#they finish with him and hes left with his head ringing and his body aching and mostly feeling bad because he believes he disobeyed a direct
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Oh I found my original head bonking tags
More head bonking in tags
#the one I don't mention cuz he doesn't have a lot of residual damage from it is witj the minotaurs#he gets thrown against a wall from a minotaur backhanding him to the face#basically a giant minotaur about 4x his body weight smacks his head and he flies across the room knocked out cold#he is out for maybe 2-3 minutes tops but by then the two minotaurs already get to manhandle him however they want#so he is limited in how much of a fight he can put up#they finish with him and hes left with his head ringing and his body aching and mostly feeling bad because he believes he disobeyed a direct#order#like despite all that trauma he feels most bad for allowing the minotaurs to use him because it was against direct orders#King is furious when he finds out but not at Atumu#Atumu feels awful and ashamed and apologetic and believes King is mad at him#King is just so mad and he cant believe this has happened and he is also angry thst Atumu thinks he would be mad st Atumu for this#he is mostly mad at himself for allowing this to happen#Atumu tries to apologise and King cuts him off with one of my favourite lines#'Do you think I care so little for you--'#KingTumu
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mating szn
part 1 (part2)
pairing: miguel o'hara x f!gf!reader
warnings: smut, fluff, scent marking, primal play, rutting miguel, possessiveness, reader is ovulating
summary: miguel comes home feeling extremely needy
You're preparing dinner when you hear the opaque glass doors of your shared mansion open for your lover to come in. It's almost midnight, and it doesn't take you longer than a few seconds to realize how tired he has to be.
Miguel walks into the open kitchen, frowning.
"Baby! I missed you!" You jolt to him, pans clattering dangerously as you throw them aside, careful enough not to ruin your work but swiftly enough to get to him as fast as possible.
You curl your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes, pressing your chest flush against his hard pecs. His hands grab at your hips, absentmindedly and by habit.
"What's wrong?". You place a gentle, loving hand on his cheek, trying to meet his gaze. But he's not looking at you. His eyes are darting all over your face and body, brows still creased.
He could feel it, your scent. A collection of the whole day, everything you've done. The food, the places you've been. He feels like it's been so long since this morning, when he woke up beside you, kissing along your neck.
He feels a surge of blood rush from his heart and through his lucidity, a shot of adrenaline inexplicably taking over him.
You don't smell of him anymore. Anger bubbles in his chest as he thinks of all the people you must've talked to around HQ, who didn't smell his strong musk on you, who had no idea you belonged to him.
He's never felt like this before. He brushes the unfamiliar feeling aside for a moment, grounded by the silent plea in your eyes.
"I'm good. Just a bit tired." He brushes wild strands of baby hairs out of your face, finally matching the loving look you've greeted him with from the start.
He leaves you to finish the meal and steps into the shower, hoping that an ice cold stream would cool him down. Only it doesn't do anything but worsen the situation.
The second he feels the water spray hit his body, he flinches, unlike the usual relief he gets. His skin is abnormally feverish, the ghost of your body in his arms taunting him further into madness. He soon finds himself desperate to get out, to be reunited with you and the warmth only you could ever provide for him.
Images of your supple body breaking in his embrace flood his already lust crazed mind against his better judgment, and he feels his cock fatten slightly at the memory.
When he takes it in his hand, he nearly starts bucking his hips into his hold, sensitive and insanely needy. He imagines you in the bathtub with him, arching your back over the edge, spreading your legs for him to pound his cock into you under the hot stream, your moans echoing and ringing into the stone tiles.
He can't take it anymore. His body aches for your touch and attention.
Exiting the shower, he pulls a pair of loose boxers up his thighs, the only thing he can tolerate with the fever that has taken hold of him so suddenly.
And then, he focuses on the image of you, standing where he left you, gently stirring in a bowl. You're wearing one of his t-shirts, draped down to the middle of your thighs and over your elbows, an oversized dress.
He approaches you, wrapping his arms around your front and waist, dropping a fraction of his weight on your back just to keep you from moving or fighting against it. You throw your head back, closing your eyes.
His head drops to your neck, kissing here and there, exhales smoldering hot on your throat, stopping momentarily to deeply inhale your scent. Among all others, there is a distinctive smell of you, of your arousal and need for him that drives him mad.
"Wait- Miguel, let me finish this-" You protest, your creamy tone betraying your true intentions.
He groans, kissing your naked shoulder, his hands squeezing your form in front of him.
All tasks are ultimately abandoned as he pushes you against the counter, his defined abs hitting your back, the marble surface cold against your thighs. He presses his fat, hard cock up against your plush ass, his hands fondling your breasts through his shirt, groaning low and quiet in your ear.
With his biceps curled and constricted around your navel, your body goes limp in his hold, trembling ever so slightly as his warm, broad palms squeeze the soft flesh of your tits. He pushes them together, massaging gently, almost experimentally. He flattens them with the heels of his palms softly, only to them constrict his fingers around them so perfectly, fondling and groping away.
"Mm- Miguel, oh-" You breathe out, finding balance on your hands, arching your back into him. You feel your core pulsate with need, swelling up under his movements. You're almost completely wrapped up in his massive body, with nowhere to go.
And just then, you accidentally knock a knife off the counter, startled when it hits the marble floor with a loud clank. He jumps, backing up from your body. Your face is flushed, eyes half lidded, breath heavy, nipples perked under the thin cotton. Landing back to your senses, you move to bend down and pick it up.
His eyes automatically snap to your round ass and the dark wet spot on your panties that invites him so blatantly to shove his cock in between your pussy lips.
He can't help it. He can't control himself anymore.
Balance leaves your position as you feel his rough, eager hands grip your hips, harshly pulling you back into him. The plumpness of your ass hits the girthy shaft of his cock, but before you can look for the lost balance with your hands in front of you, he thrusts his erection up against your clothed cunt, making you whine in need.
"Ay, mi amor-" His voice is rugged and satisfied, laced with a deep groan. A broad palm hits the side of your behind, making the tender flesh ripple against his hard-on. "Te necesito muchísimo ahora." (I need you so badly right now.)
You yelp, perplexed, instinctively grabbing his wrists for balance. He pulls you up with your back against his chest, splaying a cursory hand across your abdomen, sending shivers thundering down your spine and butterflies fluttering in your stomach.
"Miguel!" You playfully fight against his possessive hold, "Is this your way of helping me prepare dinner?!" You free yourself, giggling and letting a wide smile take over your features. Stepping back and extending your arms in front of you in an attempt to shield yourself from him, you chuckle wholeheartedly.
Seeing you resist, he lets out a defeated exhale.
"Fine. I'll be good, lo prometo." (I promise). He motions for you to come closer and trust that he'll behave. Letting your guard down, you approach the counter, eyes fixated on his playfully.
He feels your body heat nearing him, so comfortable and tempting. The smell of you, and everything that drives him crazy about your presence alone. His breaths deepen and quicken abruptly, his cock straining in his boxers, twitching freely against the material, begging to be enveloped in your wet warmth.
He looks down at you like a panther about to pounce, waiting for the perfect moment to do so. Your smile curls wider, eyes shining with lust and a teasing playfulness. His body dwarfs yours, his shadow alone making you feel puny. His shoulders are tense, the same way they are when he's on top of you, riding you into next Tuesday.
He shifts to place a clawed hand on the counter, the sharp edged digits tapping against the surface catching your attention momentarily in the corner of your eye. He exploits the split second it takes you to look down to his arm, snapping and squatting to grab your thighs, throwing you over his shoulder.
"NO! You promised! Miguel! The food!" You try to reason, throwing any and each accusation you can think of, knowing that you definitely don't want him to drop it and leave you alone, truly. And he knows it.
And that's when he feels it. With your ass on his bulky shoulder, he can smell it. Your arousal, dripping hot. His fat cock finally hardens completely, its monstrously girthy shaft poking through the shorts.
You're ovulating.
Groaning ruggedly, he delivers a rough spank to your plump ass before pushing two fingers over the wet mound of your clothed pussy, running them over your slit, teasingly, collecting more of your scent.
He swears the only thing stopping him from fucking you raw right on the kitchen floor is your comfort.
"Okay! You win! Put me down, I'll let you fuck me."
Without a second thought, he places you back on the floor, hands on your hips, talons grazing your tender skin deliciously.
His eyes have reddened, pupils blown wide, exhales hot and labored. You don't want anything more than to wrap your arms around his neck, to press yourself into him, to feel his hard abdomen on your stomach, his pecs on your soft tits, his mouth on your neck.
But you want to see more of how needy he is.
You jolt to the stairs with no warning, climbing the winding wooden steps like a cat. You hear him behind you, his weight put onto each movement as he chases close behind, the staircase creaking under him.
Looking behind before reaching the hallway of the first floor of your mansion, you feel your panties dampen at the sight of the man and the sheer size of him, massive shoulders slightly hunched forward in focus and adrenaline, his height successfully making you stagger on your way to the bedroom.
divider by @cafekitsune
HOPE YALL LIKE IT IMMA CONTINUE ‼️‼️
a/n: primal play is thoroughly discussed beforehand. insisting that your partner has sex with you even after resistance without having discussed the aforementioned resistance is abusive.
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara smut#miguel ohara x reader#miguel ohara#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara imagine#miguel o'hara x reader one shot#miguel o hara#atsv miguel#miguel smut#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o’hara smut#miguel spiderverse#miguel spiderman#miguel x reader#spider verse#spider man 2099#spiderman 2099#spiderman 2099 x reader#across the spiderverse#oscar issac characters#oscar isaac
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MOODSWINGS- S. GOJO
you'd been slipping away from gojo for weeks now. but he'd do anything to get you back. cw: angst, saddness, gojo being gojo, failing relationship, happy ending song: moodswings by 5sos
"I CAN TELL WHEN YOU'RE SLIPPING FROM ME. EVEN WHEN IT'S ONLY SUBCONCIOUSLY."
It had started small. A dull ache in his chest as he watched you slide closer and closer towards the edge of the bed, no longer sleeping in his arms. He couldn’t place the emotion but every breath, every glance that didn’t meet his eyes, every time you speed walked past his office, he felt you slipping away from him.
Gojo sat with his head bowed on the edge of your bed. His blindfold lay abandoned on the table, exchanged for his sunglasses.
His fingers twitched against his knees as he waited for you to come home from work. Despite working together, the two of you hadn’t come home together in a while. You used to walk side by side, laughing and sharing stories about your day, but those distant memories began to fade in his mind.
The sound of the bedroom door unlocking snapped him out of his thoughts and he straightened reflexively. Your footsteps were soft on the hardwood floor as you made your way to your bathroom, getting ready for bed.
“Goodnight, Satoru.”
You smiled as you climbed into bed, clinging to the pillow as you fell asleep, your body angled away from him.
It’d been weeks since Satoru last felt your warmth in his arms. Weeks since he’d woken up to the feeling of you pressed against his chest. He wasn’t sure exactly when you’d left his arms but the distance between the two of you continued to grow.
He missed you. Every morning when he woke up, he craved your touch. He craved for the sound of your laugh. But settled for hearing it across the break room when you spoke with Shoko. It wasn’t the same, but it was all he had left.
But it wasn’t until one night in the rain as the two of you waited for the first years to finish a mission that Gojo truly understood you and why the distance had first started.
“Satoru. Do you like the man you’ve become since high school?”
Your eyes avoided his, but your voice stayed steady. It caught him off guard and he let out a laugh, joking about he was the strongest.
He hadn’t noticed the way your fist clenched, and your lips pursed as he waited for your response.
“Right.”
He’d started coming home late last week. He told himself it was because he had missions but truly, he was just avoiding the emptiness of your home. You’d noticed but didn’t wait up for him. Now, his dinner sat on the counter- neatly cling-wrapped with sticky notes atop it.
‘Microwave.’ Or ‘soda in fridge’.
Nothing more than a few words, distant and impersonal. But with the care you had for him when you first gotten married. You always remembered his love for sweet foods and drinks.
As he sat in bed with you, backs facing each other, he wondered how this all started- trying to pinpoint when exactly you’d started slipping away from him. Your question rang through his ears.
“Do you like the man you’ve become since highschool?”
He didn’t have an answer. Not one he wanted to say aloud.
He came home early one day and saw you sitting on the sofa, staring at your wedding ring and twisting it around your finger. The sunlight lit up your face in a way that reminded Gojo of your wedding day. But there was a look in your eyes that he couldn’t ignore.
He crept up on you and asked you what you were thinking about.
“Just remembering.”
He hadn’t pressed further. But he wished he had. He buried himself in missions to pick up extra money. He had enough but he’d managed to convince himself that the more he provided for you, the more you wouldn’t want to leave. But that wasn’t the root of the issue.
Especially when he overheard a conversation you were having with Shoko during a lunch break.
“I don’t even know who he is anymore, Shoko,” you’d sighed. “It’s like he’s a completely different man than the one I married.”
Shoko’s response was drowned out by the thumping of his heart. The words felt like a slap in the face, even if they weren’t meant for him to hear.
He wanted to argue- to burst in the room and tell you that he was the same as the man you’d married. But was he really?
“Do you like the man you’ve become since high school?”
The question had haunted him for a while, playing on loop in his mind whenever he saw your face.
It’d been a while since you’d yelled at him. Arguments went unsaid between you two. Not until he came home battered and bloody after a mission. Hurt but victorious.
“Satoru, what the HELL? Why didn’t you go to Shoko?”
You’d rushed to his side to take care of him, using the first aid kid to take care of and clean his wounds. It would be a lie to say that he hadn’t considered getting injured again to feel your touch more often.
That night, he watched the rain fall and run down the side of the window as the two of you continued your dance of sleeping with your backs to each other.
He turned for a moment to reach out to you, his hand hovering inches above your shoulder as you slept. But he couldn’t bring himself to reach you. Instead, he let his hand fall back to his side.
From that day forward, he pledged to become the man you married. He started coming home on time, even offering to drive you home.
You hadn’t seen the inside of his Tesla in weeks. It seemed the same but different all at the same time.
“When’d you get this pink umbrella?” you glanced to the side door of the passenger seat. “Got it for ya,” he kept his eyes on the road.
His comment wasn’t anything special. He’d gotten you things all the time before. But it stuck with you.
Small gestures like this became a routine with Gojo, something you now looked forward to. You felt yourself easing into comfort in his presence. The past rigidity you felt melting away as Gojo put in more and more effort.
Your dinners were less lonely than before, now consisting of talking about each other’s days. He asked about your day with a genuine curiosity and followed up about ‘that one curse that looked like elvis’ among other topics. Gojo had even managed to make you laugh multiple times per meal. And for the first time in a while, it hadn’t felt forced.
But what really brought everything home was the day you came up to his office during lunch instead of eating with Shoko, bento box in hand.
“Don’t forget to eat, Toru,” you placed the box on his desk.
He blinked up at you, his surprise quickly melting into a warm smile that made your heart flutter as if you were falling for him all over again.
“Thank you, sweet girl.”
And to an extent, you were falling in love with him all over again.
Gojo went out of his way to be present in your life, even in the smallest moments. Every morning that he didn’t have a mission, he would wake you up with plates of fluffy pancakes or scrambled eggs and your favorite tea.
But it wasn’t just the gestures that made a difference. It was the small moments- the way he’d reach for your hand subconsciously, the way he’d text you during missions to check in and update you, the way he’d sit next to you in the evenings even when you were both too tired to talk.
One night, as the rain slid down the windows, he turned to you in bed. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He reached out, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. For a moment, you stiffened before melting into him, your head resting against his chest.
“You’re warm,” you said softly. “Yeah?” “I missed this,” you hummed against his chest. “Me too.”
© 2024 SEOUPS do not plagiarize, steal, translate or repost my works on any platforms!
#gojo x reader#satoru gojo x reader#jjk gojo#jjk x reader#jjk#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu gojo#gojo fluff#jujutsu satoru#gojo satoru#satorugojo#jujutsu kaisen satoru#jjk fluff#gojo satoru x reader#satoru gojo#gojo angst#gojo
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replicate failure to protect - joel miller x female reader
summary: Joel cannot bare to lose you, not the same way he lost Sarah. Through his own self declared failure to protect.
word count: 1.8k
content warnings: ptsd episode, panic attack, mention of past attempted suicide, reader gets fucked up ig, blood, murder, guns, violence, age gap- unspecified. Established relationship.
It feels euphoric, the numbness that spreads from your side up your arms, parts of your body are fizzing with a lightheaded tingle as the blood seeps out of your body. Past the point of pain, the searing sensation of a dull arrowhead being pulled forward, taut at the hands of a single raider camouflaging into the surrounding bush—whistled silently through the air. The metal savagely tears through your flesh and stops right below your bottom rib on the left side.
As you lie on the ground, you’re unable to make sense of the blurred shapes and colours of the overgrown foliage on the slanted buildings, the sound of explosive gunfire is muffled by the ringing in your ears—you feel something. A tugging sensation, one that vibrates through the arrowhead and emits a protestful rumble from your lungs.
All you can make out is muffled ringing in your ears and some incoherent mumbling, watching the blurred outline of his lips move.
You can barely make him out, as he kneels above you, having snapped off the end of the arrow and tossed it behind him, knowing better than to take his eyes off of you for one moment. He’d looked away once, when he’d apprehensively watched you drop to the ground once the arrow had hit. In a moment of necessity to eliminate the enemy.
All you can make out is muffled ringing in your ears and some incoherent mumbling, watching the blurred outline of his lips move.
He knew tearing his gaze off of you a second time was a death sentence.
It had happened once before—the split microsecond that his deep brown teary eyes had sought reassurance from his younger brother in a moment of pure desperation. Pleading for any kind of comfort his brother could promise that she would survive, but she’d slipped away in his arms. The life in her eyes had faded the moment he looked away. Missing the last moments of light in her eyes that solitudes life.
This could not happen to you.
His aching fingers tear off a segment off his flannel below the last button, bending down to manoeuvre your body to slide the fabric under your back, wrapping it around the arrow to keep it stable.
The crimson blood had begun to seep through the flannel before he had finished tying a knot in the shredded fabric, even the loose strands of twine were stained.
But the blood.. your blood covers his hands, the colour burns the back of his eyelids. A burning sensation rises up his throat at the recognition. As he leans over you, the blood makes contact with his flannel, smearing a messy, damp pattern onto his clothes. He was reliving hell all over again two decades later.
But he broke his own rule, tearing his focus gaze away from your face to finish this task, it had been mere seconds of the process. He looked away a second time.
Speaking to you absentmindedly, his gaze returns to your face, dread filling his chest when he sees that your lips are slightly parted. The stress line in your forehead has ceased as your head is lulled to the side, the supple skin of your cheeks is grazed on the surface of the dirt on the ground.
Those beautiful, teary orbs that had just been staring at him with an unfocused gaze were now clamped shut.
A part of Joel wants to give up, reliving the traumatic event that had torn apart his will to live two decades ago, and left him with physical and psychological scars.
“No.. no, no no!” The shout is primal, a clear denial of acceptance that this was your fate.
The sight of you sends a jostle of dread through his veins. All he could see was himself re-living through the devastation of losing Sarah. On the account that he had failed once again to protect someone he loves.
Gathering his thoughts and thinking fast, he intertwined his hands and placed them in the centre of your chest, ignoring the ache in his knees against the crackled rubble of the concrete ground. He positions himself above you, bringing a inhuman-like strength into pounding his hands against your chest as he begins his compressions.
“Not you, not you baby.” He utters desperately, voice thick with emotion.
Unaware of his little brother’s presence—Joel’s eyes darken, black in colour and exerting a burning gaze through your eyelids, prompting you to open them.
To look at him. To prove he hadn’t failed you too.
An exhausted, broken cry rolls between his lips into the stale air between you, spit flying from his mouth as his actions become less precise and more desperate and harmful. Ignoring the fact that he had heard a substantial crack vibrate through his palms.
The burning sensation is all over, his shoulders, arms, wrists, knees. His heart.
“You’re not doin’ this, y’hear me? You have’ta stay.. you stay f’me baby.”
All the while your body is unmoving, limbs shaking with each downward thrust of his hands. “Just open ‘em for me, just look at me.”
Tommy watches the horrific scene, unaware of what your state was like—but he had seen Joel live through this once before.
“I ain’t mad at’cha baby. Jus’ open ‘em for me.”
Joel is begging you—if you can hear him, he can’t will himself to bring his fingers to your neck or wrist to feel your pulse point, petrified of feeling nothing.
His resolve crumbles when he sees Tommy, unable to stop.
“Joel.. Joel stop. Let me check, alright?” His voice hadn’t been this soft and insistent since he had pried his niece's cold body from Joel’s arms to bury her.
Joel falls backward onto the ground out of exhaustion, the ache in his chest is pressing upward into his throat, squeezing the life out of his oesophagus making him feel dizzy.
“She’s alive.” Tommy murmurs, turning to look at his older brother.
FOLLOWING MORNING
“You look like shit, Joel. Have you moved since we’ve been back?” He hears Tommy’s scornful voice, but he can’t bear to tear his eyes off of you. Watching the subtle rise and fall of the blanket that covers your chest.
“I ain’t movin’.”
Not an inch, not once did he allow his gaze to tear away from your chest, the proof that you were still alive. Some semblance of hope he was clinging onto that you would make it.
“You see her chest movin’?” He utters to his younger brother, seeking reassurance.
Without so much as a wink of sleep, he had begun wondering if he was hallucinating the faint movement from sleep deprivation.
“Course I do. You’re just tired.” Tommy reassured, holding out a mug of warm, black coffee.
Joel’s movements are piloted, automatic. Stiff as his arm lifts the mug to his lips, swallowing coffee with a bitter aftertaste of anxiety. The same heavy feeling builds in his chest for the second time he’d returned with you.
The pressure of his anxiety escalates, unable to focus his vision of you, or Tommy’s concerns he speaks, lungs stuttering and struggling to inhale as his hand begins to tremble.
Just shy of his fifties, Joel Miller was having a fucking panic attack. Again.
“Joel,” the weight of his younger brother’s hand digging into his shoulder with a firm grasp, withdraws him from his dissociative state, lying on his bed.
Tommy was staring down at Joel with a knowing expression. “She’s wakin’ up.” He repeats a second time.
Tommy and the coffee are long forgotten, set aside as Joel rises to his feet, looming over you in heavyset silence of anticipation and exigency.
His hands grasp onto your cheeks, cradling them as he lets out a long exhale of relief, staring into the familiar colour of your irises.
“Baby I thought you’d left me..” he utters shakily between the two of you, thick tears fall from his wet eyes down his face.
He watches as your dry lips part, a hoarse croak rolls off of your tongue in an attempt to speak.
“Don’t say nothin’, save your strength.”
His hands tighten around the small mug, tucking his thumb into the handle instead of four of his fingers, for the reason that his hands were too large to navigate the small curated gap.
Thoughtfully, he’d filled it only halfway with water and left it by your shared bed the previous evening, in the expectation of you regaining consciousness.
“Here,” he murmurs, with his free hand he urges you to tilt your head backwards. “There you go.”
Bringing the rim of his mug to your lips, he slowly tilts it upward until a small amount of water has seeped into your lips, allowing a small relief for the uncomfortably dry surface of your mouth.
The second time he encourages a little more, brushing the single few strands of hair from your face as you begin to sip on the water with a loud slurp.
When he’s satisfied you’ve had enough, he pulls the mug away and sets it back on the bedside table.
Your lips are tugged upward in a small smirk, the smallest huff of a laugh vibrates through your nose, and he raises an eyebrow.
“Straight back to annoyin’ me huh? Seems like my girl is feelin’ more like herself already.”
The coo sends your heart through an extra murmur, pulse erratically causing the flesh in your neck to pulsate.
“Know.. you..” your voice is strained, and hoarse from lack of water. “Love it.”
A hum reverberated through his throat in agreeance. Placing his hand on top of your own, clasping his fingers in between your own.
“I do love you.”
For a first confession, the words linger heavily in the air between you. An intense gaze is shared before you could process the weight behind them.
“I love.. you.” Taking a wheezing breath, you continue, the attempt to squeeze his fingers albeit weak—conveys the message. “Even if you.. cracked my ribs.”
His golden complexion reinforces a bright pink hue across his cheeks and ears. “Y’heard that, huh? I’m real sorry ‘bout it.”
Blinking lazily, you nod once, waving off his apology. “That an’ everything else.”
Continuing on from a brief pause, you place your second hand on top of his, grounding him, offering him a sense of security and reassurance he didn’t often receive as self appointed protector.
“You saved me.”
The look in your eye expresses deep gratitude and understanding, promising him that you wouldn’t end up like Sarah, that he would never have to endure pain like that ever again.
Not as long as you lived.
“No, baby. You saved me.”
There are many things you’ve saved Joel from, but he leaves them unspoken, because you know, whether or not he’s mentioned it—you know.
“Get some sleep Joel..”
He obeys, sliding under the thick duvet beside you in the bed you shared, unwilling to break the hold of your hands.
#joel miller tlou#joel miller the last of us#joel miller x reader#joel fucking miller#joelmiller#joel miller fic#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfic#joel miller ptsd#joel miller angst#joel miller hurt/comfort#hbo joel miller#Pedro pascal Joel miller
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MDNI | 18+ content cw: noncon - graphic descriptions, rafe rapes reader (pls read at your own discretion), explicit sexual content - unprotected PinV, sort of a character study?
rafe was always rough. it wasn’t that he didn’t know, he knew: ugly brute force rearing its sadistic head with every tick of rafe’s shoulders and wring of his bruised hands, it was that he didn’t have a choice.
didn’t have a choice when his mother left her coddled child with an aching heart and glossy eyes, rafe’s runny snot stains sticking to the sweeping fabric of her dress as he attempted to hide his flushed face.
didn’t have a choice when his fathers own worn hand came striking down over and over and over, ward’s inscrutable eye and unachievable standards seemingly not enough to make rafe feel bad enough.
rafe didn’t have a choice when you said you’d leave him. when he pushed you against the door frame while plaster dug into your back, hands mimicking those that clung onto the fabric of his mothers dress when he grabbed at your shirt and tore at the fabric for release. you couldn’t do this to him, you couldn’t do this to him. and suddenly you weren’t asking him to stop, weren’t slapping him away in annoyance: you were fighting, clawing your nails into the veiny stents of his forearms until skin peeled, your shrill voice growing unstable while you cried for release.
“shut the fuck up, you’re doing this to me. you’re making me do this,” rafe shunned.
the words strung out like putty, oozing from one ear into your brain, coating the inside of your head until everything seemed a little fuzzy, then dribbling out of the other cavity with a painful ringing.
“rafe, please, rafe ‘m so sorry, i’m sorry.” you think you’ve subconsciously started praying, hands warped to worship in front of you— but it’s just rafe, grabbing at your wrists to throw you down onto the bed.
rafe shrugs, feigns indifference because you must know that you’re the reason he’s doing this, none of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t been so stupid. he pulls down your panties, spits in his hand— all too familiar, maybe it’ll remind you too— and lines himself up, your hole clenching tightly at the unwanted intrusion, pathetically breached by the thick head of rafe’s cock, the most concentrated form of his anger.
you shriek again, slap at his chest until the skin reddens raw. and then rafe starts thrusting, scraping at your insides in unlubricated agony, cock pummelling so deep the pain strikes up your spine and forces your arms to lay dormant by your sides.
you’re crying now, silently, meaningless tears streaming down your face and pooling on his fresh sheets, you wonder if the maid who’d change them would notice the tears, maybe the blood.
rafe watches you punishingly, he looks like he’s in pain as well, pupils screwed up cryptic emotion. “you stupid bitch,” he sniffles, “you’re making me do this.” he lets out a few stray tears, the salty tang making you flinch when they inevitably land near your mouth.
when he finishes you feel yourself uncontrollably clench around him, pushing out his release as well as his softening dick. he flops down onto the bed next to you, blowing at the sweaty strands of hair clinging to his forehead, “next time you try and pull this dumb shit i’ll kill you y’hear me. i’ll fucking get your ass if you ever try and leave me again.” he pulls you into him after that, self satisfied smirk lazily gracing his lips as he pushes against your naked, aching body, sticky with sweat.
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe smut#rafe cameron prompt#rafe cameron smut#rafe x reader#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron one shot#rafe cameron drabble#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron x reader smut#rafe x reader smut#cw noncon
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Kitty Cat
Bucky is compromised during a mission, sending him back into the mindset of the winter soldier. When he makes a break for it he ends up back at your house. Who will help him revert?
The winter soldier is the reason your cats sleep in the bed.
Pairing: Winter soldier (Bucky Barnes) x Reader
Warnings: I swear an awful lot in my writing, so swearing, Winter soldier (he needs a warning), I used DeepL for translation on a single word.
Word count: 1.7k
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The whole mission was a complete and utter shit show, Sam has been injured almost instantaneously and Steve had been reluctant to continue the mission without him.
Bucky on the other hand was keen to get this whole situation over and done with and there was only one way he knew to finish it. He offered himself up to complete the mission alone.
“It’s not happening” Steve shut him down without question, he wouldn’t have another valuable member injured.
“It’ll be quick and simple, especially if I go alone” Bucky was almost pleading with the blonde to let him go.
Truth be told Bucky just wanted home. He was missing the warm atmosphere that surrounded him when he snuggled into his wife and their two cats. They’d been in Budapest for a month tracking the gang and now that they had their scent he wasn’t going to let it go to waste.
“Fine but if it gets hairy you get out” Steve huffed. He knew Bucky was correct, that they’d be here for another long month if they lost this trail.
Bucky should’ve listened to Steve’s words.
The place was empty, eerily empty, far too abandoned to be a base of operations. No, something was up. His eyes squint at the sudden bright light blinking on in the room, the soft buzzing sound coming from it almost doubled due to his enhanced hearing.
Bucky had heard it before he saw it, invading his senses were buzzing, screaming, gunshots. It was a trap and it was working. He could feel his consciousness slipping from him as he kneeled on the floor.
His frame flopped to the side and everything went blank.
┉┈◈◉◈┈┉
The sound of the door closing softly had pulled you from your sleep, ‘Bucky’s home’ you thought excitedly.
Bucky hadn’t came in to say hello, it was basically tradition now for him to announce his arrival with a peck to your cheek and a groan as he rolled into bed with aching bones.
In fact, there was no sound at all.
“What the hell” you murmured under your breath, flicking your legs out of from under the covers into the cold air and pulling one of Bucky’s oversized graphic shirts over your body.
Making your way down the hall you could see a figure, tall, wide and tussled short hair. It was Bucky.
“Buck?” You throw his name into the silent air. ‘Bucky’ turns his head sharply towards you, icy blue eyes staring at you, through you.
No, not Bucky, your heart fluttered in fear.
You could hear your phone vibrate from the room but his eyes had you glued in place, you could truly see why people quivered in fear of this man even if he was only fixing you with a glare.
The mobile continued to ring, he didn’t move an inch, neither did you. You knew it would be foolish to attempt to run, the knife holstered to his hip would sink through your flesh before you’d even turned in the opposite direction.
Movement from the corner of the room caught his eyes. ‘The cats, shit!’ your mind raced, watching as his eyes turned to them.
“Please, don’t, you stepped forward finally.
He wasn’t paying attention, watching the white ball of fur stretch her back seemingly far more entertaining than your pleas. She meowed at the large figure, stepping from the chair and sauntering over to his thick boots. His eyes never left her, not for a second, even when the she rubbed her fluffed head against his leather clad ankle.
“Кто?” (Who?) his low voice was almost hard to hear with his head facing the ground but you caught it.
“Alpine” the white ball of fluff perked at the sound of her name before continuing her onslaught of his boots, tiny paws scratching at the toes.
“Alpine” he tried the name on his own tongue, it sounded nice, it sounded familiar.
Just as he was getting familiar with the small white cat another, much darker one plopped down from the same chair. He glanced up at you with question dancing through his orbs.
“Zanzibar”. The black cat seemed wary of his threatening presence, choosing to observe him from a distance rather than join his white friend.
The Winter Soldier, you’d heard so much about him. A killer, an emotionless assassin who would end life without a question. Age? it didn’t matter when you were his mission you weren’t getting out alive, those icy blue eyes freezing you in your spot would be the last thing you’d see before your death.
This wasn’t the man you saw standing in your sitting room, the man you saw was cautious, almost scared to make movement. He may have been a killer, but not now, not as his body crouched down to pet the white cats head with a gloved hand, not while he picked the bundle of fur up in his large hands and into his arms.
He was human.
A pained groan pulled you from your thoughts. Looking at him you watched as he clutched a free hand to his head, his body swaying slightly.
“Are you ok?” You stepped forwards instinctively, placing a hand on his metal arm, as if it were your husband.
“Come on sit” you pushed his large frame to the chair, his body sinking into the comfy material with a thump. His breathing had quickened, the pain in his head increasing. Like someone was crawling up along his neck to the front of his skull, their fingers digging deep into his brain. The cats, seemingly unbothered by his pain perched themselves around his wide body.
Watching him, you could tell he was going faint. His skin had paled to a sickly white, those ‘emotionless’ hues of blue dulling with sleep and his muscles relaxed— you had to get him to bed before he woke up with a stiff neck and an attitude.
“Bucky?” You tried softly but received no response from the barely conscious human, you were out of ideas, no one had told you how to address him in this state of mind. In your defence no one had anticipated this situation at all. Suddenly it clicked.
“Soldat” you spoke more firmly this time, it was almost scary how quickly his head bobbed up at the name— the dark look accompanying the Winter Soldier fought tooth and nail to return to his eyes but he was losing.
Your soft hands wrapped around the tough vibrainum cautiously, hoping that he didn’t swing around and grab at your throat. “Bed, Soldat”
He grunted, wobbling to his feet. But not before grabbing both cats in his meaty arms. Despite neither of them being very small he made them look like balls of soot or dust in his embrace— it was quite endearing to watch as he stomped into your room behind you.
You let him walk past you as you shut the door of the master bedroom, quickly jumping into the bathroom to splash some water on your face and pet down your disheveled hair. You had to be dreaming, right? There was no way such a thoughtless man would spare you and the lives of your kittens, yet he treated them as his own. The cold shock soaking your face confirmed, or rather confused you, you couldn’t believe that you were thinking of how much a dream would make more sense than what was going on now.
Your questions only deepen when you emerged from the joint bathroom and gazed over to their large bed. The Winter Soldier, sprawled across the white silk— boots and all. On his chest lay Alpine, her small paws stretched over who she thought was her daddy’s chest, the black kitty rested curled on his side beside Bucky’s, no, the Soldat’s meaty thigh with his large palm resting on top of the cat like it was a blanket.
You weren’t getting any sleep in the bed now.
As you admired the sight before you, stealing a few pictures for evidence, a knock came from their front door. You froze, looking over the soft features of the Soldat’s face, looking to see if he’d heard it too. Thankfully whatever had happened to him in your living room had knocked him out.
When you got to the door Sam and Steve busted in, dressed head to toe in their costumes.
“Where is he?” Steve questioned, a phone in hand with a small red dot in the centre. They’d tracked Bucky’s phone to find him here.
“He’s in the bedroom” you replied before squeaking and reaching out to grab at Sam, you’d noticed his body turn in that direction. You had to stop him.
“He’s under control”, you breathed, trying to stop yourself from becoming too loud. Both men’s faces contorted in bewilderment. The Winter Soldier? Surely you’d witnessed the same brutality they had.
“What are you talking about?” Sam found his words first, shrugging off your tight grasp and folding his arms under his pecs.
“I don’t know what happened but… he saw the cats and just broke down” you stumbled, trying to find the correct words to describe what you’d witnessed, even if in truth there was nothing to describe what you saw.
“What?”. Steve couldn’t help the way his words laced with doubt, you couldn’t blame him. Maybe he thought you were trying to protect the Winter soldier, or protect them from him.
“I’m not joking”, she retorted then your eyes widened along with your smile. The photos. Yanking the phone from out of nowhere, the first thing that pops up was the picture you’d just taken before they arrived
Sure enough, Bucky’s body lay sleeping on his back; legs and arms spread wide with a kitty close by and the other sprawled out over his abdomen.
“Well I’ll be damned” Sam whispered, Steve didn’t even have the processing power to shout at him for his language.
After that night, Bucky had finally awoke. You’d explained the whole situation and let his soft fingers trail over your body to confirm the Winter Soldier did not harm you, then the teasing began.
The joke would forever be on you though. The cats had finally got a taste of the bed and they weren’t prepared to give it up so easily, the Winter Soldier had indeed harmed you in one way— he’d harmed your inability to sleep close to your man without both cats slotting themselves somewhere they didn’t belong.
-
Hello!! I’m back with more fluff before I dump all my smut on you again.
The first part of this had been sitting in my drafts for about a month and I finally got round to finishing it.
I hope you enjoyed.
#bucky barnes x reader#beefy bucky#bucky drabble#winter soldier#mcu bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky fanfic#james bucky buchanan barnes#james bucky barnes#bucky#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes imagine#beefy bucky fluff#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky fluff#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky x y/n#bucky x female reader#james barnes#james buchanan barnes#marvel
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Jayce Talis Hips
Short Drabble based on certain gif a moot of mine posted a while ago, featuring Jayce Talis councilor era with his fat ass
Jayce Talis x gn!reader (established relationship)
Warnings: suggestive, featuring Jayce Talis ass, featuring Jayce Talis lowkey giving slut, brat!Jayce, sub!Jayce
You wonder if he’s aware of it, hands propped upon his desk, broad back hunched, to catch a better glimpse at the schematics strewn before him.
He notes something down, leaning forward, his behind pertly presented as if on a platter. And he does it again— that slight shake, it’s hypnotic, seeing the focal point of your ever poignant arousal sway left and right, like the pendulum of a clock.
And much like a pendulum it is trance-inducing.
It seems the scientist does it in response to a triumph, at least what he suspects to be one. Each time he seems to have overcome another calculating conundrum he lets out a self satisfied hum, in tandem with the mesmerizing display, his lower body does.
It’s maddening, you press your lips together in concentration as you try your damndest not to nurse your, already sore, lower lip between you teeth.
Akin to Jayce’s muscle memory, your own is no longer under your influence. With your legs pressing against each other, your eyes flitting up to him and down to the block perched upon your lap. You suppress a frustrated sigh, you really wanted finish reading this book.
But now you’ve been stuck on the first page of the last chapter, for a good 15 minutes, leading to it suffering from crinkles, at the haphazardly folded corners, the outlet of your pent up nerves.
A clank and whispered sorry pulls you back to the instigator of your problem.
It makes you wonder if he’s too far in his head, or if you could attempt to bait him. If you must suffer from his mere presence, why shouldn’t he know just how much?
So you give it a start, “What are you thinking for dinner?” you inquire, trying to sound as nonchalantly as possible in your state. Mulling over the leather bound book, as you press it shut.
Jayce huffs, not in frustration but in thought, your query ringing throughout his skull.
“I really liked that place Sky recommended…” he states, casually, over his shoulder, not sparing you a glance just yet.
Your eyes fixated on his backside, as you slowly prop yourself up, placing the unread book atop the, now, abandoned chair.
You hum in thought, gazing at Jayce, watching the muscles in his back shift underneath his, notably tight, cream colored shirt. He tilts his head “Not what you were thinking?”. His voice tinged in wonder, even as his back is turned to you, you, your presence is his sole focus.
“Not really” your heels click across the lab, as you idly take note of all the clutter Viktor had strewn about his own work station. Unsurprised it’s seemingly in a scientists nature to be untidy.
„Anything particular on your mind?“
The wording couldn’t have been more on the nose, because there is something very much particular on your mind.
You’re aching to have him know, know what he does to you. How just small subconscious gestures of his, have you needing him on his knees.
Though you want him to figure it out by himself.
You occupy yourself, picking up a stray cog, turning it over on your fingers, as it reflects the blue hue of the hex-crystal powered machinery before you. Turning your head sideways, from the corner of your eye you see him shift, shooting you a look.
Almost got him hooked.
„I was thinking we could safe the pocket change and get something more local“ Jayce mumbles something underneath his breath, but it’s evident you’ve truly got all of his attention now, as it has him gently prying his gloves off, turning to fully face you.
Leaning against the desk, tapping his notably, ink smudged, chin in thought.
You send him a slight glance over your shoulder.
The display has you smiling to yourself.
„I’m somehow feeling like there’s something, I am missing here“ he mutters, his shining eyes now taking you fully in.
„Well, you are a scientist, figure it out.“
You lilt, gently placing the cog back before sauntering towards your lover. Paralleling his stance, you reach your thumb up to your mouth, pressing your tongue against it.
Jayces eyes follow the display with keen interest, his own tongue darting out to wet his lips.
His half lidded expression soon gets wiped of when your thumb reaches his chin to clean of the ink smudge. The brunette hums lowly in mock displeasure, his eyes falling shut as his eyebrows crinkle, but there’s a very apparent uplift to his lips.
„Are you going to tell me what this is about or am I going to have to beg?“ he whispers, as your warm palm cradles his cheek, him nuzzling into your gentle touch.
„I’m very much not opposed to any begging on your behalf“ you press your lips against the corner of his mouth, ending the affection much to soon, as Jayce tries to chase after your redend lips.
A sharp whine bubbles from his throat, one that has you snorting out a laugh.
„Must you?“ he mumbles, having the look of a kicked puppy as you crowd him against the table. The swell of his prominent arousal already tenting his pants.
„Must I what?“
Another gasp rasps through his chest as you slowly let your hand drift across his hips, mulling your thumb over the hip bone, before moving them to the small of his back.
„I’d like to ask you the very same question“ Jayce’s bottom lip begins visibly trembling, as his pupil widen. His brows draw together, but there’s something about his avoidance of your gaze.
„You knew“ you deduct, he peers at you briefly, his lips drawing together in a small pout.
With the bobbing of his throat, the small droplet of sweat tantalizingly slowly trickling down his exposed neck— the stark look of guilt.
„Councilor Talis were you trying to tease me?“ it comes out with a note of awe, it’s not often Jayce takes this sort of initiative.
Using his title also seems to do something for him, knowing that it holds no weight when he’s with you. He can try to acclaim his superiority as much as possible but it’ll all just melt away with a tilt of your head.
„I wasn’t. I was conducting an experiment“ he choked out, crossing his arms, before peering at your hands drifting down to the enticement of your evening.
„Did it bear any results?“ you mumble, kneading your hands into the muscled yet, pillowed by a nice layer of fat, globes of his ass.
He swallows thickly, letting out harsh puffs of air as his hands rest on your shoulders for purchase. The tenting in his pants more apparent than before, but you barely spare it a glance, much to Jayce’s dismay.
„My partner is undeniably needy“ he exposes his neck as he presses out the words, short breaths slithering out of throat, presenting his canines in the process.
„And my partner is undeniably mouthy today“ you squeeze the fat of his left cheek, raising your brows, watching his jaw slacken. His amber eyes clouding over, as he arches his back into your massaging grip.
„Does that mean no food?“ almost like an excitable dog he tilts his head, his face flushed with sweat pearling at his neck. And those pursed lips, begging to be bitten.
„Well, I would say that all depends on how good you can be“
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xx. dog days are over - t.w.
pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff
word count: 6.2k
warnings: cursing, toto being a mess, discussion of injury, mentions of a car accident, some tension between team principals, age gap relationships, teasing, slight angst, mostly real fluffy shit hehe, yadayadayada
a/n: ummm.. how did we get here? well.. this is the last chapter of my baby :’) i really hope you enjoy the ending! i really am so proud of this series and what is to come! <3
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a muffled voice floods your ears.
blinking, your lids open, weighed down by this heaviness.
there’s a buzzing pain in your skull, muscles searing with a fiery sensation, burning as you prop yourself up. your helmet is off, tossed approximately three or so feet away.
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
you pant for just a moment, shaking your head as the air billows into your lungs. the action pours life back into you, leveling your racing thoughts, your blurry field of vision coming into focus.
alex hovers above you, concern plastered across his features as you stir, coughing slightly.
“what the fuck happ–”
his arms are around you, bringing you tightly against his chest. sobs wrack his torso, his head buried in the crook of your neck.
“holy fuck. h-holy fuck.”
“alex,” as you blink, your line of sight falls on your crumpled car, how the metal curled against the barrier, pieces scattered all around, littering the asphalt, “w-what happened?”
“there was a crash,” his voice is eerily quiet, “i’m not quite sure how it happened or who caused it, but you came flying towards the barrier. you rolled a few times. you were unconscious when i–”
another cry rings out, the driver burying his head in his hands. carefully, you squeeze him against you, “did you–”
you’re cut off as the medics jog up to the scene, an ambulance parked close by.
“are you okay?”
“yeah!” you nod, “i’m fine.”
“we’re going to have to transport you to the nearest hospital,” the paramedic kneels to your right, “even if you show no signs of external injuries, we would still like to transport you. make sure that everything checks out.”
“do i have to?” you arch a brow, “i feel fine.”
“it’s just a precaution,” the paramedic’s voice is light, laced with a gentleness, “let’s get you on the gurney.”
“can i come with?” alex’s voice sounds to your left.
“don’t you have a race to finish–”
“i’m coming with,” alex repeats, his tone hardened. he rises to his feet, offering you his hands, “come on, let’s go get you checked out.”
“what about james?” you press, accepting his gesture, “what about your points? the fia? alex, you could get in so much trouble–”
“it’s one race.” he scoffs, helping you onto the gurney, “i think i can face the repercussions of leaving one race. i’m a big boy, i can handle it. besides, i’m your emergency contact. i need to be there with you. who’s going to call your parents? toto?”
toto.
oh god.
you eyes dart towards the pits, desperately searching for that mercedes logo. yet, it’s too late, as the paramedics start to haul you into the ambulance, alex following in suit. he clambers into the back end, taking your gloved hand into his.
“you have no idea how fucking scary that was.”
“well that’s the perk of being a bad bitch,” a giggle bubbles up in your throat, “and you know what that perk is?”
“you can’t kill a bad bitch,” the corners of his lips tug upward, fighting a smile.
“what about your phone?” you nudge the driver, “how are you going to get ahold of everyone?”
“simple,” he leans back, his head resting against the equipment, “once we arrive at the hospital and get you situated, i’ll use their phone to call lily. i’ll tell her to ask for access to my driver’s room. you’re lucky you left your phone with mine.”
“we can thank james for that,” you exhale, your body relaxing as the medic slips a pulse oximeter on your index finger.
the adrenaline was beginning to dissolve, crumbling away to pain. sharp, aching, pain. the paramedic senses your shift in demeanor, clearing his throat.
“feeling some pain?”
“yes,” you wince as you adjust in the limited space of the gurney, “all over.”
“anywhere specific?”
“my neck,” instinctively, your hand reaches upward, rubbing the sensitive area, “i would say it’s a six out of ten there. the rest of my body is more like a two out of ten. i figure it’s just from the impact?”
“exactly,” a chuckle flows from the paramedic’s lips, “although this probably isn’t your first crash, and it won’t be your last, that pain is normal. especially from an impact-related injury. you’ll probably ache for a couple of days.
we’re mainly going to get you in for a ct scan. make sure you’re not bleeding anywhere internally. they’ll probably run a few other tests. i’m not the doctor, but i’m sure you have a concussion.”
“will they keep me overnight?” the inquiry tumbles out, heart racing as you the anticipation builds, the paramedic sucking in a breath.
“they probably will. just for observation.”
“great,” you fold your arms across your chest, a pout forming, “how am i supposed to give insight on my near-death experience if i’m stuck at the hospital?”
“don’t worry,” the paramedic shoots you a wink, “i could keep you company if you need it.”
“and she has a boyfriend i’m calling as soon as we get settled. he’ll be more than happy to keep her company.”
the iciness in alex’s tone takes you by surprise, the driver glaring daggers across the gurney. the paramedic shoots you an inquiring glance, earning a shrug from you in response.
“what can i say? he’s right. and this man is probably losing his shit right now because he can’t be here with me.”
although your tone was lighthearted, in your heart you were well aware of the truth.
the team principal was more than likely seconds away from losing his shit, barely maintaining his composure.
and who knew how much longer he would keep it together before cracking completely.
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
“toto!”
lewis hamilton pushes through the mass of mercedes crew, “toto!”
although there was much to celebrate today with the conclusion of the race, the british driver was well aware of the harsh reality.
the team principal’s mind was nowhere focused on the team, his drivers, nor their accomplishments.
he picks out the large stature of toto wolff, the team principal pacing back and forth, george situated in a chair, a hand holding his chin. there’s no clear emotion across george’s face, but there is a haze of pure and utter fear swathing the team principal, strings of curses flying from his tongue.
“not doing too hot, is he?” lewis clicks his tongue.
“not at all,” george mutters, shaking his head slightly, “poor bloke is driving himself mad over here. i’m afraid he’s going to start a reign of terror over at the haas paddock.”
“who caused the accident?” lewis arches a brow, licking his lips.
“hülkenberg,” george tuts, rolling his eyes, “it was a complete accident, really. toto has only reviewed the footage a hundred times or so in the last hour. he thinks it was on purpose, but really it was just a mistake. we know it happens all the time.”
“well,” lewis begins, a sly smirk forming, “when his precious angel is involved, it was no accident. hey, lover boy!”
toto swivels on his heel, bearing a tight-lipped frown, “what?”
“any updates on your babygirl? do i need to drive you over to the hospital myself? we can storm in and demand her room number.”
“alex texted me about half an hour ago,” george answers, fishing his phone from his pocket, “she’s getting some tests done but we should be able to visit soon.”
“you’re going?”
“why wouldn’t i?” george shrugs, scrolling along, “that’s my future teammate. i want to make sure she’s okay.”
“aww georgie,” a chuckle rumbles in the driver’s chest, “are we all going to become besties? a little trio?”
“well your days here are numbered,” george counters, “we won’t be a trio for long.”
“just because i’m going to ferrari doesn’t mean i can’t be your bestie,” lewis puckers his lips, “so, what’s the word? are we going to the hospital soon or what?”
“you’re coming too?” toto’s voice from behind startles the driver, earning a flinch.
“holy shit!” lewis clutches his chest, “you about gave me a bloody heart attack!”
“you’re not the only one today,” the team principal inhales sharply, “i’m just shocked i kept it together throughout the debrief.”
well, that was not necessarily true.
although george had managed a podium, lewis in p4, toto was visibly distressed. his shirt, normally wrinkled after the chaos of a race day, seemed even more disheveled, his hair a haphazard, fluffy mess. even his piercing, eagle-like gaze was filled with nothing but anguish, an anxious, darkened hue.
his voice shook throughout the entire post-race debrief. he could barely formulate coherent responses while he was interviewed by the various media outlets. during the press conference, you could just tell that he was nowhere on this planet, his attention barely present throughout the entirety of the event. when asked about the williams driver, the team principal short-circuited, completely shutting down any and every reporter that came near. he even cussed out a journalist who inquired about the driver, asking if he knew her current status.
it was very clear that the team principal was on the brink of a complete breakdown.
but lewis was not going to mention that.
not the time nor the place.
which, not like he could really blame his boss.
he loved that girl, oh so dearly.
and to watch, completely helpless as she barreled into those barriers? holding his breath as alex held her unconscious body, pleading for the medic? with there being no communication regarding her condition as they hauled her away in the ambulance, how was he supposed to feel?
without a doubt, he would be a nervous wreck, pacing violently back and forth.
or curled up in a ball on the floor, sobbing.
“is she even allowed visitors?” george’s brow furrow.
“if not i’ll just pull the ‘i’m lewis hamilton and very famous’ card,” lewis waves a hand, “it’ll work like a charm.”
“are you going to fuck a nurse while you’re at it?” george teases, springing to his feet, “well, i am going to have carmen make arrangements for a ride to the hospital. alex says that she’s doing okay. lily is already there with him. he said he would give us more details when we arrive. are you riding with me or toto, lew?”
lewis shifts in place, turning to toto, “how are you getting there?”
“theodore is driving me,” the team principal shoves an arm in his jacket, glancing at his phone, “he’s going to be arriving in a few minutes. i do not care who you ride with. you can come with me. it is up to you.”
the british driver bites on his lip, chewing at it momentarily, “well, i guess i’ll ride with you, toto. you look like you may need some company.”
“well then,” the team principal lets out a shaky breath, “let’s get going. i’m not doing any further press conferences, team meetings, or events this evening. it will all have to wait.”
“look at you,” lewis whistles, following his team principal and fellow driver as they stroll out of the garage, making their way through the paddock.
“everyone, everyone! make way for the knight in shining armor! he’s on his way to save his damsel in distress at the emergency room!”
meanwhile, at the montreal sacred heart hospital, a driver sits in her bed, fiddling with the fabric of her sheet. two visitors hover in the chairs beside the bed. one flips through the stations on the television, the other scrolling through her phone.
“you have no idea how terrifying that was,” a voice pipes up, trembling slightly, “i was so scared that it was a lot worse than it really was. when alex pulled you out of that car, i swear the entire circuit was holding their breath.”
“i thought i was going to start throwing up in my helmet,” another voice chimes in, “i have never had that much adrenaline in my life. i think that was one of the few times my body was truly in fight or flight mode.”
“thank god you didn’t start running away,” you fight a yawn, the exhaustion slowly creeping in.
or was it the muscle relaxers? you couldn’t quite tell.
the entire crash was a blur. there were no minute details, as it all just was just one big foggy, blobby, mess in your brain.
the only thing you could remember were the memories of toto as you flew through the air, propelling towards that barrier.
once you were all settled in your temporary room at the hospital, alex filled you in on what occurred.
from what he witnessed, he stated that nico hülkenberg of haas had a malfunction with the car, causing him to start viciously spinning out of control. unfortunately, you were an innocent victim, as his car hit yours with such a violent force it sent you rolling. nico was able to regain control of the car before crashing out, leaving you as the one who suffered at the hands of the haas engineers.
the fia was not going to punish nico, as it was not intentional.
which, was fair. you could understand that. it would have been a completely different story if he was trying to overtake and pulled a sketchy move. unfortunately, it was just the dangerous aspect of life as a formula one driver.
you were going to crash the car. sometimes more than once in your career.
even if it was not entirely your fault.
however, there was nothing more than you wanted than to get behind the wheel of a car. your car, and finish the race.
too late for that, though. far too late.
it was nearing nine p.m., and visiting hours were going to conclude here soon.
since alex was at the top of your emergency contacts list, he was granted access to stay the night with you. which, you didn’t mind. he had been extremely gentle with you since the crash, tending to your every need.
he had lily bring all of your favorite treats, packed your trusty stuffed animal, and even ensured that all your jewelry was safely tucked away in your overnight bag.
additionally, he called your parents for you, explaining the series of events between the start of the race and up to the moment you were wheeled into your room. although everything had checked out, they wanted to keep you overnight for observation.
after all, it wasn’t everyday you were colliding into a rigid surface at nearly one hundred miles an hour.
approximately five minutes ago, you received a text from toto stating that theodore was pulling up to the entrance of the hospital. lewis was with him, carmen and george about ten minutes behind them.
although they had left around the same time, somehow toto had gotten there first.
you almost didn’t want to know how fast the car was going.
“you should have seen the way i was tearing at the car,” alex remarks, putting his hands behind his head, “i felt like goddamn superman.”
“he sure was,” lily lets out an airy giggle, “speaking of which, where is your–”
“guten abend,” an oh so familiar voice interrupts, thick with the accent you adored so dearly.
your head swivels towards the entrance of the room, toto standing in the doorframe. in his hands is a bouquet of flowers, a bag slung over his shoulder. the moment your eyes meet, he softens, his lower lip quivering.
“and he brought a friend!” lewis chirps, poking his head out from behind the team principal, “how are you feeling?”
“tired,” you blink, face scrunching into yet another yawn, “they gave me some muscle relaxers for my soreness.”
toto crosses over to the bed, pulling up a chair. placing the flowers on the nearest table, he sets his bag on the floor. although the actions were simple, it felt like minutes until two hands found yours, bringing it to his lips.
“ich hoffe es geht dir gut. die blumen sind nicht die besten, aber sie reichen aus.”
“mir geht es nicht so gut,” waves of drowsiness crash over, your head meeting the pillow as toto chuckles, kissing each one of your knuckles.
“zumindest hast du medikamente und gute freunde.”
“ich liebe dich,” you whisper, tears welling up as he leans over the bedrail, pressing a light kiss to your forehead.
brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, you swear you can see the hint of a sparkle in his gaze as he gives you one last kiss on your temple, trailing down to your cheek, “und ich liebe dich.”
“do we have the right place?” a new voice sounds from the entrance.
before you drift off, the muscle relaxers sucking every last bit of energy, you make out george walking in the room, carmen giving you a slight wave as the world around you fades away.
so much for visitors.
however, the bunch remains perched by your side, conversing among one another as you doze off. toto remains as close as possible, caressing your cheek with the pad of his thumb, murmuring strands of hushed german.
lewis can’t help but watch, his heart swelling at the pure, genuine love bursting in the team principal’s stare.
in that moment, you could have sworn toto was gazing at the stars.
“are her parents coming?”
george’s question is a pressing one, as this was something that had been on lewis’ mind as well. surely her parents would come, right? if his child was recovering from a gnarly crash, he would want to be there.
“no,” alex’s voice is thready, “her parents are still in the process of obtaining their visas. they are not able to make it, unfortunately. that is why i’m her first emergency contact in situations like this. toto is second on the list, actually.”
in the corner of his eye, lewis notices toto perk up, straightening in his chair, “w-what?”
“i’m not shitting you,” alex focuses his attention on the team principal, “you’re second on the list. she had it changed recently.”
“that’s–” toto begins, shock painting his features as he scrambles to formulate some sort of response, “i-i never would have–”
“i hope i’m not crashing the party.”
a new voice interjects, timid as it carries throughout the space.
glancing over his shoulder, at the sight before him, toto’s heart skips a beat.
there stands james vowles, hands shoved in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe. toto’s stare darts towards the clock, eyes squinting as he makes out the pointed direction of the clock hands.
8:54 p.m.
only six minutes until visiting hours were over.
“no,” alex purses his lips, “come join us! the more the merrier.”
james saunters over to the bed, carefully selecting a place between alex and lily, closest to the wall. toto could sense the waves of anxiety radiating off the team principal, how his muscles were wound up tight from tension as he folds his arms across his chest. he swallows a lump in his throat, swaying slightly as he hovers behind alex.
hmmph. what a pussy.
“hello–” a nurse pokes her head in, eyes widening at the large group, “oh wow! i was not expecting so many visitors! i was just popping in to remind you all that visiting hours will be wrapping up in approximately four minutes or so. those who are not immediate family will have to leave until the morning. the hours will resume at eight am.”
“is it okay if i stay?” alex pulls up his sleeve, exposing a wristband, “i’m family.”
“of course!” the nurse chirps, “those who do not have wristbands will have to leave. if you guys need anything, please let me know. i will be back in about ten minutes to make sure that everyone who is not family has left the room. it’s not the– oh my god. is that lewis hamilton?”
“indeed,” lewis waves, flashing a wide grin, “i’m just here visiting my friend.”
toto can’t help but roll his eyes as the nurse strolls over to the driver, a dusty pink hue tinging her cheeks, “is it okay if i get a picture?”
“of course!” lewis winks, “would you like a few? george can take them.”
“here we go,” george mutters, earning a chorus of laughter from the group, “sure, i’ll take them.”
as the three head over to the farthest corner of the room, toto wipes his palms on his pants, “i should probably head out then.”
“wait,” alex sticks out a hand, leaning over to dig through his bag, “i have something for you. they gave us three wristbands for the family. lily and i both have one, and she asked that i give you the other. you’re more than welcome to stay with us tonight. i’m not sure where you’ll sleep, but i’m sure we can ask for more pillows.”
“oh,” heat rises in the team principal’s cheeks as alex hands him a wristband, “are you sure?”
“she wouldn’t shut up about you,” lily adds, “she told us that if she fell asleep, she hoped that you would be the first person she saw when she woke up. she wants you to stay. we want you to stay.”
“all right,” his focus shifts towards the bed, where his golden girl was sleeping oh so peacefully, her chest rising and falling rhythmically, “i’ll stay.”
“we should probably get going, though,” carmen murmurs, glancing at her phone, “visiting hours are over. i’ll corral the two brits over there. we’ll probably be back tomorrow.”
“sounds good,” alex dips his head, “thank you for coming. i’m sorry she wasn’t awake long enough for–”
“don’t apologize for that mate,” george swiftly cuts off alex, placing a tender hand on his shoulder, “we wanted to come. besides, it’s always nice to see you.”
“it is always nice to see my boyfriend,” a chuckle flows from alex’s lips, “see you guys. thank you for stopping by.”
“of course,” george wraps an arm around alex, bringing him in close, “we’ll be back in the morning.”
“bright and early,” lewis brings a hand to his mouth, yawning, “let’s get out of here. i’m beat.”
“see you two tomorrow,” toto tuts, “you better get some good rest. especially you, george. no celebrating with the lady.”
“yeah, yeah,” george scoffs, waving one last goodbye to the group, “see ya!”
as the three exited the space, james runs a hand through his hair, “i guess it’s my turn to go, yeah?”
“you can stay a little longer,” alex shrugs, “i’m sure that nurse won’t mind. after all, she got her photos with the lewis hamilton. i’m sure her mind is other places.”
“actually,” toto begins, clambering to his feet, “james, i need to speak with you. out in the hall, please.”
james shrinks in his stature, “o-okay.”
as the two make their way out of the room, toto can feel his heart race, thumping against his rib-cage as james shuffles behind him. blood roars in his ears as he comes to a halt, bringing the team principal to a waiting area, settling in one of the chairs. james faces him, exhaling as he crosses his legs, his hands resting on his knee.
this was the pivotal moment of the season.
the defining moment in which determined toto’s success for the years to come.
not only the success of the team, but the preservation of their reputation.
this would be the start of contract talks among the two team principals regarding the release of the williams driver, where she would sign to mercedes for the 2025 season.
all he needed was that blessing from james.
those few words that would give him the approval that he was desperately aching for.
“surely you know what this is about.”
james forms a tight-lipped frown, “i do.”
“and what are your thoughts?” toto leans back, allowing james to take the floor.
“as much as i want her at williams until 2026,” james’ voice is nearly a whisper, “i know where her heart lies. she wants to go to mercedes, where she will be by your side. and you know, i have had to face the hard facts that i cannot stop her. she is going to do everything in her power to get to you. she’s made that very clear with me.
and you know, i have had to do my own thinking about what is best for the team. if she is not happy with us, that is not ideal for the team as a whole. she’s unapologetically herself, and i know that she will speak out against us if she stays here. she will start to resent me, the williams name, and even start to resent racing. even the thought of driving a car will start to leave a bitter taste in her mouth.
i don’t want that. she is an exceptional driver. one in a million, actually. i have never quite seen such drive and desire to win in someone that young. she’s the best fucking driver on that grid and i’ll be damned to see her lose that fire burning within. i don’t want to be that person to quench those flames. so, toto, here is what i am going to tell you.”
he pauses, catching his breath before continuing.
“you have my blessing. we can start those contract talks. you have to promise me one thing, though.”
“what is it?” toto presses, cringing at the desperation dripping in his tone, “i’ll do anything you ask, james.”
“that you will take care of her. no matter what. if you two decide to end things romantically, you have to promise me that you will still look out for her. she has a good head on her shoulders, but she is her own worst enemy. she will lash out at the media, get violent with other drivers, and worst of all, doubt herself. i need you to be the person who will lift her up. always.”
james, you have no idea.
“i will be,” toto sucks in a breath, “i will be that person who loves her unconditionally. no matter what. even if things do not end well between us, i will be that person who will continue to support her and lift her up when she needs it. that is my job as the team principal. and you know i try my best to do a damn good job at that. james, i have a question for you.”
“and that is?” he raises a brow.
“do you have any idea of how much i love that woman?”
james tsks, shaking his head, “i have seen the interview with sky sports. i’ve seen the way you look at her. i think i have an idea.”
“well then,” toto leans forward, sticking out his right hand, “are we good then? i will probably contact my assistant and have her start drafting the necessary emails. we will get the ball rolling.”
james reciprocates the gesture, his hand interlocking with toto’s, shaking it, “we are good. i will keep in contact with you. i have full faith in you, toto. i know you will take care of her. i just have this fatherly instinct when it comes to her. i hope you can understand. i just want what is best for my american girl.”
you and i both, james.
and she will thrive at mercedes. without a doubt.
“james,” the corners of his lips curl into a meek smile, “i can promise you that i will give her the best and only the best at mercedes. i can promise you another thing.”
“and what could that possibly be?” for the first time in weeks, toto heard laughter erupting from the team principal’s throat.
“i can promise you that i will make her a world champion. she will be the 2025 world driver’s champion. and she will be the world champion in the years to follow. i will do everything in my power to ensure that she gets what she deserves. there’s no doubt about that.”
☽༺ sunday, june 30th, 2024 ༻☾
“golden girl! look who we brought!”
turning your chin, you glance over your shoulder to see george russell and lewis hamilton walking towards you, lewis’ hands cupped around his mouth. behind them is toto, donned in his sunday uniform.
“who said that you could call me ‘golden girl’?” placing your hands on your hips, you can’t help but giggle as lewis pulls down his shades, rolling his eyes.
“i thought it was a universal nickname, my apologies!”
“that nickname is reserved for the one and only torger wolff,” sticking out a tongue, you gravitate towards the team principal, feeling his arms envelop your frame.
you’re showered with kisses, his mouth roaming all over your head and cheeks, “good afternoon, my love.”
“hi baby,” rising on your calves, you graciously accept a chaste kiss, lewis and george curling their lips in disgust.
“please get a room.”
“no, seriously. there’s places in the paddock for that.”
“are you ready for today?” toto’s mouth hovers by your ear, voice soft.
“of course,” you nod, “i was born ready, remember?”
today was the infamous austrian grand prix, hosted at red bull ring. fans from all over swarmed the stands, pumping their fists and raising the dutch flag, in favor of max verstappen. additionally, there was a plethora of mercedes fans, as this was toto’s home race.
although you had yet to officially announce your departure from williams, the contract was signed. all you had to do was verbally state your intention to race for mercedes at the start of the 2025 season. which, you were holding off that announcement as much as humanly possible, even if the media generated dozens of speculations with each passing day.
in the weeks since montreal, life was nothing but a blur, the days blending together.
there were several lengthy flights, a brief visit back home in the states, a few days in monte carlo, and most importantly, time spent with toto.
since you suffered a concussion in canada, you were grateful for the two-week period between montreal and barcelona. you were given adequate time to recover without feeling the need to rush back into racing.
although you were anxious to get back behind the wheel again, toto urged you to take it easy.
so, you did, taking your mind off racing for a while and flying back to arizona for a week. toto accompanied you, where you got to show him around your hometown, introduce him to your parents, and even give him a taste of that good ol’ american lifestyle.
at first, your parents had their reservations. however, your predictions were correct. once they met the austrian, they were wooed over by his charming personality and witty humor. the two of you were able to discuss your move to mercedes. which, resulted in the three of you holding each other, tears in your parents eyes as they profusely stated over and over again how proud they were.
your father was over the moon, as he knew how driving for mercedes was a lifelong dream of yours.
and thanks to toto and james, you were able to achieve it.
the second you were discharged from the hospital, toto had arranged for theodore to pick you up. from there, you were taken to the airport, where you hopped on a flight to brackley.
upon your arrival to the mercedes headquarters, you were met with the williams team, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you began to connect the dots.
toto was able to get james’ approval. which meant that you were able to begin contract talks.
the negotiations only lasted half an hour, as the team principals sorted things out amongst one another while you were in the hospital. of course, you questioned the fia’s involvement in the matter, as they had made it clear they were to be present during the meetings.
yet, toto and james informed you not to worry about a damn thing, as they had discussed matters with the fia prior to your arrival.
so, all you had to do was sign the papers. check the boxes when needed, initial here and there.
once the contract was finalized, you were surprised by george and lewis, the two of them embracing you so tightly that you were sure you broke a rib or two. additionally, you were introduced to mick, who was absolutely starstruck by your presence.
although there was the setback in montreal, there was still much to celebrate.
you were still the leader of the pack in terms of the driver standings, max and lando not too far behind. even after recovering from your nasty concussion, you were able to pull off a barcelona win, sharing a podium with lewis.
part of you wished that you, george, and lewis could all share a podium together under the mercedes name.
yet, that was not possible.
besides, lewis was already bound to join ferrari. george would remain with you at mercedes, with mick as the reserve driver. lewis promised that the three of you would still remain close, even if he was in that unforgettable ferrari red.
you were well on your way to making history as the first female world driver’s champion.
and god, did that leave such a fucking sweet taste in your mouth.
“if i win your home race, will you come and kiss me on the podium?”
“we’ll see about that,” there’s the glitter of amusement in his mocha depths, his dimples forming as his grin widens, “i don’t know if our pr teams could handle another mishap like monaco.”
“that was not a mishap,” you counter, “that will go down as one of the most unforgettable moments in f1 history.”
“perhaps you’re right, my love,” taking your hands into his, toto intertwines your fingers together, “you’re going to be careful out there, right?”
“right,” you affirm, “i’m going to be oh so safe.”
“unless she wants to overtake kevin again,” george whistles, “we’ll have to watch for that.”
“good thing i’m pole,” you roll your eyes, “shouldn’t you guys be heading back to the paddock? we’re going to start soon.”
“yes,” lewis’ head turns, focusing on the track, “we should probably get going. i just wanted to make sure that loverboy got a kiss before the race.”
“well thank you–”
“all right people!” james’ voice floats through the garage, “it’s go time!”
“oh shit,” you exhale, “i really have to go.”
“good luck, my golden girl,” toto leans in, pressing one more kiss on your lips, “i love you.”
“i love you more,” you can’t help but feel heat burning in your cheeks as george and lewis snicker, making kissy faces, “i’ll see you on that podium for that kiss soon, yeah?”
“you bet,” toto squishes you against his chest one final time, “i have to go, my love. see you soon!”
“see you soon!” you nod enthusiastically, zipping up your suit, “good luck lew! good luck out there george!”
“where’s my american girl?” james inquires, searching wildly for you as you enter the garage, “i need my american girl!”
“i’m here!” you raise a hand, “i was just getting my good luck kiss.”
“oh god,” james lets out an exasperated sigh, “well come on, we gotta get a quick debrief in before the race.”
before you know it, you’re behind the wheel of your car, gliding onto the track.
easing on the gas, you sail towards the pole position, the rest of the grid lining up in their respective positions behind you. the lights on the track gleam red, signaling that the race was merely minutes from starting.
as the crew gathers around your vehicle, swiftly prepping in that thirty second period, you can’t help but feel your heart rate escalate, adrenaline beginning to pump through your veins. clicking the visor down on your helmet, your body tenses, anticipating that final light. that final signal before it’s lights out in austria.
swallowing the lump in your throat, you hum under your breath. it’s a simple tune, really, a song by florence + the machine.
the dog days were over.
you had truly braved the worst of storms in the past few weeks, from a terrifying crash to the revelation in monaco. you were dealt horrid hate comments, bizarre headlines from the tabloids, and the falling out of a friendship with someone who cared so deeply for.
but here were you, despite it all.
on your way to win yet another grand prix. another event to add to your personal history book.
another milestone for the woman referred to as america’s sweetheart.
there’s a beat of silence before the final light flickers, the roar of engines deafening.
“and the austrian grand prix is underway! perfect reaction time for the american girl! she is off to a magnificent start! will she make history yet again?”
in seventy-one laps time, you would have that answer.
but for the time being, you were going to savor the moment. the thrill of it all.
and for now, that would be enough.
racing was never in the cards.
but fuck, were you oh so elated that you ended up here, behind the wheel of a williams car, destined for greatness.
the american woman who made history as the first female world driver’s champion.
that had a nice ring to it. a real nice ring, actually.
abu dhabi could not come soon enough.
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
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hello! can i request zayne with reader who shows up at his doorstep really badly injured and just passes out against him when he opens the door?
i really love how you write zayne in your fics and i've been thinking about this idea for awhile..
// Safe Haven
"You're not fighting alone this time..."
// summary: your assignment was taking a turn for the worse and out of desperation and panic, you turned to the one person you know will always be there for you...
// content warnings: injuries, blood, angst, fluff. IT'S SOFT BOI HOURS, OKAY?
// a/n: hope I did your idea justice anon! something about the idea of seeing Zayne's all possessive and protective makes my chest ache!
likes, reblogs, comments are always appreciated!
Zayne couldn't place his finger on the feeling, but something had him full of restless energy despite the late hour. He'd decided the only course of action was to burn it off, so he put on his sweats and headed out into his quiet leafy suburb for a late night jog. He used it as an opportunity to clear his thoughts and mentally debrief himself about the surgery he had completed earlier, about his to-do lists and then his thoughts drifted as they always do, to you.
He hadn't heard from you for a few hours, which wasn't unusual for you two, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing that he hadn't seen a goodnight text or voice note from you, hoping that it meant maybe you had conked out on the couch and were getting some rest. As he walked the last block back towards his house, relaxing on his cooldown he takes a photo of the full moon in the sky and sends it over to you along with a "the moon looks beautiful tonight" note.
DING.
Zayne approaches his driveway and your notification sound rings out, echoing in the silent night. He shakes his head, a smile touching the corner of his lips as he realizes you're nearby but his brow knits in confusion when he doesn't see your ride parked nearby. She probably got dropped off by Tara or that partner Xavier, he thinks to himself with a shrug. The cool night air was trapping the sweat in against his compression shirt, making him shiver as he walked up the steps to his front door. Something was off, he realized suddenly; one of his ambient security lights that normally cast a soft glow up his front steps was dimmed and bent at an odd angle, like something had fallen on it.
He leans over, attempting to make out in the dark what landed on top of it to break it when he hears it again and sees the flash.
DING.
Blood turns to ice in his veins as your notification tone sounds from beside the broken garden lighting, the flash of your phone camera strobing in the darkness for a split second in tandem with the sound. Delicately picking up your phone in his left hand, his heart catches in his chest as he sees bloody fingerprints on the screen. Zayne's mind surges with all sorts of worst-case fears as his eyes desperately scan the yard for any sign of you, but you're nowhere to be found.
Wary now and knowing you're hurt, he carefully calls forth shards of ice to his fingertips of his right hand, holding them tensely, ready to jump to action if he needs to defend himself too. Punching in the code for his electronic front door lock, he lets the door swing open as he steps inside cautiously, but nothing seems to be out of the ordinary inside. Zayne moves room to room silently looking for anything out of place, any sign of you, without success.
He's just about to shut the front door and start making calls to your boss Jenna and emergency services when your hand slams against the closing door, jolting him as he stares at you. "Zayne..." you squeak out, using all your strength to prop yourself up on his doorframe.
"I'm so gla-" you don't even get a chance to finish before your body is in freefall towards him and his eyes widen in panic, the phone and the ice shards both clattering loudly on the entryway tiles as he scrambles to catch you before you hit the floor. "My hero..." you joke weakly, face pallid as you slip out of consciousness in his arms.
Cradling you gently, kneeling on the cold tiles beside you his combat medic instinct overtakes his fears and he begins to perform some cursory checks, noting how pale your lips are, how shallow your breathing is, and that's when he sees it; your right arm is dangling limply, seemingly dislocated from the socket and the sleeve has been ripped to shreds, your bicep showing a deep, angry wound. You've lost a lot of blood and you're in shock, so Zayne knows he needs to act swiftly.
"I'm so sorry, this is not going to be enjoyable for either of us." he murmurs to your unconscious body gently as he takes hold of your dislocated shoulder, feeling for the socket before firmly and skillfully setting it back into place. You cry out a whimper of pain as it temporarily wakes you and he brushes your hair away from your forehead with a bloody hand, stroking the backs of his fingers tenderly across your brow with a trembling touch. "Shhhh my love, I'm sorry, I know it hurt but I had no choice, it couldn't stay that way, you're okay, I've got you. You're okay."
Your eyes are glassy and unfocused, but you look up at him like he's an angel, the ceiling down light cascading around his dark hair above you like a halo; that handsome face stroking your brow lovingly with gentle sweeps, trying so hard to hide from you how scared he is as he smiles down at you trying to reassure you both with his soft whispers. As your eyes begin to flutter shut again and unconsciousness swallows you, you see him pulling his compression shirt off up over his head, his bare chest sucking in deep shuddering breaths that betray his smile and measured tone.
Zayne ties a sleeve of the compression shirt around your bicep wound like a tourniquet and loops the other sleeve around your neck, creating a very crude home made sling for your badly damaged arm. If he thought he had more time, he'd run to the bathroom for medical supplies but you were too pale and he was terrified to let you out of his sight so he made do as best he could. Swallowing down all sorts of insidious memories and fears from his time on the front lines, he works to stabilize you so that you'll be safe to move.
Grabbing the throw blanket off the couch and draping it over you, he scoops you up into his arms, pressing you tightly into his body as he carries you to his car, delicately lowering you into the passenger side and locking the seatbelt over you. You flit in and out of consciousness under the bright streetlights as he drives you to Akso Hospital, the steady weight of his large hand cradled behind your head, pressing and stroking tenderly on the nape of your neck the only constant feeling other than pain.
"Dr. Zayne, didn't you finish a couple of hours ago? Did you forget something in your office?" The tired but friendly voice of Dr. Greyson rings out over the car's Bluetooth speakers as Zayne's call to the nurses station connects. "Go cuddle with your Lady paperwork can wait!" Yvonne laughs in the background and Zayne realizes he's on speakerphone.
"I'm just about to hit the exit ramp. I'm 2 minutes away, prep a bay in Emergency Greyson...it's y/n." Zayne says with a harsher, colder tone than he intended, fear for your wellbeing getting the better of him.
Silence hangs on the line for a moment before someone sniffs awkwardly and a cacophony of chairs scraping and shuffling flares to life as the nurses scramble.
"How bad?" Comes the soft reply and Zayne can hear the concern in his colleague and friend's tone.
Zayne squeezes the nape of your neck reassuringly, but whether it's to reassure you or himself, he can't tell; "she's lost a lot of blood, it's hard to say. I have her stable but we don't have much time," he responds, his voice breaking slightly.
"We'll be waiting for you at the front doors." Greyson says confidently as he disconnects the call. Zayne's golden-green gaze flits across to your lips, checking on your shallow breathing as he pulls his car into the ambulance bay. Just as promised, Greyson, Yvonne and the other nurses pull up a stretcher to the passenger side of the car and open the door, looking across from you to Zayne and giving him a solemn nod.
Zayne gives your neck one last squeeze and lets them take you from the car, watching critically as they lift you gently onto the stretcher and rush you into the waiting Emergency bay. He shivers as the shock starts to wear off and the cold silence of the middle of the night settles in. Looking down at himself, realizing that he's half-naked and covered in smears of your blood, he grabs his coat out of the back of his car and jogs in after them.
He's about to follow them into the Emergency bay when Greyson puts a firm hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. "Are you trying to come in as her Doctor, because you don't trust us to work on her, or her lover because you need to know she's okay?" He asks pointedly.
Zayne snarls out a frustrated sigh, but Greyson continues.
"The code of conduct is there for her interests as the patient, you know that. I'll call you in as soon as we're done. You look like hell, go clean yourself up."
Zayne nods his resignation with a scowl, knowing Greyson was right. He wasn't happy to be called out on it, but Zayne couldn't maintain his objectiveness and professionalism, not when you were involved. The Akso Hospital board might turn a blind eye to him being your General Practitioner while dating you, but they would not stand for him being part of a surgical team.
He showered in the Doctor's suites and grabbed a spare shirt from his office before settling into the visitor's seating in the hallway outside Emergency. Zayne was lying back in the armchair, his head tilted back as he rubbed slow circles on his temples when Greyson finally come out to get him a couple of hours later.
"She's got a fractured humerus and she needed almost a litre of blood, but she's out of the woods now. Pulse is strong again, color has returned and we've stitched up the wound in her bicep. She's asking for you." Greyson said with a smile, giving Zayne a pat on the shoulder as he walked off towards the Doctor's suites.
"She's awake?"
He calls back over his shoulder with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Go to your woman, Zayne!"
Zayne slips in through the door to see the nurses packing up the crash cart and various other Emergency supplies and they give him a knowing smile as they make way for him. Yvonne hands him the pillow she was about to put behind your head and says with a smile "we should leave you two lovebirds alone, you've been through a lot tonight."
"You look..." Zayne begins, pushing the pillow in behind your head.
"Terrible?"
"A sight for sore eyes. For a minute there I was scared I was going to lose you."
You chuckled weakly, color rising in your cheeks. "You aren't getting rid of me that easily, Handsome." You reached for his hand, wincing as your stitches pulled and Zayne slipped his hand over yours, gently snuggling himself onto the bed beside you. "I don't know what would've happened if you weren't there..." you began, emotions spilling over and you choke back a sob. He presses you into his chest, hushing you and peppering kisses into your hair.
"Don't think about it Darling, don't upset yourself with what ifs and scenarios." He murmured. "I was there, you're safe now. I've got you and that's all that matters."
As he let you cry softly against his warm chest, he rubbed slow circles on your back, squeezing you tightly, pecking little soothing kisses onto your head. Zayne gently brushed your tears from your cheeks, gazing down at you lovingly, the pad of his thumb feeling so comforting as you stared up at him.
Zayne released you and reached over to read your chart, his brows knitting and his eyes narrowing as he scans through your status and treatment observations. Giving you a gentle peck on the cheek, he tells you he'll be right back and slips from the room.
He's gone for a few minutes and when the door to your room opens, he's carrying the powder blue baby blanket you bought him when he was struggling with nightmares and sitting on top of the bundle were a couple of his always on hand mint candies. Climbing back onto the bed beside you, pulling you onto his chest so he can support your wounded arm he spreads the blanket out over the two of you.
Zayne unwraps a mint candy and holds it out for you.
"Open." He commands gently and you part your lips to let him pop it into your mouth, before he takes the other one himself, tossing the wrappers into the little trashcan beside your bed. "They're keeping you in for observation overnight, so lets do our best to get a good night of sleep, my love." Zayne explains to you in a soft, whispered tone, pulling your head down to rest underneath his chin. As you both chew your candies and cuddle into each other's warmth, he strokes your hair until after a few minutes he feels your breathing settle and you relax, falling asleep against him.
The door opens with a soft click, Greyson poking his head in silently to check on you before he ends his shift, changed out of his scrubs and now in his casual wear. He gives Zayne a small nod and Zayne nods back at him solemnly in thanks, the two men exchanging a whole conversation unspoken in their gestures. The whole time Zayne is squeezing his arm tightly around you, cradling you to his chest as you sleep, his heartbeat lulling you into gentle dreams.
#18+ mdni#lnds zayne#love and deepspace headcanons#love and deepspace imagine#love and deepspace imagines#love and deepspace zayne#zayne love and deepspace#zayne x mc#zayne x reader#reader is MC#Zayne fluff#Li Shen#Shen Li#Zayne Li#lads Zayne#l&ds Zayne#LADS#loveanddeepspace#love and deep space#Zayne
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How would Yandere Suguru react if he discovered that y/n was obsessed with him but to avoid him getting suspicious y/n pretended to be obsessed with someone else?
He fucking hates when you talk about that stupid monkey. He haaates when you bring him up. He hates when you smile when he's brought up. He hates when he crosses his account because you're following him on every single website that Suguru follows you on. He fucking hates that stupid thing because he's taking all of the time and energy he deserves from you. HE deserves you. He deserves your time, your energy, your breath, your tongue fixated on his name, he deserves it. He worships you. That no-life doesn't even know you, so how the fuck is it possible he gets to have you??
Endless questions that are never answered just gets shoved down his throat into his aching stomach once more as you ramble to him as he settles down on your bed.
You're flipping through channels and decide on one that you like. And as the TV gets it ready, you slip away to the bathroom for a little bit. And, as usual, Suguru tries to find anything you could possibly be hiding. His hand discretely goes through your nightstand drawer. He comes across a locked box. Funny. Wasn't here last time he checked this.
Good thing he has a thing for picking locks, right?
He gets it open, and there is a notebook. Heavy and thick with stuff taped inside of there, lots and lots and looooots of writing. All about him.
............All about him. Suguru Geto. Every single entry is titled with his name and the entry number. There's at least 30 in there. But you have so much to say about him, he can't stress that enough, that you finished the thing!
His head feels light as he realizes you've been lying about the dude you said you liked. You were covering up for your obsession over him....!
You come back and see him with it in his hands and you both make eye contact. He watches your face drop and you gasp, your body flinching as you see your most private and personal possession in his hands. You poured your heart into that fucking notebook, every page contained how you felt about the man on your bed reading it, from when your obsession first started to now. You only finished it last week. And here he was reading it.
You were scared. Suguru placed it on the bed when he saw your face, as if you were about to die for committing the biggest sin in the damn scripture of man, getting up to approach you. You shook your head and took steps back when he took steps foward.
All he wanted was to assure you, but you couldn't hear a damn thing he was saying, your ears ringing, pressure building in them as your heart raced. This was your biggest fear.
"Wait, Y/n, please-" Your eyes glossed over as you left your bedroom. He followed close behind and when he grabbed your arm, you just dropped to the floor. He was quick to follow, holding you in his arms. You sobbed your heart out, clutching him like he'd disappear in thin air and his heart breaks. Couldn't you tell he loved you just as much as you did with him?
"Please don't hate me!" You struggled to slip those words out in between sobs and choked up cries.
Suguru tries to ignore the glee he feels in his heart when you really confirm his suspicions. You were really crying for him. Over him! You really wanted him to stay with you. To love you. He wiped your delicious salt tears off of your face, embracing your beauty even when your face was puffy from the crying.
"I don't hate you, baby, I don't. I love that you love me. I love that you want me. Cause I want you, too, okay? I love you, Y/n. I do."
"......are you lying to me?"
"I would never lie to you. You're the last person I'd lie to."
#yandere#jjk#reader#yandere x reader#yandere x you#jujutsu kaisen#yandere character#jujutsu kaisen x reader#yandere jjk#suguru geto#geto#jjk geto#jujutsu kaisen geto#yandere suguru#yandere jjk geto#yandere suguru geto#yandere geto suguru#yandere geto x reader
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Perhaps some Buddie “I didn’t know where else to go” if you so wish? Love your writing!!
(buddie) (975 words) (edit: now featuring eddie pov!)
cw: vague description of a very bad car accident
Buck is exhausted and aching and, at this exact moment, extremely confused.
Eddie, illuminated only by the flashing blue and red of the police car idling in his driveway, looks wrecked. The phone pressed to his ear slides through his fingers and clatters to the ground.
“Buck,” he says, only it sounds less like his name and more like a sob.
He launches himself forward and wraps Buck in a hug so tight it hurts. He presses his hand to the back of Buck’s head and buries his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. A shaky exhale ghosts across his skin.
“Eddie,” Buck says, tentatively returning the hug, “what—what’s wrong?”
A choked sob wracks his body.
“Eddie,” Buck repeats, alarmed. “What is it? Is Chris—“
“No,” Eddie gasps, “no, it’s—“ Another sob interrupts his speech. He doesn’t let go.
“Eddie, what?” Buck asks desperately.
He pulls back, just far enough to look Buck in the eye. His cheeks are tear stained and red and Buck’s really starting to panic because he’s only ever seen him like this once and—
“I thought— you— god, Buck, I thought you were—“ He squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re here,” he says shakily.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” Buck replies helplessly.
Eddie takes a few deep, shuddering breaths. “I saw—it was on the news. They weren’t sure there were any survivors,” he whispers.
Buck’s stomach drops. “Eddie,” he says, unable to keep the devastation out of his voice.
“And then your Jeep was—“ Eddie continues haltingly. “I tried to call you.”
“I lost my phone,” Buck breathes. “I—I’m sorry.”
“God, Buck, you don’t need to—fuck.” Eddie lets go of him and drags his fingers through the tear tracks on his cheeks. “You’re here,” he says, something like wonder coloring his tone, “that’s everything.”
All at once, the exhaustion that’s settled into his bones threatens to bowl him over. “Can we—“ He gestures to the still open door.
“Yeah, of course, I—“ Eddie takes another breath and grabs Buck’s wrist.
Buck scoops Eddie’s phone up off the stoop and allows himself to be pulled into the living room.
“Was it as bad as it looked?” Eddie asks quietly once they’ve settled on the couch.
“Worse, probably,” Buck admits.
Black tags had outnumbered the green three to one. He’d’ve been one, probably, if his Jeep hadn’t gotten pinned between a Prius and the guard wall. The several minutes it took him to shatter his windshield and clamber out were the only thing between him and the tanker when it exploded.
By the time the 136 arrived, there wasn’t much left to save.
Eddie takes Buck’s face in his hands and tips forward until their foreheads touch. “Thank you,” he breathes.
“I got lucky,” Buck replies. So fucking lucky.
“Thank you for coming here,” Eddie clarifies.
“Where else?” Buck asks.
Eddie tenses. “Shit,” he says. “Your sister.”
For a moment, he doesn’t understand, but then Eddie’s scrambling for his phone and it hits him like a ton of bricks. She must think—
The call connects before the first ring finishes.
“Eddie,” Maddie gasps down the line, “is—“
“It’s me,” Buck says quickly. “I’m fine, Maddie, I’m okay.”
“Oh thank god,” Maddie says. Her voice cracks, and with it, Buck’s heart.
“I’m sorry,” Buck says. A tear slips down his cheek.
“Evan,” Maddie says, and yeah, that just about covers it.
“We need to call Bobby too,” Eddie says, a little mechanically.
“Of course,” Maddie says. “Thank you,” she continues in a rush. “Thank you both.”
The call ends and Buck takes a shaky breath. “You all saw it?” he asks.
Eddie shakes his head minutely. “No, just— just me.” He stares down as his white-knuckled hands. “When I couldn’t get ahold of you, I…” Eddie trails off.
On instinct, Buck takes one of his hands. “I’m okay,” he says quietly.
“Let me—after we call Bobby?” Eddie asks.
Buck nods. “You can make sure,” he whispers.
With shaking hands, Eddie navigates to Bobby’s contact and taps call.
“Bobby,” Buck says as soon as it connects.
“Kid,” Bobby answers with palpable relief.
“I’m okay,” Buck continues. “I’m with Eddie,” he adds unnecessarily.
“That’s— thank God,” he says emphatically. “Athena!” He calls out, a little muffled.
Buck swallows harshly. “I’m sorry I scared everyone,” he says.
“You’re okay,” Bobby says firmly. “That’s all that matters.”
Eddie meets Buck’s eye and gives him a slow nod.
“Okay,” Buck says. “Okay.”
He talks to Bobby and Athena for another few minutes while Eddie grabs his first aid kit from the bathroom. It takes him a little longer than it should, and when he comes back, his eyes are a little more red and swollen.
They end the call and Buck lets himself be manipulated into a better position for Eddie to check him out. His eyes slip shut as Eddie methodically checks his vitals.
“Shirt,” Eddie says quietly after a few minutes, pressing his palm gently to the center of Buck’s chest.
Buck dutifully sheds his jacket and pulls the t-shirt over his head. As soon as it’s off, Eddie sucks in a sharp breath.
“That bad?” Buck asks.
Eddie reaches out and trails a gentle finger along the already purpling bruise that stretches diagonally across his torso. He shakes his head.
“It could be a lot worse,” he murmurs. His expression shifts minutely, and he swallows.
Buck catches his hand and presses it to his chest, right over his heart. “I’m okay,” he says. “I’m alive.”
Eddie closes his eyes and brings his other hand to Buck’s cheek. “I don’t want to say it like this,” he says.
“Eddie,” Buck replies. He aches.
“But…” he continues. “Stay?”
“Always,” Buck breathes.
Eddie pulls him into another tight hug. His shoulders shake.
#thank you anon!!#i hope you like it :)#abbie answers#abbie writes#911#buddie#buddiefic#buddie fic#fic#it is possible there will be more to this one 👀
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A Burning Hill
construction worker/underground fighter simon riley x waitress
mood board
song of the chapter is Pretend by Alex G
tws: sh injury, physical discomfort, violence
previous chapter → chapter 4 -> next chapter
word count: ~3.5k
You’re sick as a dog. Panting and slimy in your creaky bed, blanket kicked and crumpled to the footboard. The burn on your chest is swollen, angry, and oozing under the makeshift bandages Olive swathed you in days ago. Ronny has called you at least five times, each ring prising you from the fragile cocoon of restless sleep you’ve managed to weave. Your phone buzzes now, taunting you from the dresser. Just a mere few feet away. A short reach.
You stretch out your hand, your fingers twitching, aching for just one more inch of reach, hoping—praying—that your arm might suddenly grow longer. Long enough to brush the phone. Long enough to silence it. But every attempt leaves you with a limp hand dangling over the side of your bed and a hollow, wheezy sigh escaping your lips.
Olive sent you home yesterday. She took one look at your sunken eyes, pale complexion, the way you swayed on your feet as you knotted your apron, and didn’t give you a choice. “I’ll cover your shifts,” she said, her tone tolerating no argument. “Until you’re looking more like a human being than a ghost.”
The thought comes to you slowly, sluggishly, like a heavy tide creeping in: Maybe this is an easy way out. Just stay here. Let the fever do its work. Let the infection take over, creeping through your veins like rust on old pipes. Rot away in your bed until the light above drinks you up.
How pathetic. Dying of an infection from a self-inflicted burn. Too scared to do the job yourself, so you let the elements finish it for you. Let them break you down, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left to recognize.
Suddenly, a knock rattles through the silence, edged and obstinate, pulsing in your skull like a drumbeat. Your breath hitches, shallow and ragged, as if the sound itself has stolen the air from your lungs. Frozen in place, you don’t answer. You can’t. The weight of the fever presses down on you, but it’s the icy prickle of panic that locks your body in place. Your mind spins: Did someone find you? How? Each knock feels denser than the last, and a thousand explanations churn in your head.
The phone on the dresser buzzes again—another call from Ronny—and for a moment, you wonder if it’s connected, if somehow he’s sent someone here to lug you back to a life you’ve worked so hard to enshroud. Your pulse croons in your ears, every nerve on edge, waiting for what comes next.
Then, a voice muzzled by the door: “Blue, it’s Riley.”
You almost laugh—if you could find the strength. Riley. You think about his crooked nose, the way he speaks without hurry, like the world will wait for him to finish. A construction jacket and a coffee order. That’s all you know.
Another knock. Blairing this time. “I know you’re in there. Olive told me.”
Olive. That traitor.
Your hand sags off the side of the bed, fingers twitching toward the phone that buzzes again, its vibrations rattling the chipped wood of your nightstand. You try to form words, but they deteriorate before they leave your tongue.
And then you hear it: the soft click of the front door. The scuffle of boots on your entryway floor. He’s inside.
“Blue?” His voice moves through the house like it belongs there, moored but heedful, as though he’s navigating a minefield. You want to yell, to tell him to leave, but all you manage is a puny groan that catches in your throat.
It doesn’t take him long to find you.
“Jesus Christ.”
He’s a haze in the doorway of your room, framed by peeling paint and sagging drywall. His shadow stretches across the floor, falling just short of your bed. You squint, trying to push away the fog in your eyes, and there he is. Tall, broad, the hem of his faded green jacket brushing his thighs. The material strains slightly at the shoulders when he crosses his arms, the soft crinkle of the paper bag in one hand breaking the tense silence.
“Olive said you ‘aven’t been answerin’ her texts. Sent me to check on you,” he grumbles, stepping further into the room. His gaze sweeps over you—hair slick to your forehead, barely clothed, glowering—before landing on the burn. Raw. Oozing. Pleading. His lips press into a thinner line.
“She said you weren’t takin’ care o’ yourself. Thought maybe she was exaggeratin’,” he mutters, setting the bag on your nightstand. The red of the burn cream box catches your eye. “Lemme see it.”
Your head shakes feebly against the pillow. “No.”
“Fine. I’ll jus’ call Olive. Get ‘er over here.”
“No, no!” You want to sound flinty, but your voice is crazing and brambly. “You can’t tell her. She’ll hate herself—hate herself for not noticing. Please, please don’t.” You’re out of breath, your hand that was limply hanging over the bed now holding onto the fabric of his jeans.
He sighs, dragging his hand down his face. “I won’ tell her. But you hav’ to show me. I don’t believe that its fine.”
“The fuck would you know? I am fine.” You screw your eyes shut, wishing that when you open them, he is gone.
“Sure,” he drawls, squatting beside the bed. His presence is overwhelming, the scent of cedar and smoke luxuriant in the close space. “Sweatin’ like it’s a thousand degrees in ‘ere. Burnin’ up.” His hand moves, wiping the damp hair from your forehead, palm sultry against your molten skin. “Not to mention I can smell it. But yeah, let’s pretend you’re just peachy.”
“Fuck you,” you carp, turning your face away.
“Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs, his dark eyes scintillating with something like amusement. “Now sit up. If you can.”
You glare at him, a mix of dissent and exhaustion guttering in your fevered eyes, but you don’t argue. Not verbally, anyway. Instead, you brace your quavering arms against the mattress and push. The muscles in your shoulders scream in protest, your elbows wobbling under the weight of your own body. It’s a pitiful attempt, and you hate how much of that struggle he sees.
Before you can slumping back, his large hands are on you—steady, firm. His arms slink under yours, lifting you with ease, as if you weigh nothing more than the blanket tangled around your legs. His chest skims yours as he sets you against the headboard, and for a moment, you feel the surprising gentleness beneath the bulk of his strength, that faint cushion of chub that makes his size even more intimidating. His heat lingers even after he steps back.
“You’re not gonna yell at me for doin’ it myself?” His voice is low, imbued with dry humor as he glances at you.
“Shut up,” you mutter blandly, bending further into the headboard. The cool wood presses against your spine, a stark contrast to the fire licking at your chest.
Simon doesn’t press further. He reaches for the roll of bandages wrapped haphazardly around your chest, the adhesive tainted with sweat and… something worse. His thick fingers, marked with scars and nicks, work carefully to peel them away.
“Gonna sting,” he warns, glancing up at you, his dark eyes searching your face as if gauging how much you can take.
“No shit,” you sneer, though your voice lacks its bite.
The first pull makes you flinch, your head snapping forward on instinct. His free hand pinions gently against your shoulder, keeping you in place without force.
“Easy,” he murmurs, his voice softening in a way that almost makes you wince more than the pain. “I got you.”
You don’t respond. Can’t. The adhesive wrenches at your raw skin, ripping a low hiss from your lips. Simon pauses, glancing at you again, but you wave him on. The quicker it’s over, the better.
The bandage finally comes free, leaving your burn displayed to the cool air. A fresh wave of pain flourishes in its wake, sudden and throbbing, making you gasp. Simon grimaces, his lips pressing into a hard line as he takes in the furious, provoked wound.
“Bloody hell,” he mutters, his brow furrowing deeply. “That’s worse than I thought.”
Your stomach froths at his tone. “It’s not—”
“Don’t,” he cuts you off, his voice sharper now. He tosses the stained bandages into the paper bag before pulling out the burn cream and gauze. “You need more than this shit,” he grumbles under his breath, shaking the cream tube. “You need a fuckin’ doctor.”
“I said no hospital,” you snap, though the words come out weaker than you want. “No doctors. No Olive.”
He leans back on his heels, staring at you like he’s trying to decide whether to argue. Up close, his crooked nose casts a slight shadow on his face, and his lips part, only for him to close them again in frustration. His fingers tap against his thigh, the faint smell of cedarwood and smoke mixing with the metallic tang of your wound.
“Fine,” he says finally, the word heavy. “But you’re gonna let me clean this up proper. No arguing, no whining, no tellin’ me to fuck off. Got it?”
You nod, too jaded to fight.
“Good,” he mutters, leaning closer as he unscrews the cap of the cream. He scoops a dollop onto his finger and pauses, his eyes flickering to yours. “This is gonna hurt.”
“It already hurts,” you reply hoarsely, your voice more resigned than bold now.
His hand, warm and steady, presses against your skin, the cool cream a sharp contrast to the burning heat radiating from the infection. The pain grinds for a moment, making you wince and fist the sheets, but his touch is oddly precise, methodical. You feel every callous on his fingers as he works, but his hands never falter, never shake.
“Still breathin’?” he asks after a long moment, his voice lighter, almost playful.
“Barely,” you manage, earning a faint grin from him.
When he’s done, he wraps fresh gauze around your chest, his fingers unexpectedly gentle as they secure it in place. He steps back, surveying his work with a critical eye, his broad shoulders blocking the dim light of your bedroom.
“There,” he says, standing to his full height, his presence towering over you again. “Better than it was, but you need to keep it clean. No more half-assin’ it.” His voice relaxes slightly, though his words remain compressed. “And you’re gonna eat somethin’. I’ll grab somethin’ from the kitchen.”
“Bossy,” you gabble, letting your head fall back against the headboard.
“Someone’s gotta be,” he counters, the faintest hint of a smirk jerking at his lips as he turns and heads toward the door, the floorboards creaking under his heavy boots. The scent of cedarwood and smoke lingers behind him, a faint reminder of the storm of a man who’s somehow decided to fix you.
Simon returns less than ten minutes later, the floorboards creaking under his weight as he steps back into the room. In one hand, he’s holding a steaming bowl of soup; in the other, a plate with a single piece of buttered toast balanced precariously on the edge.
“Had to scrape together somethin’,” he mutters, setting the plate and bowl on your nightstand with a clatter. His dark eyes narrow as they flick over you, still slumped against the headboard. “You’ve got nothin’ in that fridge. I mean nothin’. How the hell are you not starvin’ to death?”
You don’t answer immediately, too busy concentrating on the smoke wafting off the soup. It smells faintly like chicken, or maybe just broth—nothing elaborate, but it stirs a hollow ache in your stomach you’d ignored was there in the first place.
Simon doesn’t wait for you to reply. “I found a half-empty jar of pickles, a loaf of bread that’s probably older than I am, and some butter that looks like it’s seen better days.” He crosses his arms, his bulk looming over you like a scolding parent. “You expect to live off that? What, you just sittin’ here waitin’ to waste away?”
You glare up at him weakly. “Wasn’t hungry,” you mutter, though even you don’t believe it. Your body practically wobbles with the need for sustenance.
“Bullshit,” he snaps, grabbing the plate and holding it in front of you. “Eat.”
You stare at the toast, mulishness flaring despite the gnawing in your gut. “I’m not a child.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he quips. “Only difference is, kids don’t usually try to kill themselves by neglectin’ a fuckin’ infection.”
With a sigh, you reach for the toast, your fingers trembling as you bring it to your mouth. The butter has melted unevenly, pooling in one corner, but it doesn’t matter. The first bite is bliss, the saltiness grounding you in a way that feels almost humiliating.
Satisfied, Simon turns to the soup. He dips the spoon in and holds it out to you. “Come on.”
“I can do it,” you say, but your attempt to take the bowl from him is so poor it barely counts.
“Sure you can,” he replies sarcastically, keeping a steady grip on it. “Open your mouth.”
You scowl but comply, taking the spoonful of broth he offers. It’s warm, salty, and comforting, soothing some of the ache in your chest that isn’t from the burn. He feeds you spoonful by spoonful, his patience unexpected given the size of his frame and the frankness of his demeanor.
“You’re a terrible patient,” he grumbles between bites. “Makin’ me play nurse ‘cause you’re too stubborn to ask for help.”
“You volunteered,” you point out weakly, though the retort lacks bane. The warmth of the food is lulling you into a foggy calm, and your eyelids start to feel heavy.
He shakes his head, scoffing softly. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”
By the time the bowl is empty, you’re slinking lower into the mattress, the exhaustion from your fever pulling at you more demandingly now. Simon notices, his gaze softening slightly as he sets the empty bowl and plate aside. He stands, brushing his hands off on his jeans, and pulls the blanket up over you.
“You’re a bloody mess,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Gotta figure out how to keep you alive long enough to fix that.”
His scent—cedarwood and smoke—lingers as he adjusts the blanket, making sure it covers you properly. You mumble something incoherent, your voice fading as sleep pulls you under.
When you finally drift off, your breathing slow and even, Simon lingers for a moment, watching. His broad shoulders sag slightly, the weight of something unspoken heavy in the air. Then, as silently as a man his size can manage, he slips out of the room with a quiet Pain in my ass. The front door clicks softly shut behind him, leaving behind only the faint traces of his scent and the warmth of his presence in the empty house.
He’s a shaken can of soda. Bottled up and eager to bubble and fizz over the edge at the first snap. His knuckles aren’t just bloody—they’re raw, split, and sparkling under the yellow warehouse lights. The wraps are long gone, shredded after the first round, leaving his bare hands to meet flesh and bone with nothing to soften the impact.
The air down here is suffocating—thick with the stink of sweat, blood, and desperation. It clings to Simon’s skin like a reminder of where he belongs. Around him, the crowd churns, their voices a discordant purr of bets and roars, urging him forward like he’s nothing more than an animal in a pit.
He exhales slow, bouncing on the balls of his feet, his opponent looming like a freight train. The guy’s face is a mess—a swollen eye, split lip, blood streaking down his neck. Good. Simon’s done his work. But the man’s still standing, fists tight, chest heaving. Another swing could end it for either of them.
Simon feels the ache in his ribs. A rib is cracked—maybe two—but he pushes past it, lets it fuel the fire under his skin. Pain’s a language he knows better than most, and tonight he’s fluent.
But through the haze of bloodlust and adrenaline, a thought cuts through. You. The memory flickers, uninvited but sharp: you, curled up on that worn mattress, sweat gluing strands of hair to your temples, your voice small and tired when you said It doesn’t matter. I'm fine.
He hadn’t answered you then—hadn’t trusted himself to say something that wouldn’t make you retreat further into yourself. You’d looked so fragile, so wary of being seen like that. Vulnerable. Human. And yet, there was something in the way your eyes softened when he stayed, when he didn’t push too hard.
He adjusts his stance, shaking the thought loose. There’s no room for you here—not in this ring, not in this fight. But your image lingers, shadowing his movements like an echo of something he can’t quite name.
The signal comes—just a nod from Price—and Simon thrusts forward, fists flying, every ounce of pent-up rage and guilt exploding in raw, ruthless force. He lands a right hook that rocks his opponent back, the crunch of bone reverberating up his arm.
The guy swings back, wild and reckless, his fist grazing Simon’s jaw. It’s enough to make his ears ring, but he recovers fast, dodging low and countering with an uppercut that lands hard. The man stumbles, spit and blood spraying from his mouth as the crowd howls their approval.
For a moment, Simon falters—not physically, but somewhere deeper. He hears your voice again: It doesn’t matter. I’m fine. A lie so thin it was nearly transparent. How many times had he said the same thing to himself?
His opponent surges forward, and instinct takes over. Simon plants his feet, pivots, and throws everything he has into one last punch. His knuckles connect with the man’s temple, and it’s over.
The guy crumples to the ground, and the crowd erupts, a cacophony of cheers and stomping boots. Price is there almost immediately, clapping Simon on the back, his voice low and approving. “Good work,” he says, already turning away. “Now clean up and get outta here, I need you early tomorrow morning. New buildings and shit.”
Simon stands there, chest heaving, his vision swimming. The blood on his hands feels stickier than usual tonight. He doesn’t know why.
As he stumbles toward the shadows to catch his breath, your face drifts back to him again. Fragile, guarded, but alive in a way that this place never will be.
What the hell am I doing here?
The thought lingers, just long enough to sting. Then he shakes it off and sinks back into the noise.
#cod fanfic#cod modern warfare#cod mw2#simon ghost x reader#simon riley cod#simon ghost riley#simon riley fanfic#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#cod#simon ghost x you#simon ghost x oc#simon riley#simon riley fluff#cod x reader#cod mwii#tf 141 x reader#task force 141#sickfic#cod oc#cod ghost#cod mw3#ghost cod#a burning hill#simon ghost fluff#simon riley smut
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Heyyy:)
I’ve been reading every single SBG Post you have, and I kindly wanted to request something👉👈
Sooo (reader) who’s main weapons are fireworks/explosives(cuz light, and well explosions) And they somehow get hurt by them one day?
(Preferably gn/fem reader, with Ben, Aiden and/ or Tyler) 🧎🧎
Sooo thx for reading this:) You’re so cool!
A/N: oo love this!! thank you for requesting<3 and btw idk why Aidens is so long I think I blacked out while writing for him :,)
warnings: bl00d, swearing, bad grammar, explosives, fireworks, mentions of gagging and throwing up
scenario:
You’ve been playing around with explosives ever since you were little. You lived with your older brother who was experiences with these things and since he couldn’t teach you how to fight, he chose to teach you how to work with explosives. Whether it was fireworks, dynamite, grenades, you knew how to work it. One day while fighting off a phantom your own weapon, well, backfires.
Ben Clark 🎧ྀི
╰┈➤ ⋆。‧˚ʚ 🎧ྀི ɞ˚‧。⋆
You throw the grenade at the phantom, another in hand waiting to be thrown. You don’t realize you already pulled out the pin from the grenade and it explodes in your hand. You feel numb, eyes wide from the sudden explosion and ears ringing. You feel a really bad pain in your arm, well at least whats left of it and scream. Everyone turns in your direction and either gasp, scream, or full on start to gag. Ben rushes to your side and pick you on on his back and runs with you to the graveyard along with everyone else, Ashlyn yelling a quick; “Everyone back down.”
Your vision starts to get blurry and someone hits your cheeks; “Y/N, you need to stay awake, okay? Don’t pass out, Y/N, Y/N!” You keep your eyes open but look away from the gruesome sight and start to sob. “Everything will be okay we won’t let anything happen to you.” You hear a robotic kind of voice and look into that direction seeing Ben with the most worried expression, Aiden standing there next to him to somewhat calm him down. You smile weakly but instantly hold back a scream of pain as someone starts to clean your wound.
“Fuck..” You groan and look at the night sky, hoping for this pure torture to end. You sigh as they finally start to wrap your ‘arm’ and finish the little procedure. After that Ashlyn goes away, probably to throw up or something. You don’t blame her, that was really a gruesome sight. You feel a presence beside you and look towards the person, smiling when you see Ben. “Hey..” You say and he nods, pulling you a bit closer to him. You rest your head on his shoulder and close your eyes, trying to sleep the trauma off. It was funny, you were taking it more lightly than you thought. “Ben?” You say and he looks down at you. “Isn’t it funny?” You smile and look up at him, making him raise a brow; “That everyone is taking this so harshly while I’m here literally not even crying? Well yes I did cry but that shit really hurt and I—” You shut up when you get embraced into a hug. You relax and let the tears fall, Ben patting your back. “Let it out.” He whispers so only you could hear. You were one of the only ones except Aiden and his family that heard his voice. It wasn’t often but when he did speak a warm feeling welled up in your chest.
“It’s okay, I’m here.” He says in a raspy voice and you sniffle, pulling away from the hug. You look up at the stars, trying to ignore your aching arm. “Thanks, um, for being here when I need you.” You say and he nods, kissing your cheek and puts an arm around your shoulder. “I’d do anything for you, I’m just sad I couldn’t stop this whole thing from happening.” He thinks to himself and just stares at you lovingly, leaving you to rest.
Aiden Clark
╰┈➤ ⋆。‧˚ʚ 🎸 ɞ˚‧。⋆
Everything hurt like hell. You could hear a faint buzz in your head as you tried to quickly move away but a sharp pain pierced through your entire body. Tears started to fall from your face. “Why am I crying?” You think to yourself not knowing how to stop the bothersome tears from coming down your face. You look down at your body and your eyes widen, brain forever traumatized by the gruesome sight. Your leg was completely torn off and your side was bleeding as well. Fire was forming beside you where an explosion once erupted from your fireworks. You look at the sky, just hoping for the clock to strike 7 like it usually did and end this horrible nightmare. You feel your body be picked up by someone and just close your eyes, shoulders relaxing as your whole world turns into a black void.
You jolt awake, looking around frantically, quickly relaxing when you recognize your little safe space; your room. You groan, your side and leg feeling numb and tingly. Looking up at the ceiling you contemplate whether you should go to school or not, but you know that would worry your friends and even Aiden even more than you already did. Slipping from under the covers you get ready and walk down to the kitchen where your brother was making you breakfast, your favorite. He smiles at you warmly and kisses your forehead; “Tough night?” He knew what has been going on, you told him just a few weeks after Savannah. You were the first out of the group to tell anyone and your brother of course believed you, knowing you as a person to not make up such things. You frown at the thought of last night and decide to not tell him, knowing he would take the blame, saying something like; “I should’ve taught you better.” or even going as far as saying “I shouldn’t have taught you at all.” You sigh and put on a fake smile; “Hey I’m fine! Everything went well last night.” He smiles and ruffles up your hair; “Okay kiddo, if you say so. Now get to school you don’t wanna be late.” He says and you nod, quickly going upstairs yo gather some last minute things and rush to catch the bus, not really being in the mood to walk to school.
You get to the bus and see a very tired and worried looking group of kids, aka the group. Ben was comforting Aiden who was more quiet then usual, Tyler looking more pissed then ever, Taylor being the complete opposite and put on a fake smile, and well Ashlyn had a poker face on like usual but still looked pretty worried having her head rested on the window looking at god knows what. “Hey.” You say and everyone looks up, Taylor rushing to hug you and Logan who you hadn’t noticed did as well, all of them bombarding you with questions. You sit down and turn so your back is against the chair in front of you and legs towards the back of the seat you were sitting on. You were facing the group and everyone waited for you to speak, but only Aiden caught your eye. He wasn’t looking in your direction and was fiddling with his fingers, something very unlike him. You tell everyone you’re fine and tell them you can talk about it later, grabbing Aidens shoulder when you get off the bus. “Guys go on ahead, we will be there in a minute.” Everyone nods and Aiden tenses up and looks down.
“Hey hun, everything okay? You’re more quiet than usu—” You get taken by surprise when Aiden raises his voice at you, tears in his eyes and a very worried but angry expression on his face. “Okay? Y/N I really am not okay. I saw my s/o get blown up by fireworks, do you know how that feels?” You go to speak but get cut off again and just stay quiet from then; “I’m glad you’re okay but I’m not, oh but wait! I’m totally fine! I just saw the love of my fucking life get blown up but thats totally fine! Is that what you wanted to hear Y/N? Well too bad.” He says and you furrow your brows, fist clenching and face going a bit paler than usual.
“That’s nice Aiden, but you are forgetting who actually suffered here. I’m the one who got hurt and you don’t understand how fucking painful that shit is, getting blown up by something you’ve been taught to use ever since you were little by your own family. I didn’t only suffer physically, but seeing that shit fucked me up just as much as it did you. But yeah if it makes you feel better then you’re the one who suffered the most Aiden.” You say and run off into the school, Aiden watching you disappear in the crowd of students who were rushing to get to class. Your words really got to Aiden, he taught about them more and more as he went to class, where you would be. He sits down and puts on a facade for the others, making himself look like he was okay when he really wasn’t. Ben knew something was off but knew better than to interfere in your guys’ situation.
After school you go home, laying in your bed and look up at the ceiling, salty tears pouring out from your eyes making them sting. You hear a knock on your door and you quickly sit up and wipe your tears; “Probably my brother.” You think to yourself but your body tenses when you see a weakly smiling Aiden with flowers and a teddy bear in his hands. You let him in and close the door behind you, facing him. He sets the gifts down and slowly approaches you, opening his arms for a hug. You tackle him in a hug and you both fall to the ground with a loud thud, making both of you chuckle. You stay on the floor like that for quite a bit, Aiden rubbing your back to soothe you as you cry your eyes out, mumbling apologies and ‘I love yous”. He sits up with you in his lap and kisses your cheek and then nose. “I’m so sorry for yelling at you like that it was so uncalled for and I should’ve realized how painful that must’ve been for you. I hope you can forgive me even tho a simple sorry won’t really make up for what I did and said.” He says and looks you in the eyes, cupping your cheek in his hand. You contemplate what to say, knowing what he did was wrong but you could have handled it better yourself. “I let anger get the best of me again, that fucking realm has been rubbing off on me more than usual.” You think to yourself and sigh, hugging him and put your chin on his shoulder. “Aiden I get it, you were angry, sad, quite literally traumatized. You’re.. no, we’re still just teenagers, that shit was gruesome and I really understand that it upset you, yes the things you said were upsetting and could’ve been handled better but just so you know, I don’t hate you for it.” You say and get squeezed in the hug, making you pat his back; “Yeah, yeah, okay jeez Aiden chill.” You say and he chuckles; “No I’m never ever letting you go.” He says and you smile, looking at the time; “8 more hours..” You say and frown; “Aiden what if I just won’t be able to walk again in that realm, even if you somehow manage to stitch me up, that doesn’t guarantee anything.” You say and get shushed by a kiss on the lips; “Everything will be okay, I promise.”
Tyler Hernández
╰┈➤ ⋆。‧˚ʚ 🥀 ɞ˚‧。⋆
“So basically what you’re telling me is I have to be the look out while you guys go for the jeep?” You say and raise a brow as you throw your dynamite in the air letting it fall back in your hand and repeat that like a hundred times. Ashlyn nods and you sigh, grabbing the pitch of your nose; “You know I could potentially explode the jeep? You know dynamite isn’t exactly the best weapon for close combat.” I say and cross my arms over my chest, hoping that Ashlyn would come up with a better plan. Tyler nods along and sits down next to you on the floor of the bus. “Yeah and that shit is pretty dangerous if it explodes near you so what if a phantom attacks Y/N really close? She could get hurt.” He says and Ashlyn sigh, furrowing her brows since you have been planning this for about a week and suddenly the plans would be changing. “Everything will be fine, we have necessary recourses if anything goes wrong.” She says and everyone gets up, apart from you. You sit there and think about all the worst possible outcomes, knowing your own brother once got hurt by dynamite but recovered and still lives a fulfilling life.
Tyler stops in his tracks and looks at you, walking back to you and crouches in front of you. He lifts your chin to look at him and smiles at you; “Everything will be fine, you’re talented Y/N, not everyone can work explosives like you do.” You smile and stand up, hugging him tight and give him a quick kiss on the cheek; “Well, let’s knock these bitches dead.” You say and grab your dynamite and lighter, putting them in your pockets. Aiden ordered some suits online and bought a different one just for you since your weapon was dynamite. You can store them in a belt you have or pockets. It was nice of him but you really couldn’t stop thinking about how anything could go wrong. You finally shake off the thoughts and leave with everyone except Logan who would be near the base with a gun. Everyone runs to the house as “Party rock anthem” were heard in the background.
You smirk and get your dynamite in hand; “Let’s get this party started!” Aiden cheers and Tyler rolls his eyes, making Taylor laugh. “Take this seriously guys.” Tyler yells over the music and you just smile sheepishly as everyone runs into the house except for you like the plan was supposed to go. You turn on your headlamp so the phantoms can’t get that close. You see a group of them standing near the speakers where the song was playing, but you knew you didn’t have that much time before it stopped playing. You hear commotion behind you and see Ashlyn getting pulled up by a phantom. “Shit!” Aiden was standing there trying to get up to help her so you boost him up since you can’t really help unless they want an exploded house and a dead Ash on their hands. The commotion atracted a group of phantoms and they were a bit far because of the light you had turned on. You smirk and light your dynamite throwing it right at them. You cover your ears and let it explode, knowing that probably attracted more phantoms so you take another one out. Eyeing the area closely you hear the song end but see tha Aiden and Ashlyn managed to kill the phantom some how. You smile and give them a thumbs up.
You walk a bit farther from the entrance of the house and the jeep, lighting another dynamite and throw it at another group of phantoms. You walk back a bit so you don’t get exploded but don’t hear Ashlyn yelling for you to watch out when a phantom sneaks up on you. Your eyes widen and you shine a flashlight on it but you stumble back and start to hear loud ringing in your ears. You feel a warm liquid run from your upper leg. You look down and see a huge gash in your leg, maling you scream. You cough as dust and ash starts to fly around from the explosion. You sob and crawl closer to the jeep, seeing that phantoms were getting into the house; “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You whisper to yourself and sob, sitting down next to the jeep, keeping an eye out for your surroundings. You tie your wound with a ripped piece of your pants and groan in pain as it tightens around your leg. You see everyone get out of the house and Tylers eyes widen when he sees you laying there, bleeding. “Holy shit, Y/N!” He yells and picks you up, everyone getting into the jeep fast as phantoms start to swarm the car. You sob into his shoulder as Taylor applies more pressure to your wound.
Everyone gets out of the car once Ash swerves into the graveyard and get you out of the car. Sobs and sniffles were heard as you cried your heart out from the pain. Tyler had your head in his lap and brushed hair from your face. He whispered sweet nothing into your ear and things like “It’s almost over.” “You’re doing great mi vida.” making you relax just a bit. Ashlyn was stitching your wound and that was the worst pain ever. “Okay, it’s done.” Ashlyn says and packs up the first aid kit, cleaning the blood off your leg and leaves so you and Tyler can be alone for a bit. You try and sit up but your arms give out, making you fall back into his lap. He puts an arm under your shoulder and lifts you up so you can sit next to him. He looked worried but had his brows furrowed and also looked a bit angry. He was mumbling curses in Spanish and sometimes mumbling something about the phantoms.
You lay your head on his chest and he kisses your head letting you rest after that traumatic event. You smile and start to talk; “Sorry, I should’ve been more careful.” You say and he chuckles a bit; “Yeah you should’ve, but things happen and you’re so brave for getting through that.” He says making you smile. “I should’ve been there to help although I probably would have made things worse, but still you get the point.” You nod and he stays silent for a while before he speaks up again; “I’m glad you’re okay, you really did such a good job at protecting us and don’t you think other wise you hear me?” He says in a stern voice and you nod, chuckling. “Yeah, yeah, if you think so.” You say and he pulls you closer “I know so.” He says and kisses your soft lips, making you forget all of the pain you once felt.
#sbg x reader#sbg tyler x reader#aiden clark sbg#sbg aiden#sbg fanfic#sbg ben#sbg tyler#aiden sbg#sbg#sbg (webtoon)#sbg webtoon#ben clark sbg#aiden sbg x reader#sbg aiden clark#aiden clark x reader#aiden clark#tyler hernandez x you#tyler hernandez x y/n#tyler sbg x reader#tyler hernandez x reader#tyler hernandez#ben sbg x reader#sbg ben clark#ben clark x reader#ben clark
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Work Bully!Katsuki
18+, MDNI!!, Not Proofread!
Work Bully!Katsuki makes your day a living hell. Taking the parking spot you were heading to, making you ten minutes late trying to find another one. If he sees you rushing towards the elevator he makes sure to press the close button leaving you to wait for the next elevator. Anything you put in the refrigerator will go missing. He either takes it himself, offers it to someone else, or throws it away just to spite you.
Work Bully!Katsuki who the bosses love and praise. He’s running close as the top employee, but so are you which makes his blood boil. He hates how the bosses can’t just assign him to tasks alone, always wanting their two best to get everything done together.
Work Bully!Katsuki who takes your pens and files when you aren’t looking. You are left to wonder where you left them. Retracing your steps all the way back to the floor you just left. Checking desks, floors, and rooms you just left.
Work Bully!Katsuki that followed you to that room and locked the door. The floor was empty, you both left alone working overtime that night. The man’s cock harder than steel from setting your pretty figure in your skirt all day. Your body enticing him to run his hands over it and bend you over the nearest surface.
Work Bully!Katsuki who ignores your agitation with him as you lecture him about the continuous nuance he is being towards you. Walking up to you and trapping your body against the table in the room before speaking, “I fucking hate you”.
Work Bully!Katsuki who has you gripping his hair as he eats you out on the table. Your thighs squeezing around his head as you moan out in pleasure. His tongue working a number on you, making a mess of your cunt. Between his wet muscle licking every part it can reach and your juices flowing out, your inner thighs and his face are covered.
Work Bully!Katsuki who rips open your shirt exposing your breast to him. Your buttons landing all over the room as he pushes you toward the large copy machine in the room. Pulling down your bra, he gropes the flesh in his hands lowering your top half to the machine. Grabbing your skirt and tugging it out of his way to relieve the ache in his cock.
Work Bully!Katsuki who turns on the copy machine as he’s thrusting his cock into your spongy walls. Your cunt massages his girth so well that he’s grunting and moaning at every stroke. He’s pushing as deep as he can go, balls hitting your pussy, thighs to thighs, and the sound of skin slapping rings throughout the room with your combined moans.
Work Bully!Katsuki who lets you cum on his dick as he tweaks your clit between his thumb and forefinger. He pulls out of you and makes you drop to your knees facing him. Taking his heavy cock in his hand and stroking it to the visual of your fucked out face.
Work Bully!Katsuki that releases his load on your face as if he is painting a pretty picture. Getting your cheeks and lips covered in him. He leans down and kisses your cum covered lips, pushing his tongue in your mouth. Swirling his cum with your saliva makes you both groan.
Work Bully!Katsuki who throws a wet wipe to you before turning to say, “fucking hate you.” The last thing you hear before he exits the room leaving you to finish getting dressed by yourself.
Work Bully!Katsuki who is smirking to himself as he holds the multiple copies of your pretty breast. Thankful that the copy machine did such a great job capturing his new jerk off material till he finds time to fuck you again.
✨️
Thoughts of a Slutty Virgin - 🧚🏽♀️
Another lil thought of mine🥰
ENJOY!
Pixie's Masterlist
#mha smut#bnha smut#katsuki smut#bakugou smut#bakugou katsuki smut#katsuki bakugo smut#anime smut#mha x black reader#black reader smut#x black reader
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cw: unhealthy relationships, yandere, abusive relationship, some physical abuse, stockholm syndrom, kidnapping&isolation, forced marriage, afab reader, they have a kid. abuse of power. mdni. non-con. pregnancy mention, forced pregnancy.
character: diluc
You loved him once - you knew you did. You loved him when you were kids, when he was trying to impress you with shy, goofy smiles and strange presents. You loved him in the time he was gone - and you has your own life. Until he came back and was different.
But you could love him still, maybe.
And you're not sure when you stopped loving him - maybe it was when he didn't give you a choice in living with him. He'd made you disappear from the eye of Mondstadt, left you locked in a room and forced you to accept your new role.
Maybe you learned to despise him at the alter, unable to cry as you exchange rings. He loves you, he tells you - promises to protect you. Promises that he'll always be there to save you and protect you. You doubt that - your backside hurts and you can't sit properly. And your wrists are still healing. You want to tell your parents - but oh, how proud they are of you. And Kaeya enables him.
Your head aches constantly from being drugged.
He loves you, he tells you one night. Most desperately. He needs you, wants to - you tell him no.
He is displeased and all that's left is you, him, the bed. And the months of patience, years of self denial disppears as he pins you to the bed. You feel things then - anger, sadness and worst of all, pleasure, as his mouth works you in ways unfamiliar to both of you. The way he groans your name sounds holy and sacred. He worships you like a goddess.
And you hate how good it feels until you feel the head of his cock press against your wet, needy cunt.
"Diluc, no."
"I want you." he groans. "I love you." When you start to beg and panic, he hushes you - sloppy kisses, hot and desperate. You feel like you're burning up under him. The pain subsides soon, and you pray he comes soon.
"N-not inside." You plead, but his lips are against yours - hungry, needy. Biting. You moan when he fills you up. When he stops, he peers down at you with a wild, feral look and you tremble. He slowly pulls out, cum followimg. Maybe he's done.
And he slams back in and you scream. You thrash.
"Shh, shh - I've got you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love you, I love you."
When he is finished, he cleans up you both - unable to meet your gaze or to look upon your bruised body. The audacity to feel shame.
Diluc moves in to kiss you and you duck. He is unimpressed but says nothing - leaves you to be on your own.
You're not sure when love turned to hate but it's a bitter feeling that lingers, months later when you realize the worst thing in the world.
A baby. You are -
You sob. You hate him, you hate his red hair, and smoldering eyes and how he once charmed you. How he made you feel so special to feeling like you're nothing. And you hate him.
But you won't hate the little one - you're sure of it. This, this one is yours and yours alone and he can't take it from you.
#yandere genshin x reader#yandere diluc#yandere diluc x reader#yandere diluc x you#yandere genshin#yandere genshin x you#yandere genshin impact#yandere genshin imagines#yandere diluc x y/n#yandere diluc imagines#yandere x reader#yandere darling
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Nurse Lance : ̗̀➛ Lance Stroll
summary: you were all set to be there and cheering lance on at the race, that was until, the world's worst cold decided to hold you back
“Are you sure that you’re going to be alright?” Lance quizzed once again as he hurried around the hotel room, making sure that you had everything that you would possibly need for the day at arm’s length.
“Lance, it’s just a bit of a cold, I’m sure I’ll survive for a couple of hours,” you tried to protest, but he was having none of it. If he had his way, he wouldn’t even be going to race, instead staying back and taking care of you, but you refused to let him miss out on the race just because of you.
“You promise that if you need anything you’ll give someone in the garage a ring, please.”
“I absolutely promise,” you assured him as Lance chuckled his rucksack over his shoulder. He walked across to you and pressed a kiss against the top of your head, brushing your hair out of your face. You groaned as you moved, feeling your body ache and your head pound. “Try and get some rest my love, I’ll be back with you as soon as I can.”
You mumbled a goodbye to Lance as he headed out of the hotel room, heart aching with guilt that he was leaving you to fend for yourself.
Although, it felt like Lance barely left you alone. Every time he had a spare five minutes, he was texting to make sure that you were alright. He was constantly on you, wanting to make sure that nothing had changed or got worse.
You adored Lance for how much he cared about you, you had enough supplies beside you to last the week if you were honest. Across the city he was struggling to concentrate, caring too much to really pay any attention to what was going on in the race.
For most of the afternoon you managed to get some rest, closing your eyes and ignoring the pain that was pounding against your body. As much as you wanted to watch and cheer for Lance, the thought of that much light from your phone staring back at you was enough to make you feel sick.
Once the race was finished, Lance was straight back on the phone to see if there was any update from you. When his last text was left unread, he began to panic, terrified that something bad had happened and he wasn’t there to help.
Lance had never moved quicker through the media pen, never shared so little in the team briefing to get it over with, and never got to his car quicker in order to leave. Just about every speed limit was tested as Lance drove from the paddock straight to your hotel.
His legs couldn’t move him fast enough, ignoring the cameras that were outside the hotel waiting to capture a photo of Lance. Usually, he had plenty of time to stop and smile, but today his only focus was getting back to you. He darted to the lifts, bouncing nervously on his feet as the floors seemed to change slower than ever, before rushing down the corridor, fumbling for his hotel room key in the bottom of his bag.
He was silent as he entered the room, nervous to see how you were. Lance crept through the room, noticing your figure was still in the exact spot where he left you. He was terrified to wake you as Lance studied you closely, only for you to shuffle slightly on the sofa as you heard him clear his throat and gently place his bag down on the coffee table in the middle of the room.
“You’re home, how was the race?” You whispered across to him.
“It was alright,” Lance shrugged, taking a seat down beside you. “Don’t worry about the race though, how are you? Can I get you anything? Have you been keeping up with your medicine?”
Your head nodded, but Lance could tell from the expression on your face that you were still struggling a lot, barely able to pull yourself up so that you could see Lance.
“It seems pretty early for you to be home,” you noted, glancing across at the clock. “Please don’t tell me that you left the paddock early to get back to me,” you scolded, knowing exactly what Lance was like. His sheepish smile told you everything that you needed to know, shaking your head at him, although Lance knew he had made the right choice and would do it again in a heartbeat.
“I came back for you, you can’t be mad at me,” Lance chuckled.
Your eyes rolled as he innocently smiled across at him, “I can be mad at you when you’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”
“How am I supposed to enjoy myself when you’re not there?” Lance asked, shifting his body to face you properly. His hand reached out and held onto yours, squeezing it gently. “Even when you’re ill and germy you’re the person that I want to spend all my time with, the people at the paddock are cool, sometimes, but you’re a thousand times cooler.”
“I was sleeping peacefully until you showed up,” you joked, offering Lance a reassuring smile as he kept his eyes on you, always checking you over.
“Shall I remind you of how much you clung to me last night?” He pushed, raising a questionable glance at you. “Lance, please don’t leave me. Lance, what if I die from this cold?” He asked, imitating your voice and the questions that you asked him cuddled up in bed last night. “You were pretty much stuck to me last night, and now you’re wanting me to go away and leave you alone? You’re pretty indecisive when you’re unwell.”
Your eyes rolled as Lance reached across and lifted the pillow up around your head again in an attempt to make you a bit more comfortable.
“So, why don’t you lay there and let me take care of you for the rest of the evening?” He offered, “because I know that’s what you want from me deep down.”
You couldn’t protest, having Lance looking after you was definitely one of the best perks of being unwell.
“Come on,” Lance smiled, carefully lifting your figure up from the sofa.
“What are you doing with me?”
“Exactly what you want me to do with you, even if you won’t say it.”
Lance twirled you around in his hold and sat himself down on the sofa, laying your figure over the top of him. His arm was securely around your waist to keep you safely in position. His head rested against the top of your own, eyes watching you closely as you made yourself comfortable. You enjoyed being stubborn, you enjoyed trying to prove Lance wrong, but the reality was you really did need him. You loved having him take care of you, you loved how he was so protective and would do absolutely anything in order to make you feel even just the tiniest bit better.
“Thank you,” you hummed after a few moments, finding yourself beginning to feel sleepy once again. Lance hummed as his fingertips brushed through the ends of your hair. “I love having you here, taking care of me,” you admitted, “I’m just sorry I didn’t get to be there and cheer you on.”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for babe, you’re my number one, always.”
“I know, I love you Lance,” you murmured.
“I love you so much more.”
˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗
#f1#f1 imagine#formula 1#lance stroll#lance stroll imagine#formula 1 x reader#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#f1 reaction#f1 fanfic#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 x you#f1 fic#formula one imagine#formula 1 fic#formula one#lance stroll x you#lance stroll x reader
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