sucking life out of him as a ravenous vampire, though Lando was too blind to see that.

The breakup had taken a toll on Lando, leaving him almost senseless now that he was out of her hold, and it showed in his performance on the track. During the qualifying session for the upcoming race, he couldn't find his usual rhythm and ended up with a DNF after driving himself into a wall.

As he stepped out of his car, disappointment weighed heavily on him. Lando felt like he was losing everything now and the sadness from his failures compounded his frustration.

You had been there for Lando throughout the tumultuous relationship, supporting him in all the little ways you could, checking in before and after races and offering a listening ear whenever you could see him about to reach his limits.

But on this particular day, you could no longer listen to him whining about her, you have reached a breaking point. You couldn’t stand by and watch the man you cared for so deeply be consumed by a toxic woman who had done nothing but break him piece by piece for the past year.

"If I was better, she would still be with me." You heard Lando mumble as he laid on the sofa emotionless.

"LANDO STOP! You must be insane to be saying those things. How can you say that you're not enough? She was the one who didn't care about you, who was never here to support you. Lando, it's her who didn't deserve you, not the other way around!" you snapped, voice filled with tears.

"You don't get it. If I was enough, wouldn't there be girls who like me? Because not one of my girlfriends have actually liked me or, god forbid, loved me." Lando was drowning in self-doubt and it was suffocating you to the point where your heart physically ached seeing him so beat up.

"Can't you see why that is? Maybe you don't belong with any of those girls? Lando, maybe you belong with someone who loves you through your highs and lows, someone who can't bear to see you sad, someone who lets you cry into their shoulder in the middle of the night, and, most importantly, someone who can't stand watching you break yourself over some girl," frustration evident in your trembling voice muddled Lando.

"What are you trying to say, Y/n?"

You hesitated, heart racing, as you contemplated revealing your true feelings. "All this time, Lando, and you still can't see it."

Lando was bewildered, not comprehending your cryptic words. "See what?"

You were burning with passion, on the brink of confessing your feelings, but ultimately bit your tongue. You were praying for him, but he could not understand and you believed he never would and to express the delicate feelings right now seemed futile.

"Nothing," you replied, shaking your head to rid of the emotions taking over your rational brain, and left the room to preserve your patched up heart.

As you retreated, a storm of emotions raged within. You couldn't help but wonder if there would ever come a day when Lando would realize the truth you had left unsaid.

Your words left Lando conflicted and he hated it.

You were someone he could always count on to understand. Hell he never needed to read you, you were like a road he had taken day after day, he knew you so well, he could navigate without his senses.

Lando found himself seeking friendly counsel from Carlos, as he was still perplexed by your reaction and couldn't fathom why you had gotten so upset with him.

"I don't understand why she's so mad at me?! Can you believe it, she was even crying. I'm the one that got dumped, and she's pissed at me for picking the wrong girl?!" Lando vented pulling at his hair, frustration lacing his voice.

Carlos regarded him thoughtfully before posing a question that made Lando pause and reflect. "Lando, let me ask you this. If Y/n was dating a guy who constantly made her doubt herself and feel like shit, how would you feel?"

Lando’s response was interlaced with confusion, "Why the hell would she even date someone like that?"

"So to say you'd be pissed as well?" Carlos continued.

Lando struggled to find words to counter Carlos's argument. He had a point, and Lando was beginning to see things from a different perspective. "But I..."

Carlos interrupted him with a knowing smirk forming on his face, "You what?"

Lando thought about it, connecting the dots between his protective feelings for you and the turmoil he had experienced during his recent relationship. Carlos decided to push him closer to an epiphany.

"When you like someone, you don't want to see them hurting, but it's different to feel the pain of the other person. That's closer to-"

"Love," Lando finished, realization dawning. He abruptly grabbed his jacket and rushed out the door with a clear destination in mind.

It was time for Lando to confront the truth he had been avoiding, and perhaps, in the process, he might finally get what he had always wanted. You and love.

Everything was suddenly falling into place for Lando. He began to understand why you had never wanted to hang out whenever he got into a relationship, why you cried when he cried, why you sacrificed your sleep just to listen to him rant about the terrible things his ex had done, and crack jokes to make him smile. It all made sense, and he couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before.

Deep down, he had always known that the girls he dated were just placeholders, a way to distract himself from the perfect girl he felt undeserving of his whole life.

He had a brilliant idea last year when you both secured your McLaren positions. He planned a whole midnight drive and stargazing, which he knew you loved (that also prompted him to learn constellations for weeks before the special day, only to impress you). He wanted to ask you to be his and make it magical, but ultimately chickened out.

When the next day came around he could not face you and instead of spending the last few days before training with you he headed to a bar where he met his now ex. She was pretty and showed so much interest in him he could not not get hooked.

In that moment of absolute weakness Lando decided that having a girlfriend would solve the problem of loving his best friend and potentially ruining the friendship.

He could not have been more wrong. The relationship was an absolute hellhole, filled with insecurities and so many fights that he could no longer see himself as he looked in the mirror. Still no matter how bad his life got, he felt he deserved the purgatory for letting you slip through his fingers when he just had to hold on to you a bit tighter.

He’d never forgive himself for wasting so much time pushing you away. But he wasn’t going to settle for that. Lando was still a fighter. And fighting for you… well that now felt like his birthright.

“It's you!" Lando exclaimed bursting through the door, his voice echoing through the garage, his eyes locked directly on your form, disrupting the calm chatter around the room.

The entire room came to a standstill, eyebrows furrowing, and the atmosphere thick with confusion. Your eyes found his, equally as bewildered as the rest of the staff in the room.

Lando repeated himself, his breathy voice much lighter and softer than before. "It's you."

"Me what?" You asked, face still a mix of confusion as you tried to grasp the meaning of his words.

With each step he took closer to you, your heartbeat quickened, uncertain of the nature of those words, and just how much was hidden beneath them.

"It's always been you," Lando confessed, his voice filled with sincerity. "I've never loved anyone because you've held my heart since you smiled at me on your first day in karting. I have loved you this whole time, but I was too scared and too stupid, honestly, to do anything about it, letting myself push away my feelings by running to someone else. But I'm not scared anymore because you don't deserve to be loved silently and from afar. You are the kind of woman that is meant to be loved loudly, with no second thoughts."

“Lan…” words deceived you.

“I love you Y/n and I’m not afraid to feel it and say it anymore. And I hope that one day you can tell me that you love me too” his hands found yours, the touch of his skin on your hands felt different.

Your cheeks heat up with his confession and you search his eyes who confirm his words to be true. He does love you. And you love him too. You’ve thought your love for him unrequited for so long that hearing him say those words to you seems like a daydream.

You realize by his fading eyes that you’ve been too silent through his confession. You know exactly what the look of doubt looks like on Lando’s face and you speak up quickly promising yourself that you’ll never be the cause of that distressing look on his face.

“Took you long enough to realize Norris” you chuckle pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

He catches up to you quickly wrapping his arms around you waist deepening the kiss.

“You belong with me.” He whispers, the warm words fall on your lips right before he kisses you again, both of you smiling into the kiss.

The room erupted in cheers and applause, congratulating the new couple. Finally, Lando had found what he had been searching for all along, right by his side, and you got what you’d been wishing for since you were little. A two sided love. You both were ready to embrace your love openly, no longer bound by doubt and hesitation.

^^

A.N. back again with that Taylor Swift inspiration :3

P.s. I think my neighbors hate me because I be listening to one song on repeat for like 4h..... *skull emoji*

[miley1442111]

Part two or something with the breaking rules with Aaron Hotchner ;)

i have no idea if you wanted like a direct continuation or what so this is what my brain came up with :)

better than ok- a.hotchner

a/n: intended for fem or male reader, so imagine what you like:)))))))))

summary: after a few months of dating aaron, surely he'll visit you in hospital, right?

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

warnings: general angst, regular criminal minds topics, kidnapping, general fighting, kissing, emotional stuff

Being a BAU agent wasn’t for the weak. It was gruelling hours, giving up any and all forms of a social life, and-oh yeah, getting taken by the unSub as your team desperately searched for you. 

It had been what, three days? You were drugged and brought to a warehouse. You had found the door in and out, found out the identity of the unSub and almost found a way to contact your team before the drugging started happening regularly, and with the drugging came the assault. You were allergic to propofol, so your body was close to giving up when your team found you. At the hospital you were under for 3 days straight, then in and out. 

Your boyfriend (and boss) didn’t come to see you once. Until now. 

“Hi honey,” he walked in, a hardened expression on his face. “How are you feeling?”

You didn’t speak. You weren’t meant to. You had been choked, almost to death every night before you passed out. You nodded. 

“I was so worried, I-”

“Not worried enough to come see me though,” your own voice sounded foreign to you, raspy and painful, you talked for the first time in a week. 

“I couldn’t,” he admitted.

“Why?”

“I couldn’t because then it’d all become real and it would prove something I don’t want to prove,” he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. 

“What would it prove?!” You shouted to the best of your ability. You were mad, and rightfully so. For the past week you were in hospital, in pain, alone. 

“It would prove that I can’t protect you. That everything I do to keep you safe still isn’t enough.”

“Aaron, that's not fair! I needed you. I fucking needed you here and you weren’t. That’s not caring about someone,” you sneered. You’d only started dating a few months ago, due to a heated training session. 

“Honey, I care about you so much, I know this was wrong but I just…” he swallowed again “I couldn’t risk the thought of you hating me. I’m your leader, I should be able to keep my team safe-”

“Aaron,” you stopped him. “None of this is your fault, you know that, right?” 

He stared at you for a second. “I know.”

“So, why are you acting like it is? This is my job, I chose it, not you. I chose to put myself in this danger. No, you can’t always protect me but almost 80% of the time you do. You.”

He sighed and held your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to it. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” You smiled. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I couldn’t go any longer without seeing you,” he admitted. 

“I couldn’t go any longer without seeing you.”

He chuckled and sighed. “So, we’re ok?”

“We’re better than ok,” you promised. Though you knew there were going to be difficult times ahead and some rough patches, you knew you’d get through it. You knew you’d get through it with him.  

[miniimight]

hi!!! I really love your works! I’ve been enjoying them a whole lot and I’m looking forward to see more of it :) Sorry for the long request ;;

Can you write something with Izuku and Shoto (separate, and you add anyone if you want to!) with GN!Y/N getting super tired in the middle of their study/work session?

Like, they’re studying/doing hero work at home together and Y/N worked really hard for the past few days due to the workload, so Y/N gets noticeably tired from it and the other person decided to rest?

Y/N is kinda insistent but they’re also too tired to be too stubborn about not wanting to rest (^^;;

TOO MUCH STUDYING . you worked extra hard on your studies these past few days and you're in need of some rest... not that you'd admit it

with deku, todoroki

notes thank you !! <3 no worries about the length, it gives me more to work with <3 idk if i hit the mark with this one but hope u like it !!

you were studying with him. actually, it was more like he was studying with you. you were constantly over your books, so intensely it seemed like you were the anchor and he was just riding the wave. even for a overachiever like him (and we say this with love), he saw it as unhealthy. he took a break and came back, you were still at your desk. he left for work and came back—still at your desk. begged you to take a break to which you'd say five more minutes—still at your desk.

IZUKU

"hey, honey?" he said softly, his concern getting the better of him. he gently rubbed your back as he leaned over your seat, seeing a bunch of angry scrawls across your notebook. "i'm gonna go to bed now, think you should too."

"noooo..." you sighed. "i just have a couple chapters left and i'll come, promise."

he rolled his eyes, a smile coming onto his face as he shook his head. you're impossible. you've used this exact line the last few times. "that's what you said yesterday, love, and i woke up to you still studying."

you gripped your pencil tighter.

"you need to rest," he whispered softly, pulling the chair from the desk and kneeling before it. his hands gripped both handles as you tried to shimmy back to the desk, preventing you from moving. "come on, i'll carry you."

you pursed your lips. "but... but i'm not even halfway done..." you murmured, sadness overwhelming you.

he frowned and hugged your torso, his head of green curls brushing against your stomach. "i know you feel like you're behind, love, but you can't do it all in one night. i'll help you with it tomorrow, okay?"

you sighed.

he looked up at you, a loving smile gracing his lips. "that big brain of yours needs sleep to function."

you rolled your eyes, about to protest that you're doing just fine when izuku lifted you off your chair, slinging you over his shoulder with a bright, triumphant laugh.

you gasp and knocked his back. "izuku!"

"what?" he giggled, making his way to bed.

"you—ugh." a soft laugh bubbled out of you as you relented to his charms, too tired to resist.

he fell onto the bed with you in arms. he couldn't help but stare at your sleeping face as you dozed off the minute you hit the sheets.

SHOTO

shoto sat at the edge of your desk, his arms folded underneath his head.

you looked over to him every once in a while to almost catch him falling asleep. you sat back and brushed the hair from his eyes. "sho, if you're feeling tired, you should go to bed."

a deep sigh was his reply. "m' not going to bed without you..." he murmured, his words slurring together.

you glanced at your notebooks, frustration involuntarily bubbling up inside you. you weren't getting anywhere with your tiredness, but you wouldn't admit that—not to yourself or your boyfriend.

but it pained you deeply to see shoto stay up for your sake. he was just as stubborn as you.

you tapped your pencil against your notebook, your mind wandering.

shoto's hand brushed against your forearm, trailing down and settling on your wrists. his fingers inched their way into your palm. he squeezed your hand as he looked up at you with sleepy eyes. "come to bed with me. please?"

you melted but your brain brought back the huge workload before you. "sho... i haven't even scratched the surface of what i need to do yet..."

"but you're tired, love." his eyes were closed but he couldn't be more focused on the situation. "and i'm tired. so i say... sleep now." he rubbed his face into his arm. "you know?"

you giggled, the sleep getting to his speech. "you're cute, sho."

"cute enough to make you come to bed?" he opened one eye to observe your flustered state, though you still looked at your books with worry. "don't frown like that, love. i'll help you. but let's sleep now?"

you know what? fuck it. you smile and help him up, both of you trudging to the bed. you didn't make it. you passed out on top of him on the couch.

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[perfectsunlight]

( 𝟯𝟱 ) ✏ 3 in the morning

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: mentions of cancer, mentions of death, mentions of absent parents

word count: 1.7k

𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀: 𝘁����𝗲 𝘃𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲

it was 3 in the morning and you couldn’t fall asleep. yuna and minji were both fast asleep, and you didn’t feel like calling your sister at this hour to bother her with your current predicament. 

your argument with minjeong kept replaying over and over in your head. you couldn’t shake the look of hurt on her face when you had begged her to help wonyoung. the memory of her pained expression had gnawed at you since it happened.

with a heavy sigh, you sat up in bed, staring at the dark ceiling. the quiet of the night only seemed to amplify your thoughts, making it impossible to find any semblance of peace. you didn’t know what to do, especially since you never had seen such emotion from the other girl.

regardless, you couldn’t just let things end the way they had.

grabbing your phone, you hesitated for a moment before typing out a message to minjeong. your fingers hovered over the screen, unsure of what to say. apologies felt inadequate, and you struggled to find the right words. you typed and deleted different words and sentences for a few minutes until you ultimately just gave up on texting the president.

your fingers reached up to the bridge of your nose in an effort to try and help yourself focusit was no use. your mind kept drifting back to minjeong—her smile, the way her eyes looked when she talked about something she was passionate about, the way she made you feel confident in your own abilities. 

the thought that you might have jeopardized your relationship with her made your chest tighten. 

did minjeong feel the same way about you? the question kept eating away at you. her reaction earlier had been so raw, so full of hurt. it was hard to interpret what that meant. did she care about you more than she let on? or was it just the sting of betrayal from someone she considered a friend?

you got up from your bed and paced the room, the silence of the night amplifying your racing thoughts. each step seemed to bring more questions. you thought about all the moments you’d shared, the late-night study sessions, the light-hearted banter, the way she looked at you when she thought you weren’t paying attention. were you reading too much into it, or was there something more? to be honest, you felt like you were losing your mind. 

the past 3 days had been a whirlwind of emotions. so many different things were happening all at once and you didn’t know what to make of it. however, you knew you had to figure out what was going on in your own heart first.

you couldn’t help both minjeong and wonyoung. it was not possible.

if you helped wonyoung, it would mean minjeong could lose her position on the council as well as her scholarship and well-earned reputation. if you helped minjeong, wonyoung would be expelled and face severe academic consequences, as well as potential legal ones.

jennie had told you she would sue whoever the culprit was after your finals were over. your sister did not take this issue lightly.

you sighed, sinking deeper into your thoughts. how did things get so complicated? you mentally cursed yourself for letting your grades suffer like this. if you had kept up with school like you were supposed to, then you wouldn’t be in this situation. 

then again, you and minjeong wouldn’t have gotten closer if you didn’t end up meeting two to three times a week.

you knew what this emotion was deep down. you had felt it before with jimin, but it was never as strong as it was with minjeong.

but you couldn't admit you were in love. at least, not out loud, yet.

part of you wondered what the blonde girl was up to at this hour. was she sleeping soundly? or was she plagued with thoughts of you, too?

your eyes wandered to your phone on your bed once more, biting your lower lip before grabbing it and typing a message to the girl who had been on your mind all night.

—

minejong walked down the marble stairs of her family’s home, rubbing her face in the process. her baby blue monogrammed pajamas matched her fluffy bear slippers as she made her way to the kitchen. the house was quiet, as usual.

both of her parents were rarely home these days. her father turned into a workaholic while her mother often enjoyed taking vacations all across the world with her friends. neither of her parents wanted to be home, not since the passing of minjeong’s brother. 

the blonde passed by the framed family photo in the living room. the kim family never took another photo together after minseok’s death. the image was a painful reminder of happier times—a smiling family, unaware of the tragedy that would later tear them apart. minjeong's heart ached whenever she looked at her brother's face, forever frozen in that picture. 

minseok was the perfect son, but an even more perfect brother. top of his class, engineering student at yonsei, and student council president as well. he was everything minjeong looked up to, as well as her best friend.

unfortunately, cancer had other ideas. minseok died during her final year of high school, and when he did, minjeong watched her family die with him.

minjeong’s father thought money would save his son, and minjeong’s mother thought that fate would spare their son because of his accomplishments in his life. 

and when both money and fate failed, they each found their own ways to cope—or rather, escape. all minjeong could do was throw herself into her studies and focus on becoming the person to fill her brother's shoes.

she was now an only child, and the heir to her father's company. that meant being the best and to be like minseok—to be better than minseok.

and although on paper, she was up to par with her late brother, she couldn’t decide what he would think of her current situation.

in the kitchen, she started making herself some instant ramen as a snack. as she waited for the water to brew, she let her mind wander. the events of the past few days had been overwhelming, and the upcoming issue with wonyoung loomed large in her mind. 

but there was something else that occupied her thoughts even more: you.

the argument you two had still replayed in her mind, over and over. she felt bad about blowing up like that in your face, especially since she never had done so before. even though she knew wonyoung was definitely behind this whole ordeal, she couldn’t help but regret the way she reacted.

after a few minutes, minjeong’s food was done and she moved to sit down at the table. however, she quickly moved back towards the direction of the living room and took a seat in front of the framed family portrait.

her eyes fell on her brother minseok's smiling face, captured forever in the photograph. the warmth of his smile felt both comforting and haunting at the same time.

“hey, minseok,” she whispered softly, as if he could hear her. “i know it's been a while since we've talked like this.” she paused, her fingers tracing the edge of the bowl in her lap gently. 

“i wish you were here.”

minjeong closed her eyes briefly, memories of her brother flooding her mind. they used to share everything—dreams, fears, even silly jokes. losing him had left a void that seemed impossible to fill, especially in moments like this, when she needed guidance the most.

the silence of the room enveloped her, allowing her thoughts to wander freely. “you always knew what to say,” she continued, a faint smile playing on her lips. her late brother notoriously had a way with words. 

she imagined what minseok might say if he were here now, sitting across from her in the living room. would he understand the turmoil she felt? would he reassure her, like he always had, that everything would work out in the end?

with a sigh, her gaze still remained on the photograph. “i don’t know what to do,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. flashes of your face during the argument moved to the forefront of her mind, causing her chest to tighten. “i feel like i let my emotions get the best of me, but i just can’t stand the thought of her thinking i betrayed her trust.” she paused, her words hanging heavy in the air. the photograph of her brother stared back at her, offering silent solace in its frozen moment of happiness.

the blonde’s heart felt heavy with uncertainty. she knew the right thing to do logically—she needed to protect her position on the council, her scholarship, her reputation. yet, her emotions pulled her in a different direction, urging her to consider your feelings, your trust in her.

“maybe i should have handled it differently,” she mused aloud, as if seeking guidance from the photograph. “but how can i just stand by and watch y/n get expelled? and for what? a stupid report based on lies.”

minjeong took a quick bite of her noodles, chewing and pondering what she should do next. the blonde knew how she felt about you. it had taken her a while to figure out why you were the variable in her life.

but she knew it was an obvious answer — love.

she didn’t know much, but she knew she wanted you to be okay. she wanted you to feel heard and understood, and never forced to silence your thoughts and opinions. minjeong knew she had to talk to you, but first she needed to make things right.

after a moment of silence, she sighed softly. “yeah, i think i should apologize,” she said, more to herself than to the photograph. “i owe her that much, at least.”

the thought of facing you again, of admitting her fault, made her stomach churn with unease. but deep down, she knew it was the right thing to do. you deserved an apology, even if she couldn't undo the argument itself.

“but what if she hates me now?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. mentally, she knew she was being ridiculous. but she would try and shake the thoughts of doubt, for your sake and her own.

“i hope i'm doing the right thing.” the blonde added in a voice barely above a whisper. as if on cue, her phone buzzed with a notification. it was a text from you, asking to meet up later that day. setting the empty bowl aside, she stood up and straightened her shoulders with a small smile.

“thank you, minseok.”

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