#today is an emotional day and I can’t stop feeling everything at the same time

[cmdrfupa]

Each and every one of you make writing so incredibly fun and I can’t thank you enough.

I put in time and effort just like everyone else but somedays, I feel as if I don’t deserve such kindness from you all. But what I write makes me feel good and seeing how much you all enjoy it and feel good enough to keep up with my works brings me a sense of gratitude I can’t explain.

So a genuine thank you. In 9 months, I’ve found such a nice community that makes me feel seen and I appreciate you more than words can say.

[deesseshesca]

PAC :How will your future lover explore your body ? (18+)

I found a little name for all of y'all ... Bébé d'Amour. Vous etes maintenant mes bébé d'amour (Y'all are now my Bébé d'Amour).

Good morning pretty souls, I'm not a lovey dovey human but for y'all I am ready to do almost anything.

SALE 

Until October 31 all readings on my ko-fi is 30$, only

Choose the image that’s speak to you and allow yourself to soak ONLY what’s reasoning with YOUR SITUATION.

Rules and Disclaimer 

I am the type of tarot reader to say as it is. Nothing is sugar coated but everything is sent with good intention. If you are not ready to face some truth, you should vagabond somewhere else.

MINOR DON'T INTERACT WITH THIS POST 

MINOR DON’T READ THIS POST 

PILE 1 

Page pentacles, 2 swords (reverse), magician (reverse), page wands (reverse)

Their touch is going to make u reminisce about all the time u let someone else touch your body in ways u settle for. Like u never really wanted them to touch but you were to fucking lonely to refuse the act knowing damm well they were using u. Also they were not treating you correctly. They touch is going to make all the monster go away. All the time you were touch with little cares all forgiven to make place with memories of they’re caring touch. Some of y’all have self harm scars, suicide attempt scaring, they will caress it with so much love and thank u everytime for the fact that u stay even thought it was hard. They are grateful upon every stars that u’re self sabotaging behavior never got the best of u otherwise they would have never met u. Some of u don’t think you have a pretty pussy. Maybe u feel like u’re lips of too big or that they are not the same color as the rest of your cooch. Hey, they will to touch your pussy. Always munching with happiness. Others u are not circumcised, don’t matter they bumping their month on your dick with happiness in their eyes. Some of y’all have religious trauma, like your ex-environment made you think that sex is forbidden. Y’all don’t even like touching yourself. Even though u left a long time ago, u can’t seem to shake those fears off. They are going to take their time with u and respect which one  of your boundaries. At the end, you might still not like getting head but u are not going to feel as uncomfortable with the concept of it after their healing touch. Some of y’all have some vaginismus, I see them learning about it. So they can help u heal and respect the boundaries set by your body. I see them introducing the first toys before even going in themself. Until they are not sure u are ok, there’s no jumping the big boy. If you have endometriosis/PCOS, they will stop penetration sex and alter to fingering to make sure not to disturb the peace of the uterus before the big week. For all my pillow prince/princess today is your big day, they love leading. They don’t care if you spend the whole relationship on a pink/blue pillow. They love it for you. Their touch will still be playful. They will love to tickle u. Also they will love placing a hand on your stomach, even slepping on it. Especially my masculine energy, your pump stomach is literally their safe place. They will love giving you a good handjob while staring into your eyes (y’all probably have deep brown eyes) and caressing your stomach. 

💌 : Honestly Pile one, they are not going to be able to let go of you. Might be clingy, also they love language is physical touch. Will love updating you throughout the day. If you want to know more about that future love, you can always purchase my SOUL TRIBE membership unlocking all the extra content and extended PAC reading + the audio one.

PILE 2 

4 wands (reverse), King cups (reverse), Hanged man, 6 swords 

They love to have their hands on your private parts on all times, not in a creepy way. They would be driving and suddenly here u go, being a finger fucked passager princess. If you are an owner of a dick, u better drive with both hands on the wheel because at any moment, they may start giving u a blowjob . If you have boobs, they will have they hand on them all the time. Not even in a sexual way but because it becomes their habit. Y’all might not give a fuck at some point, until somebody stare at u in public. U end up apologizing while glaring at u’re partner making sure to get they hands the fuck out your top. They are very sensitive to your reaction. Let’s say they wanna give u a hug and u move slightly away … here comes the overthinking. If they try a new move on u in bed but u don’t moan as good as usual. They don’t reproduce it. If u give an excellent reactions, they will put that move on rotation. Also if you have painful period cramps, they will message you stomach. If you have to go regularly to the doc, they will always try their best to be there and hold your hand. Touch = love regarding your future lover. They will caress your face when u speak. Tie your hair when your hand is busy. To my burn out babe that are trying their best or my type B babe who is always so damn clumsy, they will always be behind u giving u a hand. Even when u give them head, they still worry about your well being. I’m hearing : ‘’ Baby I don’t care, if u care or not. I love when (moan) u are giving (whimper) head and are comfortable’’ before attempting to tie your hair. After a week of bad depressive episodes they will run you a bath. When they sense that u are starting to distance yourself, they will always have an hand on your waist, on your leg, shoulder any fucking where. Just to keep u from leaving with your bad thoughts. All this stand for my man in the audience, your next babe don’t play about you. Their touch heal making u realize how much you DO matter. 

💌: If you want to know more about that future love, you can always purchase my SOUL TRIBE membership unlocking all the extra content and extended PAC reading + the audio one.

PILE 3 

King wands (reverse), page wands (reverse), page cups, ace pentacles 

Straight from the beginning I’m getting a bad girl/boy from your person. They push everyone away but you. Actually they only see you. They don’t see any other women/men. They don’t even care about their own parents, the way they care about you. Your future person may have experienced deep trauma from age 8 - 10 years old, every night. Since is not the reading for and I did not ask for permission, I will not dive deeper into their lore. They touch = fire, when they lay their fingerprints on u, it is like your whole body is in heat. They enjoy mixing pain and pleasure. A fan of breathing plays because they get to squeeze your neck safely to give you pleasure. Loves squeezing you in general. If you have boobs, will love to squeeze them until it hurts. If you are a man, love to pinch your nipple until they see a little bit of blood even. They will also enjoy putting pressure on your balls while giving you a handjob. They are very experience lover. Probably have 15+ body. They love to play game with y’all. I’m hearing: ‘’ Let’s see how many times I can make u cum in a minute, princess…’’. If you are a man, they will love to eat your ass. If they lose you, they lose everything. They will probably haunt until they find you back again. They will NEVER raise their hand on u and  NEVER yell at you.  I see a vision of a text conversation. 

U : jhabwdbcaw

Them : hey babe, is everything ok …

U: auijdxja party hbduiAHBNDIL

Them: Can u give the phone (one of your friend).

U: But I wannnnnna takcfjawo to u 

Them: I know but I wanna see you. Can you please give the phone ? 

U: abxda yes hnqcfu

Them: Give the phone, love. 

Their touch is very gentle but very practical. Gently take your makeup off when u come back drunk. Gently draw into your tattoo if you are a man. Will casually lift up bridal style when they see dozing off while studying. If you are a guy, will softly wake you up and guide u to the bedroom. 

💌: If you want to know more about that future love, you can always purchase my SOUL TRIBE membership unlocking all the extra content and extended PAC reading + the audio one.

PILE 4

Knight wands (reverse), Lovers (reverse), Emperor (reverse), Strength (reverse)

Touch = understanding, will give u a tap on the shoulder to encourage you. Will caress your arm while y’all are arguing. There’s a use of: ‘’ Good girl/boy’’ in y’all relationships. When they see you grabbing the sheet, while they are down to town, that’s when they know you are on cloud 9. The only time they will stop munching even if you have already orgasm. They will love to caress your inner thighs. Pass a sneaky hand on your tits. Loves making you want more, like I see y’all making out and they are barely touching your tits while you are caressing their body. Have a very brat energy. Love to get on your last nerve because they know you will punish them. That’s what gets them going.  Has a high sex drive can go round and round in the same day but it will always start with some kind of teasing.

💌 : Y'all are going to have an amazing communication. I sense that both of y'all are yappers. Y'all are messy, you love to call each other at the end of the day and share the tea on what's going on. They will never let you go to sleep angry. I see a vision of you mad even at them but y'all still cuddling. You guy are in silence, they know they mess up but they refuse to leave on your own. Better they let you gather your thoughts with them. They may have a trauma about somebody that die on them in a middle on text con versation. That's why they can't let u go when u are mad. Don't get them wrong, they won't force u to hug them or talk. If you can't handle looking at them, they will tare at the wall, while u are in the bed thinking. If you want to know more about that future love, you can always purchase my SOUL TRIBE membership unlocking all the extra content and extended PAC reading + the audio one.

[wendysimp]

Make You Stay.

Kim Chaewon X Male Reader

Smut & Fluff!!

BossChaewon, AssistantY/n

Short smut as I’m trying to get back into the flow. I apologise for any errors. Just trying to get rid of the cobwebs.

(Y/n’s POV)

*Phone Rings*

This has been the 15th time she’s called me today! I sighed softly as I pick up my phone. I have a lot to do today!

“Yes Ma’am?” I answered with a calm tone.

“I need you in my office immediately.”

“I need to get a lot done, can it wait ma’am?” I asked politely but no reply. “You there ma’am?” I asked again but she hung up.

Hmm, that’s a little weird. Anyway, I need to get all these documents sorted as well as take a couple phone calls and a meeting to top off the busy day. I’ve been working here for almost for almost 6 years and I was really young when I started.

The boss of the company is surprisingly the same age as me. My boss isn’t just anyone. I’ve known her since high school but I never really talked to her or anyone back then.

Her family is well known, hence that’s why she’s my boss in the company, but I didn’t know that until I got into this business and learned more about them.

*Door Opens*

I sighed. “Who-,” As soon as I see Miss Kim, I get up from my seat and bow. “What brings you here ma’am?” I asked her with a soft smile.

“We need to talk Y/n.” She walks over to my desk and crosses her arms together.

“Sure ma’am but I really need to get these documents sorted.” I tell her softly. “It’s important.”

“That can wait. I’ve been hearing from the other employees that you’re planning on leaving the company?” She tells me.

Fuck! She wasn’t supposed to know that yet! Why can’t people just shut up? Ugghhh!

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about ma’am.” I chuckled awkwardly.

“Just tell me the truth Y/n. What’s going on?” She asks but this time it was soft. It’s weird because she’s never used that type of tone to me before. She doesn’t really show emotion.

“Y-Yes ma’am. I plan on leaving the company soon.” I admitted.

“But why?! Y-You can’t leave! You’re my assistant!”

“Ma’am, I’ve found someone that’ll take my place and take care of you. So know that you know, I want to tell you personally that I will be resigning from the company.”

(Kim Chaewon’s POV)

“I want to tell you personally that I will be resigning from the company.” His words echoed in my head. I didn’t know what it was but I felt something after he said that. I feel like I didn’t want him to leave for some reason.

“W-Well, what if they’re a terrible assistant? Y/n, you’re the best assistant I have!” I try to convince him. Why am I… desperate for him to stay?

“I’ve taught them everything already! Even how you like your coffee so don’t worry ma’am.” He just smiles softly.

“W-Who is it at least?” I asked.

“Miss Huh.” Huh Yunjin? Ughh, I have to find a way to make him STAY!

I look at him and I haven’t really focused much of his face. He’s… pretty handsome. Oh gosh! What am I thinking? I gotta stop! What’s going on with me? I shake my head to bring me back into reality.

“Come on.”

“I can’t just leave-,”

“I’ll get someone to do it. Let’s go.” I hear him sighed as he finally gave in. I called someone in to take care of his work. “You ready?”

“Where are we going ma’am?” He asks as he puts on his jacket.

“Let’s go get some ice cream.”

———

Time Skipped~~

- At the park.

“I appreciate the ice cream ma’am.” Y/n softly spoke.

“You’re welcome, and please just call me Chaewon outside of work.” I tell him.

He nods. “Okay ma- Chaewon.” It’s the first time he’s ever called me by my name since working together.

“What makes you want to leave?” I asked him catching him off guard with my sudden question.

He looks up, gazing at the sky. “I just… want to be free.” He answered and I look at him a little confused.

“Free? So you didn’t like working in the company?” I asked but he shakes his head.

“No it’s not that. Don’t get me wrong, I really love working here… but it sometimes becomes too much. Like there no room to breathe.” I sat there as I listen to him open up. He’s been holding in a lot from what I’m hearing.

“Was I horrible? As a boss?” I asked curiously to see how he felt with me.

“Of course not Chaewon! Sure, you can be too much here and there,” He chuckled softly. “But you definitely weren’t the problem. I love having you as my boss.” He says and I blush at that.

“That’s good to hear.” I smile as I felt the butterflies in my stomach. “But what do you mean by you want to be free? What will you do after you leave?”

“Hmm, i haven’t really thought about that if I’m being honest. I guess explore. Hopefully experience having a girlfriend since I never really have time, make friends or find new hobbies. Just have a good time you know?” I nodded at his answer.

I’ve never heard him speak so passionately about something. It’s gonna be hard to convince him to stay.

“Is there or was there a way to make you stay?” I took the chance to ask him.

He takes a moment before answering. “No.”

I sighed softly. I have to find a way to make him stay.

“Let’s go, I’ll take you home.” I stand up and extend my hand out to help him up.

“You don’t have to do that Chaewon.” He takes my hand as he gets up.

“You’re right, I don’t. But I want to so let’s go.” I tell him and he nods. We get in my car and I drive him back to where he stays at. I parked the car on the side and he looks over at me.

“Thank you Chaewon. For the ice cream and the talk. I enjoyed it!” He smiles. His smile is so adorable.

“No problem. We should do this more often don’t you think? After work we hang out?” I suggested.

“I would like that. Stay safe on the way home Chaewon.” He says as he exits the car. He bowed before leaving to head inside.

As I watched him, my heart just felt something I’ve never felt before. A-Am I starting to develop feelings for Y/n? For my own assistant? What is happening to me?

———

(Y/n’s POV)

It’s almost been a month. I’m honestly gonna miss working here. Chaewon and myself have gotten to know each other more. I guess you can say we got closer each time we’d hang out after work hours are done.

I remember Chaewon being so cold and real serious about work, but now… she’s changed. In a good way though! I guess I judged her too much. I really like this Chaewon better if I’m honest.

*knock knock*

“Come in!” The door opens and I smile as I see Chaewon enter my office.

I stand up and bow. “Hello ma’am. What brings you here?” She looks really beautiful as always… wait whaa?

“You can call me Chaewon in and out of work Y/n.” She giggled cutely.

“Sure Chaewon. So is there anything I can do for you?” I asked as she sits down in front of my desk.

“Let’s have a movie night at my house tonight!” She says. She’s inviting me over? I never expected that at all.

“Are you sure about this ma’am?”

“Chaewon.” She corrects me.

“S-sorry. Chaewon.”

“Of course! It’ll be fun. I’ll send you the address and bring some spare clothes since you’ll be staying the night.” She leaves before I could even get a word out.

Staying the night? W-What on earth is happening? My boss is inviting me over to HER HOUSE, to watch a movie together… and also SLEEPOVER! The change in Chaewon… I’m kinda liking it… and I think I’m starting to like her!

Time Skipped~~

I made it! Here in front of my boss’s home. Or should I say castle. This place is fucking huge! I ring the doorbell as I wait for a few seconds until I see the door open up.

“Hi Y/n!” She smiles brightly.

I haven’t said a word. My mouth slightly open as I look at her. She’s so… I… she’s… pretty…

“Y/n you really shouldn’t look at your boss that way.” She teased and giggled.

I blushed hard, trying to get myself together. “S-Sorry, I-I was just… anyway let’s get the movie started!” I give an awkward smile then walked straight in.

(Kim Chaewon’s POV)

This boy is so cute! I said it! I have real, deep and genuine feelings for this guy! I’m sure gonna miss him. It makes me sad when I keep thinking about him leaving. It’s been on my mind for the last 3 weeks. Something about him just made me fall.

We head inside and I help him with his things before we head to the living room where I have everything set up. The movie is ready, the snacks and drinks. I hope he’s okay with romance films.

“You’re okay with romance films right?” I asked him softly as he gets comfortable on the couch.

“Of course! What are we watching?” He asked me.

“Honestly, I don’t even know.” I giggled “I guess I just picked one out and hopefully it’s good.” I say causing him to laugh cutely.

“Let’s hope. Okay, let’s get started!” He says and I nodded as I sit beside him while the movie starts.

———

Shocker. The movie sucked and I fell asleep. I then felt myself getting carried by Y/n which caused me to wake up but I pretend to sleep as I had the biggest smile on my face.

He carries me into my room and gently lays me down on the bed. He tucks me in, gently adjusted my pillow then felt a soft kiss being placed on my forehead. My face heats up as I turn into a blushing mess trying to calm myself down. It was quiet until I heard him speak softly.

“C-Chaewon? I’m really gonna miss you. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to work for the company. I will always keep those small moments like where you would scold me for my little mistakes on the first day of being your assistant.” He giggled softly and quietly and I just smile in my ‘sleep’.

“I hated you at first, thinking you had this big ego but really? You’re real sweet and caring and I completely blame myself for thinking of you that way. Deep down, you’re the best boss I’ve ever had.” This boy!!! “But I want to get real. Tell you how I feel… about you.”

My heart starts to beat faster and I felt kinda nervous. W-What’s he about to say? Is it bad? Is it good? Gosh! I hope it’s nothing bad.

“I think I’ve fallen for you!” His words sent a shiver down my spine as I felt my heart go crazy. H-He fell in LOVE?! WITH ME?! “It’s crazy right? Falling for my own boss?”

I can’t take it anymore! “It’s not crazy.” I say and open my eyes then look up at him.

“I-Oh! Chaewon, I-I’m sorry I woke you up I-.” I grabbed his hand making him go silent. I sit up and move closer to him.

“I’ve fallen for you too Y/n.” I smile at him as I look into his eyes. This time, no awkwardness. We both felt very comfortable.

“Chaewon…” He whispered.

“Y/n… kiss me.” I bite my lip gently.

“A-Are you sure about this?” He asks nervously.

“I really don’t like how you talk to your boss.” I whispered seductively as I move closer.

And with that, he slowly leans in as he kisses me. His soft lips against mine. It felt special, it felt like heaven. I kiss him more deeply as I felt the moment getting hotter. His hands move down to my hips as mine flows through his hair.

“Y/n… I want you.” I look into his eyes with love… but also lust.

“I’ll take care of you. I always will.” He whispered which made me feel so safe and comfortable. I smile even more as I kiss him again.

Our hands move naturally as we both start to take each other’s clothes off, throwing them on the floor. I felt his warm body against mine while I feel on his muscles. This boy… so fucking sexy!

“Fuck Y/n! Have you been hiding this the whole time?” I smirked as I tease him by sliding my hand gently down his abs. He blushes. “Lay down now!” I say seductively and he nods while biting his lip.

He lays back while I move down his body kissing his lips, neck, chest and abs then all the way down… to his cock. I gently wrapped my hand around his length as I hear a groan come out from him.

“You’re so fucking big… daddy.” I lick my lips and wink at him, feeling him throb in my hand as I called him that.

“F-Fuck, I never know you were so… naughty.” He smirks and bites onto his lips hard. “I fucking love it baby.” Him calling me baby was getting me even more soaked!

“I want you to be the boss now daddy. Whatever you want… you get.” I say seductively as I stroke his big cock.

(Y/n’s POV)

“I want you to be the boss now daddy. Whatever you want… you get.” Those words reply over and over again. I look down at her as she strokes me slowly.

I smirked and bit my lip. “Suck daddy’s cock baby.” I say seductively.

“Anything for you daddy.” She smiles then wastes no time, wrapping her mouth around my tip, swirling her tongue around it.

My head leans back in pleasure as I felt her work her magic. “Oh f-fuck that’s it!” I groan out.

She pulls away, looks into my eyes as she lets her spit drop onto my cock. She winks before shoving my cock into her mouth, her saliva dripping down towards my balls.

“Mmm that’s it! Take daddy’s cock!” I place my hand on top of her head, making sure her hair won’t interfere as I felt a vibration from her moans.

She pulls away for air. “Mmm you like that daddy? Am I being a good girl?” Her words turn me on.

“Such a good fucking girl!” I smirked then I felt her cup my balls with her small and soft hands.

“Your balls are so full daddy. I think you need to release some ‘stress’.” Her mouth then moves to my balls. Suckling on them as my cock rests across her face.

I watch her as so much pleasure flows through my body. “Fuck baby! You’re gonna make me cum!”

She stops. “Uh uh. Fuck my face until I feel your cum down my throat.” Her dirty words turned me on. She was so different. Sweet in the start, to now being a complete slut for me… I love it!

She pulls me up, making me stand while she gets on her knees, not breaking the eye contact. “Go all out daddy. Treat me like a slut.”

With that, I grab each side of her head and shove my cock into her mouth. The sounds of her gags and moans was music to my ears. I go deeper and deeper as I look into her eyes.

My cock gets sloppier with every thrust. Never thought in my life that I would be fucking my own boss, but boy was I lucky!

“Ahh fuck! You better make sure you take every drop got it?” I grunt as I fuck her mouth some more.

She nods. “Mhmm.” She moans against me. I pump into her mouth as I felt myself getting closer. I grip her hair as I shove myself deeper into her mouth.

“T-Take it you slut!” I grunt out loudly as I felt myself getting closer cum shoot down her throat. She grips my thighs, making sure to get every drop then pull away for air.

“Ahhh fuckk!!” She swallowed and showed you that nothing was left. “You taste so good daddy.” She smiled.

I pick her up, throw her on the bed as she lays back. I look at her like I was hungry. I lick my lips as she smiles and bites her finger seductively before spreading her legs knowing what you wanted.

“Come get a taste daddy!” She bites her lip, desperate to feel you again and desperate to feel your pleasure.

I smile as I get in between her, rest her legs over my shoulders, diving right it. I was instantly in love with the taste of her. I wanted more. I feel her grip my hair as she moans out, gripping the bed sheets.

“Ahh fuck yes daddy! Eat your baby out!” She moans as I felt her pull me in deep.

I work my tongue in ways I know she would love as well as rub onto her clit to double the pleasure. She squirms underneath me, turning into a moaning mess.

“O-Oh daddy! You’re gonna make me cum already!” I pull away

“Don’t cum unless I tell you too got it?” I say seductively with a dominant tone.

She looks into my eyes and nodded. “Y-Yes daddy.” She whispers softly.

I rub circles around her clit as she lets out another groan full of pleasure. I keep teasing her, telling her to hold it in just a little more. She grips my wrist and looks into my eyes.

“P-Please d-daddy!! L-Let me c-cum ahhh!” Her breathing gets heavier.

I smirked. “Cum for me baby.” I bite my lip.

And with that, she releases. Her body jolts and she starts to squirt, making a huge mess on the bed. I lean wanting more of her.

“A-Ahh daddy! That felt… so good!” She smiles while trying to catch her breath. “I want you inside of me.” She looks into my eyes.

“Turn over. Ass up.” I tell her and she listens to my words, turning over and lifting her ass up making sure I had a great view.

“You like what you see daddy?” She looks over her shoulders and shakes her ass a little.

“I love it!” You grab her ass before giving it a light slap causing her to moan.

“I’m waiting daddy.” She teased.

“So impatient. I’ll have to punish you.” I line my cock against her wet slit. I slowly slide right in.

“O-Oh my… Fuckk!” Her eyes roll back the deeper I went in. “S-so big! So deep oh my god!” She moans uncontrollably.

I grip onto her waist as I start to thrust roughly and deeply. The bed was shaking, our moans echoing around the room. Her hands gripping the sheets telling me she wants more which I happily obliged.

“You take me so well! Shit baby!” I groan and bite my lip.

“M-My pussy was made for you daddy! Ahh fuck! It’s yours and yours only!” She looks back at me while bringing my hand close towards her mouth and sucks onto my thumb.

I look into her eyes and lean in, removing my thumb to kiss her deeply and passionately. This girl is gonna be the death of me!

I stop and pull out, then lay her right on her back again. I smile and lean over her as I slide right back in. I grab both her hands and pinned them down.

“Just look right into my eyes baby.” I tell her softly and seductively. “Tell me what you want.”

I pump into her nice and slowly earning a soft moan from her. She looks into my eyes before giving me an answer.

“F-Fill me up daddy.” She whispered. That’s all it took.

I thrusted deeper, I thrusted harder, I do everything I can to make sure I hit all her spots. Our moans mixed and fill the room together. I let go of her hands as she wraps her arms around me while mine wrapped around her hips.

“You’re so fucking tight!” I hit her spot before she gasps.

“F-Fuck that’s the spot daddy! Keep going and don’t stop!”

Her fingers dig into my skin, her head leans back as well as her back which slowly starts to arch due to the pleasure. As she leaned her head back, I took the opportunity to attack her neck with kisses making sure I leave my mark.

“I-I’m gonna cum daddy!” She squealed.

“M-Me too baby!” I felt myself throbbing inside her pussy as well as her walls tightened up.

“FILL ME UP! FILL ME UP DADDY!” She screams.

“FUCKK! TAKE IT ALL BABY!” I groan before I came deep inside her.

“AHHHH!” “FUCKK!” We both moan out.

We struggled to catch our breath, a smile creeping on both our faces. I look at her while she looks at me before I slowly lean my forehead against hers. I hold her hand, kissing her softly and gently with love.

“Can I tell you something?” I whispered.

“Sure.” She smiles up at me.

“I love you Chaewon.” I whispered and I see her blush and get shy making me chuckle.

“You can’t be all cute after what we just did you know?” She glared at you, but she places her hand on your cheek, gently rubbing it. “But I love you too Y/n.”

Hearing that filled my heart with so much joy and gave me the feeling I’ve never felt before. We kissed passionately for the rest of the night until we both fell asleep.

———

(Kim Chaewon’s POV)

~~The Next Day.

I groan as I slowly wake up and move a little to hug Y/n but was met with the pillow. I sit up as I didn’t feel his warmth. Where did he go? I get out of bed.

“Ah fuck! This boy really did a lot on me.” I limped as I grab a robe.

I smile as last night kept replaying in my head. I blushed hard as I bite down on my lip. I shake my head, head out the room to find Y/n.

“Y/n?” I call out softly but no answer.

I check the guest room but no sign of him. Did he leave? Music starts to play. I hear the music playing in the gym room. He must be there.

I open the door. “Y/n?”

“I’m here!” I see him drenched in sweat and shirtless. This has to be the sexiest view ever. “Your house has everything.” He chuckled.

“I see you found…” My mind goes completely off topic. “You’re so hot.” I bit my lip and blush.

He giggled. “Thank you!” He takes a quick drink of water. “I’m just gonna take a quick shower, we gotta head to work in a bit.”

“I’m joining you.” I say.

“W-What?!”

I giggled. “What? We’re boyfriend and girlfriend now aren’t we? And plus… you’ve seen me naked already.” I winked and grab his hand, dragging him into my bathroom.

His soft hands rub up and down my back with the water trailing down our bodies. I turn around, admiring his sexy body. Ugh I can’t believe it! It’s too early to feel so… horny.

I pull him in and kiss his lips aggressively as I rub on his abs.

“What are you doing huh?” He teased and smiles against my lips.

“I want you.” My hands slide down and I grab onto his cock. I start to feel him grow and throb in my hands before slowly stroking him.

He groans as I knew I sent pleasure throughout his body. He leans his head back, I slowly get on my knees then start to suck on his length. I bobbed my head as I swirl my tongue around his tip, making sure he enjoyed every second.

“Ohhh fuck! W-What’s gotten into you?” He looks into my eyes.

I pull away from him. “Mmm, just shut up and take me baby.” I tell him and he looks at me. A look that tells me a thousand words.

He picks me up, pinning me against the shower glass. My hands grip his shoulders as I felt his tip rub against my pussy.

“You sure? We’re gonna be late.” He teased and I roll my eyes playfully.

“I’m your boss. We can be late whenever I say we can.” I glared at him.

“You got it… boss.” He leans in, attacks my neck with his lips as he slips his cock into my pussy. I gasped as I grip into his skin.

“Oh fuck you’re so big! H-How are you so good?” I feel him pumping deeper inside of me.

“Just doing my best to make sure you’re always satisfied.” His lips form a smile against my skin.

“K-Keep going! Keep fucking that pussy!” My head rests against the glass.

“So fucking tight!” He grunts. “Am I doing a good job?”

I look back down at him. “N-No. I need more! G-Go deeper! Make me fucking cum you got it?” I tell him before I scream.

He just smiles as I feel him penetrating deeper and deeper inside of me, hitting my spot. My smile grew, my breathing gets heavier, and my eyes roll back. He keeps thrusting as I felt my pussy tighten around his cock.

“I know you want to cum! Cum for me baby!” He pounds me more.

“Ahhh fuck!” I reach my climax as I cover him with so much cum. “F-fuck you’re not stopping baby!” I scream.

“Because I’m gonna make sure I fill you up so much!” He grunts, gripping my body as he fucks me harder. “F-Fuck your pussy is amazing! I’m gonna cum!”

I dig into his skin as I gripped his shoulders as I felt his warm cream fill my insides as some leaks down my legs. I breathe heavily as I smile with satisfaction. I kiss him passionately.

“Y-Y/n?” I hold his face and look into his eyes.

“Yes?” He looks back with a smile.

“I fucking love you!” My heart was going crazy as I let those words out.

He giggles. “You can’t be cute after the amazing sex we just had.” Those words were similar to what I said to him last night! I love this boy!

“Just shut up and say it back. I wanna hear my man say it again.”

He pecks my lips before whispering. “I fucking love you too.” I cuddle up against him as I rest my head on his chest.

“Y/n?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m gonna miss you.” I whispered as my smile fades remembering about him leaving the company.

“Why’s that?” He asks. “You okay?”

“You’re gonna be leaving the company. I won’t be able to see you in the office anymore.” I sighed sadly.

He kisses my head. “About that… I thought about it. I wanna stay.” I looked up at him with shock.

“R-Really?”

“Yeah. I can’t seem to leave you on your own. I know I can count on Yunjin but we make a great team together. I’ll stay.” He smiles softly.

“Yes!” I hug him tightly as I let my tears of joy fall.

“Aww look at you all happy.” He chuckled.

“Of course I’m happy. I get to see you every time now, and you know what else?”

“What?”

“From now on when I call you to my office… that means I need this cock pounding my fucking tight pussy.”

~~~

The End!

I’m back! I’ve said it like a thousand times but I hope this time I can be consistent and put out some more stuff for you all! I got a lot in the drafts and a lot of ideas but feel free to give me some ideas as well what idol you want!

Hope I don’t disappoint you guys this time!

[pucksandpower]

Breaking Point

Charles Leclerc x Ferrari!Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc finally reaches his breaking point after the disaster that was the United States Grand Prix. Something needs to change … and that’s where you come in

“Again, again!” Charles’ voice rings out, echoing through the debrief room, “How can we mess this up? I was on pole!”

Fred Vasseur looks down, sighing, but trying to maintain composure. “Charles, it was a miscalculation—”

“A miscalculation?” Charles retorts, eyes blazing, “This has been a trend all season, Fred. It’s not a one-time mistake. It’s systemic.”

Carlos, looking uncomfortable, tries to chime in, “It wasn’t just about strategy, you know the car—”

“Oh, I know the car,” Charles snaps, “And it was built against my driving preference. But it’s not just that. It’s everything. The poor race strategy, the unnecessary swap, and now being disqualified as if my day has not been bad enough!”

Enrico Cardile, the team’s technical director, steps forward, “Disqualification was not anticipated. We followed the regulations to the best—”

“Enough with the excuses!” Charles’ voice cracks with emotion. The weight of the season, the betrayal he feels, finally makes him see red. “Every time there’s an excuse. We’re a team and yet somehow it feels like I’m constantly battling not just our opponents but Ferrari as well.”

A deep silence settles.

The head strategist, Ravin Jain, finally speaks up hesitantly, “We thought the one-stop made sense. The data suggested—”

“Data,” Charles interrupts bitterly, “The same data that led to a decision that every other team on the grid laughed at! Did the data also suggest swapping me with Carlos? Or was I being punished for being able to manage my tires?”

Carlos, despite himself, looks hurt. “I didn’t ask for the swap,” he mutters.

Charles takes a breath, looking at his teammate, “I know. It’s not your fault, hermano. But I need to trust the team’s decisions. And right now, I don’t.”

Sporting Director Diego Ioverno tries to mediate, “It’s been a tough season, Charles. Everyone is understandably stressed. Let’s sit down, review everything together, and find a way forward.”

Charles shakes his head, “That’s what we said last time. And the time before that. And the twenty times before that! Empty promises, meetings, discussions, and then what? Nothing gets done and there is another disaster waiting to happen.”

Fred tries one more time, “We’re as frustrated as you are. We’re a family. We’ll figure this out.”

Charles scoffs, “I can’t keep being let down and used. Not like this.”

The room falls silent once more, a heavy cloud of disappointment and tension hanging in the air.

Carlos reaches out, placing a hand on Charles’ shoulder, “Things will get better.”

Charles meets Carlos’ gaze, nodding slightly. But the fire in his eyes has not dimmed, “I need to believe in this team again. But right now ...” He pauses, “I have a call to make.”

He turns, leaving the room filled with introspective silence. The team is left behind, grappling with their own emotions, knowing that actions will always speak louder than words.

***

Charles steps out into the warm evening air, taking a moment to compose himself before dialing a number he knows by heart but hasn’t touched in months.

“Hey,” Charles’ voice is a low rasp, every ounce of weariness evident.

Then a pause, as he listens to the voice on the other end.

“Yeah, it’s me ... look, I know what I said earlier this season. About handling it myself.” He takes a deep breath, letting the weight of it all settle.

A longer pause, broken by Charles’ intermittent nods and “Uh-huhs.”

“Every race feels like it’s been one disaster after another. And it’s not just the car, it’s everything. I can’t ... I can’t keep doing this to myself.”

He listens closely.

“I told them today, laid it all out. But it’s like talking to a brick wall. They listen, they nod, and then? The same mistakes. Over and over.”

He shifts his weight, the sound of his shoes scraping on the gravel echoing softly.

“I know, I know I told you not to get involved ... but maybe ... maybe that was a mistake.” He sounds defeated, a man at the end of his rope. “I need help. Real help. Maybe it’s time you step in.”

Charles is silent, absorbing whatever the person on the other end is saying.

“No, it’s not about leaving the team,” Charles’ voice is earnest, desperate even. “It’s about respect. Trust. It’s about feeling like I’m not constantly fighting against the tide, not just against other teams but within my own garage.”

A long pause.

“What I mean is, maybe some changes within the team would be good. Fresh perspectives. New faces, perhaps. Somewhere I can trust the decisions, the strategy ...”

He sighs.

“I just want to race, you know? Without all this drama. Without constantly wondering if I’m being set up to fail no matter what I do.”

Another pause as he listens, nodding, lost in the gravity of the decision he’s about to make.

“Thank you. Really. Let’s talk tomorrow? Lay out all our options?”

There’s a moment of quiet, only the sound of his breathing, the distant hum of the circuit, the world slowly dimming around him.

“Thanks. Goodnight, Y/N.”

***

“Emilia,” you call out, and before a moment passes, your ever-efficient personal assistant is by your side.

“Yes, Y/N?” Emilia asks, perfectly poised.

“I need the jet prepared. We’re heading to Mexico City,” you say, voice steady and determined though inside, the turmoil from the phone call with Charles still lingers.

Emilia raises an eyebrow slightly, a silent question in her eyes. “Any particular reason?”

You sigh, looking away for a moment, reflecting on the weight of the legacy you carry. “Scuderia Ferrari needs my direct attention. I trusted them to handle things, but ... it’s clear that has not been happening.”

Her eyes flash with understanding. “Of course. I’ll have the jet ready. When do you wish to depart?”

“Tomorrow morning, early.”

She’s already typing into her tablet. “I’ll book you the Presidential Suite at the Four Seasons. Will you be needing a meeting space there?”

“Absolutely,” you nod. “On Wednesday, before the Grand Prix. Organize for all team personnel to meet in the hotel conference room. And Emilia ... they are not to know the reason for the meeting or that I’m the one calling it.”

Her eyes gleam with a hint of mischief, “Mystery and surprise. I love it. Consider it done.”

A small, wry smile tugs at your lips. “Thank you. And can you make sure Charles knows about my arrival? But ask him to keep it quiet.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

You pause, taking a moment to consider. “Just one more thing. Make sure we have everything we need to review the team’s decisions and strategies for this season. Every little detail.”

Emilia nods. “Absolutely. Everything will be arranged as per your instructions.”

You take a deep breath, “Thanks, Emilia. This … it’s about preserving a legacy, and right now, that legacy is on shaky ground.”

She places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “If anyone can steer this ship right, it’s you.”

***

The door to the conference room opens with a low creak, and the room immediately falls silent. Everyone turns to see you entering, your presence commanding every ounce of attention.

“Good afternoon,” you begin with ice-cold authority. “Thank you all for meeting on such short notice.”

There are murmurs of acknowledgment but no one dares speak up.

“I’ve reviewed our performance this season,” you continue, pacing the length of the conference room, letting each word sink in. “And to say I’m disappointed would be an understatement.”

Fred shifts uncomfortably in his seat, eyes darting around the room. You lock eyes with him, “Fred, you promised change. But the only change I’ve seen is our team’s steep decline.”

“I understand your frustration,” Fred stammers, “We’ve faced challenges—”

You cut him off sharply, “Challenges? Every team faces challenges. What matters is how you overcome them.”

Several team members look down, uncomfortably shuffling papers and avoiding eye contact.

You turn to the strategists, “Your decisions have cost us dearly, time and time again. Your inability to read a race situation, to adapt, to strategize effectively ... it’s quite frankly appalling.”

One of the strategists, a middle-aged man named Roberto, speaks up defensively, “We did our best with the information we had.”

Your eyes narrow, “Your best? Tell that to Charles, who has been left out in the cold race after race.”

Moving on, you address the engineers and designers, “Our car has issues that should have been rectified at the beginning of the season. Yet here we are, still struggling.”

An aerodynamicist named Lucia, clearly agitated, stands up. “We’ve been working tirelessly, trying to find solutions.”

You level her with a gaze, “Then maybe it’s time we look for people who can find those solutions more efficiently.”

Lucia’s face reddens, “You can’t just—”

“Actually I can,” you interrupt, “And I will.”

Your attention turns to Xavi, Charles’ race engineer, who has been noticeably silent. “Xavi, your dynamic with Charles has not been the slightest bit helpful. His feedback, his needs ... they’ve fallen on deaf ears.”

Xavi, trying to defend himself, says, “It’s a two-way street. Charles can be difficult.”

You shake your head, “Charles is a world-class driver. It’s your job to bridge any gaps, not widen them. I checked and it turns out that constantly repeating we are checking like a broken record is not beneficial for race performance!”

Taking a deep breath, you make your announcement, “Effective immediately, Roberto, Lucia, and several other strategists, engineers, and aerodynamicists that a personal audit revealed as detrimental to team performance relieved of their duties. Xavi, you too are let go.”

There are gasps around the room, the weight of your words sinking in. Roberto stands, fuming in anger, “You can’t just dismantle this team!”

You lock eyes with him, “I’m not dismantling. I’m rebuilding. And if that means letting go of every one of you who can’t uphold the standards of Scuderia Ferrari then so be it.”

Fred finally speaks up, “And what about me?”

You lean in, “Consider your position on very thin ice. I expect results. And fast.”

You straighten up, the room thick with tension, “Scuderia Ferrari is not just a team, it’s a legacy. My great-grandfather would be rolling in his grave to see what has been done to his beloved team. I will not stand by and watch it crumble.”

With a final, piercing gaze around the room, you pivot on your heel and exit with a flick of your hair.

***

You lean against the cool wall, taking a moment to gather yourself after the emotional intensity of the meeting. The hallway is quiet save for the distant hum of voices but soon familiar footsteps make their way around the corner.

“Charles,” you call out softly as spot the driver.

His green eyes, clouded with a mix of emotions, meet yours. “Y/N.”

“Are you okay?”

He hesitates, “I wasn’t expecting all of that.”

You nod, “It was long overdue. I should have intervened much sooner.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to process everything. “It’s ... a lot. I didn’t think you would actually step in like this.”

You sigh, “I hoped I wouldn’t have to. But my bisnonno once said that aerodynamics are for people who can’t build engines, and right now, it sure seems like Ferrari can’t do either.”

Charles chuckles dryly, “You have a point. It’s been ... frustrating.”

You gently touch his arm, trying to reassure him, “Enzo also believed that dreams become bigger, much bigger, to build a car that doesn’t slow in the curves, that flies without leaving the ground. I want that dream for you. For us.”

He looks at you, “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. A car that allows me to race to my full potential.”

You nod, thinking of the iconic red car and its tremendous legacy, “I know. And we’ll get there. Remember, racing cars are neither beautiful nor ugly. They become beautiful when they win.”

A smile tugs at Charles’ lips, “I haven’t won in too long. I almost forget what it feels like.”

You step closer, “That is going to change. I’m here for the long haul. To rebuild, restructure, and reclaim the Ferrari legacy. Glory will be dressed in red once more.”

He nods and swallows thickly. “Thank you, Y/N. It means more than you know.”

You smile softly, “We’re a team. And I promise to do whatever it takes to see us on top again.”

***

Early that Friday at Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez, you gather the team in the garage.

“Good morning, everyone,” you begin. “I know it has been a whirlwind these past few days but I want to set the tone for this weekend.”

Fred, still adjusting to the new dynamic, nods silently from the back.

“We haven’t had the time to implement any physical changes to the car,” you continue, “But they are coming. For now, the difference will be about being smart … being strategic.”

Charles listens intently, his gaze occasionally drifting to the newcomers in front of him.

Speaking of the new additions, you gesture to the two people standing on either side of you, “I’ve brought on Marit Nilsen as our Principal Strategy Engineer and Claudio Segreti as Charles’ new race engineer. Not only are they exceptional engineers but also global chess masters.”

There are murmurs of surprise and interest among the crew. The world of Formula 1 and professional chess has rarely, if ever, intersected.

Marit, a tall woman with striking blonde hair, steps forward, “Chess is all about strategy, foreseeing the opponent’s moves and countering them. That’s what we’re here to do but on the track.”

Claudio, with his dark hair and deep-set eyes, adds, “Every move and decision we make will be precise. We’ll anticipate, adapt, and overcome.”

Carlos clears his throat, “So what’s the plan for free practice?”

You smile, “Today, we observe. We learn. We see where the car stands, where our strengths and weaknesses lie.”

As free practice commences, there’s a different energy in the garage. Marit, with her sharp analytical mind, quickly picks up on patterns, working closely with Claudio and Carlos’ engineer to ensure both drivers get feedback they need.

There’s a visible shift throughout the weekend. The team, rejuvenated by fresh perspectives, operates with a renewed vigor. And while the car may not have upgrades yet, new strategy quickly begins to make a difference like anticipated.

Qualifying sees Charles securing P3, an unexpected but welcome result. The garage is full of cautious hope but Marit and Claudio remain focused, already planning for the race to come.

Race day dawns and the tension is thick. You pull Charles aside, “Remember, things have changed. Believe in the strategy and the moves we make.”

He nods, “I trust them. And I trust you.”

As the lights go out and the cars roar to life, Charles delivers a performance that’s both calculated and aggressive. Every pit stop and every overtake is orchestrated like a chess match.

The race sees Charles finishing in P2 and Carlos in P4, a significant improvement from recent races.

The garage is a mix of tentative elation and relief.

Marit thoroughly reviews the race data, “This is just the beginning. Once the car upgrades are in place, the board will be ours.”

The sun sets on the Mexico City Grand Prix, but for Scuderia Ferrari, a new dawn is on the horizon.

***

“Fabiano Turati,” you muse, looking at the impressive portfolio before you. “Aerospace engineer, a key player in the development of hypercars for Agnellotti Motors, a professor at Politecnico di Milano. But never in F1?”

Fabiano, with salt and pepper hair and an air of quiet confidence, smiles slightly. “It’s not for lack of offers. I have just always believed in pushing boundaries outside of traditional paths.”

You lean back, intrigued, “So why Ferrari now?”

His eyes scan around the garage, “A challenge. An opportunity. A legacy to uphold. And, to put it simply, I think I can make a difference.”

You nod, appreciative of his candor. “We have three races left this season: Brazil, Las Vegas, and Abu Dhabi. Realistically, how much can we improve?”

You can practically see the gears in his brain turning, “In terms of complete redesign? Not much. But in terms of optimization and efficiency? Quite a bit.”

By the Brazilian Grand Prix, Fabiano’s influence is evident. While not a complete transformation, the SF-23 sports streamlined wings and a refined rear diffuser, maximizing what the current design allows.

“Initial feedback is good,” Charles reports after the practice session. “There’s a notable difference in the corners.”

Carlos chimes in, “The balance feels better.”

The improvements are evident, with both Ferraris finishing just off the podium. But Las Vegas poses a new challenge: a circuit unfamiliar to all teams and drivers.

“This is anyone’s game,” Marit says, examining the track layout.

Fabiano nods, “This weekend will be all about adaptation.”

The Las Vegas Grand Prix is an exhilarating rollercoaster. Charles fights for a podium finish, narrowly missing out but showcasing the SF-23’s newfound prowess, while Carlos secures a solid sixth.

As the season finale in Abu Dhabi looms, anticipation runs high. The Yas Marina Circuit will end the year with a test of Ferrari’s mettle.

Post-race, with both Ferraris finishing on the podium after avoiding a pile up that took out multiple opponents, there’s a sense of satisfaction but also of hunger.

“We’ve made progress,” Fabiano says as the garage winds down. “But next season, we’ll aim for a car that is not just evolved but fully revolutionized.”

You smile, “With you on board, I truly believe we can. The future is bright for Scuderia Ferrari.”

***

“Look at her,” Fabiano muses, admiration clear as the blueprint for the SF-24 is spread out before you both in your Maranello office.

“She’s a beauty,” you agree, tracing your fingers over the schematics. “If she performs half as well as she looks ...”

“She will,” Fabiano leaves no room for doubt. “We’ve streamlined the aerodynamics, enhanced the power unit, and made significant weight reductions.”

Carlos walks in with a grin on his face, “Is this the beast we’re taming next season?”

“That’s the plan.”

Charles catches your eye from where he lingers by the door. “It’s a fresh start,” he murmurs, approaching the table almost reverently. “I feel it.”

Over the following weeks, you rarely leave the factory other than to sleep and shower. You immerse yourself with the team, observing wind tunnel tests, joining strategy sessions, and even trying your hand with pit stop drills.

One evening, after a particularly long meeting, Charles finds you in the lounge, sipping an espresso. “Mind if I join you?”

You gesture to the seat across, “Of course not.”

He sits and just looks at you until you get the urge to fidget. “I’ve been thinking,” Charles begins, “About the changes, the car, and ... us.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Us?”

Charles smiles slightly, “You and I. We’ve spent so much time together these past weeks. I’ve gotten to know you, not just as Y/N Ferrari but as ... Y/N.”

You flush and not just from the hot coffee, “I feel the same. It’s been ... refreshing. Getting to know the man behind the helmet.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, “There’s this great little place just outside Maranello. Quiet, hidden. I was thinking, maybe, dinner?”

Your heart skips a beat but you maintain your composure, “I’d really like that.”

The winter in Maranello unfolds, and as the SF-24 takes shape, so does the bond between you and Charles.

Between brainstorming sessions and late-night discussions about optimal setups, there are stolen moments: shared glances, lingering touches, and dinners that stretch long into the night talking about anything and everything.

Carlos teases, “Seems like the new car isn’t the only thing igniting sparks.”

You roll your eyes but there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips. You don’t try to deny it. Why bother when you hope it might be true one day?

***

r/formula1

Posted by RaceRundown · 6 hours ago

First look at the SF-24! Thoughts?

⇧ 17.6k ⇩ | Reply | Give Award | Share | Report | Save | Follow

RedFever · 6 hours ago

This could be the machine that keeps Ferrari at the top. Just look at those lines!

⇧ 2.5k ⇩ | Reply | Give Award | Share | Report | Save | Follow

PitStopPundit · 5 hours ago

Getting major 2004 vibes from this. Could be a dominant year for the Scuderia!

⇧ 3.4k ⇩ | Reply | Give Award | Share | Report | Save | Follow

***

You step into the air-conditioned motorhome, grateful for an escape from the Bahraini heat. Charles and Carlos, race suits unzipped around their waists, are animatedly discussing their first day of preseason testing with the SF-24.

“Last year, we didn’t have to sandbag because the car was, well … genuinely that slow,” Charles laughs. “But this time around ...”

Carlos grins, finishing his sentence. “This time, we have an ace up our sleeves.”

You nod, “Just remember, it’s only testing. We still have to see where we truly stand.”

The race weekend finally kicks off and the paddock is full of speculation. After a deliberately unimpressive showing during testing, no one expects Ferrari to be a front-runner.

Yet, when the lights go out, the SF-24 does not just impress …. it dominates. Charles takes P1 with Carlos not far behind in P3. And the world takes notice.

The next few races see a rejuvenated Ferrari. In Saudi Arabia, Charles and Carlos deliver a nail-biting duel with Red Bull, securing a double podium. Australia is a tougher battle, with Mercedes coming to form, but Charles clinches a respectable P4.

The Asian leg of the season has its highs and lows. In Japan, despite a torrential downpour, Charles masterfully handles the wet track to clinch the top step. On the podium, he points up at the sky and then shapes his fingers — first into a one and then a seven — a silent tribute to his late godfather and mentor.

However, China proves challenging and sees the SF-24 struggling unusually with tire degradation. But as Miami approaches, the team regroups and Charles takes a commanding win under the Florida sun.

Then comes Imola, the first of Ferrari’s home races.

As the sun shines brightly over the circuit named after your great-grandfather and grand uncle, you find yourself walking the track alongside Charles. The weight of racing on home soil evident in his eyes.

“Everything okay?” You check, sensing his nervous energy.

He looks at you and taking a deep breath. “Racing in front of the Tifosi at home always feel different. I want to make them proud.”

“No matter what happens today, they will be proud of you. The whole team will be proud of you. We’ve come so far.”

He smiles, visibly lighter. “Then let’s give them a race to remember.”

And it is nothing short of spectacular. Charles starts P2, but with determination and brilliant strategy, he overtakes Max in the final lap and secures a victory for Ferrari on home soil.

The roar of the crowd, the sea of red flags, the tears in Charles’ eyes as he stands atop the podium — you make a promise to never forget this moment.

As the sun sets on Imola, the Scuderia Ferrari team comes together, basking in their victory.

As Charles, champagne-soaked and beaming, pulls you in for a damp hug, it is clearer than ever that this season is only the beginning of a beautiful journey ahead.

***

“Norris is approaching on a flying lap. Make sure not to impede,” Claudio’s voice comes through crisp and clear over the radio during the dying moments of Q3 for the Monaco Grand Prix.

You can practically feel Charles’ concentration from where you’re seated on the Ferrari pit wall. The narrow streets of Monaco leave no room for error … Charles knows this better than most.

“Copy,” Charles responds, adjusting his position on the track just enough to give Lando the space he needs to pass while keeping his own momentum.

The clock is ticking and Charles needs a perfect lap if he wants to clinch pole position.

“Tires are feeling good. Pushing now,” Charles says, rounding the first corner with precision. The SF-24 dances around the iconic circuit, the roar of its engine echoing through the streets.

From Casino Square to the hairpin and through the tunnel, Charles’ driving is flawless. Every apex hit and every corner nailed.

“Final sector, Charles. Make it count,” Claudio encourages.

And he does. Crossing the line and jumping to the top of the timing board.

The garage cheers but there’s no time to waste. Tomorrow’s race is what truly matters.

***

Race day in Monaco is always special, but today, with Charles starting from pole, there’s an electric tension in the air.

“Lights out in ten,” Marit announces over the intercom.

Charles, already in the zone, simply nods.

And then he’s lined up on the front row.

The lights illuminate one by one. Then, in a heartbeat, they go out.

The race is on.

Charles gets a strong start, holding off challengers through the initial turns. The streets of Monaco are notoriously difficult for overtaking, so track position is everything.

“Maintain the pace. Tire management is key,” Claudio advises as the laps progress.

As the race unfolds, strategy becomes crucial.

“Plan to box in two laps,” Marit instructs through Claudio. With with Verstappen close on his tail, everything must be executed perfectly.

The pit stop is lightning-fast, the crew working in synchrony. Charles emerges just ahead of Max, who had followed him into the pits.

Throughout the race, Charles’ skill shines. He manages his tires, navigates the backmarkers, and keeps a razor-sharp focus.

The final laps approach. The team, the spectators, the entire Principality holds its breath.

The chequered flag waves and Charles crosses the finish line to takes his first home win. The elation, the pride, the sheer emotion of the moment is overwhelming.

“Monaco, Charles! You’ve won Monaco!”

Tears in his eyes, Charles responds, voice choked, “We did it! This is for Monaco. This is for Ferrari. Grazie mille. Merci beaucoup.”

The team gathers beneath the podium, celebrating their victory and the hometown here. Charles quickly sprays the two drivers beside him before aiming the bottle at the sea of red cheering in front of him and soaking his team in champagne.

He thinks back to how this weekend ended last season and let’s his elation wash away the years of dejected he faced before.

Things are different now.

***

“I’ve never seen Monaco come alive like this after a win,” you shout over the pulsating music in one of the city’s many upscale clubs.

Charles grins, leaning in closer so you can hear him. “It’s the magic of a home race victory!”

As the night turns to early morning, alcohol flows freer and the laughter grows louder.

The Ferrari team loves any reason to celebrate and they’re certainly making the most of the location.

Charles pulls you to a quieter corner of the VIP section. “Have you ever danced with a Monaco Grand Prix winner?”

You roll your eyes at the attempt at flirting but laugh as you accept his outstretched hand. “There’s a first time for everything.”

The two of you dance, losing track of time.

The world blurs around you. All that matters is the magnetic pull between you two which has been simmering for so long that it is threatening to overflow.

Charles pulls you closer, his lips brushing your ear. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

You relish in the warmth of his breath against your skin. “What’s that?”

“I’m drawn to you,” he admits, eyes searching yours. “Not just because of tonight but ... there’s something between us. I feel it. And I think you do too.”

You swallow hard. “I do.”

He hesitates before wrapping an arm around your waist, “Come with me.”

Without a word, you both exit the club, making your way to his apartment. The air between you is thick with anticipation but also vulnerability … openness.

Once inside, he gently pushes you against the wall, lips crashing onto yours. It’s passionate and intense, like a dam that has been waiting to break.

Charles pulls away slightly, “Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you whisper, eyes locked with his. “But ... Charles, not just for tonight. I don’t want this to be just a result of a victory high or the Monaco night air.”

He cups your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “I don’t want that either. This isn’t about the race or the party. It’s about us. I think it’s been about us for a while now.”

“Then why didn’t you say something sooner?”

He chuckles softly. “You think it’s easy, being around you every day, wanting to be close but maintaining a distance for the sake of professionalism? To spend every evening when we’re in Maranello sitting across from you at dinner and wishing that I could call it a date? But tonight,” he pauses, eyes searching yours, “Tonight felt different.”

You waste no time to draw him closer. “No more waiting then.”

***

Canada’s Circuit Gilles Villeneuve echoes with the roar of engines and the cheers of fans. Charles dominates the track, mastering the chicanes and the notorious Wall of Champions.

But the race isn’t straightforward. Mid-race, strategy suddenly changes when an unexpected rain shower soaks the track. However, the new strategy team you’ve brought in makes all the right calls and Charles takes the chequered flag.

In the Spanish sun, it’s a different story. The high-speed corners expose a slight flaw in the SF-24 which leaves Charles fighting valiantly but finishing third.

Despite the setback, you see determination in his eyes. “We’ll get them in Austria,” he promises.

True to his word, at the Red Bull Ring, he dominates. The SF-24 suits the straights and fast corners. Charles takes pole and leads every lap, building a gap that the competition can’t close. The victory feels even sweeter given the circuit’s name.

Silverstone proves challenging. There’s fierce competition, and while Charles doesn’t win, he’s involved in one of the most thrilling wheel-to-wheel battles of the season with Max Verstappen. They exchange positions multiple times, showing pure racing talent. In the end, Charles finishes a proud second after a photo finish.

The Hungarian Grand Prix tests the team. Tire strategy becomes paramount. The SF-24 shows vulnerabilities in the surprisingly sweltering conditions. Still, Charles’ impeccable driving and some cunning strategy calls earn him a place on the podium.

At the Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Charles shines brilliantly. He conquers Eau Rouge and Raidillon like few can, making it seem effortless. The SF-24 feels perfectly balanced and he takes another win, smiling at the Ferrari flags waving high in the crowd as the Monegasque and Italian anthems play.

Through it all, you see Charles grow not just as a driver but as a leader and beacon of hope for the team and global fanbase. He is not just driving for himself or for Ferrari, he drives for everyone who believes in him.

***

The warm Italian sun pours golden light onto the expansive villa overlooking Lake Como. The water below sparkles, mirroring the sky. For a brief moment, the hectic world of Formula 1 feels miles away.

You’re lounging under an oversized umbrella, Aperol Spritz in hand, while Charles emerges from the pool, beads of water cascading down his toned physique.

“That swim was perfect,” Charles grins as he flops down beside you.

“You were in there for ages! Trying to turn into a fish?”

He shakes his head like a wet puppy, making you squeal as you try to escape the splashes. “Just preparing for our yacht trip. Besides, I have to burn off all those pasta dinners we’ve been having or else I won’t fit in the car by the end of the month.”

“The troubles of a professional athlete,” you laugh, “I’ve been indulging and I’m not even sorry.”

That evening, the two of you share a quiet moment on the terrace. Soft jazz floats from inside and cicadas buzz rhythmically.

“Remember our first race together?” Charles starts. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”

“I never imagined we’d be here. But I am so glad that we are.”

He meets your gaze, his eyes reflecting the same heat you feel. “Me too. These moments, away from the track with you ... they’re special.”

The following week, you find yourselves on a luxurious yacht off the coast of Sardinia. Charles’ family and both of your friends are aboard. The sun decks echo with laughter, music, and the soft lapping of waves. There is never a quiet moment and you relish in the sounds of happiness.

As you stand by the railing, watching Charles and Joris race each other on jet-skis, Arthur slides up beside you. “So, how’s life with my big brother?”

You laugh, “It’s an adventure every day. But honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing. It’s wonderful. He’s wonderful.”

Arthur nods, “I’ve never seen him this happy, you know?”

You smile warmly, your gaze drifting to where Charles has somehow fallen into the water and is now splashing his friend. “He brings out the best in me, just as I hope I do for him.”

***

The gentle lapping of the Mediterranean waves seems like a distant memory as you find yourself in Zandvoort.

“Quite the change of scenery, isn’t it?” Charles chuckles, standing beside you as the sea breeze of the Dutch coast tousles his hair.

You laugh, “A bit but I’ve missed it. Nothing beats the excitement of a race weekend.”

And what a weekend it was. Charles, against all odds, comes out on top at Max Verstappen’s home race. The Dutch crowd offer begrudging respect as Charles takes the top step.

And then, Monza.

Monza is different. There’s an electricity in the air that cannot be replicated anywhere else. It’s the home race of Ferrari … the cathedral of speed.

“Do you know,” you tell Charles as you both walk through the paddock, “I used to come here with my grandfather as a child. This track ... it’s steeped in history. I’ve always loved it.”

“Winning here was like nothing else I have ever experience,” he reflects. “Let’s do it again. We’ll write our own chapter in history this weekend.”

Qualifying is a nail-biter. Charles pushes the SF-24 to its limits, dancing on the edge of control.

“How are we looking?” Charles checks in.

“You’re on provisional pole,” Claudio responds over the radio. “But push on the last sector. Max is close and getting closer.”

And push he does. Charles clinches pole with a margin that leaves no doubts about the capabilities of both the driver and the car.

Race day, the atmosphere is fever-pitched. The Tifosi, in their sea of red, wave their flags and banners, chanting Charles’ name like a prayer. As the lights go out, the battle rages. The strategy is aggressive, a one-stop that requires Charles to defend position in the latter stages of the race.

“Lap 45. Push now, we need widen this gap,” Claudio instructs.

The tires scream in protest as Charles further carves out a lead. But as the laps tick down, Verstappen and Piastri close in.

“Drive smart and hold them off. Four laps to go. You’ve got this,” Claudio urges him on.

Going wheel-to-wheel with Max through the Ascari chicane, Charles pulls ahead. The Tifosi roar, their energy and sheer will pushing him on.

“Last lap. Bring it home!”

And he does.

As Charles crosses the finish line, the crowd erupts. The track is soon packed with red as fans flood the track, surrounding the podium.

From the sea of faces, one voice stands out — yours, “You did it, Charles. Monza is yours.”

He lifts the trophy high, a tear in his eye, “We did it. This is for Ferrari … for the Tifosi … for us.”

***

The streets of Baku and the lights of Singapore both witness the magic that Charles and the SF-24 weave together. Two more wins, two more steps closer to the championship.

And then you find yourselves in Texas.

“Do you remember this time last year?” Charles asks.

“How could I forget? It was the phone call that changed everything.”

Charles laughs but there’s a weight to it, “For both of us. It was a disaster ... pole to sixth and then the disqualification. All because of...” He doesn’t finish the sentence, the mismanagement of the team a heavy shadow neither of you can forget.

“You’ve grown since then,” you point out gently, “The team has grown. Look at where we are now.”

He nods, taking a deep breath, “One year. So much has changed. From one of the worst days in my racing career to ... this.” Charles gestures around, to the revamped team, the transformed car, the very atmosphere of competence that permeates every corner of the Ferrari garage.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” he whispers, “The championship is within our grasp. Right back where it all went wrong.”

You take a moment to pull out your laptop and open a data sheet, “Here’s the breakdown. If Max gets P2 in both the sprint and the race, you need P1 in both. That’s how we seal the championship this weekend.”

Charles’ eyes scan the spreadsheet, “That’s ... a tall order.”

“But not impossible. Not for you and not for this team,” you assure him.

He chuckles again but it’s brighter now, “With you in my corner? I know anything is possible.”

***

The energy is electric when qualifying day arrives in Austin. You find Charles in his driver’s room, eyes closed in focus as he visualizes the track.

“You ready for this?”

His eyes pop open, determination burning in them. “Ready. Let’s show them what we can do.”

Qualifying unfolds in a blur of fast laps and bated breath. Charles pushes the limits, wrestling the SF-24 around the bumpy circuit.

“Time for one more lap. Give it your all here,” Claudio radioes through.

Jaw set, Charles squeezes all he can from the SF-24. Silence falls as he crosses the line … broken by cheers as his new lap time is set.

Pole position for the second season in a row.

Charles sheds his helmet and rips off his balaclava. “Yes! That’s how we start a weekend!”

The sprint shootout and race similarly see Charles launch cleanly from P1, building a gap early.

“Verstappen is matching your pace, don’t let him get within DRS range,” Claudio advises.

“Copy,” Charles responds, focused.

A late charge from Max raises tensions but Charles keeps him at bay, taking the chequered flag and the eight points.

“That’s the way to do it!” You shout as Charles enters the garage.

“Grand Slam in the sprint, now time for the main event,” he grins.

You rally the team Sunday morning. “Remember, the start is crucial. The car that lines up in P2 has led by the end of lap 1 for five years in a row. We need full focus.”

It seems like barely any time has passed before Charles takes his spot on the grid. Lights out, tires screeching, he holds the lead through the first lap madness.

“Nicely done,” Claudio praises. “Manage those tires now.”

The pit stop strategy is executed flawlessly. Charles takes his second stop, emerging ahead of a charging Verstappen.

“Ten laps remaining,” Claudio counts down.

Charles responds with measured confidence, “Let’s bring it home.”

In the closing laps, he is poetry in motion, hitting each apex and maximizing every straight. Max closes in but Charles is perfect to the millimeter.

“Charles Leclerc,” Claudio’s voice cracks with emotion, “you are the World Champion!”

Eyes wet, Charles radios in, “Yes! Yes! Yes! We did it! Thank you guys! This is unbelievable! Grazie, grazie mille, grazie a tutti! It’s been an incredible season with all of you. This is for the team, for Ferrari, for all the fans, and for everyone who has supported me. We brought it back to Maranello! I’m speechless ... grazie, thank you!”

In the garage, celebrations in full swing, you lean in with a laugh, “Don’t worry, I checked with the FIA — the plank is up to regulation this time.”

Grinning, Charles pulls you into a passionate kiss as the team hoots and hollers around you.

The World Champion smiles so bright he makes the Texan sun look dull in comparison.

You would do anything to make sure he feels like this every season. You will do anything to make sure he feels like this every season.

***

The winter sun casts a warm glow on Maranello as you walk beside Charles into the Ferrari factory. The off-season buzz of activity fills the air as the team prepares for next year’s challenges.

Charles looks at the sleek lines of the new SF-25 with anticipation. “She’s beautiful. I can’t wait to see what she can do.”

“This one’s special. She’ll be fighting for the championship again.”

“Yeah?”

“You heard me right,” you say with a smile. “I made you a promise. Last season was just the beginning.”

As Charles turns for a briefing, you spot Fred across the room. Your relationship has evolved and he now respects the authority you wield for the team’s benefit.

Approaching, you extend a hand. “I wanted to say, you’ve led the team well this past season.”

He grasps it firmly. “We share this success. Thank you for being the catalyst we needed”

You know there will still be challenges ahead. But Ferrari has been reinvigorated. Its racing spirit has been reignited.

That evening, Charles joins you on the terrace of the home you both share when in Maranello and wraps you both in a warm blanket to fight the chill. “Can you believe what a year it’s been?”

You shake your head. “It’s been a dream.”

He pulls you close. “The dream is just beginning and it’s a dream I hope we never wake up from.”

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 14

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: M (childbirth, PTSD, mentions of grief)

A/N: I tried to make this as non graphic as possible, focusing instead on the emotions of the characters. The entire reason I wrote this fic in the first place, I couldn't have made it through this chapter without the incredible suggestions, support and beta reading of @the-scandalorian and @the-ginger-hedge-witch. I truly hope you enjoy ❤❤

--

In the blue wash of time between the middle of the night and the dawn, he’s asleep next to you when the first pains start. 

Deep at the root of your spine, a low throb blooms. Fading in and out, you try to ignore the manageable ache and when you can’t, your first instinct is to curl in on yourself. So you do just that: rub the heel of your hand against your tailbone, letting your feet slide together in the same rhythmic figure eight you soothe yourself with when you’re really sick. 

That motion alone should have been a giveaway, but it doesn’t strike you until the sun is rising that this is something different. 

Still, you let him sleep. 

On an instinct to be alone, you slip from the bed to go sit out on the porch. Another swell of pain ripples across your back, the sensation still light enough to soothe with a steady rub, and a taut contraction stretches across your hips for a fleeting moment, then disappears. 

The sun peeking just above the horizon, you breath low and slow, watching as it makes a steady ascent. The peaceful setting seeps in, blanketing you in reassurance and comfort, and you’re remarkably calm when he comes out of the bedroom in search of you. 

Sleep mussed curls and a frown on his face, his arms are crossed tight over his chest as he wards off the morning chill. 

“What’s wrong?” His voice is husky and low, thick with sleep. 

“I think it’s gonna be today.”

—

He dresses immediately, setting his mind to tasks you’ve discussed for months beforehand in an attempt to calm his nerves. Still, his hands tremble when he walks down to the bank to fill pails with water. He balls them into fists and shakes them in frustration, willing them to stop. 

Hours, days: there is no way of knowing how long this is going to take. He hates the uncertainty of it, the edge of danger that you have to teeter upon while he is helpless to stop it. Anything, at any moment, could go wrong and he would have no way of knowing what or how to help you. 

He’d be fucking useless, just like he was before. 

The guilt he’s always felt creeps through his chest like the fungus that’s infected everything else, settling deep between his ribs. It branches up through his mind, invading his thoughts and the heavy weight of it pulls at him; his shoulders rounding in a slump. His eyes close tight, his fingers digging deep into the damp sand as he braces himself on the ground. 

The thick, suffocating terror he felt on Outbreak Day comes back to him easily, a different version of the same brand of helplessness he felt on the day Sarah was born. The same as what he feels now, he feels his chest tighten and constrict, his breathing getting shallower and shallower. 

No. 

Fighting against it, he shakes himself from the reverie of images: blood, pain, anguish, sobbing. An intensely feral need rises like bile; an urge to burn the world to the ground while screaming just to make sure nothing touches what is his. 

Useful to no one if he lets it take over, he pushes it all away. Practiced in remaining calm under pressure, he takes a deep breath, focusing on the water. 

In and out, in and out, timing each breath with the gentle lap of waves along the shore. 

He speaks silent affirmations to himself - prayers, if he was still a praying man. 

He can do this. He won’t fail. He can’t. 

Gathering himself, he stands. 

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, stepping back into the cabin. Shutting the door tight to keep out the spring chill, he sets the pails of water next to the wood stove and comes to sit next to you on the couch. 

“Yea, I’m good.” A grimace of pain flits across your face for a split second, and he shifts to make room for you as you recline on the couch. Grabbing the blanket from across the back, he settles it over you. 

“I think I should try to get some rest, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to sleep.” Even as you say the words, a yawn breaks through. 

“You’ll probably need it. Might not be a bad idea, ‘specially if you can sleep through some of the pain.” He rifles through the mix of bottles in front of you on the coffee table, placed there earlier by himself. “I don’t have anything stronger than ibuprofen,” he says apologetically. “But you can have some if you want?”

You wave it away, sliding down on the couch to try and get comfortable. “No, it’s okay. I can do without it for now. It’s not so bad.”

He moves to give you room, and your hand reaches for his, holding it tight. 

“Stay with me? I don’t want to be alone when I wake up.”

The open vulnerability on your face pulls him in, the small way in which you ask breaking open his chest, and he immediately sits back, tugging your feet onto his lap. 

“Of course, honey. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” 

He smoothes over the arches of your small socked feet, letting go when you curl them together, clearly a means to comfort yourself. He instead rests his hand on your shin in a reassuring hold, and watching your eyes flutter shut as your breathing deepens and slows, his veil of control stays in place while his mind begins to free fall. 

Panic, guilt, nervous anticipation, panic. 

Again he resists, using the warmth of your shin as an anchor. 

He’s quiet: sitting with you for a bit, reading a little before giving up, double checking the supplies on the table. Making sure the bed in your old room is covered with a tarp from the shed, some old quilts piled on top of it. 

Pacing until he wills himself to stop. 

His eyes flick over to you every time he sees you shift in your sleep: your hand coming to rest on your belly, rubbing the underside with a fleeting wince of pain. He watches, and wishes he could take this all from you: every twinge of pain, everything that’s about to come. 

The guilt he feels at being responsible for putting you in this position is something he thought he made peace with a while ago, but it flares bright with every small frown between your brows and when you wake with a soft whine of discomfort, he strides to your side immediately, helping you sit up. 

Your pained sound grows louder, both of your hands splaying over the source as you clench your jaw, and feeling helpless, he does what he can, rubbing broad circles over your back. 

“I’m right here, honey. I’m right here.”

You seem to give into his touch, leaning against it for strength and your fingers dig into the meat of his thigh as you ride it out. 

He keeps rubbing, and the next few hours pass much the same: waiting and pain. 

–

“Can you hand me that rag?”

The bed dips with his weight as he sits next to you, and wringing out the damp scrap of fabric in his hands, he runs it along your hairline. 

“I can do it,” you protest, no real fight in the words as your eyes slip shut.

“I got it.”

You feel as wrung out as that rag, exhausted yet unable to rest. Keyed up with adrenaline, you’re trying to let your body take over and not fight every single contraction, but it’s hard - so hard. Each one wracks your body with a tight, seemingly endless crest of pain that steals the air from your lungs and makes it hard to breathe, forcing you to struggle on instinct alone.

He swipes the fabric along the bridge of your nose, gently guiding your face to the side so he can collect the sweat dusted across your cheeks. You focus on the delicate drag of the cloth, letting your body relax. 

“Thank you.”

Not for the first time, he looks at his watch as if it still worked and then immediately away, directing his gaze out the window. 

“Seems like they’re getting closer,” he remarks, his hand coming to rest on the hard swell of your stomach. “Does it feel like it?”

“I honestly…I don’t know. It’s hard to keep track.”

He nods and then leaves the room, coming back with a pencil and paper. 

“It’s late. ‘Round four, I think, so you’ve been at it about twelve hours. Let me know when the next one starts, and I’ll count it out. I’ll keep track on here.”

He sets the paper down on the bedside table, his hand poised to begin making a chart and you rest your hold on top of his. 

“I think…” you lick your dry lips, swallowing. “I think we just go with it. I feel like I’ll know when it’s time?”

If you don’t officially keep track of the time between them, you won’t officially know when it’s time to push but…something about it seems right to you, given the way you’ve learned to live without structured time. 

That, and without an official “start time”, you can force your nerves to the bottom of your mind, delaying inevitable pain. Even if only for a little longer. 

The stern look he gives you in response tells you how he feels about that answer, and he shakes his head. 

“It’s not just about knowin’ when it’s time. It’s about knowin’ when it’s been too long.”

His logic wins over your fear, and a weighted silence lingers between the two of you. Not wanting to acknowledge what that would mean, you let his hand go and curl onto your side. Facing him, you let him know when the next contraction starts, and while he sets his pencil down to hold your hand, you watch his lips move with silent counts. 

–

You just… let your body take over. 

Existing in a plane of never ending cresting waves of crippling pain that come closer and closer together, you squeeze his hand just as tight as you squeeze your eyes shut with every single one. The fight inside of you fades, instinct ruling instead and needing to have faith in your body to do the right thing without any knowledge to guide you, you just…give in. 

You should be terrified at the prospect of it, but you can’t seem to find the strength to care. Your body was built for this, designed for this, has done this very thing billions of times over throughout human existence and giving yourself over to that idea, you find yourself comforted, in a way.

You do what it tells you to do: take deep breaths when you can, curl onto your side into a tight ball when you need to, let tears fall freely from your eyes without embarrassment. You writhe and shift on the bed into whatever position feels comfortable, giving into the instinctual need to seek comfort at whatever cost. 

Daylight shifts into twilight shifts into nightfall, and he’s with you throughout the whole thing, as steadfast as he’s always been. 

At your side, like he’s always been. 

There, like he’s always been. 

With his reassuring presence beside you, you descend into a base version of yourself with his hand an anchor. 

–

A quiet, formidable strength greater than the brute type he’s capable of emerges, and Joel watches as you close your eyes and draw on resources he didn’t know your body still had. 

Underrated and overlooked in terms of survival, you may not have the physical skills he has but your internal strength and will to survive through hope and optimism are more valuable than his skills right now. Awestruck by the shift that happens before him, he wonders if that’s what's always subconsciously drawn him to you: this innate sense that you’ll fill in his blanks, bringing him a sense of peace when his life has known anything but. 

You take his weaknesses and mold them into something good instead of a liability, meeting them with strengths of your own. He is responsible for so many things when it comes to you: your life, your well being, your survival. Seeing you now, taking charge of every one of those things with a fierce strength that outmatches anything he can provide in this situation, he not only understands that you have his back just as much, but also that you’ve always had it.  

Two halves of a whole, your faith and his competence.

An equal partner, whose qualities shine bright in their quiet, unassuming way. 

Your fingers twisted in the sheets, you prop yourself up against the headboard of the bed with a low groan and tell him when you’re ready. 

“I think it’s time.” 

You barely get the words out before you’re bearing down in taut silence, your jaw clenched and he shifts on the bed, his hands molding over your knees to gently pull them apart. 

“Come on, honey. I’ve got you.”

–

His voice calls to you from the depths of your pain, the sound of it muffled behind the blood rushing in your ears and you use it like a beacon, something to focus on. The contractions one on top of another, it’s well past dark outside the cabin when everything seems to happen all at once:

A dark, wet patch of hair emerging; Joel’s eyes widening as his fingers tentatively reach out to touch it. 

A sob catching in your throat; fluid soaking the blanket underneath you. 

Pain so fierce and overwhelming it makes you lightheaded; a pressure so blindingly sharp and heavy and full that you scream before it abruptly stops, everything sliding out in a slick rush. 

“You did it, honey,” he praises you, his head down as he cradles the baby in his hands. “You did it. She’s out.”

She. The sobs you let out are involuntary, a mixture of immense relief and joy paired with the crash of adrenaline and your limbs shake with exhaustion, your head falling back into the pillow he’s propped beneath your head.

It’s only then that the silence in the room comes to your attention. 

“Joel?” You wearily push yourself up, trying to see her. 

He’s looking down at the mattress with a deep frown of focus, his skin ashen and gray and your stomach bottoms out, panic flooding your chest. Limited as your knowledge is about babies, you know you should be hearing her make a sound right now. Any sound. 

“Why isn’t she crying?” you ask, a slight tremble catching the end of the sentence. 

He doesn’t answer you, instead staying focused on her, his hands smeared and glistening with blood as one splays over her impossibly tiny chest, his fingers rubbing along the dip of her sternum. 

“Come on. Come on.” 

His words have a frantic edge to them, one you can hear even with how he’s murmuring the near silent chant to himself and you mirror it, doing the same. 

“Come on, baby. Come on.”

A thin whimper breaks the tense silence, her limbs suddenly flaring out in a silent fight against the world, and her timid cry blooms into a bright wail that pierces the air. 

Relief floods out of you in sob, his own breaking free in the rush of a heavy exhale, and when he scoops her up, unshed tears glisten in his eyes. Handing her wet body to you, she’s matted and smeared with blood and slick, and she squirms on your bare chest for a moment, your arms automatically cradling her close. 

Impossible tiny, just like he said. 

“A she.” Your voice thick with tears, you look up at him and he grins down at you, his smile shining bright with pride. 

“A she.”

Your cheek comes to rest on the crown of her head when he bends to press a kiss to your forehead and his murmurs against the sweat damp skin there make you cry even more. 

“You did it, my girl. You did it.”

–

A slight tremble to his hands as he finishes tying off the umbilical cord, he gently hands her back to you and reaches for the bucket near the side of the bed. 

“I’m gonna go empty this, but I’ll be right back.”

You acknowledge him, your arms tightening in their hold on her as you scoot back in your bed. Tucked safely against your chest, she’s already sliding into sleep and you join her, closing your eyes. Fixing the blanket around you, he picks up the bucket and leaves the room. 

Night darkens the path as he makes his way down to the water, the setting around him awash in muted colors. Animals moving in their quest to hunt for the night, the fresh spring breeze rustles the new growth on the trees that surround him, but he sees and hears none of it, his vision beginning to tunnel. 

Black gathers around the edges of the world, the basin in his hands falling onto the grass. His boots sinking into the sand, he barely makes it to the bank before he’s buckling, knees hitting the soft ground. 

The image of the two of you sleeping flashes through his mind, and the pressure in his chest swells and overcomes him, emotion choking his airway. The intensity of the last twenty four hours seeps out of him, the image of her still body as he rubbed life into her fixed behind his clenched shut eyes and finally - finally - he lets it go with big, wracking sobs that pour out, a sound he tries to muffle with his hands. 

Relief, relief. 

–

June Miller. 

A basin of warm water between the two of you on the bed, you watch as he cradles her endlessly moving body in his large hands and bathes her. Her limbs stretch and flex slowly, testing their newfound boundaries and not being able to decide on which face you want to look at more, you shift your gaze back and forth between her scrunched one and his more focused, intent one. He’s careful yet steady with his movements, the gentle splash of water the backdrop to the tiny squawks of protest she lets out. 

The lantern illuminates them, a circle of light surrounding their figures in an intensely intimate way and you watch glistening drops of water slide down over his thick wrist as he cups some, pouring it over her hair. 

“I know you don’t like it. I know.”

It’s innate, his soothing. 

Second nature from the first time he held her and spoke to her, you could tell he’d done this before. His body curled protectively around her as he held her to his broad chest, his movements practiced and confident and you watched as it happened without him even realizing, like he didn’t have to think about caring for someone else - just doing it, as if he couldn’t help it. 

Finishing bathing her with the fresh basin of water he brought back from the river, she keeps her eyes closed against the light of the world as he sets her in her cradle, turning to help you from the bed. You brace your hand on his solid shoulder as he kneels, exhaustion thickly blanketing your body as you feel soothing, firm wipes of wet warmth on your skin. He’s just as careful and detailed with it as he was with her, and after he dries and settles you in the bedroom you share with him, he crawls in after you, closing his eyes. 

Dawn is breaking when you wake to the sound of a restless, small cry and you leave him sleeping when you go to grab her, bringing her back to bed. Brushing aside the soft blanket that covers her cheek, you look down and see two dark eyes blinking back up at you. Shaped just like his, they stay open. 

You want to wake him because it feels…significant, this moment. She’s tiny — dark eyes, a button nose, a dot of a mouth and full little cheeks. Her eyes are open and so are yours and the two of you sit there and just — look. Basking in the strange sensation of silently learning each other, yet knowing each other so well already. 

You remember what Joel said, about you and them and the peaceful stillness of sitting in the quiet and your vision waters, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye. More joy than you’ve felt in your whole life, the emotion is overwhelming - as if a beacon of pure, unfiltered light has flooded your entire body, lighting you from the inside out. 

She keeps looking, her tiny brow scrunching and you smile down at her, another tear sliding free. 

“Joel,” you whisper, and he’s up in an instant. 

“Yea?”

It takes you a minute to speak, and his face shifts into alarm.

“What’s the matter? She okay?”

He sits up quickly, scooting closer to see her more clearly. 

“Yea,” you reply, sniffing. “Look at her.”

She looks like you, like him, like her own self and you can’t stop looking at her, trying to find fleeting traces of every version. 

Mesmerized, he strokes the soft back of her tiny hand over and over with his thumb, and his voice is a low gravel, full of soothing adoration.

“Hey, baby girl.”

[7ndipity]

“Just Breathe”

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You're nervous about meeting Yoongi's parents for the first time

Warnings: angst/comfort, brief mentions of toxic family life, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to @vicky-chaos for this request! I hope you like it!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The late afternoon sun warmed your back as you walked down the street hand in hand with Yoongi, the familiar hum of street noise around you a welcome soundtrack that you hoped would distract from the anxious thoughts that had been filtering through your mind all day.

Normally you loved going on errand runs like these with Yoongi, finding comfort in the mundane routine, but today you had found yourself unable to relax fully and enjoy yourself, even now fidgeting with the handles of the shopping bags in your free hand.

Yoongi’s parents were coming to visit for the weekend, and he had asked if you wanted to help him cook dinner on the first night so that you could meet them. You had been touched that he wanted to introduce you to them at all and had agreed to the plan eagerly enough at first, but inside, there had been a growing tinge of “what if?”.

If this evening didn’t go well, you worried how it would affect you and Yoongi’s relationship going forward.

Yoongi had noticed your growing nerves and had tried to reassure you that things would be fine, even giving you a crash course on his parents' personalities and interests to help make you feel more confident and give you something to talk to them about.

“-And Dad likes reading, so just keep conversation focused around that if you can’t think of anything else.” He finished as you were headed back towards where he had parked the car.

“Right…” You replied distantly, chewing on your lip.

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry.” He assured you, squeezing your hand gently.

You nodded, but you couldn’t stop your heart still anxiously skittering around your ribcage, seeking out escape.

“Hey,” His tone was much softer now, drawing your attention back to him with a gentle touch on your cheek, letting his fingers just brush over your skin in the same way that he did as you fell asleep at night. “Just breathe, okay? Everything will be fine. They’re gonna love you.”

You hesitated for the briefest moment.

“What if they don’t?” Your asked quietly, breaking his heart at how small you sounded.

He knew his parents weren’t the easiest to get along with, especially his father, but he had faith that they would see what a beautiful and remarkable person you were. He couldn’t imagine anyone meeting you and not immediately falling for your warm heart and infectious personality.

But no matter how many times Yoongi tried to encourage and reassure you, your anxieties over what could possibly go wrong persisted.

He knew your fears weren’t entirely unfounded; it was no secret to him that the relationship between you and your own parents was difficult to say the least, leaving you with more than a few emotional scars that you were slowly trying to heal. But he was not so secretly hoping that this might be the start of a better relationship with parental figures for you, that you might start to view his family as your own. He just needed you to believe.

“If they don’t like you, then that’s their problem and they’ll have to get over it.” He told you matter-of-factly.

“Yoongi-” You started, but he stopped you.

“I mean it, if they know me and care about me at all, then they’ll make the effort to get along with the person I love.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his in shock, making him realize his accidental admission.

“You love me?” You asked.

“Yeah, of course I do.” He said, trying to ignore the creeping redness that he could feel coloring his face.

“It’s just-, you’ve never said that before.” You pointed out, still staring at him.

“I’ve felt it for a while, I’d just been trying to find the right time to say something.” He replied quietly, suddenly finding the pavement very interesting as he scratched at the back of his neck self-consciously. “And it’s no big deal, you don’t have to say anything ba-”

“I love you too.” You cut him off.

His head snapped back up, his dark eyes filled with cautious hope.

“Really?” 

You nodded. “I always have.”

Before you could blink, Yoongi closed the gap between you, crushing you to his chest in a hug that nearly knocked the wind out of you.

“I love you.” He mumbled into your hair. “I love you so fucking much, and nothing anyone says can ever change that. Not my parents, not anyone.”

Your eyes stung at his words, trying to fight back the sudden wave of emotions that threatened to overtake you.

“I love you too.” You managed, blinking away the wetness in your eyes.

It was moments like this that reminded you of just how thankful you were to have Yoongi in your life, always willing to make room for you, to protect you, to fight for you.

After a long moment, he pulled away enough to meet your eye again.

“We got this, yeah?” He asked. “We’ll be okay.”

You nodded, a small, genuine smile creeping across your face for the first time today.

“Lets go home.” He said, catching your hand in his again and giving it a slight squeeze.

The two of you walked on together in comfortable silence, savoring the feel of the shared warmth of your joined hands, keeping away the autumn chill that tried to chill your fingers.

Everything would be okay. So long as you had each other to hold onto, you could face anything.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @universal-travel-er @k4ngelz

[m4rv3l-girl]

Bucky x pregnant reader

Bucky started working from home and everything was great! You spend time together and made plans for Baby coming along but the longer Bucky stayed at home the more he hid himself away in his office working, and one day as your hormones kick in, you're feeling very emotional and just wanting cuddles from him, so you go to his office and ask him about coming to bed and cuddling and he just says he's busy he will be there soon and you say that he's been working all day and you haven't seen him and he ends up snapping at you and it makes you cry and you tell him that you don't want to see him for the rest of the night and storm away, after a while bucky can't concentrate on work because he made you cry and he comes to find you and when he finds you aren't in your shared bedroom he panics thinking you left him and he shouts and runs around the full house only to find you curled up sleeping on the bed in your baby's room and he carries you to bed and apologises and tells stark that he won't be working anymore until the baby is here and settled

Priorities

Bucky x Pregnant!Y/N

Warnings: Slight angst. Pregnancy.

You stirred in bed, the soft fabric of the sheets cocooning you. It was quiet—too quiet. Reaching out, your hand brushed against the cold, empty side of the bed where Bucky usually slept. A pang of disappointment settled in your chest.

This had become a routine lately. Bucky, ever the diligent worker, had transformed your home office into his command center since he decided to work remotely. The idea was perfect in theory—more time together, more time to prepare for the baby. But the reality had been a little different.

You glanced down at your growing belly, resting your hand on the gentle curve. “Looks like it’s just us this morning, little bean,” you murmured, your voice thick with affection.

Sliding out of bed, you padded barefoot to the kitchen. The smell of coffee brewing wafted through the air, a silent testament to Bucky’s early morning habits. His notebook was open on the counter, filled with scribbled notes and diagrams. You frowned. He had clearly been here earlier but had retreated to his office before you even woke up.

The day unfolded much the same way as the past few weeks. You busied yourself tidying the nursery, organizing the endless stream of baby supplies that had arrived in neat little packages. Every so often, you’d glance at the clock, half-expecting Bucky to emerge and sweep you into one of his warm hugs.

But he didn’t.

By evening, the silence felt unbearable. Hormones amplified your emotions, leaving you craving the comfort of Bucky’s presence. Deciding you couldn’t take it anymore, you ventured to his office, your heart heavy but hopeful.

Knocking softly, you pushed the door open to find him hunched over his desk, blue eyes scanning his laptop screen, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Bucky?” you called gently.

He didn’t look up immediately. “Hmm?”

“Hey, um, I was wondering if you’d like to come to bed. We could cuddle for a bit?” Your voice wavered slightly, a mixture of vulnerability and longing.

“I’m busy, doll,” he muttered distractedly, his fingers tapping away on the keyboard.

You swallowed hard. “You’ve been working all day. I miss you.”

“I’ll be there soon, Y/N. Just give me a little more time,” he replied curtly, still not looking up.

Frustration bubbled to the surface, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “It’s not just today, Bucky! I haven’t really seen you for days. We’re supposed to be doing this together, remember?”

That was when he snapped.

“Y/N, I said I’ll be there soon! Why can’t you just let me finish this?” His tone was sharper than you’d ever heard, slicing through the air like a blade.

The tears spilled over before you could stop them. You stepped back, wrapping your arms protectively around yourself. “You know what? Don’t bother. I don’t want to see you for the rest of the night.”

You turned on your heel, storming down the hallway to the sound of Bucky’s frustrated sigh.

Back in the nursery, you curled up on the small daybed meant for late-night feedings, the soft smell of baby powder and freshly laundered blankets surrounding you. Silent sobs shook your shoulders as you replayed the argument in your mind.

Hours passed, and Bucky sat frozen in his office. His mind kept drifting back to the hurt in your eyes, the tears streaming down your face. His work became a meaningless blur, and guilt gnawed at his chest.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

He pushed away from his desk and headed to the bedroom, expecting to find you there. But the bed was empty, the sheets untouched since you’d left. Panic set in.

“Y/N?” he called out, his voice rising as he checked every room in the house. “Y/N, where are you?”

His heart thundered in his chest, the worst-case scenarios flashing through his mind. He was halfway through dialing Sam’s number when he thought to check the nursery.

There you were, curled up on the small bed, your hands cradling your belly even in sleep. The sight stopped him in his tracks, a wave of relief crashing over him.

Carefully, he crouched down beside you, his metal hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m so sorry, doll,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You stirred, blinking up at him groggily. “Bucky?”

“I’m an idiot,” he confessed, his blue eyes shimmering with regret. “I’ve been so focused on work, I forgot what’s really important—you, us, this baby. Please forgive me, Y/N.”

Your lips trembled, but you nodded. “You scared me. I thought… I thought you didn’t care anymore.”

“Never,” he said fiercely, pulling you into his arms. “You’re my world, Y/N. Both of you are.”

He carried you back to bed, tucking you under the covers before climbing in beside you. As you drifted off to sleep in his arms, he made a silent vow.

But even as your breathing evened out, Bucky couldn’t stop himself from brushing his lips against your forehead, lingering there as if he could kiss away all the hurt from earlier. He shifted slightly, cradling you closer, his flesh arm wrapped protectively around your belly while his metal hand gently traced patterns along your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, doll,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft rustle of the sheets. “I hate that I made you feel like that. You mean everything to me. I’d stop the world for you, you know that, right?”

You stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent, but the small sigh you let out as you snuggled closer to him made his heart ache in the best way. He pressed another kiss to your temple, his lips brushing against the delicate skin there.

“I promise, kitten, I’m going to do better,” he murmured, his voice breaking ever so slightly. “You and our baby deserve all of me, not some guy glued to a screen. No more late nights in the office. No more pushing you away.”

His hand slid down to your belly, resting there as though to reassure himself that your baby was safe and sound. “Hey, little bean,” he said softly, his tone warm and playful. “I know I haven’t been around much, but that’s gonna change. You and your mama are stuck with me now, like it or not.”

A sleepy smile tugged at your lips as you shifted closer. “We like it,” you whispered, your voice slurred with exhaustion but filled with warmth.

Bucky chuckled, his chest vibrating softly beneath your cheek. “Good,” he said, his lips finding your forehead once more. “Because I love you. Both of you. More than anything.”

His words hung in the quiet room, a vow spoken not just in promises but in the tenderness of his touch, the warmth of his embrace, and the unyielding devotion in his heart.

The next morning, Bucky called Tony Stark and quit his current project. From now until the baby arrived, his sole focus would be on you and the little life you were bringing into the world.

Because no job was worth missing these moments with his family.

——————————————————————————————————

Hello, anonymous reader! I hope this fits what you imagined 🫶

Requests Open!

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You

Azriel x Third-oldest-archeron-sibling!reader

a/n: I was in the mood for a writing a heated argument that turns into an even hotter make-out session, but then it got slightly depressing so…

warning: slight angst but not much because I can’t take that emotionally :’)

word count: 3,888

-Part 2[*]-

“How was she today?”

You fight the urge to clench your jaw. The harsh snapping of your book is the limit to how far you’ll allow the leash on your anger to slip. Jealousy? Frustration? Whatever complicated nonsense he’s gotten you tangled up in.

“No hello? What about a how are you today?” You ask tersely. So much for keeping your emotions on a tight leash. His brow narrows a little—you don’t usually bubble over when he asks how your older sister is doing. “You weren’t practically bed-ridden for months,” he replies slowly, gauging your response carefully.

Instantly, guilt weighs in the pit of your stomach, and you look away quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you,” you soothe hastily. Gods, why did you say that to him? You’re trying to gain his favour, not make him think you’re an ungrateful, self-absorbed sister. “She was fine. We did some baking—well, Elain did some baking, I was reading something. It’s a new book, actually! Because I finished the last one, which was actually pretty good, but this one I think is set in the last war and…” you trail off when you notice the patient smile he’s giving you.

Right. He’s not interested in what book you’re reading, or how you spent the day. He’s not interested in you full stop. He’s interested in Elain. You fight the way disappointment wants to twist the edges of your mouth, instead plastering on a smile that you hope he reads as oops, look at me! There I go again, haha.

“Well,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat, “she made some cupcakes—I think they were vanilla, and she put something that looked like jam inside. Really good. I’m sure she’d be happy for you to try one—if you ask,” you smile, adding in the details he wants to hear. For the Spymaster, he’s surprisingly open about his interest in Elain to you. But maybe that’s because you’re always so willing to answer any question you can for him.

“I’m glad,” he says, something glimmering in his hazel eyes. “And there were no silent spots? No abrupt changes?” You return your attention to the book in your hands, fingers running over the bound edges, “she was fine all the way. You never would have guessed everything she’s been through.” He hums, pleased with her progress. It’s a sound of contentment, from the back of his throat that you’re certain rumbles throughout his chest. It’s an effort to keep your attention on the book.

It’s been more than two years since the three of you were tossed into the Cauldron. Feyre and Rhysand are happy, Nesta’s made progress on healing herself and is now alarming in love with Cassian, Elain’s taking large steps in a good direction, too. You remember vividly the time when she would hardly utter a word for days, hardly shift her gaze from a strange spot in the middle-distance, how worried she made you and Nesta. And Feyre, obviously, but things were a little…strange at the time. They always had been.

You spent the first few months struggling to hold a meal down, often being wracked with spasms of anxiety and flushes of hot and cold. There was a time you would black out if you stood up too fast, and now you can hold down three meals a day without needing to run to the nearest latrine provided you don’t eat too quickly. You feel like yourself again, but fresher. You know you aren’t the same as you were, though. Not after the Cauldron, but you had no choice but to adapt. With eternity ahead of you, you couldn’t stand the thought of spending it weakened and frail—hardly capable of standing without feeling dizzy.

Maybe you are a little jealous that Elain’s getting all the attention. She’d always been the centre of Nesta’s attention, and while you were on fairly good terms with your oldest sister throughout your childhood, you were no competition for her sharp mind and sharper tongue. Feyre was the wild one, Elain the pretty one, Nesta the cunning one—then there was you.

What’s your place in your dysfunctional family?

“It’s good she seems to be steadily improving,” Azriel says, breaking you from your inner thoughts. You nod dutifully, agreeing with him. “She smiled for most of it, too,” you add, remembering how pleased she’d been when they came out how she wanted—after numerous attempts. “Though she was covered in flour—her hair was practically white!” You laugh fondly, covering your mouth with your hand.

A faint smile appears on his lips and, for just a moment, you let yourself pretend he’s smiling at the sound of your laugh.

But that’s all you have to report back to him, and even if you’ve pleased him, he’ll be finding an excuse to slip off now that he knows she’s been fine. You’ll admit, it’s difficult to remember she’s your sister when he so clearly would choose her over you. It’s not even a competition.

So you swallow your nerves, tuck your hands behind your back and peer up at him. “Hey, you read right?” You ask, keeping a pleasant smile on your lips—lest he think you’re too eager. He blinks out of whatever thought he was having, clearing his gaze as he looks down at you, then nods. “I’ve been known to pick up a book from time to time,” he answers. He’s in a good mood, it seems.

“Do you have a favourite?” You ask, tipping your head at a slight angle, appearing to look at the books stacked on the shelves. “I feel like I’ve been rereading the same story over and over again and want to try something else.”

“You’re asking me to pick just one?” He replies, quirking his brow. The smile that comes to your mouth isn’t as fake, or as controlled as you would like—it stretches your lips thin, showing the gaps either side of the top row of your teeth.

“Okay, give me a couple to have a nose at. So if one bores me to tears, I can pick up another,” you laugh gently, pulling the book tight to your chest, worried you’re showing too much. Does he know how your days often centre around whether he’ll seek you out? The too-short conversations that often revolve around your sister?

“Does Elain read?” He asks, tentatively, and it’s like a stone to your cheek. You clutch the book tighter to your chest, taking in a slow, quiet breath. “I can ask her? Subtly, of course,” you force a smile, fingers digging into the spine of the book. He shakes his head, “I’ll do it. I’d like to see how she’s doing for myself.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, “to be fair, she might be sick of them for how long she was in here last year. They might be an eyesore by now,” you laugh softly. But instead he frowns disapprovingly, like you shouldn’t be making jokes at her expense. And suddenly that urge appears, the urge to confront him about his behaviour—why he never talks to you for you.

“Azriel…?” You say, the smile slipping from your lips, though your make sure your eyes still sparkle a little, keeping them partially crinkled. But then you bite the inside of your lip, and the rest of the mask fades, leaving you raw, and more than a bit scared. If you overthink it, it’ll never get done.

“Why do you…I don’t feel like you ever…like we ever talk. Us,” you say, then flush at the word—so intimate. Us. “What do you mean?” He asks, standing sturdy before you. A seed of frustration sprouts within, but you push the irritation away. “I just…You’re always asking me about Elain.” His brow narrows a bit, and you want to take the words back.

“What else?”

You look up at him, all beauty and classical grace, and such unearthly, ethereal lines and angles to him you wish you knew how to paint like Feyre. “What do you mean, ‘what else’?” You ask, a little hurt.

“I mean, is there something else you want to talk about?” He asks, gently. Carefully.

My book would be nice. I’d like you to ask how I’m doing today, how I’m feeling, what I want to do.

“Something that doesn’t involve my sister, would be nice,” you laugh, giving him a smile that reads, can you really blame me for not wanting to talk about Elain all the time? He doesn’t smile like you’d hoped, but frowns. “Do you not like her?” He asks instead, “did something happen between you two?”

“No,” you say hurriedly. “No—nothing happened, we’re fine. Right as rain. It’s just…you always ask after her, and I feel like that’s the only reason you approach me.” You swallow, having begin to put the truth out there for him. “You seem fine talking about other things with Feyre and Nesta, but I can’t remember the last time we talked about something that wasn’t my sister, and I… I don’t really…” You trail off, watching him nervously.

His frown only deepens as he takes you in. “I’m asking out of concern for her well-being, you understand that, don’t you?” He asks.

“I know, I know, but…are you?” You reply, managing to reign in your wince at the blunt question. When he only looks at you without response, you push forward. “I mean, you…you like her, don’t you? That’s why you ask all these questions? Why you care more than the others do?” You say, fighting to keep your voice even as the words come out. “And there’s nothing wrong with that,” you quickly amend, “but, you know, it would be nice to talk to you for you. And you for me. And, you know, she does have a…mate, so, I just thought—”

“What did you think?”

You blink at the sharp tone, his eyes colder than before, more sealed off. Still, you square your shoulders, keeping the book tucked tight against your front. “Well, that, maybe, it would be better to try somewhere else? Instead of investing in someone who’s practically already taken?”

“She doesn’t love him.”

“I know she says that, but—”

“But nothing,” he says, brow narrowing. “The mating bond can’t force someone to fall in love. If she doesn’t want him, she doesn’t have to have him.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you shift on your feet beneath his penetrating gaze. “Feyre and Rhys worked out,” you manage, eyes flitting away from his, focusing on the book in your hands. “And she didn’t love him at first.” The paper’s old and crisp—worn with age. “Then Nesta and Cassian also got together, too,” you add, the pads of your fingers dragging over the pages, “and you saw what Nesta was like. How badly she was struggling. They didn’t look like they were going anywhere but destruction, but—”

“Are you done with the nosey speculation into other people’s relationships, or is that how you’ve found yourself filling your time?”

Again you blink at him, caught off guard by the ice in his tone. “I’m not saying it’s wrong to pursue her, Azriel,” you appease—try to. “I’m just saying maybe you could try looking…elsewhere, you know? Maybe try something with someone else? That won’t end badly?”

“You don’t know it will end badly,” he replies, all former warmth gone, no trace of it in his beautifully designed features. “It will for someone. Even if you and Elain do somehow end up together, what about Lucien? If it were Feyre and Rhys, or Nesta and Cass, would you think it okay for someone to try and separate them? When they were chosen to be together?”

“Bad pairings happen. Rhys’ parents are a fine example.”

“Yes, but they’re rather suited for one another, don’t you think?” You ask, pushing forward, “Elain’s always excelled at social events. She easily settles into the flow of conversation—she knows what to say, and how to act to put people at ease around her. And Lucien does the same. He knows how to draw ties between people where there seem to be none, just like her. He knows how to keep conversation flowing without pushing it, how to keep things at the right pace, just like her.”

“While you…” you pause, and his jaw tightens.

“Go on,” he says icily, “tell me why think I’m undeserving of her.”

“I don’t think its a case of deserving, Azriel,” you say quickly. “But you…well, you try to blend into any corner you can when there are more than three people in the room.”

His brow narrows, “I didn’t realise you’d been keeping tabs on me.”

“Yes, well, you’re the only one I’m interested in, so.” Your voice is soft, bladed, honed. Resigned. You lips press into a thin line as your eyes flicker away from his, too embarrassed to look even in his general vicinity. You had never anticipated laying your heart to bare to be so…scary? Terrifying?

Anti-climactic.

Admitted in such a quiet, understated way. As if he isn’t the first one you’ve ever felt so strongly for. As if he isn’t the first one who’s given you a vague understanding of why some women were so happy to do whatever their husbands told them. Why they were so happy to live in subservience, and why that’s not what it was.

“You think you’re deserving of me?” He asks, coldly. Shame and embarrassment heat your features, but you manage to shoot back, “do you think you’re deserving of her?” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to prevent yourself from being intimidated by his height, and muscle, and beauty, and overall damned attractiveness that makes you weak in the knees.

His upper lip twitches in a repressed snarl, anxiety spiking in your chest. “Answer my question,” he says, softly, an edge to his voice. You swallow, “answer mine.” You’ve never demanded something from someone before, but it’s out there now, and it feels surprisingly good to insist on something for yourself.

He regards you silently, and it takes a remarkable strength to stand still beneath his icy gaze—knowing that he’s judging what he’s seeing. Weighing if you’re worth his answer.

“I think I gave a hint of my interest for her,” he says, eyes glittering with something cold that you’re unaccustomed to have turned on yourself. “And she reciprocated with her own signs.” He stares you down, unyielding, and powerful, and you want to run and hide. “What about you?”

You purse your lips to keep them from trembling as heat crawls beneath your skin with humiliation. But—no. Get over it. Make it through. Survive something else. “I think I’m tired, and hurt from knowing that you only talk to me because you want to know how my sister is doing,” you confess, voice wobbling. “I think it’s cruel to continue asking after her when I so obviously answer every question you have just so you might pay me a little more attention.”

There’s no bite to your words, and they come out softer and weaker than you had expected. You feel tired, and drained. Eyelids heavy and heart rate spiking every other beat, numerous crescent shaped indentations on the heel of your palms.

“Maybe you’d be better off turning your affections somewhere they’d be appreciated,” he says, icily. Your heart aches, and it takes a few humiliating moments for you to gather yourself enough that you won’t burst into tears when you again find your voice. “That’s all you have to say?” You manage, fingers trembling behind your back.

“Maybe if you were even half the female she is, I’d be tempted to show a little interest,” he snarls softly, eyes glittering with cold rage.

It feels like a smack to the face, a punch to your stomach. Your eyes go wide, then blur, hot pressure building steadily. You dig your nails into the binding of your book, and move to walk past him—at least preserve what little dignity is still intact by refusing to let him see you cry. He already barely sees you as a woman, you won’t win any points with your blubbering. He wants a female, not a girl.

But he seems to realise what he’s said and turns, gripping your upper arm to keep you from leaving. You allow him to stop you, if only because demanding he let you go would show your tears. “I didn’t mean that,” he says quietly, and you can hear the pity in his voice. “I spoke in anger, I did not mean to upset—”

“Get those hands off me,” you snarl, turning on him with defensive ire blazing in your pupils. Rage fresh from the forges.

He recoils as if you burned him. Retreats a step.

“Not nice, is it? Targeting someone’s insecurity—rubbing salt into an open wound?” You snap, blinking away the tears and pulling your arm back to yourself. “Don’t come asking me for updates on Elain again. I don’t want to talk to you if your only interest is in getting between her legs.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you debate just running from the library—you can feel the storm in him brewing, and you’re not sure you’re ready for him. But he doesn’t wait for you to decide, because the storm breaks right then and there. “At least she has someone interested in getting her into bed,” he says softly, hazel piercing into you. “Can you say the same?”

Mortification flushes your skin, mouth parting in humiliation. “I—…This is inappropriate,” you hiss to hide your burning shame. Because no, it’s always been Elain and Nesta to be pursued. His eyes gleam, reading your thoughts clear as day in your expression. “Thought not.”

Pain twists viciously across your chest, heart strings being plucked within an inch of snapping—pulled taught around your throat. “If I’ve never taken a man to bed, it is not because I am unwanted. Rather that I would not waste my self nor my time on someone I was not sure about. That I did not want with everything I have,” you whisper hoarsely—the final layer stripped bare for him to slice and dissect.

But then he steps forward, and without thinking, you yield a step. He’s not perturbed, and takes another. “You admit you have no experience in bed, yet think you could handle me?” He snarls softly, wings flaring ever so slightly at his back, shadows thickening. “I don’t think it’s a matter of handling you, Azriel.” His name is a little more than a whisper from your mouth. One he tracks eagerly.

“No?” He asks, stepping forward again, slowly herding you. “Then what?” You swallow, trying to stand your ground, but the sense of him is so overpowering, he threatens to obliterate every ounce of your own self. “I think it would be a matter of learning. And if you think I’m unprepared, then Elain is definitely no better off, so that clearly isn’t your issue.”

“At least she’s shared the bed of a man before, at least she would know what to do.” You don’t correct him that you have, in fact, shared a bed with a male before. A few in fact, by this point. Nesta’s the bad influence. He steps forward again, and he’s towering over you, hazel glittering between his shadows. “At least she wouldn’t lose her head over the slightest touch.”

And then his hands have landed softly on your hips, and your head is silent. Only his touch on your body, his warmth on your skin, seeping into your clothes. Does he find your shape pleasing? Is he feeling this mind-numbing shock? The tingling at his fingertips where they’re pressing into you?

For a too-long moment you just stare at him, thoughts eddying about without a destination, floating throughout your conscious.

“Still in there?” He taunts quietly, pushing you back, turning you gently as he feels the heat radiating from your skin, the stiffness to your body beneath his touch. It’s only when a hard, wooden shelf digs into the base of your spine that you realise he’s pushed you against the case. You open your mouth—to say what, you don’t know. He beats you to it either way. “You want to prove you haven’t already lost your mind?” He says softly, voice like a lover’s touch. You can do nothing but stare at him, panting softly, completely at his mercy. “Tell me to stop, or I’ll keep going. Say no, and it finishes,” he murmurs, keeping you pressed tight between his hips and the book case. “But I think you’ve already lost.”

You blink up at him, hardly a thought behind your eyes.

In the back of your mind, you’re struggling frantically to decode his words, translate them into something that makes sense. And then his challenge clicks, and you take a sudden, deep breath. You need to tell him to stop, to show him you’re still in control of yourself—that you haven’t lost your head over the slightest touch.

But then his mouth latches over yours, tongue prying your lips apart, and your efforts of rebellion are washed away. You go all warm, and soft, and pliable in his hands, melting like butter as you coat him. His piercing hazel eyes lock with yours as his mouth slants, one hand rising to the curve of your spine, pulling you against his front.

How are you supposed to stand against him when he annihilates everything that you are with the softest brush of his fingers—fingers that are now tracing up the path of your spine, reaching that final notch as they tangle with delicious pressure in your hair. His gaze cuts into you as his tongue drags across your own, flicking at the roof of your mouth.

He’s utterly unruffled, and you feel like you’re on the verge of bursting into flame right there, setting him ablaze in the process.

But then you’re again subverting his expectations, your hands flying over his shoulders as you tilt your head to allow him deeper. The only sign of surprise he allows is a blink of his eyes, but you’re already lifting onto your tiptoes—the swell of your breasts dragging over his chest in a way you must’ve learned males like. But where would you have learned?

Your arms tighten, then your hips are pressing against him, and—you’re fighting back, he realises. And for the first time in a long, long time, he feels excitement flare deep inside him as you stride to meet him. No matter that you aren’t Elain: he’s hungry, and you can make your own decisions. If you want him to stop, you need only say the word, and he’ll be off you. But if you don’t…well, he’s not going to be the one who backs out first.

He has a damn point to prove—that you have no idea what you’re getting into with him.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

[babygirlwritessmut]

♡︎ part2. we need to stop meeting like this

MINORS DNI!

・❥・pairing: vi (arcane) x fem!reader

・❥・ summary: the next day you met Troy in the college hallway, he wasn't too happy about you humiliating him for cheating, but Vi was there to help. again.

・❥・ genre: smut + kinda friends to lovers

・❥・ word count: 1.6k

✎ warnings: 18+, homophobia, blood, mention of smut, cheating, smoking, fight, swearing

WHEN I NEEDED YOU masterlist

the next morning, you woke up early, feeling a lingering sense of anxiety that stayed with you all morning. at first, you thought that last night was just a dream, but seeing Vi's red leather jacket brought all the memories flooding back. you took off the jacket and held it to your face, breathing in the scent: a mix of perfume and cigarettes, an odd smell, but it made you smile.

while getting ready for college, you thought about what to say to Trish and how to face Troy. you weren’t even sure if he knew what had happened or if he realized you had seen him that night. these thoughts brought back the unpleasant images, making you grimace.

“disgusting jerk,” you muttered to yourself as you headed to the kitchen, where the smell of breakfast was already in the air. entering, you saw your parents laughing over coffee and sharing stories. they had always been an example of a good relationship for you. you had hoped to find the same happiness someday, but Troy had shattered your self-esteem and any desire for romantic relationships.

“good morning, family,” you tried to act as if everything was fine, not wanting to spoil breakfast with details from the previous night.

“good morning, sweetheart. how was the party?” your dad smiled at you. you couldn’t hold back and started crying again; being with your parents made it hard to contain your emotions. they exchanged a look and came over to you.

“what happened? did someone hurt you?” your mom asked, alarmed, her eyes full of concern. as you collected your thoughts, they hugged you, which made you feel a little better. you shared what had happened. your dad seemed incredibly angry, his face turning red, but he focused on calming you. you didn’t feel like having breakfast, so after talking and having a cup of coffee, you decided it was time to go.

“if you’re not feeling well, I can call the college and tell them you won’t be there today. I’m so sorry this happened,” your mom said, stroking your hair and holding your hand.

“no, it’s okay. I don’t want to jeopardize my future because of Troy. I need to go.” your words were steady. you had no intention of skipping class and hiding under the covers. after all, he was the one who betrayed you - why should you be the one staying home?

“that’s my girl. I’m proud of you. I’m so sorry you went through this alone,” your dad said, looking at you.

“I… wasn’t alone.” you looked up and met your parents’ surprised gazes. “Vi was with me; she drove me home last night.”

“Vi? is she the girl from the soccer team?” your mom asked, trying to understand what you two had been doing together.

“yes, after… the incident, she was there to support me.” you smiled to yourself, remembering how the two of you had looked up at the stars.

“well, that’s good. but don’t jump into another relationship too quickly; you need time.” you felt your parents were a bit wary about your new friend.

“no, no. it’s nothing like that. we just… talked,” you blushed at your mom’s words.

“yeah, I can see it’s ‘nothing,’” your dad chuckled, and you decided it was definitely time to leave.

outside the college, Trish greeted you with a big hug. she was asking what had happened because she had heard strange rumors about you and Vi. after you explained the whole situation, she started shouting, “I’ll punch him in the face! who does he think he is?!”

“I can’t say I don’t share your enthusiasm, but he’s not worth it. I just need some time right now,” you laughed. Trish was always ready to defend you, and you felt grateful for her.

“all right, so tell me, how’s Vi?” she winked at you.

“you too?” you rolled your eyes. “she was just there when… I needed her. nothing else…” you blushed again. why did the thought of her make you so nervous?

“if you say so, my friend. I’m not mad, you two would look good together, if you know what I mean.” Trish started blowing kisses in the air, imitating a kiss.

“can we not? let’s change the topic,” you laughed at her theatrics.

“fine,” Trish looped her arm through yours as you headed inside. “we still haven’t planned your birthday. and before you say you don’t want a celebration, let me remind you it’s one of the best days of the year, so no objections!” you both walked towards the classroom.

“I don’t know. I thought maybe this year we’d just hang out at my place? I’m not really sure I want to invite anyone,” you felt a pang of sadness again, but agreed that Troy and his betrayal shouldn’t take your day away from you.

“no, that won’t do. I suggest…” Trish thought for a moment, “I suggest a pajama party! we can invite some girls from college, watch movies, gossip… you could even invite Vi.” she winked at you.

“for gossip and movies? seriously? she plays soccer and hangs out with guys in her free time. I don’t think she’d be interested.”

“why not? it’s your birthday, after all. worth a try,” Trish shrugged.

after her words, you entered the classroom. the whole time, you kept thinking about what she had said. maybe it was worth trying.

after class, you were ready to head home and walked into the hallway when suddenly the entire soccer team was in front of you. Troy caught your eye, and a moment later, he was kissing you. shocked, you screamed and pushed him away.

“what the hell are you doing?!” you shouted loudly, and everyone was staring at you as Troy replied, "not in the mood?"

“not in the mood? I don’t want to see you. don’t come near me,” you started backing away from him, feeling all the curious eyes on you.

“babe, what are you doing?” your ex said, sounding a bit nervous.

“I should be asking you that - what are you doing with your pants down at a party in your room?” you didn’t hold back; what was the point? you felt hurt and wanted to humiliate Troy. he just stared at you. the whole team quickly left, leaving the two of you alone. you noticed the irritation on his face. without a word, he pinned you against the wall in the corridor. there was nowhere for you to slip away; fear gripped your body.

“think it's cool to humiliate me in front of the team?” he growled angrily in your face. your body shook with fear, and you realized there was nowhere to escape, no one around. “you’re nothing without me. if you were a bit smarter, you’d keep quiet and go on playing the good girl.”

his words hit you hard, and before you knew it, tears filled your eyes. just as you tried to say something, a lump in your throat silenced you. being pinned to the wall was terrifying; you wanted to scream, but it was like you were paralyzed. you no longer recognized Troy - or maybe you had never known him? just as he grabbed your throat, a familiar voice sounded.

“doesn’t seem like the best way to treat a girl, Troy,” it was Vi. she stood right next to you both, glaring at your ex with cold fury.

“oh, look who it is. the knight in shining armor,” his hand was still on your throat, and you could feel the air getting thinner. “seems like I'm not the only one who likes to have a little fun on the side. trying something new, huh, whore?” he sneered in your face.

“maybe next time, invite me along. missing my dick for complete satisfaction, are we, babe?” Troy’s words shocked you, and you felt like you might throw up right on him.

what happened next happened so fast. Vi grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him away from you, and punched him square in the face, sending him to the ground.

“dyke bitch, I'll kill you!” blood dripped from his nose, and Vi stood over him.

“if you come near her again, speak to her, or even look her way, a broken nose will be the least of your problems, got it?” her voice was cold and calm, which struck fear into both of you. Vi took your hand and led you toward the exit. you heard Troy shouting after you, “this isn’t over!"

catching your breath outside, you looked at Vi, who was watching over you.

“are you okay? do you need to go to the hospital or…?” she pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

“no, I just... no, I just want to get out of here,” you said, and she just nodded. “thank you. I don’t know what he would’ve done if you hadn’t been there. but now you’ll have problems; you shouldn’t have hit him.”

“I don’t think so. his ego won’t let him tell anyone that I beat him up. besides, he was choking you and meant to hurt you, so it’s in his best interest to keep quiet,” Vi shrugged. “let me take you home.”

“we really need to stop meeting like this,” you tried to lighten the tense situation.

“can’t argue with that,” Vi laughed. “the main thing is that you’re okay.”

when you pulled up to your house, you said, “thanks for driving me home again. wait a few minutes, and I’ll bring your jacket back?”

“keep it; it suits you better,” Vi winked, making you blush.

[hazelira]

enough

The world never seemed to move at the right pace for you.

Some days, it spun too fast—your mind racing, thoughts colliding like a hundred open tabs in a browser you couldn’t close. Other days, it slowed to a crashing halt, leaving you frozen, trapped in the heaviness of your thoughts.

Tonight was one of those nights.

You sat on the floor of your apartment, hugging your knees to your chest, eyes locked on the way your fingers curled against the fabric of your sweater. The room around you felt distant, like you weren’t there like everything was slipping through your fingers before you could process it.

Your brain was too loud. Too full. And yet, it was empty at the same time.

There was a tightness in your chest that you didn’t know how to name. Frustration? Exhaustion? Loneliness? Maybe all of it. Perhaps none of it.

You tried to get things done today—organize your schedule, clean up the clothes on your chair pile, and respond to texts. But you couldn’t. The moment you started, something inside you shut down. It was like you were watching yourself from the outside, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

And that made you feel useless.

You had always been too much for other people. Too distracted, hyper, emotional, sensitive, or stuck in your head. You always misread social cues and always got overwhelmed by sounds that no one else seemed to notice. Your reactions were either too big or too small, never the right amount.

And then there was Sunghoon—so put together, so calm. He never lost control the way you did. He didn’t fall apart over things that seemed so small yet felt so massive inside your head.

How could someone like him stay with someone like you?

A harsh sob tore from your throat before you could stop it, and the sound startled you. Your breath hitched, and suddenly, you were panicking.

You clawed at your arms, fingers digging into your sleeves, trying to ground yourself—to make your body feel something real instead of floating in this horrible, sinking space inside your mind.

Then, the door opened.

You barely registered Sunghoon’s voice at first. The world was blurry, buzzing, too much.

“Hey.” His voice was firm but quiet. “Look at me.”

You couldn’t.

He crouched before you, his sharp gaze scanning your trembling form. You knew you must’ve looked like a wreck—wide eyes, uneven breaths, fingers twitching like you couldn’t decide what to do with them.

His hands reached for yours, slowly, deliberately. You flinched, and for a second, he hesitated. But then, carefully, he took your hands in his, peeling them away from your sleeves.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his grip calm and steady against your overheated skin. “Breathe with me.”

You gasped, shaking your head, because no, you weren’t okay. You were a disaster, a mess. You weren’t like him. You weren’t calm, weren’t composed. You were falling apart in front of him, and you hated it.

“I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His voice didn’t waver. He didn’t let go. “Inhale. Now.”

You tried.

The first breath was ragged. The second was shallower. But by the third, you were no longer choking on air.

Sunghoon nodded slightly, his grip tightening for just a second before he pulled you toward him. It wasn’t graceful. He wasn’t the kind of person who gave soft, easy hugs. But he held you tight like he feared you would slip through his fingers.

And you clung to him.

His chin rested on your head, his arms a cage around you—protective, unwavering. He didn’t shush you, didn’t tell you to calm down. He just stayed.

Your body still trembled, but the panic wasn’t as sharp now. His weight and the way his slow, steady breathing anchored you were enough to keep you from slipping.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “I—I don’t mean to be like this. I don’t know how to fix it.”

He stiffened slightly, and when he spoke, his voice had a rare edge. “You don’t have to fix anything.”

You tried to pull away, but his arms tightened around you.

“Listen to me.” His voice was quiet, but it carried the kind of weight that left no room for argument. “You think you’re too much. That I’d get tired of you?”

You didn’t answer, but he felt the way your body tensed.

“Don’t ever think that again.”

You swallowed hard. “But I—”

“I chose you.” His words were deliberate, slow. “Every single day, I choose you. I don’t care if you get overwhelmed. I don’t care if you need help. I don’t care if you feel like a mess.”

His hand slid up to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair with surprising gentleness.

“You’re not a burden.” His voice softened, but his grip didn’t loosen. “You never will be.”

A choked sob escaped you, and this time, you didn’t fight it.

You pressed yourself into him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, letting his presence surround you. He smelled like fresh linen and something faintly cold—like winter air. Safe. Familiar.

The room was still too bright. Your thoughts were still a tangled mess. But here, in Sunghoon’s arms, you weren’t lost.

And maybe that was enough.

Later that night, the apartment was quiet. The earlier chaos had settled, leaving behind an emptiness that felt raw but manageable, like the first breath after a storm. You sat on the couch, curled into the corner with a blanket over your shoulders.

Sunghoon had been in the kitchen for a while, though you didn’t know what he was doing. You were too drained to care. Your head rested against the armrest, your thoughts sluggish and fragmented.

When he returned, he carried a mug of tea and a small plate of crackers. He set them down on the coffee table in front of you without a word.

“Eat,” he said, his tone calm but firm.

You didn’t argue. You were too tired to. Picking up a cracker, you nibbled at the edge, the bland taste grounding in its simplicity.

Sunghoon sat down beside you, his body stiff and formal as always. His arm rested on the back of the couch, close enough to offer support without crowding you. It was his way—quiet, restrained, but present.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. Something was lingering between you, unspoken but heavy.

Finally, you broke the quiet. “You don’t… you don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”

He turned his head toward you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Doing what, baby?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between you. “Putting up with me. I know I’m hard to deal with, Sunghoon. I know I’m not easy to love.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he would scold you. Instead, he reached out, his hand finding yours.

“Stop saying that,” he said quietly, but an intensity in his voice made your chest ache. “Stop acting like you’re some problem I need to solve. You’re not.”

You stared at him, your throat tight. “But I—”

“You’re not your disability, your ADHD and Autism do not define who you are,” he interrupted, his grip on your hand firm but not harsh. “I don’t care if you have bad days. I don’t care if you can’t focus, if you get overwhelmed, or if the world feels like too much sometimes. That’s just part of who you are. And I’m not here to fix you. I’m here because I love you.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and unshakable.

Your heart clenched painfully. “How can you say that so easily?”

“It’s not easy,” he admitted. “But it’s true. And I’ll keep saying it until you believe it.”

Tears blurred your vision again, but you didn’t try to hold them back this time.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m scared that you’ll get tired of me one day. You’ll see how messy and broken I am and realize I’m not worth it.”

His expression softened in a rare way, his usual stoicism giving way to something deeper, something tender.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly, his free hand brushing a tear from your cheek. “You’re not broken. You’re just human.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch.

“And you’re worth it,” he continued, his voice steady. “Every single part of you. The messy parts, the loud parts, the quiet parts. All of it. I don’t need you to change, and I don’t need you to be perfect. I need you to let me stay.”

Your chest felt tight, but not in a bad way. It was overwhelming how his words broke through every wall you had built to protect yourself.

“Okay,” you whispered. “You can stay.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the kind that was so subtle you might have missed it if you didn’t know him so well.

“Good,” he said.

And then he pulled you into his arms again, his embrace stiff but unyielding. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t need to be. It was enough.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel like fighting alone. With Sunghoon’s arms around you, the storm inside your mind didn’t feel so impossible.

It wasn’t a solution. It wasn’t a cure. But it was love.

And that was more than enough.

requested by: @leilamaybelyla

my perm taglist<3 <- request here

@seonhoon @dollrincess @ethanatvre @rei4sunoo @shxhdsstuff @jakeflvrz @laylasbunbunny @jiiyen @saphiranishimurashan @lovelycassy @starry-eyed-bimbo @babyboomysweetie @24svnn @pinkglitterpuke @mellowgalaxystrawberry @heavenki @s1rawb3rry @madslove-enhypen @chasinthatboobie @aishigrey @yangjungwonnie @lilmarsh-t @hoseokteardrop @mrsjjongstby @ro-diaries @ijustwannareadstuff20

[baby-yongbok]

I Promise

Han Jisung x Reader

▹Genre: Angst - the type that makes you shed a tear

▹Summary: Jisung finally realizes what he's been putting you through and he vows to fix it.

▹Word Count: 1.8k

▹Warnings: Description of a panic attack

▹This One shot was Inspired by the song Til u say i go by NIve

✧ Masterlist ✧

“Stop saying that. Stop saying that this isn’t working, why are you giving up so easily?” The vase of wilted roses on the dining table shook as Jisung’s tightly closed fists banged lightly against the mahogany. You feel something like the roses in front of you, what was once a beautiful and vibrant gift from the lover sitting across from you is now a wilted reminder of what once was. You’re tired, burnt-out.

“You think this is easy for me? This is the hardest thing that I’ve ever had to do but I’ve had more than enough time to think about this. I’ve had more than enough lonely nights to know that I am sick and tired of this desolate feeling in my chest.” You rise to your feet quicker than you intended, you turn away from the man in front of you as tears well up at your waterline. 

“I’m doing what I can, you know that I’m doing what I can. You knew how this would go, you knew that I’d be busy, that my schedule would be packed. I promised you that I’d come home when I can and I have kept that promise -”

“ - you’ve been at the dorms more than you’ve been in this kitchen. You’ve slept there more than you have ever slept here, I’m sure that you have more clothes in your closet there than you do here, so are you really keeping your promise?” The exasperated sigh that falls from Jisungs lips as your feet lead you through the threshold leading to the living room is all the answer you need.

“You’re not being very fair. You know how busy it’s been, I only just got back to Seoul today, we’ve been all over the place, I’ve been all over the place.” He stares at you from the same threshold that you crossed moments ago. “I wasn’t aware that you felt so…”

His wide eyes meet your glassy ones as you allow the tears that you’ve been holding back to spill over your puffy lids like a glass filled to the brim. He steps towards you and with each pitter patter of his bare feet against the hardwood you feel that overflowing glass inching closer to the edge of shattering.

“Tell me.” You allow him to cup your cheek, the rough pad of his thumb wipes a stray tear as he continues to whisper. “Tell me everything that you’ve been keeping in there.” 

His other hand rests over your heart for just a second before the palm finds a home against your other cheek. You can feel his faint trembling against you and it’s only now that you notice the erratic pattern of his breathing. 

“Do you know how long the nights feel when I’m in that big bed all by myself?” Your lids flutter shut at the sound of your own whisper and you can feel it all coming up, word vomit with an untitled emotion, it's right at the back of your throat. Too thick to swallow. “I’ve stopped making the bed at this point, I stopped buying groceries to accommodate your presence because you’re never at the dinner table anymore.” 

Your voice starts to settle into a steady yell as you continue but you can’t stop it. Everything's coming up at once. All of the nights sleeping alone, all of the tears you’ve shed, all of the times you’ve needed the support of a partner that is never there, that can rarely ever pick up the phone. It all comes pouring out in shouting syllables that leave Jisung stumbling back with tears of his own trailing down his cheeks. 

“I called you, I called you last week and I needed you, I needed to hear your voice but all I heard was your voicemail. I didn’t even get a text from you that night, I waited hours for you to call me back. I waited and I waited but there was nothing and here we are six days later and you still haven’t asked me why I called.” You choke on your own shout as you take an inhale so sharp that it could’ve cut your larynx. Your throat tightens at the memory of last week. You sat in front of your phone for as long as you could just waiting, just hoping that Jisung would return your call but he never did. You waited and waited until the face that reminds you of him everyday pulled you out of your haze. 

Just as you fall to your knees in a choked sob that very face emerges from the dimly lit threshold, Jisung hears the tiny footsteps and swiftly shields your body from her line of sight.

“Mommy, why you cry again?” You sob harder at the sound of her small curious voice. This is all enough to break Jisung, the anxiety in his chest is quickly boiling over into self hatred. The palpable pain lingering in the air is all the proof that he needed to know that you’re right, he didn’t keep his promise. “Appa, is mommy okay?” 

“Mommy is- mommy is going to be alright. Appa is trying to fix it, okay?” The brown hair girl hugged her stuffed animal closer to her chest as she took a step towards her father. Jisung was fighting for his life as he did his best to hold back the sob that was rattling against his ribs.

“Come on, let's go back to bed so that I can help mommy, okay?” Jisung’s voice is barely above a whisper but it was enough for the little one in front of him to agree as she held her arms out towards him. He scooped his daughter up and held her close as he made his way down the dimly lit hallway, leaving you and your sorrows to seep into the dark wood beneath your knees. He could nearly hear the heavy tears spilling onto the flooring, he’s sure that the residue of your deep despondency will stain the flooring. His heart aches with sadness and regret as it all sinks in and he swears that what ‘s left of his resolve breaks when his daughter grabs him by his face and kisses the tip of his nose. A sweet whisper leaving her lips as her hopeful words loomed over his head. 

“Please fix momma.” That’s when he knew that he would never be able to make things right. Once he heard the latch catch on your daughter's bedroom door the latch holding the emotion trapped in his chest broke open and he sobbed so violently that it made no sound. All that he could hear was panicked ringing as he sunk to the ground and hung his head. His tears soaked into the soft denim of his jeans as all of your words echoed through his head. 

His breath caught in his throat and his hands raked through his hair aggressively until they grabbed at the roots and pulled as hard as they could. Time seemed to slow down as he realized what’s been happening. While he’s out in his own world the one that he built with you is crumbling. He got too comfortable, he allowed a thick frost to cover his lens and when he couldn’t see through them anymore he filled in the blanks with the answers that he wanted. He told himself that you were fine, that you’ll understand and that he was barely even missed. That frost was so thick, so blinding that he fooled himself into hurting you. 

“Han.” Your hoarse panicked tone is what snaps him out of his thoughts. He blinks a couple of times, trying his best to clear his blurred vision and concentrate. “Jisung, breathe, please.”

It’s only then that he notices the burning in his chest, he sucks in a harsh breath but it’s not enough. He coughs before trying again, the feeling of your soft hands rubbing against his clothed thighs grounds him quicker than he could manage to do by himself. Before he can fill his lungs completely his arms are around your waist. He pulls you into him as he rests against the pale painted wall of the hallway, you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him against your chest as he struggles to regulate his breathing.

“I’m so -”

“- I know, Ji.” He takes a deep inhale and your soft scent makes his muscles tense before relaxing a bit too much. He’s missed this, he’s missed you. 

“I- I know that I hurt you. I haven’t been here for either of you but if you please, just please give me a chance to fix this. I’ll take time off, I’ll adjust my schedules and I’ll come home no matter the time. I’m sorry, I’m sorry that I’ve been so absent I didn’t think that-”

“And what happens when you run out of days off? We’ll be a happy family for a month or two and then I'll be sleeping alone again?” He pulls away from you, watery eyes staring into yours with so much sincerity, so much passion. 

“I won’t leave you alone again, I’ll do what I can, I’ll do more than they let me. I’ll find a way, if you just let me stay, if you let me try again I promise that I will make up for this pain for the next million years, Jagi, please.”

“Ji...Jisung if this doesn’t work then -”

“Then I’ll leave, I’ll pack my stuff and I’ll give you anything that you need to live a comfortable life without me but that won’t happen. If you give me this chance I will stay by your side until you tell me to leave. I’ll stand by you every day until you scream and yell and beg me to go but please give me the chance to fix what I’ve done.” 

“You can’t promise me that everything will change.” Your eyes wander down his frame, a forlorn glint in your eyes. Jisung’s hand takes its familiar position on your cheek, pulling your attention back to him as he takes a rigid breath.

“I can and I will.” His eyes search yours as he tries to grasp onto the hope that’s flying away from you. Maybe he’s making a promise that’s bigger than himself, maybe he can’t do it, maybe he can’t fix you and he’ll break his daughter's heart but he has to try. He has to.

He leans into you and you welcome the feeling of his exhale clashing with yours, his blushed lips brush against your soft ones before he presses the softest kiss to them. It’s loving, it’s hopeful, it’s Jisung and you’ve missed it. You’ve missed him. He whispers against your lips between kisses, his words are airy and desperate but he means them and they mean everything to you.

“I promise.”

[tastefuleternallove]

hey! i hope you’re having a good new year! i didn’t have the best holiday season, so i was just wondering if you could do joe quinn x reader on christmas or new years? or if possible reader with seasonal depression?

Loved

Joe Quinn x Reader

Summary: your boyfriend has immense amount of love for you

Warnings: fluff / angst, mentions of depression, does not say what holiday is being celebrated or the gender of reader.

Note: i’m so sorry to you and to anyone who had a rough holiday season, i did aswell and i would’ve killed for someone to say these things to me over the past few weeks. Hope the rest of everyone’s year is filled with love ❤️

NONE OF THIS IS PROOF READ IM LAZY

The holiday season was always hard for you, every year you find yourself sitting in your bed scrolling on your phone looking at everyone’s holiday pictures. Reminding you that your behind everyone in life, but also too ahead in the same way. However this year was different, you had joe. He’s the light of your life and the best thing that’s ever happend to you.

But over the holiday season you couldn’t scratch the feeling that you’ve been ruining it for him. The holidays were his favourite time of year and you haven’t exactly had time to share with him how you feel about this time of year. It wasn’t his fault, you just care for him so much. Going to every event, every dinner, every party with a smile plastered on your face hoping to not ruin this moment for your boyfirend

You felt like you were hiding it nicely, never stopping a smile, starting conversations with people, and playing the perfect part. But your boyfriend could see straight through your facade, every time you would slowly dissociate yourself when people would start talking about certain things. his heart ached at the sight of this but he wasint exactly sure how to have this conversation, he didint want you to fully shut him out but he also wanted you to know he cared for you and wanted to help you.

it was new year’s eve and you were getting ready to go to one of joe’s friends party. ask you looked at yourself in the mirror you feslt the exhaustion that crept up onto you from the season, feeling drained and in need of laying down. But on queue Joseph walked into the room, you straightened your posture out and went back to clasping your necklace. Joe knew right when he walked in you weren’t okay, and today was the day he would say something.

“Sweetheart, can you come sit on the bed with me” he said softly, you took note of how he hadn’t started getting ready. “i need you to know that i care about you and that you are in such a safe space when your with me right?” he said with almost a worried look. “yeah of course babe”. you said with a smile, but he couldint shake the feeling thag more was going on. “How about me and you just spend new years together, we can relax, do anything you want and just spend time with eachother, no one else no distractions”. “what! no” you said with almost a fear in your eyes. joseph gave a confused look trying to see i side your mind.

this is something your boyfriend wanted something important to him, but now that you aren’t going to his friends party their all gonna think that it’s your fault because if it wasint for you joseph wouldint come. Your chin quivered quick as you shit your head down releasing everything in a huge eruption. tears streaming down your face as you let every emotion from the past couple of weeks consume you. Your boyfriends heart shattered at the sight of this, because he didint know what was happening or how to get you to tell him. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest, trying to make you feel grounded so you knew he wasint going anywhere

He rubbed your back in small patterns and tried to steady your breathing. “look at me” you glanced up at his freshly shaven smooth face. “It’s not your fault, you can’t control how you feel during this time of year and it’s selfish of me that i didn’t say anything sooner about how you’ve been feeling. That’s why i suggested about tonight, spending the new year with my amazing partner, i couldn’t ask for a more amazing person that i get to share my life with, your always there every step of the way and you must know that you are what leads me to every step of my life. Everything is for you and i love you with everything in me”.

You looked at him in awe, he cared, he listened , your worries of showing your true emotions melted away as you truly realized how important and loved this man made you feel. He placed his tender hands on your cheek and gave you a soft kiss on your forehead and continued to keep rocking you back and forth, easing you out from your stress.

[luvzshy]

Omggg could u do reader and Billie have been trying for a baby and then reader reveals she’s pregnant in a super cute way

oki so i tried my best, i like this sm, enjoy bb! 💕✨

After All This Time

It’s a routine you’ve gone through more times than you’d like to count. All the careful tracking, the hopeful planning, the tears, and the disappointment. Each time before, that small window has delivered the same heart-sinking news. And each time, Billie has been there to pick up the pieces with her steady reassurance, her gentle optimism. “We’ll get there,” she always says. “It’ll happen.”

But after months of trying, that optimism has felt harder to cling to.

Now, you sit here alone, Billie still out running errands, the seconds feeling like hours as you wait for the result you’ve come to dread. You tell yourself it’s just another test, like all the others. You’re bracing for the worst, preparing to feel the familiar weight of disappointment pressing down on your chest.

Finally, the time comes. You stand, heart pounding in your ears as you inch closer to the sink, your breath catching in your throat. The little stick sits there, face down, as if it too is waiting with bated breath.

You flip it over.

Two lines.

Your hand flies to your mouth, covering a gasp as your eyes widen in disbelief. For a moment, you’re frozen. Staring. The world seems to shift around you as your mind struggles to catch up with what you’re seeing.

Two lines.

A sob breaks free from your chest before you can stop it. Your knees buckle as you sink to the floor, the little stick still clutched tightly in your hand. You’re crying, but this time it’s not from disappointment. It’s joy. It’s relief. It’s the overwhelming realization that after all the heartache, all the times you had to hold Billie in your arms and promise her that everything would be okay, it’s finally happened.

“I’m pregnant,” you whisper to the empty room, as if saying it aloud will make it more real. The words feel foreign, like they belong to someone else, but they’re yours. After all this time, they’re finally yours.

You let the tears flow freely, your heart swelling with a kind of happiness you haven’t felt in so long. It’s been a journey—a painful one. There were moments when you doubted this day would come, when you questioned your body, your worth, your ability to give both yourself and Billie the family you’ve both dreamed of. But now, all of that fades away. The struggle, the sleepless nights, the disappointment—it was worth it for this moment.

You sit on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest, your mind racing with thoughts of the future. You think of Billie—her smile, the way her eyes light up when she talks about having a family with you, the countless times she’s held you close after another negative test. The image of her face when she finds out you’re pregnant fills your mind, and it makes your chest tighten with emotion. You can’t wait to see the joy, the tears, the disbelief.

You have to tell her. But it has to be special. She deserves that after everything.

You wipe your eyes and carefully place the pregnancy test on the counter before standing, legs a little shaky beneath you. You make your way to the bedroom, mind swirling with ideas. The small baby shoes you bought months ago, back when you were still hopeful, are tucked away in a drawer. You pull them out now, holding them in your hands with a sense of awe.

This is real.

You jot down a small note, trying to keep your hands steady: For the three of us. It’s simple, but you know it’ll say everything. You tuck the shoes and the note into a small gift box, heart pounding with excitement.

A few hours later, Billie walks through the door, her usual warmth filling the room as she spots you in the kitchen. “Hey, babe,” she says, dropping her bags by the door. “You’re glowing today. What’s up?”

You smile, trying to keep your emotions in check. “I have something for you,” you say, nodding toward the small box on the counter.

She looks at you curiously, walking over to it. “What’s this? A gift?”

“Something like that,” you murmur, holding your breath.

Billie opens the box, her fingers brushing aside the tissue paper until she reveals the tiny shoes and the note. You watch as confusion crosses her face, then slowly transforms into realization. She looks up at you, her mouth opening slightly, eyes wide and glassy.

“Wait… are you…?” her voice breaks, already trembling with emotion.

You nod, tears welling up again. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, she just stares at you, her hand trembling as it covers her mouth. Then, in a blink, she’s rushing toward you, her arms wrapping around you in the tightest embrace you’ve ever felt. She’s sobbing now, her tears mingling with your own as she presses her face into your neck.

“I can’t believe it,” she whispers through her tears. “I can’t believe it. After everything…”

You pull back slightly, cupping her face, your thumbs wiping away her tears. “I know. We did it.”

Her eyes flicker down to your stomach, and she reaches out tentatively, placing her hand gently over the small life growing inside you. “You’re really pregnant,” she whispers, awe lacing her voice. “You’re carrying our baby.”

You nod, your heart overflowing with love for her, for the journey that led you here, and for the life that’s now growing within you. “We’re going to be moms, Billie.”

She smiles through her tears, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. “I love you so much,” she whispers, pulling you close again. “I can’t believe we’re finally here.”

And in that moment, standing there in her arms, you realize that this—this love, this journey, this moment—is everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

[smoshyourheadin]

Maybe u could do a Spencer besties to lovers? Like they've known each other a long time yk

Thankssss no pressure if ur busy ofc <3

It’s Always Been You

cw: reader has a boyf who she breaks up w bc he’s an alchaholic!! don’t read if you aren’t comfortable, i’ll catch you another time ml 💛

a/n: EEK IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT ANON 🫶🫶💛💛 also im taking this as smosh spence not cm spence so feel free to re-request if you’d like <33 ps, ive written that he listens to pink floyd here so thats who syd barrett is if you don’t know :))

requests r open!!

///

pairing: spencer agnew x fem!reader

florida, 2002

you and spencer were scurrying around in the freshly mown grass of his backyard, playing tag.

“you didn’t get me, you cheated!” you exclaim, ducking as he reaches out to get you again, tumbling to the floor.

“did too!” spencer retorts, his grazed knees dropping to the floor so he can lean over you. he meets your eyes, pulls a tongue, and hoists himself back up to run to his tyre swing.

all 11 years you’d known, you’d known them with spencer. your moms had been great friends since way before you were born, being in the same book club. or was it an art night? you didn’t exactly know, but you did know that because your moms were best friends, so were you and spencer.

as you sprung back up to your feet, your moms watched your antics through the kitchen window.

“whoever can swing the other the highest gets to have the last red popsicle!” he yelled as you ran over

“oh you’re so on!”

your hands gripped the tyre and you pushed like your life depended on it.

“y’know,” your mom said “one day, they’re going to end up together.”

his mom looked over at yours and smiled,

“i’d be surprised if they didnt honestly.”

los angeles, 2024

you walk through the door of your apartment, and you kick the door closed behind you. your bag slides off your shoulder, and you throw your keys onto the dresser next to the door. you only manage a long groan before flopping onto the couch.

“heya, charlie!” you scrunch your face up as you feel your dog’s cold, wet nose press against your cheek, as he gently wags his tail

“i missed you too boy, work was so tiring today.” you work at smosh with spencer, and have done for the past seven years after you left your job at another channel to join him. it was basically the best decision you’d ever made, every day filled with laughs; practically just a 24/7 hangout. you work with spencer on smosh games, but rarely ever go on camera, even if spencer’s there. you enjoy it anyway though.

you sit up and scratch behind his ears. he wiggles his body contently at your fondness. and then your stomach growls. it made sense, it was currently 6:43pm, and you last ate at noon, so you get up and drag yourself to make some mac n cheese.

as the pasta boils your phone starts ringing.

it’s james.

rubbing your hands over your face, you answer the dreaded call from your boyfriend james.

“heyyy~ sweetheart, y’doin okay? you were hic bein’ a bit of a bitch today, didnt answer my calls, what, you hate me or sumn?” he rambles, most of his words just slurring off.

“james, are you drinking again?” your voice is agitated, hearing the chattering and the low bass of a bar in the background.

you know he has a problem, and you’ve tried to get him to stop so many times. but you just can’t. he just won’t take your help.

“wha- i mean- well- no- but um- well y’r just gonna be mad at me like y’allways are” he stammers, not wanting to tell you the truth.

“no, i’m done with this. you say all this to me when you’re drunk, and then act like everything is fine! i’m sick of it! you spend so much time at the bar, and its the only place we ever go on dates, and i just end up babysitting you! so yeah i am mad! but for the last time! fuck you james.”

you hang up.

you start to tear up, the knot in your chest tight as your emotions come rushing to you, face heating up as tears begin to fall. the hissing of something behind you snaps you out of it.

“shit!” you rush over to to your stove, where the water from your pasta spills over the sides, the flames licking at the bottom of the pan.you take it off the heat and turn it off. it looks done anyway. you add some butter, and, of course, cheese. stirring gently, you sob.

james was so nice to you, always showering you with gifts and praise and love. but it was all for nothing. he just didn’t love you like he loved drinking in the end.

pouring the mac n cheese into a bowl, you call spencer.

“hey lemon! how’s my favourite person this fine evening?” you smile at the nickname.

florida, 2007

“spencer, you’re a boy. why are you so complicated? i mean, its just annoying!” you walk into his bedroom after his mom let you in, clearly pissed off. being 16 isn’t fun, especially when boys you like are rude to you.

“what did he do?” spencer doesn’t look up from his computer, just slightly turn his head.

“he said that i must eat lemons because of how bitter i am. i mean come on!” you lie on his bed and watch him play runescape.

“lemon… hmph” he just smiles and continues whatever he was doing on his game.

“what? nothing to say? ugh! you suuuuuck!”

los angeles, 2024

“yeah, i mean, no. i broke up with james.” you sniffle, and eat a forkfull of your food, elbows resting on the cold marble of the kitchen island.

“i mean- um- yeah thats horrible…” he says

“you’re allowed to celebrate, i know you hated him. and so did everyone. but still. im fragile right now!” you giggle through your gentle tears

“well, i mean, honestly? glad he’s gone. he sucked dude. not sure why you didn’t do it sooner. well, one positive to come of this, your pillows won’t stink of beer next time i nap at yours!” he replies, clearly happy for you.

“yeah,” you chuckle at the memory of spencer falling asleep on your bed, then completing his hair smelt like budweiser “that is true.”

“all seriousness though, are you okay?” his voice is genuine this time, filled with concern.

“no, not really. it’s just… different i guess. but, not much has changed y’know? like, it already felt like he wasn’t my boyfriend anymore…” you begin to ramble for at least 20 minutes, only to be met with the occasional ‘mhmn’ and ‘yeah’ from spencer. mid sentence, there’s a knock at your door.

“oh one sec, someone’s here.” you get up from your table and swing the door open to see a very sympathetic looking spencer, two target bags in his hands.

your jaw is on the floor. you were just crying to him over the phone, and he’d stayed whilst going out to get what you can only assume is things like sour patch kids and vanilla ice cream, which you could see at the top of the bag. your favourites.

“girls night?” he smirked and raised the bags at his sides.

all you can do is smile ear to ear, and wrap him in a tight hug. he leaned into you, basking in your sweet citrusy perfume.

“you’re my favourite, spencie.” you say into his shoulder.

as you both walk inside, charlie comes bounding over to spencer, his favourite person.

“who’s a good boy! charlie is!” spencer was now crouchedby your kitchen island, fussing over your dog as you walked to put on something more comfortable. you slid on some track pants and an old atari hoodie. walking back into your kitchen, spencer has unpacked the bags, and is creating his favourite conconction, The Agnew Sundae. basically the most sickeningly sweet ice cream ever. his dad made it for you both in the summer, and it consisted of:

vanilla ice cream

chocolate syrup

caramel sauce

whipped cream

sprinkles

mini marshmallows

chocolate chips

m&ms

and some crushed oreos to finish.

god, you know you’re going to regret this later, but boy was it a good way to cheer you up.

also strewn on the counter was his switch and copy of animal crossing, a few of his dvd’s for you to watch, and his mom’s chocolate chip cookies.

“spencer, how on earth did you get these? your mom lives across the country!” you hold up the baggie, and raise an eyebrow.

he looks up from his ice cream assembly station, and smirks.

“a magician never- ow!”

you cut him off by lightly jabbing his arm

“okay okay, she visited not to long ago - when she took you to the mall? and she gave me these to freeze and keep for an important event. i think she’d agree this is important.” you cant help but smile at his remark. you missed you moms.

“i’ll have to ring her later to thank her.” you say.

the night goes on, and you and spencer sit on the couch under a blanket watching barbie princess charm school. because what else are you going to watch?

as the movie goes on, and the effects of the agnew sundae kick in; you were dozing off on his shoulder. towards the end of the movie, so does he. he drifts off, comforted by your soft hair occasionally brushing against his face.

you stir awake, the sun beaming into your eyes through your semi-open blinds, and you’re hit by a wave of memory. everything that happened last night comes flooding back.

james’ call.

spencer’s call.

spencer showing up for you.

at the latter, you smile slightly. you prop yourself up on the sofa, and notice the absence of spencer’s warmth by you. frowning slightly, you walk into the kitchen.

“morning sleepyhead” his sweet voice rings through the room

“hey. i thought you’d’ve gone home”

“no, im not that mean! who do you take me for?” he retorts, his attention turning back to the pancakes on the stove.

“pancakes? what time is it?” you come up behind him, putting your chin on his shoulder.

“yeah, and it’s about 10:30.” he leant his head on yours, flipping one. you had to admit, they look pretty good.

“10:30!?” you lift you head in surprise, looking at your phone “shouldn’t we be in work?”

“nope, i called us in sick. said my mom was having surgery. which she is, but i made it sound dramatic so we could stay off.” he looks at you, and smiles slightly.

“well, send her my love! i think i’ll go get dressed now.” he hummed, and you left the room.

opening your closet, you pick out a yellow baggy t-shirt and some grey sweatpants. you pull on some fluffy socks, and slip on a zip up hoodie. walking back out into the living room, spencer walks in with two plates piled high with pancakes, drenched in syrup and strawberries

“so,” you say, a fork full of pancakes in your mouth. “whats the plan for today?”

he looks over at you, and shrugs slightly. “not sure, we could go to the book store you like?”

“ah, you know the way to a girl’s heart“ you put a hand over your chest and giggle a bit.

a few hours later, you walk into the store, door creaking just a bit as a small brass bell chimes overhead. the air is filled with a comforting mix of old paper, leather bindings, and a hint of freshly brewed coffee from the corner cafe that you and spencer like to get tea from. you breathe it in deeply, a sense of calm washing over you. as you walk over the creaky wooden floorboards beneath you, soft warm light filters down from antique lamps, and cast a gentle glow over the rows of books. you ghost your fingertips over the cloth spines while the quiet murmur of whispered conversations and the occasional rustling of pages create a soothing background noise, almost like a lullaby. through spencer’s airpods, syd barrett serenades you both, and his voice blends seamlessly with the ambiance of the store.

“anything good today lemon?” spencer says as he shimmies up next to you in the aisle of towering book shelves, his voice like honey rolling off his tongue. his hair was unruly as always, but he looked so pretty in this light. his face was littered with freckles that you wish you could kiss. he’s smiling at you, and it snaps you back to reality, and reminds you of the fact you’re staring at him

“uh, yeah, i think i’ll get this one” you smile back, holding up a copy of memoirs of a geisha by arthur golden

“cool, shayne likes that one i think. but he likes every book so…” he smiles at his own remark “um, you want me to grab our normal seats in the cafe while you pay for that?”

“yes, please!” you reply eagerly, smiling as he walked off.

you walk up to the cashier, an older lady who always gives you a bookmark.

“thank you m’darlin’, have a lovely day!”

“you too mrs bryson!” you reply, heading over to spencer who’s sat in some plush leather armchairs. as you sit in comfortable silence with him, time seems to slow down, and for a moment, it's just you, spencer, the books, and the comforting atmosphere of this charming bookstore.

“i got you your sweet tea.” he says, handing you a plastic cup filled with your favourite tea.

he remembered.

fuck.

you were in love with spencer agnew, and it took you him handing you your favourite tea to realise it.

“thanks spence.” you say, still grasping the feelings in your chest.

while you read you book and drink your tea, you feel your attention drifting to him. you can't help but glance up from the pages every now and then, watching him as he sits across from you, his focus on his own book. his fingers absently tracing the rim of his coffee mug, his brow furrowing as he reads. the way the sunlight filters through the small window, casting a warm glow across his hair, highlighting the subtle streaks of lighter brown among his dark curls. you find yourself smiling at the sight of him, wondering when these small, mundane moments began to mean so much to you. the bookstore is quiet, aside for the murmur of others reading or talking in hushed tones. yet, with spencer sitting just a few feet away, the world feels like it's faded to the background. it's just you and him, sharing this space, this moment. you watch the way his lips move slightly as he reads, how he occasionally tilts his head in concentration, and the way his eyes light up when he finds something particularly interesting. as he looks up and catches you watching him, you feel a rush of warmth spreading through your chest. he smiles at you, a slow, easy smile that makes your heart skip a beat. he raises an eyebrow, and you quickly look back down at your book, feeling your cheeks flush. but you can't help it; your gaze finds its way back to him, like he's the most interesting story in the room. he seems to notice the shift in the air between you. he closes his book and leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees.

“everything okay?” he asks, his voice gentle, his eyes filled with genuine curiosity.

“yeah,” you reply, trying to sound casual, though your heart is racing. “just... glad to be here with you.”

he nods, his smile growing a bit wider. “me too.”

as he settles back into his chair, you realize that this simple exchange has changed something. the air feels lighter, the connection between you stronger. you may have come here to read and relax, but now, sitting across from spencer, you know you've found something else entirely - something you never want to let go of.

as you leave the store, you’re panicking slightly as you realise you don’t know what to do. so instead you make up an excuse.

“i forgot my keys ," you blurt out, looking back at the bookstore. it's a thin excuse, but spencer doesn't seem to notice. he simply nods, a hint of concern in his eyes.

"do you want me to wait for you?" he asks, already reaching for his phone to check the time.

"no, it's fine," you reply quickly. "you can go ahead. i’ll just be a minute."

spencer seems reluctant to leave, but he nods, offering a warm smile before stepping out onto the street. you watch him walk away, his figure blending into the crowd as he heads toward the main crossing. your heart sinks a little as he disappears from view, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing pulse.

the bookstore feels different now. the warm glow and soft murmurs are still there, but without spencer, it's like the color has faded a bit. you stand by the door, uncertain of what to do next. you could go back outside, catch up with him, and just say it. tell him how you feel. but the words seem stuck in your throat, and the thought of laying your feelings bare feels like too much, too soon.

you step back inside, pretending to look for something you might have left behind. the stacks of books seem to stretch endlessly in front of you, a maze of comforting distractions. you wander through the aisles, hoping to calm your racing thoughts, but all you can think about is spencer - his smile, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the warmth of his voice.

eventually, you find a quiet corner and sit down, closing your eyes for a moment. you know you have to do something. you can't just let him walk away without knowing how much he means to you. but the fear of rejection, of changing everything, feels overwhelming.

you realize you need time to sort through your feelings, to figure out the best way to approach this. with a heavy heart, you decide to make your way home, hoping the familiar surroundings will bring clarity. as you step out onto the street, the cool breeze brushes against your skin, and you take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside you.

on the journey home, you replay the moments with spencer in your mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of how much he means to you. you know you can't keep hiding your feelings, but you also know you need to approach this with caution. as you unlock the door to your apartment, you make a silent promise to yourself—to take the time you need, to listen to your heart, and to find the courage to follow where it leads, even if it means risking everything for him.

when you get home, spencer tries calling you as he paces around his bedroom, his phone pressed against his ear. the ringing continues, but there's no answer. he frowns, feeling an uneasy twist in his stomach. maybe you're still in the bookstore. maybe your phone is on silent, or maybe you're just busy. he tells himself there's a reasonable explanation, but the doubt lingers.

as he walks to his kitchen, he dials again. this time, the call goes straight to voicemail. his instincts tell him something isn't right. the keys excuse felt odd, and your hurried departure only amplifies his worry. he takes a moment to think, then leaves his apartment, jumps in his car, starts the engine, and drives toward your apartment.

the streets pass in a blur as he navigates through the evening traffic, his mind racing with possibilities. he finds a parking spot near your building and heads to your door. the hallway is quiet, save for the distant sound of a tv from a neighbouring apartment. he takes a deep breath and knocks.

nothing.

he knocks again, this time a little louder. the knot in his stomach tightens. what if something's wrong? what if he's too late? he knocks a third time, and this time, he hears a faint rustling from inside. the door opens slowly, and there you are, standing in the doorway with a look of surprise and confusion.

"spence?" you say, blinking at him as if he's the last person you expected to see.

"i - i was worried," he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. "you didn't answer your phone, and i - i didn't know if you were okay."

you tilt your head, trying to process why he's here. his eyes search yours, and you can tell he's anxious, almost desperate to explain himself. "i'm fine," you say, "just had some stuff to think about."

he nods, but you can see he's not entirely convinced. there's something else, something deeper. he takes a step back, as if he's about to leave, but then he hesitates. "i - i have to tell you something," he blurts out, his words coming out in a rush. "i like you. like a lot. like i think i love you? and i know it might be weird, and i don't want to mess things up, but I just had to say it - because i couldn't keep it to myself anymore.”

he looks at you, his eyes full of emotions you can't quite decipher yet. you nod, urging him to continue, even though your own heart is racing. there's something in his gaze that makes you realize this isn't just any confession - this is something that's been building for a long time.

"i've liked you since we were kids," he says, almost breathlessly. "i mean, you were always the coolest person I knew. you didn't care what anyone else thought. you were smart and funny and just... so genuinely kind. i remember when we used to ride our bikes around the neighbourhood, and you'd always be the first one to try something new. like, remember when you climbed that huge tree in mr lawson's yard just because you wanted to see the view from the top? i thought you were so brave."

he chuckles softly, his gaze softening as he reminisces. "and then, when we got older, you were always there for me. when my parents split up, and i felt like everything was falling apart, you were the one who came over with a pizza and just listened. you didn't try to fix it; you just let me talk. that's something i've always loved about you. you're a great listener, and you care about people. like, really care."

he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes locking with yours. "it's not just that, though. It's the little things, too. the way you laugh at the dumbest of angela’s jokes, the way you get excited about your favorite books, and how you always know the right thing to say when I'm feeling down. you make everything feel... lighter, you know? like, even when things are tough, you find a way to make it better."

spencer pauses, his voice growing more earnest. "so yeah, i've um, been holding onto this for a while, and i just, couldn't keep pretending that i didn't feel this way. i like you - a lot. and i don't know if you feel the same way, but i just couldn't not tell you anymore."

he takes a step back, the tension in his shoulders indicating that he's prepared to leave if needed. "i don't want to make things weird between us. if you don't feel the same, that's okay. i just had to say it, because you're the best thing in my life, and i can't keep acting like you aren't."

his confession takes you by surprise, but as he speaks, you feel a surge of warmth in your chest. the words you were struggling to say are suddenly so clear, so obvious. you watch as he starts to turn away, his shoulders slumping in resignation. before he can take another step, you grab his arm and pull him back, your lips pressing against his in a gentle, yet desperate kiss.

he freezes for a moment, stunned by your sudden action, then his arms wrap around you, pulling you close. when you finally break the kiss, you look into his eyes, and there's no doubt, no hesitation.

"it's always been you," you whisper, your voice soft but sure. "you're my person, spencer."

he hugs you tightly, his grip firm and comforting, as if he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go. you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. it's a perfect moment, one that feels like the beginning of something new, something beautiful.

and as you stand there in each other's embrace, you know that everything's going to be okay, because you have each other. and that's all that matters.

[sturniolo-simp4life]

Call Me Back- Chris Sturniolo 

Paring- Chris Sturniolo and Y/n 

Description- Chris has been ignoring you for a while, upsetting you, until one night he shows up at your apartment. 

Warnings- angst, crying. Remember everything is fictional! Nothing here applies to real life.

NOT PROOF READ!

You had really been upset this past week. Chris had been distant this week. At first, you thought he was busy with filming and that he needed space. 

But it had gotten more complicated. 

He stopped answering your calls and texts. You could see his likes on other girls' social media.

Another thing- you didn’t care about whose posts he liked, whether they were girls or not.

It was that he was liking pictures of half-naked girls was what got to you. 

You could feel your heart swell when you got a notification. 

Chris.sturniolo made a post 

You clicked on the notification. A picture popped up. It looked like Chris was at a party. He had that big bright smile the one he would always show around you.

What really caught your attention though, was that his arm was clinging onto another girl's waist. 

The girl was leaning her head on his shoulder, and her arm was on his other shoulder. 

You felt your heart crack. Had he found another girl? Is that why he had been ignoring you? 

The girl did look perfect for him though. Golden brown hair. Crisp, green eyes. Big, perfect pink lips. You felt your heart crack even more. It looked like a match made in heaven. 

You hadn’t even realized tears welled up in your eyes until they started streaming down your cheeks. You choked a sob, as you sank into your pillow. 

You didn’t like your emotions getting the best of you but when they did, it was too late. 

What if you were just overreacting? What if she was just a close friend? 

But you saw how both their eyes showed happiness. Connection. Love. 

You cried yourself to sleep that night. 

___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___ 

Two more days passed. Two more notifications, each day. Each post with the same girl. The same bright eyes.

The same smile. The same pang of pain in your heart. You had tried calling him too, but he would just ignore your calls, or not answer. 

You decided that you did want to live a sob story, so you went to the grocery store, hoping to at least be productive and get some tasks done. 

You found yourself driving to target, hoping to buy some things. For one: food. It was always your comfort. 

You also needed to buy your daily necessities, like toilet paper and soaps. 

And you defiantly bought snacks and candy. 

You thought things were going well. You thought you could avoid any possible thought of Chris at all today.

You were literally finished checking out your items. 

But no. The world must really hate you. 

The way your heart shattered when you heard that laugh. As you saw those brown locks of hair.  

Chris. 

And you heard the female laughter following. That golden brown hair. Those deep, crisp, green eyes. That girl. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to move. At all. Who is she? Why do I feel like this? You couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

And the next thing you knew, they were right in front of you. “Oh hey y/n!” You heard Chris’s voice. You couldn’t utter a word. 

You couldn’t hear, you couldn’t feel you couldn’t speak. Are you alright? He asked. Are you okay?

I can’t do this. You finally snapped back to reality, and you ran. You ran right out of that store. You couldn’t turn back.  

He had ignored you for almost a week and a half. Hadn’t picked up any of your calls. And now suddenly acting like he cares? You couldn’t do this. 

You cried as soon as you got home. 

___---___---___---___---___---___---___  What time is it? Was your first thought as you woke up. You rubbed your eyes. Sighed. You needed to relax.  

You grabbed your phone, a blanket, and snacks from your kitchen, and made your way to the living room. 

10 things I hate about you. Thats what you decided to put. 

You wrapped the blanket around yourself, its warmth covering you, protecting you, keeping you safe. Why can’t they be Chris’s arms. 

You were about halfway into the movie and on your third bowl of popcorn when you heard a knock on the door. You sighed, not wanting to get up. 

The knocks wouldn’t stop, so you forced yourself to answer it. 

“What are you doing here,” you asked. Where’s your new girl? You wanted to ask. Why haven’t you broken up with me? 

“I wanted to see if you were alright.” he said.  

“You wanted to see if I was okay?” you could feel your voice rising.

“Oh Chris I’ve been great. I’ve just been ignored for a whole week by my boyfriend, not to mention that he’s been hasn’t been answering my texts of calls, and hanging out with some girl I don’t even know?” 

You were crying at this point. “So yeah Chris. I’ve been doing great.” He was silent for a moment, his eyes showing pure heartbreak. 

You couldn’t. You completely broke down. Sobbing. 

Chris knew you didn’t like crying. That’s why he was so shocked. It broke his heart that he made you feel this way. 

He pulled you into a hug, murmuring soft, reassuring words into your ear. “Shhh, you're alright pretty girl. Don’t cry. Please.” his voice cracked on the last word. 

Once you had calmed down a bit, both of you took a seat on the couch. 

“10 things I hate about you,” he said. “That’s always been your comfort movie.” You nodded your head. 

A few moments passed. “Look y/n, I owe an apology. I’m sorry I haven’t reached out in what feels like forever.” he sighed. “What about that girl?” you asked. 

That’s what was bothering you the most. 

“Yeah um, she's the reason. Ally. She was one of my best friends in middle school, and she surprised me by showing up out of nowhere. She moved away right before high school- before we even met. I was just happy to see her when she came. She has a boyfriend, you know.” 

“Oh,” was all you could manage with a voice crack. “I-I’m so sorry.” Guilty guilty I feel so guilty.

I felt a tear slip down my cheek, many more following. For the second time, Chris pulled me into a hug, kissing my hair and rubbing my back. “It’s not your fault pretty girl. Don’t cry. I promise you.”  

His touch leaves a trail of butterflies on my skin. “I’m sorry for ignoring you, my sweet girl. I promise you that won’t happen again.” 

You sniffled as you hugged him burying your face into the crook of his neck. He suddenly picked you up bridal style. “Lets get you showered and ready for bed, yeah?” 

You nodded your head. “Chris I love you.” 

He looked down at you and smiled at me. “I love you too baby.”  

tags- @tillies33ssss @theyluvme-2315 @alorsxsturn @maya555sblog

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

Request: hellooo! could you please write one where dean and sam are having their usual arguments but the sister is so sick of their shit, tried to tell them to get a grip and they come to their senses. but then flash forward the boys are ACTUALLY fighting, like throwing punches, and she gets caught by one of them? thanks, love your work!! <3

A/N: Hiiiiii!!! Thank you so much. I love this request and I hope I wrote it in a way you were imagining. If not, send me another request! As always requests are open. You can request anything you want, even if it’s something I’ve already written. Thanks everyone!!

Sam and Dean Winchester X Sister!Reader

I stood at the edge of the living room, eyes fixed on the familiar scene unfolding in front of me. Dean’s voice was as sharp as ever, cutting through the thick air of tension. The words were bitter, like venom spilling out of his mouth, each sentence more loaded than the last.

“Sam, you don’t get it. We don’t have the luxury of time. People are dying out there!”

I watched Sam, his jaw clenched, his posture rigid with barely contained fury. He leaned forward, hands planted firmly on the table between them. “You’re acting like we’re invincible, Dean! Like we don’t need a plan—like we can’t think through this!”

The frustration in Sam’s voice echoed in my chest like a drumbeat. But the thing that had finally snapped my restraint wasn’t their words—it was the way their anger was bleeding into everything. Every argument. Every conversation. It was relentless, a storm that never seemed to stop. I had been trying to hold onto whatever semblance of peace I could, but today… today I couldn’t take it anymore.

I could feel my heartbeat in my ears, that familiar surge of adrenaline clawing up my spine as I paced around the room, eyes darting from one brother to the other. My hands trembled by my sides, but it wasn’t just from the anger. It was the heartbreak—the exhaustion.

It had been happening for weeks. Every day, every single fight felt like it was tearing us apart. The same stupid arguments. The same stubbornness. And it wasn’t even about the monsters anymore. It was about us. The Winchesters. Our family.

And I was sick of it.

“Enough.” My voice cut through their bickering like a knife. The room froze in an instant.

Dean’s eyes snapped to me, that familiar scowl on his face as he straightened up from where he was leaning against the kitchen counter. “Y/N, don’t—”

“No,” I interrupted, my voice shaking, but this time with raw emotion. “No more. I can’t do this anymore. You two are tearing me apart.” I stepped forward, my chest tight with the weight of what I was about to say. “Every time you fight, it’s hurting everyone around you. Do you even see that? Do you realize what it’s doing to me?”

Dean’s expression faltered for a split second, but it was gone just as quickly, his jaw setting again, like a wall coming down. Sam, too, was silent, his eyes fixed on me, but I could see the flicker of guilt in his gaze.

I felt the tears pricking behind my eyes, threatening to spill over. “I’m your sister, goddamn it. And every time you fight, it feels like I’m invisible. Like I’m just the collateral damage. It’s not just your war anymore, okay? It’s all of ours. But I’m the one stuck in the middle, cleaning up the mess. And I can’t… I can’t do it anymore.”

My voice cracked with the last words, the weight of the admission crashing over me. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been holding in until it all came pouring out. The years of trying to keep things together. The endless struggles. But this—this constant fighting, the endless cycle of hate and misunderstanding—was the last straw.

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, I turned and stormed out of the room, unable to look at either of them. I couldn’t. I needed to get away. The walls were closing in. I ran to my room and I slammed the door behind me, the sound echoing through the hallway. The cool, dim light of my room offered no comfort. I collapsed onto my bed, burying my face in my hands. The tears I had been fighting for so long finally broke free, each one a painful reminder of how far we’d fallen.

I wasn’t sure how long I had been lying there, the muffled voices of my brothers drifting from the living room, distant and eventually fading into silence. For a moment, I allowed myself to hope they’d finally come to their senses. The tension in the air lifted, and I let out a shaky sigh of relief. I rolled over, searching for something to occupy my mind, anything to fill the quiet space between the cracks of everything left unsaid.

It felt peaceful—finally.

And then it didn’t.

A thud. A grunt. A crash. The unmistakable sounds of a fight.

My heart dropped. I knew what it was. It wasn’t the first time.

I shot out of bed, adrenaline surging through me. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms as I sprinted down the hallway. Every step felt like it was dragging me deeper into the chaos that had consumed our family. I didn’t care if I was still raw from the argument. I didn’t care if my own heart was shattered.

I pushed through the door, eyes wide, breath ragged. Dean and Sam were on the floor, fists flying, faces twisted in rage.

"Stop!" I screamed, my voice hoarse and desperate.

But they didn’t stop. They didn’t even look up. Sam’s fist connect with Dean’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. And then Dean retaliated, throwing his own punch, and for a split second, I watched in horror as they both swung at each other, neither one holding back.

“No! Stop! Please, stop!” My voice cracked as I rushed forward, desperate to break it up, but I wasn’t fast enough.

They continued to swing, and this time one of their fists caught me by accident. The world around me seemed to slow down in that moment. The knuckles collided with the side of my face, and everything went black for an instant. I felt my body hit the floor with a sickening thud, the sharp pain in my head drowning out everything else.

Blood filled my mouth, and I could taste the metallic tang of it. I gasped for air, but it felt like the room was spinning. I tried to get up, but my legs wouldn’t hold me. My body was too heavy, too overwhelmed with pain.

Tears stung my eyes as I lay on the floor, blood dripping from my lips. I couldn’t believe it—couldn’t understand how we’d gotten to this point. How we—we—had let things get so bad.

“Y/N!” Dean’s voice shattered through the haze. He dropped down next to me, panic overtaking his features. “Shit… kid, don’t move. Don’t move, okay? You’re gonna need stitches.”

But I couldn’t hear him. My mind was clouded, my vision fading. I choked back another sob, my hands instinctively reaching up to touch the fresh wound on my face. The pain was blinding. I felt myself shaking violently, my body not able to handle the weight of it all—the physical pain, the emotional pain, the betrayal of it all.

“Why?” I whispered, my voice barely a breath. I turned my head to look at them, but my vision was swimming with tears. “Why do you keep doing this? You’re brothers. You’re supposed to protect each other. Look at me! Look at what you’ve done to me!”

Dean looked as if he had been slapped, his face pale and guilt-ridden, his lips trembling with words he couldn’t form. Sam, who had been hovering in the background, now moved forward slowly, his hands trembling as he knelt beside me.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Sam said quietly, his voice cracked with emotion. He reached for my hand, but I yanked it away.

“I don’t want your apology!” I screamed through the blood in my mouth, the words raw and painful. “I don’t want anything from you right now. I just… I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Sam looked like he was about to say something, but I was already staggering to my feet, my vision still blurry, my head spinning.

“No, you’re not helping!” I shouted, my voice breaking. “I’ll fix it. I’ll fix myself.” And with that, I rushed toward the bathroom, my legs unsteady beneath me, my heart pounding with each step.

I slammed the door behind me, locking it before either of them could follow. I couldn’t let them fix it. Not yet. Not when they were still at war with each other. I had to do it myself.

I grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink, my hands trembling as I fumbled with the supplies. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. I wasn’t sure I could even see straight through the tears and dizziness that clouded my vision, but I couldn’t stop. I had to fix it. I had to fix myself.

I dug the needle from the kit, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold onto it. not even registering the pain as I pressed it into my skin. I was too dizzy to see straight, too lost in my pain to think clearly. The needle jabbed into my skin, but the agony of it was nothing compared to the emotional ache. My hands were shaking uncontrollably now, the stitches coming out uneven and jagged. But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t. I couldn’t see the wound, couldn’t tell where I was supposed to stitch, but I pushed through the agony anyway, my body wracked with sobs. Every breath felt like it was going to tear me apart.

“Y/N, open the door,” I heard Dean’s voice from the other side, pleading. “Please. Please, we’re so sorry.”

“I don’t care!” I screamed through the door, the words strangled by tears. “You should’ve cared before! You should’ve seen what this was doing to me! To all of us!” You whimpered before slammed your hand down on the bathroom sink. “Our fucking family!”

The sobs wracked my body, my chest tightening with every breath. The blood dripped steadily from my lip, staining my shirt and the bathroom counter. I felt myself getting weaker by the second.

“We’re so sorry. Please let us help,” Sam’s voice came through the door, soft, desperate. “Let us help you, bug.” His voice was quiet, gentle, and broken.

“I don’t want your help!” I sobbed, my voice breaking. “I wanted you to stop fighting! I wanted you to care about me. About us.”

But the pain was too much. The dizziness too overwhelming. I could barely keep my eyes open, but I still fought, pressing the needle into my skin.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Both of them rushed in, their faces stricken with horror at the sight of me, hunched over the sink, blood staining the bathroom floor. Dean moved toward me, but I pulled away, backing into the corner.

“I told you,” I whispered hoarsely, my voice ragged with exhaustion, “I don’t want your help.” The words felt like sandpaper scraping against my throat. Maybe I was scared. Scared of how much this had gotten out of control. Scared of how much I’d let it tear me apart.

Dean’s expression twisted in anguish, and for a moment, I saw it. The guilt. The understanding that this was bigger than a typical fight. That I wasn’t just angry—I was devastated.

He dropped to his knees in front of me, the movement quick, but careful. His eyes locked on mine, full of regret, the weight of it pressing down on us both. He reached for me slowly, his hand hovering near my face. "We didn’t mean for it to get this bad, Y/N. We just…" He trailed off, swallowing hard as if the words were too difficult to say. "We didn’t know how to stop."

I felt the tears coming again, but this time, it was different. They weren’t angry, not fiery and sharp like before. This was something quieter, deeper. The rage had burned itself out, leaving only aching sorrow in its wake.

“I know,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a broken breath, “But… you can’t fix it with more pain.” My chest tightened with each word, the weight of everything pressing down on me like a storm I couldn’t outrun.

Sam’s face crumpled at my words, and I saw his jaw tighten as he stepped forward, his eyes darting from my blood-streaked face to the needle still clenched tightly in my hand. His hands shook as he reached for it, and when his fingers brushed against mine, I flinched, my body wracked with a fresh wave of pain.

“Y/N, please.” His voice broke through my haze of pain, gentle but firm. "Let me do it.”

I felt the sting of the needle being pried from my hand. For a moment, I wanted to pull it back, to insist I could finish it myself, but then I saw Sam’s face. The look of terror in his eyes. He knew me. He knew I didn’t do this. I didn’t stitch myself up—they always did that for me. Always. The realization hit him hard, the understanding that I had reached a point where I couldn’t rely on them, not even when things got this bad. And it was that look of pain in his eyes, that unspoken hurt, that made everything feel even worse.

Sam grimaced when he saw the uneven, jagged stitches I’d attempted—some parts too tight, others barely holding together. The pain from them was unbearable, but it wasn’t the physical pain that tore at me. It was the fact that I had been forced to do this alone. That I couldn’t trust them to see the full extent of what I was feeling.

He exhaled sharply and immediately set to work, pulling the needle through my skin with slow, meticulous care. My body tensed in response, and I couldn’t help but whimper as the needle pierced me again. The pain was excruciating, a deep, fiery throb that seemed to echo in every bone, every muscle.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Sam murmured, his voice so soothing it felt like the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ve got you.” But the words didn’t make the pain go away.

I felt every movement of the needle, every tug of the thread, and the sheer agony of it made my whole body quake. It was like he was stitching up my heart with every pull, each stitch a reminder of everything that had gone wrong. The tears kept coming, hot and bitter, spilling down my cheeks without my permission.

Dean moved in closer, his hand brushing my hair out of my face, and I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. His fingers were gentle as they touched me—like he was scared I might shatter under his touch. I was shattering though, all around the edges.

“I’m so sorry,” Dean murmured, his voice low and raw, barely audible above the pounding in my head. “We never should’ve let it get this far. I didn’t see what we were doing to you, Y/N. We didn’t see how bad it was.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to hold onto the last shred of control I had left. The pain from the stitches was bad—so bad—but what hurt more was hearing the pain in his voice. Dean wasn’t supposed to sound like this. He was supposed to be the strong one, the one who fixed things. But now? Now, he was just as broken as I was.

“It’s not just the fights,” I whispered between sobs, my voice tight with the effort of speaking through the agony. “It’s everything. It’s how we’ve been falling apart for so long, and you didn’t even see it.”

Sam’s hands were steady, but his expression was pained, and I could see the way his jaw clenched as he worked, each stitch a slow promise that he was here, that he wasn’t going anywhere. But it didn’t stop the pain. The physical pain, the emotional pain. It didn’t stop me from feeling like I was drowning in it.

Dean leaned closer, his breath soft against my ear. “We’re here now, Y/N. We’re gonna fix it. We’re gonna fix us.”

I could feel his words, but I wasn’t sure if I could believe them. I wasn’t sure if any of us could ever fix what was broken. Not completely.

But Sam’s careful hands were still stitching, and Dean was still here, his hand resting on my shoulder now, providing the smallest bit of comfort as I cried. The pain from the stitches was blinding, but somehow, through it, I could hear them. They were here. They were trying.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Sam said again, his voice breaking. He was almost finished now, his hands trembling slightly as he worked the last stitch into place. “We didn’t see how much we were hurting you. But we will fix this. I swear. You’re not alone in this.”

The last stitch pulled tight, and the pain that followed was sharp, but brief. I let out a sob, my body trembling from the aftermath of it. Sam gently pressed a bandage to the wound, his hands now much more careful, but still steady.

Dean’s voice came again, quieter now, more vulnerable. “We see it now, kid. Everything is better when we’re in this together. We’re a team and we have to stay that way.”

And that—just that—felt like it was enough, for now.

Later, I sat on the couch, the bandage tight across my side. Sam was beside me, and Dean was sitting on the other side, his hand resting on the back of the couch as if to remind me he was there. We weren’t talking much. There was nothing really to say. Not yet. But somehow, the silence didn’t feel as suffocating as it used to. It was a quiet that was filled with understanding—the beginning of healing.

I leaned back into the couch, my head resting on the cushion. I wasn’t fixed. We weren’t fixed. But we were trying. And that was enough for tonight.

We were family. Even if we had to rebuild, piece by piece. We would make it through this. Together.