#when is a one night stand no longer a one night stand

[bizarrelovetriangel]

restless nights.

you get into an argument and they become restless without you by their side.

angst with comfort. apologies for any ooc moments and stubborn mc/reader.

sylus

"I'm not taking you with me."

His words left no room for anymore rebuttals. No matter how persistent you got and what reasoning you gave, Sylus continues to reject your request to join him for the upcoming Onychinus mission.

He's never had a problem with you tagging along before, so why now? You've learned from Luke and Kieran that Sylus will be dealing with one of the most dangerous men they'd ever met, so you wanted to support him. When you brought the topic up to him, all he said was that the setting will be too much for you.

You reassured him that you can handle anything, being a hunter who's familiar with the messiest, most vile types of environment, but regardless of your reasonings, he fully intends to go to this mission alone.

"Okay."

The moment he watched you calmly closed the door on your way out of the room, Sylus knew he fucked up.

You avoided him all afternoon, and it didn't take long for loneliness to strike him hard.

He hated the silence.

Knowing you're under the same roof and yet you're deliberately ignoring him... he'd much rather have you screaming at him.

Sylus remained at his working station to continue modifying a weapon that he'd recently purchased; however, his distracted state prevented him from making progress.

The face you made before walking away from him keeps haunting him.

The disappointment in your eyes made his chest unbearably tight.

He tried to push the uncomfortable feeling away, telling himself that his response to you is for the best, but it didn't work at all.

It was difficult to concentrate on anything else.

He wondered what you were up to.

What if you decide to leave because you can't stand to be near him?

Just imagining you rush out of the house while angry caused Sylus' hands to become unsteady and accidentally crossed some wires that weren't supposed to touch.

And so, the weapon sparked and caught on fire.

"...great."

He decided to move on to boxing, hoping to release some anger — not at you, but for his enemies that he'll be seeing for the upcoming mission. If they weren't so... filthy and gruesome, he wouldn't have to worry about keeping you away from them.

After two minutes of hitting the punching bag, Sylus' eyes started to repeatedly glance towards the entrance of the gym, checking to see if a certain someone would walk in for their weekly boxing lessons.

Your boxing gloves are in the usual place, untouched. He recalled the day when you two bought it while shopping: you were so excited about using it, you woke him up early just so you could start boxing while wearing them.

But now, you won't even step in the gym because he made you upset.

Suddenly, Sylus was no longer in the mood to box.

You didn't join him for dinner.

He wasn't surprised, though he felt another pang at his chest when he sat down on the empty dinning table.

He learned from Luke and Kieran that you had already eaten a little earlier while ranting to Mephisto, who was your only companion for supper.

The crow gave him a questioning look as he flew by and parched on the empty chair next to him, where you usually sit.

"I know. I'm working on it."

Sylus went to his bedroom, hoping that you don't run away and that you hear him out.

But when he opened the door, a cold breeze hit him along with a lonely feeling. The room is empty, and you're nowhere to be found.

He knew you're still somewhere in the house; otherwise, Mephisto would've told him already that you'd left. You staying means he's not totally screwed — not yet, at least.

The only other place he thought to check is the room where you used to sleep in, before your relationship became official.

And sure enough, after calming down his nervous, hitched breath, Sylus knocked on the door.

No response, but the room is unlocked.

He dared to take a peak inside and immediately softened at the sight of you sleeping on the bed. His feet acted before his mind and walked up towards your side.

He sat down on the mattress and his eyes slowly traced the ravishing features of your face that he missed, despite the argument being only just several hours ago.

He yearned to touch you, just for a second, to feel your warmth and softness. His right hand carefully reached towards your face, knuckles aiming to brush against your cheek.

But then, you opened your eyes.

Sylus froze for a moment, waiting for you to tell him to leave and stay away from him, but instead, you just blinked at him with curiosity and a hint of amusement.

"What are you doing?"

"...caught me redhanded." he chuckles. "I was looking at you. Because you wouldn't let me do it while you were awake. Sorry to disturb your peaceful sleep."

You watched his hand that was about to touch your face slowly retract, and you wanted to grab it and embrace it.

"...who said I was sleeping peacefully?"

Sylus looks at you with confusion.

"It's hard for me to sleep whenever we have arguments." you murmured, sitting up slowly so you can look at him properly. "I wanted to see you, but..."

You were sulking all afternoon.

You grew tired of arguing with him and thought you'd eventually find the right words to tell him later on, once you've calmed down.

"Me too." Sylus slowly reached for your hand, almost afraid that you'd pull away, though he relaxed once you intertwined your fingers with his. "Let me tell you why I'm against you accompanying me for this mission."

He told you about the shady people he'll be visiting. They are nasty criminals who have done unforgivable things to people, and everything about them is just disgusting — physically and figuratively.

As much as he wanted your company and assistance, Sylus doesn't want them setting their filthy eyes on you. He doesn't want them to know about your existence at all.

Mostly, he doesn't want to waste your time and energy on people like them. He knows you're strong enough to be by his side and help him take them down, just as you have done a few times before, but he'd much rather keep you away from their dirty hands.

"I understand now." You tightened your grip on his hand. "And still.... I want to go with you."

Though his brows furrowed as a silent reply, he stayed quiet and allowed you to fully let out everything you want to say.

"I appreciate your concern for me, truly. But ever since the twins told me about them, that they're dangerous and full of dirty tricks, I can't help but worry.

You're strong and you definitely don't need me, but still... I asked to go with you because I want to support you, just like how you sometimes help me out with my missions."

Sylus was met with the familiar look of persistence and determination in your eyes and realized he was never going to win this argument.

You've always been stubborn.

But that's just one of the reasons why he's so infauted with you.

You win.

"I should have known better than to try to leave you out of something like this." he sighs in defeat, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.

You grinned at his tone. "It'll be fine. And fun — maybe. If not, then I'll suffer with you."

He clicked his tongue and poked your forehead. "Fine. But before we go, you have to prove to me that you're capable of fighting them."

"Hmm? Prove to you, how?"

"You'll have to join me in the boxing ring tomorrow, kitten."

You gasped and your eyes lit up. "My gloves! I've abandoned them! Let's go boxing right now!"

"...weren't you just about to sleep?"

"No way! I wanna hit something now! Come on!"

Sylus allowed himself to be dragged out of the room and brought back to the gym, where the boxing ring awaits.

Unlike earlier, the gym appears to be warmer and much more lively.

At last, Sylus can breathe easily.

zayne

Getting scolded by your lover was not how you were expecting your trip to the hospital to go.

He never raised his voice, but the coldness in his tone was what struck you in the chest.

He reprimanded you for being too reckless and careless at work, stating that you need to pay more attention to your surroundings and not throw yourself in danger at any chance you get.

Maybe you caught him in a bad mood, or maybe he was fed up with all the times that he has to see you with injuries. Either way, you didn't feel like being around him for a while.

Later that night, you fell asleep earlier than usual and missed a call from Zayne. You knew you probably should've called him back once you woke up in the morning, but the memory of him scolding you like a child made you throw your phone aside and momentarily avoid him.

Zayne is wide awake and his eyes are glued to the screen of his phone.

For once, he doesn't have work to keep him up late at night. Instead, you're the reason why he's unable to sleep.

You haven't been returning his texts and calls.

He knew you're upset because of what he did at the hospital. He shouldn't have spoken to you like that. You were already hurt. The last thing you needed was for him to give you a lecture over something you don't have much control over.

Zayne wanted to apologize to you.

He considered going to your apartment so he can properly give his sincere apology, but with the way you've been deflecting his attempts to communicate, he figured you wanted some space from him.

It's understandable that you'd feel that way, but still, Zayne can't ignore the aching in his chest. The other side of the bed feels colder than usual, and the silence of his house was uncomfortable.

You should've been next to him, resting your head on his chest while showing him funny memes and videos of cats after playing silly games on your phone, then you'd randomly come across an interesting article that would be your discussion until the two of you fall asleep.

This time, all he can do is keep checking his phone, just in case you decide to text or call him, and he'd answer in a heartbeat.

He wanted to hear your voice just so knows that everything is going to be okay, and that he doesn't need to worry about the possibility of losing you. Unfortunately, he wasn't granted that wish.

He eventually fell asleep with his phone on hand resting on the empty side of the bed.

Zayne was right.

You really are careless.

Showing up at the hospital twice in a week, just two days after your previous visit, is embarrassing at this point. You admit that your mind wasn't as awake and alert as it should've been, and so you've landed yourself another injury while fighting a Wanderer.

You did your best to hide from Zayne.

In fact, you tried going to a different hospital but Tara dropped you off here and fled instantly, so you have no choice but to go in with your slightly injured shoulder.

It just so happens that Doctor Greyson was the one that treated you, as he was the only one currently available.

You thought you'd be able to leave without seeing Zayne at all, but Greyson was unaware of your current situation so he informed him that he just finished fixing you up and you should be free to leave now.

Zayne just finished a long surgery, but once Greyson passed such valuable information to him, he rushed to your assigned room.

He caught you just as you were about to step out.

"Ah!" You put a hand over your racing heart. "You scared me!"

"Sorry." Zayne paused for a moment. "May I ask you to join me in my office?"

Your stomach shifted anxiously. "Sure..." The walk to the location was filled with nothing but awkward silence, which hurt to think about because it's Zayne.

That's the man whom you love more than anything else.

The last thing you want with him is an uncomfortable silence.

At the very least, you were able to gather your courage to own up to your mistakes.

Once he closed the door...

"I'm sorry!"

Zayne was caught off-guard.

"What?"

"You're right. I've been careless lately." Your shoulders sagged as you accepted defeat. "Like my injury today could've been avoided if only I was a little more cautious. I really do need to work on it better. I'm sorry for ignoring your texts and calls. I know you're just looking out for me."

Zayne let out a breath of relief.

He failed to stop himself from pulling you into his arms, so tight that you let out a gasp, though you didn't complain so he didn't release you just yet.

He desperately needed to hold you.

He was afraid that you might not want to see him anymore because of the way he had spoken to you, but it seems he'd gotten a chance to correct himself.

"I'm sorry for talking to you so coldy." He backed away just a small distance so he could look you in the eyes, though his hands remained locked on your elbows. "There are much better ways to express my concerns for you. I won't make the same mistake again. But also..."

He took your left hand and kissed the back of it. "Please don't ever try to hide your injuries from me whenever you do get hurt."

"Ah...." you wondered how he found out you were trying to hide from him today. "Sorry. I won't."

Zayne smiled and kissed your forehead.

"I'll accept your apology, on one condition...."

"What?"

"You have to spend the night and the whole weekend with me now. To make up for the times when you weren't by my side."

caleb

"I did it to protect you."

"And now, the fleet has all the access to the information that I was supposed to get. But yes. I was so fortunate that The Colonel came to my rescue. Thanks."

Caleb sighs as you shut the door and locked yourself in your own room of his house in Safehaven.

It's true that he interfered with your mission and you failed to do what you were sent for, but the man you were interrogating was equipped with a weapon that could've left you permamently injured.

What was he supposed to do?

He wasn't going to just watch and wait for you to get hurt.

The man just happened to be a common enemy of the fleet and the hunters association, and it seems that you've crossed paths for a race on whoever could capture him first.

While you technically reached him first, Caleb was the one that took him away and had him in captive with the fleet.

He figured he could just find that man and get the information you need, though it seems your mission was time sensitive and you were supposed to report to the association by tonight.

While he feels bad about you failing to accomplish your mission, he doesn't regret barging in to stop the enemy from hurting you.

His priority has always been you and it will always be you.

Everything that he's ever done is to protect you, even if you're against it. That's why this isn't the first time you've fought.

Ever since you were younger, you'd sometimes get mad at him for doing something that was intended to keep you out of harm's way.

It's nothing new.

Still, no matter how many times it happens, Caleb will always hate the feeling of you being upset with him.

He especially cannot stand it when you pretend he doesn't exist. He'd rather you hit him as hard as you can than act as if you don't see him. Otherwise, what other purpose does he have, if not to provide for you and be by your side?

Caleb made dinner for two, but he's the only one in the dinning room, sitting across an empty chair. It's dead silent aside from the noise of the flying vehicles roaming around outside his house.

He already put food in your plate and filled you a glass of juice, just in case you give in to his attempt to lure you out with the delicious smell of tonight's meal.

Caleb took his time eating. He had sent you texts, with lots of stickers, telling you that dinner is ready and that you can come out of your room now, though not a single message had gotten a reply.

His eyes would constantly dart to your closed door, hoping that it would open and you'd stubbornly come out with a pout on your face, just like what you always do ever since you were little.

He wasn't so lucky tonight.

But that doesn't mean he'll let you starve. You can be mad at him, but at the very least, be angry with a full stomach.

Caleb picked up your plate and drink and set it down on the floor right outside your room.

"Pip-squeak." He knocked a couple of times. "It's fine if you don't want to see me. You don't have to forgive me, but please eat something before you sleep. I'll leave the food outside the door."

He paused for a moment, as an apology almost slipped out of his tongue, though he wants to do it properly when you're face-to-face, so he will wait for a better time.

"Goodnight."

Afterwards, Caleb took a long bath before going to bed. You two had plans to watch movies tonight after your mission, but that was definitely not going to happen now. He had no idea things would end like how it did, and now he's staring at a wall feeling empty.

Around midnight, you quietly stepped out of your room. You brought the dirty, empty dishes back in the kitchen so you can wash them and return them in the storage.

Five steps in the dark kitchen and you almost drop the fragile items on your hands.

There's something lurking in the shadows.

"Ah!"

Your right hand swung up to hit the figure that started to walk towards you, ready to hit them with the plate.

The object was caught easily and snatched right out off your fingers. The light switch clicked and soon your eyes had been greeted by bright white light.

And you learned that the figure that had been bathing in darkness is none other than Caleb, who looked just as freaked out as you.

"Why are you still awake?!" you screeched, putting a hand over your pounding heart. "Why are you out here just standing in the dark like some demon?!"

"I wasn't standing in darkness. I was sitting." he huffs, putting the plate on the counter table. "And I should be asking you the same thing, Pip-squeak. Why are you awake?!"

His eyes suddenly widened and his shoulders stiffened.

"You're...not gonna leave, are you?"

He looked like a sad, kicked puppy that made you feel like a super villain.

"No, I'm not leaving." you replied softly, taking a step closer to him after setting down the empty glass of juice on the counter table. "I was just going to wash these... dinner was delicious.... by the way..."

Caleb let out a sigh of relief before a smile came to his face. "I'm glad you liked it. If you still have room in your stomach, wanna go for dessert? I still have some of the ice cream that you bought last time."

Your eyes lit up at the mention of the sweet dessert. "Yes!"

As the two of you enjoyed the ice cream, Caleb took the opportunity to talk about what happened.

"I'll admit that I don't regret interferring with your work to save you from getting hurt." he started slowly, watching you just in case your mood flips again. "But I am sorry for getting you in trouble."

You shook your head. "I'm over it now, but... you have to remember that I'm also capable of dealing with dangerous guys. I may get hurt, but it's part of my job. You don't have to jump out and save me every time, even though I appreciate it and you, every time."

Caleb sighs, recalling you repeating similar words to him before.

He really does jump out of nowhere to save you a lot — in fact, anytime he can, he does it.

"You're right. I know you've gotten strong, Pip-squeak." he grinned, patting your head. "I'll be sure to remember it. But also, you have to remember... worrying about you is part of my job. That'll never change, even if you become the greatest superhero of the deepspace."

"Heh."

You can't help but laugh because it's true.

That is just how Caleb is.

And it's one of the things that you love about him, despite all the times he pissed you off by being over protective.

"If I become the greatest superhero of Deepspace, will you bring me more ice cream?"

Caleb laughs at your empty bowl. "All you have to do is ask and I shall obey, Pip-squeak."

Once drowsiness finally hit you, you returned to bed and this time, Caleb made sure to cling to you the entire time.

rafayel

You'd been extremely busy for almost two weeks because of a big, intricate mission. It left you very little time to rest, and absolutely no time to go out with your lover.

But once you finally got some freedom, the first thing you did was give him a call, asking him out for lunch.

"It's okay, Miss Bodyguard. You don't have to see me if you don't want to. I know you've been really busy to make any time for me."

Maybe he was just joking or being dramatic as usual, but something about his tone rubbed you the wrong way.

"Okay then. Bye."

The moment the call ended, Rafayel wanted to throw his phone at the wall.

Why did he say that?

He'll admit that he has been sulking, disappointed that he hasn't seen you for days; however, he knows it's not your fault. You're just doing your job, after all.

His mood hasn't been the best lately, and he ended up saying the wrong thing to you. Now, he scared you away from him even more.

He wanted to see you and apologize, but you sounded quite mad and he's certain you don't want to see him at the moment, so it's probably best to leave you alone for now.

Thomas entered the studio and almost tripped over a paintbrush on the floor. The place is even messier than before.

He found Rafayel lying on the couch, wide wake and staring at the ceiling.

"Your studio's getting way too messy. Maybe you should clean up a little."

"It's fine. No one's going to come over anyways."

Thomas was quick to notice his dispirited tone. Rafayel already seemed lonely last week, but this time his mood seems worse.

Another proof of that is the lack of progress on the paintings.

"You haven't started anything new yet?"

"I haven't had any inspiration."

The one hint that Thomas got about what was bringing Rafayel down is the yellow bird plushie right next to him, who he may or may not have been talking to.

"So, it's your Miss Hunter, isn't it?"

It's happened a couple of times before. You two have gotten into arguments before and it usually ends in the same way, with Rafayel sulking like this. This time, it might've lasted longer than usual.

"I don't know what happened, but I suggest seeing her and talking it out."

"I know that. But if she doesn't want to see me.... what if she starts screaming and hitting me when I'm there?"

Or worse, you tell him you hate him.

His stomach tightened with discomfort just by thinking about it.

Thomas chuckles lightly. "So what? You can take it, can't you? Then again, she is a hunter.... and she could kill you...."

Rafayel frowned and froze for a moment.

Then, he suddenly rolls over and drops to the floor before jumping to his feet. "Thomas, you're a genius!" he exclaims, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him vigorously. "I don't care if she stabs me with her sword! I'd survive. but... if I go on another day withour seeing her, I might actually die for real..."

"Hh — sure, I guess..."

"I'm gonna go see her now!"

Thomas watched as he started to scramble and sprint out of the room. "Wait, you should clean up first before — "

"Ow! Who put this paint brush here?!"

You opened the door and Rafayel immediately shields his face with his hands, as if to protect himself from you.

"....I don't know what's going on but I'm a little offended."

You wanted to laugh but you reminded yourself that you're still mad at him.

Or at least, you were.

The moment Rafayel showed up at your doorstep, all you want to do is hug him.

"If you're gonna stab me, do it quickly but at least wait until I say sorry first so it doesn't sound like I'm using my last, dying breath to make it up to you. I mean, I would do that too if I must, but I'd prefer if I don't sound pathetic and gross."

"...what?"

Rafayel pulled himself together and held both of your hands.

"I'm sorry for what I said. I promise I didn't mean it at all. I just missed you a lot and... I.... I might've been...a little grumpy because of it... but I still shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I'm really sorry."

You softened and held his hands tighter. "I'm sorry too, for snapping so fast and running away. I also wasn't in the best mood."

Rafayel didn't waste another second before pulling you into his arms.

"Let's not do that again. It's stupid and silly and boring."

"Agreed."

He buried his face against your neck and held you tighter for a little longer while your fingers brush his hair from the back.

Rafayel took a moment to feel your warmth.

You're here, right in front of him, after days that felt like months.

Letting you go will be extremely difficult.

"Miss Bodyguard...."

"Yeah?"

"Do you wanna come to my house? Reddie misses you...

"Just Reddie?"

"...well, I missed you way more, but you can spare him five minutes of attention. But that's it. The rest of your time is mine."

xavier

For your latest mission, Jenna paired you up with a new hunter that just joined your team. She said she wanted him to learn from you, so he became your temporary partner.

Xavier wasn't quite happy with the captain's decision.

Jenna never said he couldn't join you, right? The new guy can keep following you, but that doesn't mean he has to be alone with you.

Fast forward to the end of the mission, Xavier had been so focused on making sure the new guy keeps a fair distance from you, and the newbie almost got hurt.

You took responsibility and jumped in at the very last moment to save him, leaving you with a minor scratch on your left arm. Nonetheless, the mission was a success.

You confronted Xavier afterwards. You didn't care at all about the scratch, but you were more concerned with him letting his jealousy get in the way of the mission.

Captain Jenna scolded him about not following orders. Although she never specified that he couldn't join you, he still messed with the plan that the team discussed early on. Luckily, he's not deeply in trouble: he'd only been warned not to do it again.

You mostly repeated what Jenna said, but you also told Xavier that he shouldn't have gone out of his way to physically keep your temporary partner away from you, and that you wished he trusted you a little more, especially in a professional environment.

Xavier was unable to come up with a response and like always, whenever he's jealous, dark clouds appeared all around him as he sulks.

You didn't feel like cradling him at the moment, mostly because you felt tired from the mission, and you needed to cool your ahead after all that happened.

You went straight to your apartment after work. Soon after taking a shower, you landed on your bed and welcomed a nap.

Xavier anxiously paces back and forth in his apartment.

He knows you're sleeping because of the fitness watch app that you both use. He decided that he'll wait until you wake up before apologizing, so at the mean time, he's practicing in his head what he'll be saying to you.

You two rarely have arguments because he'd learned to be more straightforward with his thoughts and feelings, but when jealousy comes into play, he still struggles to contain himself. He's working on it, but he's having quite a slow progress.

He'll admit that he might have gone a little overboard today, and he hated that his actions led to you getting hurt, even if it's just a scratch. If only he hadn't gotten in the way.

"...I'm going now."

Unable to wait any longer, Xavier teleports out of his apartment and appears on your balcony — it's become a habit of his.

He found you sleeping on the couch of your living room.

Xavier walked up to you quietly and covered your body with the throw bunched up by your feet. He knelt down on the carpeted floor and admired your features.

He knew he shouldn't get jealous so easily, but how could he not?

He's so deeply in love with you, he can't help but act irrationally sometimes.

But even more, he despises whenever you're upset with him and because of him, so he knows he can't keep behaving drastically all the time whenever another person who shows an ounce of admiration for you comes around.

"You smell like burnt cookies."

Xavier snapped out of his thoughts only to realize that you had woken up.

He took a whiff of his white hoodie and confirmed your observation. "I tried to make you some cookies to make up for earlier but I got distracted and forgot about them...."

And by distracted, he means pacing back and forth across the kitchen while writing his apology speech in his head.

"Pfftt.."

Xavier scratched the back of his head while you laughed loudly. His eyes lit up at the sight of your joy on your face.

"I'm sorry about your cookies." he sighs. "And I'm sorry for acting the way I did earlier. I promise I'll... try not to get jealous..."

You laughed again, this time softer as you leaned forward to brush his hair with your fingers. "The truth is, I don't mind that you get jealous sometimes. Even I get jealous too."

"Really?"

"Really."

He never notices you secretly being bitter whenever someone is clearly attracted to him, though you never act out on your jealousy because he always reassures you that he only has eyes for you.

"It's normal to get jealous." you told him. "But next time.... just make sure not to step out of line and get yourself or anyone innocent in trouble."

Xavier nodded and kissed the palm of your hand that had been combing his hair. "I promise I'll be more responsible from now on."

You smiled and pecked his nose.

"The smell of cookies really got me. Wanna try again? I'll help you this time."

"I'd like that. But first...." he rested his face onto your lap. "Can we just stay like this for a little while? I think I need to recharge."

Your hand returns to combing his soft hair. "Of course."

[squipa]

baby, i want some of your love

aka how you healed him

———

jason todd wears glasses now.

jason never really took care of himself after dying. his body was so hopelessly out of rhythm, everything slightly wrong and out of place. his bones creak underneath his skin, his muscles, which had nearly rotted and decayed, could never quite figure out how to relax. sometimes he’d forget to breathe, or blink, the actions no longer involuntary, and before you? he didn’t have it in himself to care. his health had fallen to the least of his worries.

but you were always so worried about him. you noticed things about himself he hadn’t even realized, how he winced when he chewed with the left side of his mouth, how he squinted at street signs whenever you went on walks, how his muscles were always tense until you massaged them into relaxation. you pointed them out, pouting whenever he’d shrug it off. to him, it was nothing, he was used to the pain, the inconvenience; he didn’t consider his own wellbeing important enough to pay any mind to.

to you, it was torture. watching the man you loved so dearly treat himself with so little care had you ruined. all you wanted for him was happiness and safety, for him to have what he had given you so freely, what he guarded himself from so intensely. he didn’t realize how much you cared until he noticed how much you finally pushed him to treat himself better.

“i scheduled you a dentist appointment.” you said, matter-of-factly setting down a few documents in front of him begging his patient history. he looked up to you, eyebrow raised, entirely confused. you answered his question before he could even think to ask it. “you wince when you chew.”

he wouldn’t say no to you. despite his disdain regarding the idea of a check up, he went. you came with him, fiercly speaking a language of medicine he didn’t understand. when he left the dentist, you gave him a lollipop. “i’m not five.” he ate it anyways, savoring the taste between strawberry-stained lips as you drove him home.

he stopped noticing when you made him appointments to get shots, or when you subtly slipped the card of a dermatologist behind the picture of you he kept in his wallet. he started actually caring about what he did to his body— gut health and all that. yes, he was jacked, his body had been built like a machine ever since it had patched itself back together in the lazarus pit, but he couldn’t remember the last time he ate a piece of fruit.

he didn’t realize how much better he felt until dick pointed it out for him. “you got glasses?” he asked, pointing to the thick black frames that sat on the bridge of his nose.

he nodded. he does wear glasses. he has silver caps on two of his teeth. he has a nice layer of body fat covering his muscles because he eats three well-balanced meals a day. he has a standing appointment with a chiropractor every other wednesday at two, and another with a therapist on mondays at one. he gets a checkup every six months and goes to the dentist every four, he’s been to the dermatologist three times in two years, he has all of his shots up to date, he takes vitamins in the morning and he sleeps at least five hours every night.

he cares about himself. he puts effort into making sure he stays healthy— and at first it was for you. only for you, to ease your constant worry about him. but now it’s second nature, your guiding hand has healed him, made him want to stay alive and healthy and whole, not for just you, but for himself.

the moment the realization washes over him of just how much you’ve given him, he rushes home and tells you in no less than a thousand ways just how grateful he is to have your love.

———

[prythianpages]

Take Me Home | Azriel x Reader

Azriel x Reader | When Azriel gets drunk, he forgets he has a wife.

warning: drinking, drunk & fluffy Az

a/n: You can thank tiktok for this one. It inspired me to take a little break from all the angst. I literally have never written a fic so fast before, this took me a little more than an hour. Just something short & sweet (1K words.)

Azriel liked to drink every now and then. Rarely, would he get drunk. He preferred maintaining control, always mindful of his surroundings and alert to his ever-listening shadows. 

But when he did get drunk, he'd sometimes forget he had a wife.

Normally, it was Azriel who stayed at your side. He was the hand that always found yours under the table when your words began to slur or the gentle pressure at the small of your back keeping you upright as you stumbled through the crowd. But tonight at Rita’s, something in his shoulders told you he needed to let go.

So when Cassian ordered shots for the table, you passed yours to Azriel with a playful grin, silently telling him, “your turn.”

He hesitated but after a few teasing remarks and a chorus of encouragement from the rest of the Inner Circle, he tipped the glass back and knocked it down in one go. Then another. And another. 

You watched the shift in him slowly unfold. His shoulders began to ease from their earlier tense posture. Though it was dark, you could see the inky tendrils of his shadows twitching and rippling less against his skin. Almost as if, they too, were content. 

You knew he was tipsy the moment he let Cassian drag him onto the dance floor without so much as a protest. And you knew he was drunk when he nearly tripped over nothing and just laughed before catching himself.

Across the table, you met Rhysand’s gaze. He was lounging back with a smirk, swirling his drink lazily in his hand as he watched the scene unfold.

“Should I stop him?” you asked, though your voice lacked any real concern. 

Rhysand raised his glass in salute toward Feyre, who had joined Cassian and Azriel on the dance floor.  “No. Let him. This is the most relaxed I’ve seen him in weeks.”

Sensing your mate’s gaze on you, you turned your head back to the dance floor only to see Azriel shying away from your gaze. Oh yeah, he’s definitely drunk. Rhysand chuckled, mirroring your thoughts.

Rhysand was right, though. This was the most relaxed you’d seen your mate in weeks and your heart ached a little with how much he had needed a night out like this.

Azriel continued to sneak glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. He didn’t last much longer on the dance floor. Cassian’s spinning and swaying became too much, and eventually, he slipped away from his friend. His steps were a little uncoordinated.

Then, his eyes found yours. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at you like you were the only steady thing in the room. The grin that spread across his face was boyish and a little lopsided as he approached the table.

“Hey,” he said, swaying slightly.

“Hey.” You grinned back up at him, a hand reaching out to push back his hair. The stool you sat on gave you just enough advantage in height to do so. His wings shuddered in response, making your grin widen at how easily flustered he got when drunk. You adored it, reveling in being able to make him feel that way.

Azriel’s shadows danced lazily around his shoulders like they, too, were drunk. He leaned down, one of his wings casting a small shadow over you, offering some privacy in the midst of the noise.

“My friend over there,” he whisper-yelled, breath warm against your ear and his scent washing over you, “thinks you’re cute.”

You blinked, pulling back to look at him. “Friend?”

Before you could even process, he pointed to the side. You followed his hand, confused, just as a soft whoosh sounded beside you.

And there he was.

Standing a few feet away with the same grin on his face, exactly in the spot he had pointed to you. You pointed your hand at him and silently beckoned him back to you. With a dark glimmer of shadows, he vanished from across the room and stumbled right back in front of you. You hopped off the stool, catching him with both hands on his chest and helping in steadying him.

“Tell your friend I’m really flattered but I’m taking my husband home.”

You showed him your ring, lifting your hand in front of his glazed eyes. He blinked at it, brows pulling together. Something like disappointment flashed across his face, his wings drooping slightly behind him.

 “Oh.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, your heart melting as you gently reached for his hand. You lifted it, bringing it up the same level of the hand flashing your wedding ring. The matching silver band to yours gleamed on his finger, and you gave your finger a little wiggle for emphasis.

His eyes widened. “Oh.” A pause. “Me?”

You nodded, your fingers lacing with his. His whole face lit up, that grin of his brighter than ever and reaching all the way to those hazel eyes you loved so much. He turned to the person closest to you both, Rhysand, “I have a wife!”

Rhysand raised his brow in mock surprise. “Just wait until you find out you have a mate, buddy,” you heard him mutter.

But Azriel didn’t hear. Or maybe he did, and chose to ignore it. Either way, he turned back to you, stepping a little closer. You released his hand and Azriel was quick to place both his hands on your waist.

“Well then, my wife,” he said, pulling you flush to him, his tone and touch possessive in a way that made your stomach flutter.

He dipped his head, his forehead resting against yours, nose brushing yours in a gentle nuzzle. His eyes flicked to your lips, lingering for a beat too long, before lifting back to yours.

“Take me home.”

You laughed softly, cupping his cheeks and placing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Okay, my husband.”

He looked at you like he was falling for you all over again and then, his lips were chasing yours for another taste. Warmth bloomed in your chest, the bond between you thrumming with love and adoration.

Because even if Azriel forgot he had a wife when he was drunk, his heart always knew.

At the end of the night, in every life and every state of mind, he always chose you.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed this silly little fic! & kudos to you if you recognized the tiktok that inspired this.

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith, @xadenswhore, @kodafics

[corroded-hellfire]

Eddie and AYW Reader making out on the couch and basically dry humping until he comes in his jeans. That’s the request.

I can’t believe that this is the 100th AYW story. That is so wild to me. Thank you all for still reading, never mind reading it to begin with! Y’all are the best 🥰

Warnings: not quite smut but it toes the line. Eddie creams his jeans, dry humping

Words: 2.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

A rumbling sigh slips through Eddie’s lips as he shuts the front door behind him. It felt like work was eighty hours long today instead of eight. Between reconstructing an engine and snippets of his steamy dream about you last night coming back to him, each second that ticked by was torturously stretched out. 

He kicks his boots off just as the fast pitter-patter of little feet approaches him.

“Daddy!” Luke squeals.

“Hey, buddy!” Eddie scoops his youngest up and rests him on his hip. “How was school today?”

“Good,” Luke replies, absentmindedly playing with a section of hair that had fallen out of the bun at the nape of Eddie’s neck. “D’you know hockey pucks used to be made with cow poop?”

Eddie’s mouth pops open, mind trying to process his son’s words and a possible response. 

“I—uh… No. No, I did not. That’s what you learned at school today, huh?”

“Yep.” The little boy wriggles so Eddie plops him back down on his feet.

“Tax dollars well spent,” Eddie mumbles to himself as he follows his mini-me into the kitchen. 

Inside, Ryan is sliding his homework folder back into his backpack. You’re bent over, searching for something in the fridge, and Eddie’s body has an immediate response to you in that position. That might just be the one position the two of you weren’t in in his dream last night. 

“Hi, Daddy!” Ryan calls as he zips up his backpack.

“Hey, pal.” Eddie ruffles his golden-brown hair before coming up behind you and accidentally bumping his hip up against your ass.

Heat rushes to your cheeks despite the waves of cold wafting over your face from the refrigerator. Coming to the conclusion that Luke must have finished his last Yoo-Hoo and therefore can’t have the one that he asked you for, you stand up straight and spin to meet Eddie’s gaze. The way his eyes glint with mischief as he tries his hardest to suppress a smirk does nothing to calm your body down. Every damn look this man gives you is a turn on. 

“Sorry,” Eddie says, only a hint of laughter creeping into his voice. “Didn’t see you there.”

You step forward and let the refrigerator door fall closed behind you.

“Uh huh,” you hum, crossing your arms over your chest. 

Eddie can’t hold his chuckle back any longer and moves so he’s leaning back against the counter. Simply being in his personal space feels too charged, so you force yourself to walk over to the kitchen table and run a hand over Ryan’s hair.

“That was all your homework?” you ask.

“Yup!”

“Good job.”

“Can we please play a game now?” Luke runs his hands down his face, letting his fingers tug down his bottom eyelids, revealing the vibrant red on the other side of the skin.

“Yes, I know, I promised you a game.” You boop his nose as he shuffles past you, gait reminiscent of a zombie. 

The little boy continues forward until he bumps into his father’s tall frame.

“Can we play Twister?” Luke asks as he grabs Eddie’s left hand, spinning a chunky silver ring around his middle finger. 

“Daddy can spin the thing, and we can get all tangled up on the mat!’ Ryan grins, looking at you with hopeful eyes.

The mental image of you bending in different positions right in front of him is more than poor frazzled Eddie can handle. He clears his throat and rubs his free hand along his stubbled jaw. 

“Um, how about this…” Eddie trails off, mind racing since he doesn’t have a decent alternative already thought up. “Uh, oh! Okay. How about you guys go take your baths right now? That way we can play a game when you’re done.” And God does Eddie hope they want a different game by then. “That way you already have your baths done for the night so we can watch two movies before bed.”

“Two?!” Eddie thinks Luke’s eyes are going to pop out of his head as he stares up at him. 

“Mhmm.” Eddie gently shakes the hand that Luke’s still holding onto. “Each of you can pick one.”

Luke widens his eyes and rocks back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet.

“Can I pick a PG movie?” A small, cute pucker grows on his lips as he attempts to sway his father with his adorableness. 

Eddie cocks his head to the side and raises his eyebrows.

“Depends on the movie. But maybe.”

“Yes!” 

It’s all Luke needs to hear before running out of the kitchen, down the hall towards the bathroom.

“Can I pick the first movie?” Ryan asks once his little brother is gone.

“Sure thing, pal.” Eddie nods. “Go ahead, go take your bath.”

After both of the boys have vacated the kitchen, you saunter over to Eddie and slide your hands up his coverall-clad chest. Your forefinger traces the letters of his name on his left breast pocket.

“So, not a fan of Twister?” You tilt your head up and bat your eyelashes as innocently as you can manage.

“Maybe too much of a fan when you’re involved.” 

Eddie slides one arm around your waist and pulls your body flush up against his. The way your thigh presses up against his crotch allows you to feel that he’s already half hard. The friction makes Eddie release a small groan as you give a tiny gasp in surprise.

“What’s got you worked up?” you ask, no flirting or teasing, just genuine curiosity in your tone. 

“Well,” Eddie says, slipping a hand into each of the back pockets of your jeans, “there is the fact that I came home to see my girl bent over in front of me. After all the fantasizing I’ve been doing about her today. After the hottest fucking dream I’ve ever had last night.”

“Wow, so you’ve been ready to go all day, huh?” Your smirk indicates the teasing has returned. 

Eddie’s hands squeeze your ass as his head ducks down until his mouth is a mere inch from yours.

“You have no idea,” he growls. 

The timbre sends a pleasant shiver up your spine, which Eddie notices. He grins and it’s positively predatory. You’ll happily be this man’s prey any day.

“I think,” you say softly, “I’ll go into your room and see if I can find anything that might be able to help you with your…problem.” It takes a massive amount of strength to take a step back, out of Eddie’s arms, but the prospect of having his body on top of yours in a matter of moments gives you the drive you need. 

Brown eyes darkened with lust trail you as you slink out of the room. He stands there, silently counting to five before he follows you. 1…2…3…4–oh fuck it, here I come.

Eddie shoves himself off of the counter, steps hurried as he heads down the hall. The moment he steps into his room, you’re sitting at the edge of his bed, one leg crossed over the other, your foot lazily bobbing up and down. The desire that’s been burning in him all day flairs into a roaring fire. His tongue slowly licks over his teeth as he quietly shuts and locks the door behind him. 

“Lay down.”

The command leaves no room for argument as you lay back, scooting until your head rests on Eddie’s pillow. A quick glance to the side has you shoving Brittany’s pillow over the edge. 

Eddie kneels on the foot of the bed, one leg on either side of your ankles. His gaze rakes up your body, starting at the hem of your jeans, up your sensuous legs, the zipper and button that Eddie yearns to pop open, the curve of your waist and the swell of your breasts, up to the face that he swears was crafted by angels.

No hastiness in his movements, Eddie leans down until his hands are splayed on each side of your stomach. He leisurely leans down and lets his nose brush up the hem of your shirt. Once your soft skin is exposed, Eddie presses gentle kisses in a trail up to the bottom of your bra. Hot breath ghosts against your neck as Eddie crawls further up your body. It’s agony waiting until his face hovers directly above yours. 

A smile involuntarily grows, brightening his entire face. Your eyes trace the lines of his mouth, where they come to little dimples in his cheeks. But Eddie takes your chin in his fingers and moves your head so your gazes lock again.

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. Instead, you lay there, staring up at him. The fiery look in his eyes makes your breathing speed up. 

Torturously slow, Eddie finally leans down and connects his mouth to yours. You immediately respond, tilting your head to slot your lips against his, greedy for all you can get from him. His body weight steadily presses down against you, one of his legs slotting between yours. Your arms immediately wrap around him, one hand tugging the hair tie out so his locks can fall free. A soft moan rattles your chest as you sink your fingers into Eddie’s hair. The sound has Eddie’s thigh pressing harder against your core. His hard length also rubs against your leg, the feel of it causing an ache deep within you. 

Your lips part and Eddie wastes no time brushing his tongue against your own. The kisses quickly become frantic, urgent, with him licking into your mouth as your two legs wrap around his one to keep it right where it is against the too-thick denim you’re wearing. 

The way his scruff brushes against your chin irritates it with the most pleasurable burn you’ve ever experienced. His mouth is wet and hot against yours and you feel as if you could fall apart just from this. 

A groan into your mouth only heightens your pleasure. One large hand slides down and grasps at your waist the other gently cupping the side of your head as he leans on that arm for balance. Eddie’s hips roll up against yours with more fervor, the frequency increasing as well. Every stroke of his tongue against yours comes with his body pressing up against yours, your panties beyond soaked at this point. 

Even between your jeans and the material of Eddie’s coveralls, you feel his cock twitch against your leg. His excitement makes the feel of his tongue in your mouth even sexier. 

He must agree by the sound of another groan. The low rumble vibrates against your chest. Hips press flush up against yours, your body now rocking in time with his own. The hand pressed against your waist starts to slide up your body and you’re quick to cover it with your own. Mouths not skipping a beat, and hips keeping up their rhythmic pace, you drag Eddie’s hand underneath your t-shirt and up your skin. The back of your hand pushes the left cup of your bra away and you bring Eddie’s hand to rest on your bare breast.

The moment his skin meets yours, the hard pebble of your nipple pressing against the palm of his hand, Eddie’s hips give one last lurch before they still. He moans into your mouth until he can’t breathe anymore and is forced to pull back. Both of you are panting as Eddie rests his forehead against your cheek, his chest heaving against yours, both of your hands still between them. 

“Fuck,” Eddie mumbles, followed by a low chuckle. It takes a moment between the layers of clothes, but you soon feel the warmth growing against your thigh. You let out a chuckle of your own as your eyes slip closed.

“Was good?” you ask breathlessly. 

“Jesus Christ, you make me feel like a teenager,” he mumbles against your jaw. “I don’t think I’ve come in my pants since high school.”

“I’m honored.” You both share a soft laugh as you slip your hand from beneath your shirt and gently scratch your fingers against Eddie’s scalp.

“I should be embarrassed,” he says with a sigh.

“No, you–”

“But I’m not,” Eddie cuts you off. “How the fuck do you make me feel so comfortable to be me so freely? Even when I come in my pants like a virgin.”

You lean down to press a kiss to the top of his head. 

“I don’t know, but I’m glad I do,” you tell him. 

The hand that was previously against the side of your face snakes down and blindly searches for your hand. You’re quick to slip it into his larger one and he laces your fingers together.

“Fuck, I guess I should get up before it makes a mess of your pants, too. That would be fun to explain away.”

“Mm, don’t move,” you huff. 

“I gotta,” he laments with a sigh. 

“Fine. But you must give me one more kiss before you do.”

Eddie looks up at you with that boyish grin that always makes your stomach flip.

“I can do better than that.”

He leans up and presses three gentle but loving kisses against your lips. It leaves a smile on your face as he pushes himself up and moves off of the bed. Lazily, you watch him change out of his coveralls and into new boxers, a t-shirt, and jeans. When he catches you staring, Eddie throws you a wink. 

“Unfortunately, we’re out of time for shenanigans today. Bath time usually only lasts half an hour,” he says as he comes back towards the bed. He sits down on the edge and rubs his hand along your thigh. “But I refuse to let this go unreciprocated. So…” He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours and bumps your noses together, “tomorrow you better be ready to see how many times I can make you come in half an hour.”

Your thighs clench together just at the thought.

“Bring it on, baby.”

[starlightswitch]

@flashfictionfridayofficial I've been sitting on this prompt for a while.

Corey’s phone went off and he checked it automatically. It was from Levi. A text. A long text.

If you’re reading this, that means I’m gone. I’m so sorry to have to tell you this way. You’ve been the best friend I could have asked for, the best friend I’ve ever had. Thank you.

It felt so sincere he expected Levi to actually be gone when he looked up.

But someone was still standing next to him, and when he looked up it was still Levi, leaning slightly on the railing, one hand wrapped loosely around the glass sitting on the thin strip of table. “What’s up?” said Levi. Then, reacting to whatever expression was on Corey’s face, “What? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“…are you a ghost?” said Corey.

“What?”

Corey moved closer to show him the phone, their shoulders overlapping as Levi leaned in.

“Shit,” Levi said in a slow whisper.

He did not sound confused. He did not sound surprised. He sounded dismayed.

He knew what this was. He was only sorry Corey had seen it now.

Corey looked at him, kept looking at him even though Levi wouldn’t meet his eyes. “What do you mean, gone?”

Levi’s mouth opened but no words came out.

“Talk to me!” said Corey. “What does this mean?”

Presumably, eventually, realizing Corey was just going to keep staring at him until he said something, Levi said in a tight whisper, “You weren’t supposed to get it yet.”

“Obviously.”

“My dumb ass set it for 3PM instead of 3AM.”

“You were going to text me at 3AM to tell me that you were gone? The fuck?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Levi mumbled.

“I’m the best friend you’ve ever head and you were going to do who knows what in the dead of night and I would never see you again and you don’t even want to talk about it?”

“Ssh!” Levi threw a frightened glance at the patio below.

Corey hadn’t realized his voice had risen so much. He lowered it. “What am I supposed to think?”

“You’re not supposed to know about it,” said Levi.

“Until you…”

“It’s not what you think. At least, what I think you think.”

“Well, are you going to tell me what it is? Or are you not the friend you thought you were?” If he’d thought a second longer he might not have worded that so harshly, but it was out and it was how he felt. He took a long drink and tried to think of what to do if Levi didn’t answer him. Thought about walking away, and tried to decide if he could really do it.

Levi leaned in again, just a little. “You cannot tell anyone, understand? I’m not supposed to tell anyone. No one is supposed to know. If you know, it will be obvious who told you.”

“Tell anyone what?”

“I’m not who you think I am.” Levi winced. “Entirely. I haven’t been acting different and I’ve never lied—just not told you things—but my name is not what you think it is.”

Now that Corey thought about it, he could think of more than a couple times that Levi had dodged away from telling him things. Like where he was from and where he’d worked before here. Why he’d moved here when he didn’t know anybody around here.

“And now I have to go. And I can’t tell you why.”

“Not when you’ve told me this much?”

Levi laughed weakly. “I haven’t told you much.”

Corey looked up, thinking. “Could you tell me if I came with you?”

Levi looked at him so hard that Corey looked him in the eye, and Levi’s eyes held his, deeply serious. “Do you really want to do that? Have no one know where you went? Never say goodbye, or say it and not tell them why?”

There was a spark of something in his eyes. Corey was pretty sure it was hope.

“If you do—and I’m not saying you should.” Levi looked away as he said that. “Then meet me here tonight. Late. Bring some clothes and be ready to go.”

Corey didn’t say he would do it. He couldn’t really imagine just leaving like that.

But then, he couldn’t imagine letting Levi go, never knowing where, never knowing why.

Your best friend has left their last message for you, lamenting that they are no longer in this world should you receive that last message. It would have been emotional and tragic, had said friend not standing next to you, alive and in good health.

[y3sterdaysproblem]

bed chem - m.s.

summary: a goofy fic of matt based off of the song bed chem by sabrina carpenter

warnings: suggestive

wc: 3.5k

-

Going out to parties wasn’t something you did all the time, but it wasn’t something you were completely a stranger to, either. You were used to the excitement of getting ready, finding the perfect outfit and putting on your makeup, and it made it infinitely more fun knowing your best friend would be alongside you for the night.

Except when she nagged.

“Come on, love, we gotta go. Our ride’s here and we’re already an hour late.” She tells you, standing behind your vanity with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows raised as she watches you apply lipstick. “We have two parties to get to, remember? So the faster we get to this one, the faster we get to the next one, and the faster we get home.”

“I’m going as fast as I can, but you making me talk is making me take longer!” You retort, staring at her in the mirror. She huffs and goes to your bed, grabbing her purse off of it and slinging it over her shoulder.

“I’m going out to the car, you have two minutes.” She tells you before leaving your room and eventually your house.

You roll your eyes at her dramatics before finally finishing up your makeup and spraying your hair and face so everything stays in place, getting up to head outside to join her in the uber.

“Damn,” she mutters, eyes raking over your form next to her. “You look hot as fuck.”

You smile and turn your head to look at her. “I know, that’s why I take so long.”

Your body was adorned in a black, sheer dress, a black, lace lingerie set visible underneath it, hair flowing over your shoulders perfectly, makeup looking the most flawless it has in a while. It was worth the time it took since you know everyone would be taking photos.

It hasn’t been a long time that you’ve been in this scene, seemingly blowing up over just a few months on social media, but you had to admit, you were enjoying the life of having followers more than you cared to admit. The attention, the parties, the relationships, the edits. It was all a little bit addicting and you hoped it wouldn’t stop any time soon.

Tonight’s party felt different, though. You knew it was going to be bigger and there were going to be some popular influencers that you had looked up to for years, so you wanted to make an impression, make sure people wouldn’t forget you and had an urge to come up and speak to you, and hopefully tonight you looked good enough for that to happen.

“Have a good night,” your driver turns to smile at you both when you arrive, not so subtly letting his eyes trail over both of your bodies, causing you to let out a groan at him, getting out as quickly as possible.

“He was gross,” you mumble, pulling your dress down your thighs.

Your friend laughs, looping her arm in yours. “At least he thinks we’re hot.”

-

The night progresses as parties typically do; dancing, photos, introducing yourself to people you’ve seen online but never met, a few drinks being consumed over the course of a couple hours. It was exhilarating and you felt like you could’ve stayed until everything died out, but you were interrupted by your friend gently grabbing your arm, smiling up at you. “Hey, I ordered an uber so we could head out,” she tells you and you pout, not wanting to leave yet but knowing you had to.

“Sounds good, let me know when it’s here.” You apologize to the person you’re speaking to before turning to make your rounds and bid farewell to the host.

It’s then that you’re walking through the halls in an attempt to find who you’re looking for when your eyes land on a boy you’ve never seen before, instantly feeling captivated. He wore a white jacket, seemingly just arriving, along with jeans, keys hanging from his belt loop. His bright blue eyes felt like they cut through the room when they looked up and locked on yours, the people around you turning blurry as you focused on him. Normally you’d feel too nervous to keep eye contact with somebody like this, but you couldn’t stop watching as he excused himself from his conversation and started walking towards you, slipping between people while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

Once he’s in front of you, you can’t help the way your ears heat up, grateful for your hair covering them otherwise you’d be exposed in seconds to how your body was reacting to him so quickly. He smiled wide at you and you’re blown away at how beautiful he is so up close, all of his features fitting together so perfectly.

“Hi,” he says, loudly enough to cut through the music.

You laugh at his volume, hand coming up to cover your mouth momentarily until you’re done laughing, dropping it back to your side. “Hey,” you yell back, leaning in a bit closer.

He takes one step closer to you, nearly closing the gap between your bodies, leaning his face down so he’s close to your ear, hand coming up to rest on your hip gently. “I’m Matt,” he tells you, hand running up your waist as he pulls away to look at you again.

Your breath hitches at his touch, wanting nothing more than to lean into him but having to remind yourself that you don’t even know him, even though he feels so familiar. You introduce yourself to him and feel lightheaded at the smile he shoots you, eyes admiring his perfectly aligned teeth that fit his face so well. He repeats your name lowly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“That’s a beautiful name,” he tells you sweetly, and despite just meeting him, you believed him wholeheartedly. “Hey, would you want to-.”

You’re ripped from your bubble with Matt when your friend suddenly appears and slips her arm around your waist, clearing her throat loudly. “Ride’s here! Time to go!” She exclaims, trying to pull you away from Matt, much to both of your dismay.

“No, wait-!” You try to tell her but she only pulls harder, Matt’s hand falling off of your waist as distance grows between you.

“Nope, gotta go!” She tells you again. You turn around as you’re walking, seeing Matt laughing at the two of you as he watches you leave, still standing where you left him. He waves his hand at you and you groan, turning back to look at your friend.

“You just cock-blocked me!” You screech as you guys barrel through the door and outside, ripping yourself away from her. “We were so into each other, I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

She groans, walking towards the car waiting for you. “I’m sure you’ll see each other again, he looks familiar.”

You get in the opposite side of her and turn to glare in her direction. “I’ve never seen him before and I’ll probably never see him again, thanks to you.”

She laughs, amused at how desperate you sounded. “Dude, you’ll live. He’s probably just looking for someone to fuck. If anything, I just saved you from shitty sex.”

You huff and sit back in your seat, knowing there’s nothing you can do about it now except wait for another event that you might see him at.

-

It’s late, or early depending on how you look at it, and you and your friend were cooped up in bed together, ready to sleep after a long night of socializing, talking about some of the things that happened that night when your phone dinged from your bedside table. Confused, you grab it and stare at the screen, seeing a text on your lockscreen staring back at you.

3:52am

unknown number

hey

Your brows furrow and you show it to your friend. “Do you recognize this number?” You ask. She turns and looks at it before shaking her head.

“No, I don’t even recognize the area code.” She says, looking up to meet your gaze.

You hum, shrugging your shoulders. “Weird.”

You stare at it for another minute, trying to see if they say anything else, and just as you’re about to close it and set your phone down, the bubbles indicating the other person is typing pop up and your brow raises in curiosity.

3:54am

unknown number

it’s matt btw

You gasp, spinning back towards your friend. “It’s him! The guy from earlier that you dragged me away from! He got my number! How’d he get my number? Oh my god, he wants me so bad.” You’re squealing and reaching out to grip her arm, which earned you a groan of pain.

“Chill, please, you’re way too loud.” She huffs. But then her mood shifts and she laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. “He must be thirsty.”

You roll your eyes, letting go of her. “He’s not thirsty, why can’t you just admit we might have some chemistry? I wish you could’ve felt it, dude, it was like… like everyone around us literally disappeared and it was just us. I feel like my legs almost gave out when he touched me. It feels like he’s the type of guy I’ve been looking for.”

Your friend agrees half heartedly, turning away from you to finally drift off to sleep after the long night you’ve had. You’re looking at the screen trying to figure out how to respond without sounding too desperate when you let out a little giggle, not being able to help your dirty thoughts.

“I hope he’s big.”

“Ew!”

-

“So where are you from? I like your accent.”

“I’m from Boston,” the voice on the other end of the line laughs softly. “I’m actually there right now.”

You grin to yourself, sitting cross legged on your bed and staring down at your nails like they’re the most interesting thing in the world. “What, did you leave the day we met or something?”

Matt hums. “The next day, yeah. It’s been a while since we’ve been back so we wanted to head home for a bit.”

You’re quiet for a few beats, trying to think of a way to keep the conversation going, when you feel a surge of confidence boost through you. “We should see each other when you come back.” You tell him, biting your lip nervously as you await his response.

You can hear the smile in his voice when he answers. “I’d love that. Are you free next week?” You celebrate silently, pumping your fist in the air a couple times before you compose yourself, clearing your throat.

“Yes!” You clear your throat, embarrassed. “Yes, I’m free.” You tone down your excitement, a blush covering your cheeks. “Just pick any day and you can come over if you want. I have my own place.”

Matt’s nervous, too, even though he was across the country. His hands nervously picked at his jeans, unable to contain the smile on his face. “Sounds good, I’ll let you know as soon as I’m back.” He replies. “Hey, I gotta go but I’ll text you, okay?”

You’re sad at this, but you don’t want to seem too clingy. Not yet. “Okay. I’ll talk to you soon, Matt.”

“Talk to you soon. Bye, sweetheart.”

You hang up and immediately flop back on your bed, covering your mouth as you scream loudly. Sweetheart? Oh yeah, he was definitely getting head.

-

“He’s literally on his way and I feel like I’m about to shit myself.”

“Did you clean?”

“Yes, but-“

“Did you put on deodorant and perfume?”

“Yes! But-“

“Did you shave?”

Your cheeks darken at the question your friend asks over the phone. “Dude…” you start seriously, then laugh like you couldn’t believe yourself. “I got a wax.”

She gasps loudly. “You little slut! A wax?!” You giggle at her response. “Wow, you really are into him, huh?”

“So into him,” you groan out. You and Matt had spoke on the phone almost every day that he was gone, texting every hour you both were awake. You hadn’t had a crush like this in years, and the way he talked to you made you feel like maybe he felt the same way. You always woke up to a good morning text since he was three hours ahead and he was usually still awake by the time you went to sleep, so there really was barely any time when you guys weren’t texting. “Hey, I think he’s here, I gotta go!” You hang up before she even answers, checking yourself in the mirror by the door one more time before you pull the door open, seeing Matt standing on the other side with a smile on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Hi,” he says shyly, staying put on the doorstep.

“Hey,” you breathe out, stepping aside so he could walk in, but he doesn’t move, seemingly captivated by the sight of you. “Come in,” you say with a giggle, waving him in gently.

“Right,” Matt replies, stepping inside your apartment, eyes moving from your face to look around. “Wow, cute place. Very… girly.”

You laugh and shut the door, walking up behind him. “Well, I am a girl.” You guide him into the kitchen and find a vase in the cupboards, filling it with water in the sink. “You didn’t have to get me flowers.”

Matt looks down at the flowers, then back up at you. “Oh, these? These aren’t for you, I just found them on the side of the road on my way here.”

You laugh and turn to meet his eyes, raising an eyebrow at them. “Oh, so I definitely shouldn’t put these in a vase then?”

Matt purses his lips and shakes his head, setting the flowers on the table. “Nah,” he says seriously, then lets out a laugh, starting to walk towards you. His hands wrap around you from behind, head tucking into your neck to place his lips on your skin, making your breath catch at the contact, your heart picking up speed uncontrollably.

“Can I tell you something?” He whispers against your shoulder. All you can do is nod in response. “I’m normally not a sex on the first date kind of guy, but I can’t even put into words how badly I’ve wanted you from the second I saw you at that party and I spend so much of my time hoping you feel the same.”

You reach to turn the water off, hands shaking as you set the vase down in the sink before turning around in Matt’s arms, sliding your hands up his chest until they loop around his neck, holding him close. Your eyes trail from his eyes down to his pink, plump lips, getting a good look at them and the way he bites his lip nervously before meeting his eyes again, feeling entranced once more. “I do,” you tell him in a whisper.

He smiles and slides a hand up between your bodies, resting it on your jaw before he closes the gap between you both, lips meshing together flawlessly. You release a small breath of relief through your nose, pulling him closer with your arms wrapped around him, arching your body into his hungrily.

You’ve thought about this since the moment you met, how he’d feel kissing you, if he’d be gentle or rough, what he would taste like, what he would smell like so close. It was all surpassing your expectations in the best way and you already felt yourself getting worked up while you both kissed, knowing that he now had you completely wrapped around his finger. You were completely and utterly fucked, and you were also more okay with that than you ever had been.

You pull away from the kiss and smile up at Matt, him having the same expression towards you. “I, uh, cleaned my room, you wanna see?” You ask him timidly, knowing he understands the implications behind your question. He chuckles, squeezing your waist gently before nodding. “Yeah, I’d love to see your room.”

You grin, trying to hide your excitement by biting on your bottom lip, but it’s no use, you’re exuding anticipation through every pore in your body and hoping to god he feels the same way. You slip out from where you’re pinned between him and the counter, sliding your hand down his arm until your fingers are laced together, pulling him behind you. “Come on then, I’ll show you.”

You drag him behind you and towards your room, pausing when you hear him laughing, wondering what’s so funny. You stop and turn around, seeing him staring at the wall where a pink post-it note was stuck above your thermostat that read ‘do not touch!’

“Picky about your temperature, huh?” He teases, making you huff.

“Sixty-nine is the perfect temperature! Not too hot, not too cold!” You defend yourself loudly, watching as Matt just laughs more at your outburst.

“I’m not hating, just think the note’s cute, that’s all,” he rests his hand that’s not in yours on your hip, nodding towards your room. “C’mon, you didn’t clean for nothing, did you?”

-

“Fuck, Matt!”

“Mm, that’s right, who’s your daddy?”

“No!”

“Fuck yes, get fucked!”

Matt stands up from the edge of your bed and flexes at you, sweatpants slung low on his hips, revealing his briefs underneath, shirt discarded somewhere on the floor long ago, switch controller gripped in his right hand. “I told you not to fuck with me and Mario Kart.”

You groan and flop back on the bed, arms flung above your head. “That’s the third fucking game,” you whine, turning your head to look at him. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to let the women finish first?”

Matt’s jaw drops open and he moves to stand between your knees that are hanging off the bed. “Are you serious right now?” He asks, placing his hands on the bed on either side of you, lips coming down to meet your bare hip. You were clad in only your panties and an oversized pajama tee now that rode up when you brought your hands up on the bed. “I think I let you finish first enough today.”

You blush and push yourself onto your elbows, watching him kiss your skin gently. “I don’t think I know what you’re talking about,” you tell him, smiling sweetly.

Matt laughs, but it’s not a humorous laugh, it’s one that sends tingles down your spine. It’s one that says ‘you have no idea what’s coming to you’. “Oh, you don’t?” He taunts, and you shake your head. He stands up straight again and pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, wasting no time in pulling your panties back off of you. “I guess I’ll have to remind you.”

-

You’re both laying in bed under the covers, naked now since it was no use putting your clothes back on after every round of sex when they’d just end up on your floor again. “Hey, Matt?” You break the silence, turning your head from where you’re laid next to him to look at his face, smiling when he turns his head to meet your eyes. He hums, letting you know he’s waiting for you to speak again. “You’re like… really good in bed.”

Matt laughs at this, completely taken aback by the words you said, expecting you to ask him a question and instead being met with a compliment. “Thanks,” he replies, still laughing. He turns his body on his side and pulls you close to him. “You’re really good, too.”

You smile and turn to face him as well, slinging a leg over his waist. “You’re also super hot,” you continue.

He laughs again, rolling his eyes. “You’re being ridiculous. I’m average at best. You, though… my god.”

Your eyes widen, mouth opening in shock. “Average?! Matt, you’re… wow, you must be blind, jesus christ.”

“You should see my brother,” Matt smirks. “Man thinks he’s god’s gift to women.”

“Well if he looks anything like you he just might be.” You’re teasing him, and you think it’s clear in your voice, but Matt’s smile fades and he just looks at you with a confused expression.

“Yeah, we… didn’t I tell you we’re triplets? Didn’t you see him at the party?” He questions, pushing himself up on an elbow to look down at you.

You quirk an eyebrow at him and let out a shocked laugh. “Yeah, Matt, that’s the joke. That you look the same and if he’s god’s gift to women then so are you.”

Matt clamps his mouth shut and his cheeks darken slightly, realizing the joke went right over his head. “Right,” he clears his throat. “So you think my brother is hot is what you’re saying?”

You shrug, trailing a finger down his chest. “Maybe. But he doesn’t have the bed chem we do.” You waggle your eyebrows teasingly, making Matt laugh at your expression.

“Our bed chem is unmatched. Should we practice again?”

“Fuck yes.”

a/n: this has been in my drafts since like january and i think it was a request but i gotta dig for the ask!!

[angelluv16]

Finding our way back

Max Verstappen x reader

✩: Weeks after letting you walk away, Max finally faces what he’s been running from, and he’s not willing to lose you again.

Want to be added to my taglist?: Click here

pairing: max verstappen x reader

request: Yes!!

warnings: Fluff ending, Emotional conversations, and past conflict. breakup recovery

part 1

You hadn’t heard from him.

Not in a text. Not in a call. Not even in a passive-aggressive like on your story. Nothing.

You thought you’d be relieved after walking away, after choosing yourself for once, but instead, you felt like you were floating in some strange limbo, somewhere between heartbreak and healing. The days blurred. Your apartment was too quiet. And your heart… your heart still beat like it was waiting for his.

It had been three weeks.

You thought maybe Max was done. Maybe he’d let you go that easily because it really didn’t matter that much anymore. That all the time, all the nights you’d stayed up waiting for him to come home, all the soft I love you's whispered into his collarbone, none of it was enough to make him fight for you.

But what you didn’t know was that Max hadn’t slept right in two weeks either.

He’d wake up and reach for your side of the bed, forgetting you weren’t there. He’d go to tell you something about his day, a dumb moment from the garage, a text Lando had sent that made him laugh, but you weren’t there. He’d scroll through old photos at night, fingers lingering too long on the ones where you were looking at him, not the camera.

He had let you walk away.

And that silence? It was loud. Louder than your voice ever was when you begged him to let you in.

It was after the third night in a row of sitting in the dark with your photo pulled up on his phone that Max realized he hadn’t just lost someone he loved. He’d lost the one person who saw him, even when he was too stubborn to let it show. And worse, he hadn’t even tried to stop it.

So he did what he should’ve done weeks ago.

It was a Saturday morning when he showed up.

You heard the knock at your door, three soft taps. You almost didn’t open it. You thought maybe it was your neighbor again, asking about your WiFi or whatever. But something in your chest tightened, like it knew. Like it had been waiting for this moment the whole time.

You opened the door.

And there he was.

Max, standing there in a hoodie you’d stolen more times than he could count, hands in his pockets, eyes tired, lips parted like he’d rehearsed something but forgot every word the second he saw you.

You blinked. “Max…”

“Hi.” His voice cracked, like it hadn’t been used in days. “Can I come in?”

You stared at him for a second longer, then stepped aside silently. The second he crossed the threshold, the air shifted—thicker, heavier, but not angry. Just quiet. Cautious.

Like you were both walking on old wounds.

Max stood there for a beat, looking around your living room like it had changed. Like it wasn’t his second home for so long. “You moved the couch.”

You let out a breathy laugh, sitting on the edge of said couch. “It’s been two weeks. I’ve been trying not to think about you every time I sit down.”

His eyes dropped. “I deserve that.”

You looked at him—really looked at him. He looked like hell. He probably thought the same about you. “Why are you here?”

Max sat down slowly, but not too close. His hands wrung together like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Because I owe you the conversation I should’ve had that night. And I—” he paused, swallowing thickly, “I owe you an apology.”

You crossed your arms, not cold, just guarded. “You said a lot of things, Max.”

“I know,” he said quickly, almost desperately. “And I didn’t mean them. I was angry, and scared, and—I don’t know—I thought I could push you away before you walked away yourself.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Why would you think I’d leave you?”

Max’s eyes finally met yours. “Because I’ve spent my whole life preparing for people to walk away. I thought… if I didn’t need anyone, then losing them wouldn’t hurt.”

He laughed, bitter and small. “But losing you hurt. Worse than anything.”

You were quiet for a long time, your chest tight and your heart beating so loud you swore he could hear it. “Why didn’t you say something before? All I wanted was for you to talk to me.”

“I know,” he whispered. “And I hated that I couldn’t. Not because I didn’t want to—but because I didn’t know how.”

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers shaking slightly. “I was always taught to stay focused. Stay locked in. And somewhere along the way, I started thinking that being vulnerable made me weak. That needing you, showing that I needed you, meant I wasn’t strong enough to handle everything on my own.”

He shook his head, eyes glassy now. “But God, I was so wrong.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and all you saw was the boy underneath, the one who loved deeply but had never learned how to say it out loud. The one who let silence do the talking until it was too late. The one who finally looked like he was ready to try.

“I’m not asking you to be perfect, Max,” you said quietly. “I never was. I just wanted to be let in. I just wanted to know you trusted me enough to carry it with you.”

He nodded slowly. “And I do. I always did. I was just too proud to admit it.”

A beat passed.

“Do you still love me?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Max didn’t even hesitate. “I never stopped.”

Something cracked inside you—something you’d been holding together with duct tape and denial.

“I love you,” he said again, clearer this time. “And I know I messed up. I know I let you walk away and didn’t fight for you when I should’ve. But I’m here now. I’m ready to be better. I want to fix this, if you’ll let me.”

You blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall. “I don’t want perfect, Max. I just want you.”

Max scooted closer then, slowly, like he was afraid he’d scare you off. “You have me,” he whispered. “All of me. If you still want it.”

You nodded, a small smile breaking through the storm. “I do.”

He reached out then, his fingers brushing against yours, and it was like breathing again for the first time in weeks. Like the silence had finally broken. Like maybe, just maybe, love really could survive the silence.

And when he pulled you into him—arms wrapping around you tight, nose buried in your shoulder—you knew something had shifted again. Not back to what it was.

But to something stronger.

Something rebuilt.

You found your way back.

Taglist: @anamiad00msday @Ale-522 @meadhbhcavanagh @fulla02 @fanficfanatic77 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @lottalove4evelyn @edgyficuselastica @nebarious @fanny2811 @greantii @norstappenvibes @mary-op81 @jiggly-puff-12 @ana-23-03 @nichmeddar @honethatty12 @camillyb @mynameisangeloflife @galaxygurlll @esw1012 @rere10

[sturniolohouse]

Warm - M.S.

a/n: hiiii, so this has been in the drafts for a while... finally decided to post it. enjoy !! :)

summary: for the first time as a couple, reader and matt attend wedding together, leading to deeper talks about their future... bf!matt

warnings ! : none just cute shit

word count: 1.7k

song: warm - ariana grande

cause im cool, on my own. but it's warmer in your arms

“We should get married here,” I think out loud, my voice getting lost in the crisp January breeze.

I lean over the railing, gazing at the skyline stretched across and reflected on the dark lake. The mountains in the distance stand tall and stark against the night. The stars shine so brightly in New England, each one just as breathtaking as the next.

New England always has a way of taking my breath away, no matter how many times I’ve been here.

The cold air fills my lungs, but the alcohol running through my system keeps me warm enough to ignore it.

From inside, you can still hear the muffled laughter and the distant bass of music spill out through the double paned glass doors, a reminder that we’ve stepped away from the party. But out here, it’s just us and the brisk winter night.

Matt chuckles softly under his breath behind me in response, the sound faint as another brutal gust of wind whips past my ears and through my hair. Goosebumps rise along my neck and exposed arms, but I stay wrapped up in my daydream.

“Alright, kid. Come on, it’s freezing out here,” Matt says, his voice lighthearted as he rubs his hands together vigorously. 

“Like a fall wedding… when all the leaves turn,” I murmur, still lost in thought.

I hear a deep sigh and some silence falls again, which brings me back to reality. 

I turn to Matt, finding him watching me intently; his head tilted slightly, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips, his eyes ever so glossy– most likely from the wind. 

His chin points towards me, before shaking his head. “You’re drunk.” he finally states, all while biting back a grin.

My jaw drops in mock offense, and his shoulders shake as he giggles at my reaction. His eyes squeeze shut and he looks away momentarily to hide his smile once more, but the crease on the corner of his mouth deepens.

“I’m not drunk, Matt. I’m serious,” I insist, crossing my arms and standing my ground.

I’m really not. My last drink was an hour ago, and I’ve only had two drinks the entire night– three if you’re counting the glass of champagne from the toast at dinner.

I can tell he’s only teasing me, so I let it go, allowing my eyes to wander down his lanky frame instead. 

The outdoor stone fire pit crackles beside him, illuminating his eyes and casting a warm glow along the right side of his face. His hair is tousled, a few strands sticking to his forehead from the sweat we worked up dancing, cheeks flushed from the cold air– evident by the way his breath clouds in front of his face. His hands are shoved deep in his pant pockets, his shoulders hunch against the chill as he shifts his weight to try to keep warm.

Butterflies swarm my belly and I feel myself warm up simply from taking in his appearance alone.

"Have I told you how hot you look in a suit?" I ask, my gaze dragging over him shamelessly– the silhouette of his shoulders, the broadness the jacket gives him. Down to his pants, where they hug his legs just right, making them look even longer.

I glance back at his face just as he smirks, shaking his head and looking away with a hint of bashfulness before recovering quickly.

He licks his lips, giving me a curt nod. "Yeah, I think you've mentioned it a few times tonight, sweetheart," he says.

The urge to be closer to him consumes me, like a magnet pulling me in, needing the familiar comfort of his touch.

He rocks back on his heels, his teeth chattering slightly as I slowly step toward him. When I reach him, my hands slip beneath his suit jacket, arms wrapping around his middle. I hum softly, breathing him in, soaking up the warmth radiating from his body before tilting my head up to meet his gaze, my heavy lids blinking slowly. 

A content smile tugs at my lips as I lean up, pressing a soft kiss to his chin, then his jaw. The scent of his aftershave lingers, sending another wave of goosebumps down my arms.

He looks down at me as I pull away, his hands still in his pockets, but his body instinctively leans in to mine. Molding into me. His eyes soften as they flit across my face and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. 

“I can’t believe there’s not more people out here, it’s stunning,” I motion to our surroundings and the scene behind me. 

“Maybe because it’s negative 18 degrees out here,” He raises his brows and I roll my eyes, pinching his side. 

He jumps, his body jolting against mine as he yelps but I still keep him close. I laugh maniacally and he barely hesitates before pulling a hand from his pocket, just enough to pinch me back on my ass.

“Ow! Okay, okay– truce,” I surrender, wincing but squirm no further from his warmth.

“Yeah, you know better than to pinch me, you little fuckin’ crab,” he says playfully through his teeth, failing to keep a straight face as I throw my head back laughing.

His lips twitch, betraying the smirk he’s fighting before he places a hand on the small of my back, keeping me steady.

“You’re such an idiot,” I say through giggles, wiping at my eyes—only to collapse against his chest in another fit of laughter.

“Alright, alright,” he grits out, half-amused, half-exasperated, shifting to keep us upright. “You’re gonna take me down with you,” he exaggerates. 

I lift my head, trying to compose myself, but before I can wipe at my face again, he beats me to it, brushing my tears away with his thumb. “You’re a mess, kid,” 

“You just make me happy,” I say without even thinking. It slips out effortlessly because with him, it’s so easy to speak my mind.

His eyes blink once, then twice, like the words catch him off guard. He looks away for a moment, his cheeks flushing a deeper pink. He meets my gaze again, something softer settling in his expression.

“You wanna tell me more about that wedding?” His tigterns his arms around my back. 

My breath gets caught in my throat and now, I’m the silent one. 

“What? You were the one rambling about this fall wedding– go on. I’m listening, tell me more.” He sweeps my hair out of my face with his hands, cradling my head in his hands. 

His attention was all on me. 

“Well, it’d be a small ceremony," I start, my voice soft but certain. "Just the people who matter the most."

“Loving what I’m hearing so far, go on,” he hums encouragingly.

His thumbs absentmindedly brushing against my jaw.

"I want it to be here– well, not here-here. But New England," I clarify, watching for his reaction. "I know how much this place means to you. It would make me really happy to have it here."

His eyes flicker between mine as something soft settles in his expression, like he’s letting himself picture it.

"Early fall would be a good time of year," I continue, my voice turning a little dreamy. "Not too hot, not too cold."

“Best season, so again, I’m loving what I’m hearing.” 

I let out a small breath of laughter, shaking my head. "You act like I’m pitching you a business proposal."

His smirk grows, a teasing glint in his eye. "Hey, it’s a big decision. Gotta make sure I’m on board with it all."

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the way my stomach flips when his hands move back down, locking behind my back. He tugs me just a little closer, closing the space between us, and leans in– his face inches from mine.

His voice drops, softer now, low enough that it feels like a secret meant just for me.

"Okay, okay. But, you know in my head, you’re already my wife. A party to celebrate that would just be the cherry on top." He murmurs into the side of my face. 

I’m not sure why, but my breath catches and my heart skips a beat. My fingers instinctively tighten around the lapels of his suit jacket as I pull back to look between his eyes, his gaze unwavering.

We joke about it all the time, how we act like an old married couple, we’ve lied to servers about celebrating our first year wedding anniversary just for free dessert.

But, I think it was the way he said it so casually, so sure.  

Another flood of warmth runs through me when I see how serious he’s being. 

"Matt," I murmured speechless, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He smirks, tilting his head slightly. "What? Don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true. You’re it for me, kid."

I don’t even hesitate to throw my arms around his shoulders, hiding my face into the crook of his neck. His hands find my hips, holding me gently as he rocks us side to side. Our heartbeats moving in sync– recognizing one another, like they’ve known each other in every lifetime.

I hear the door sliding open before the music from inside floods into the air and pulls us out of our moment. 

“Alright, lovebirds, get back inside. They’re serving the cake now—holy fuck, it’s cold,” Nick calls out, hugging his arms around himself dramatically.

Matt groans, his forehead tipping against mine. “There goes the peace.” 

I giggle uncontrollably, catching Nick’s eye over Matt’s shoulder. Matt doesn’t even acknowledge him, just buries his face into my neck, still wrapped around me like I’m his human shield. 

“We’ll be right there, Nick,” I say, rubbing Matt’s back absentmindedly.

Nick shakes his head in disbelief. “You two are nuts. I think I actually just caught pneumonia from being out here for thirty seconds.”

He bolts back inside, muttering under his breath, and I can’t help but laugh as the door slides shut behind him.

Matt lifts his head and breathes in deep, eyes closed like he’s mentally preparing to reenter the chaos.

I squeeze his hand gently, watching the way his shoulders rise and fall with that slow, dramatic exhale.

“Ready?” I ask, my voice soft but teasing.

He cracks one eye open at me. “No. But… cake awaits.”

I grin. “Cake does await.” I lean up and peck the corner of his mouth, already reaching for his hand to pull him toward the door.

But before I can take a step, he pulls me right back against him.

His hands cup my face, and he kisses me, slow and tender. The kind of kiss that makes your head spin and your stomach flip. The kind that lingers, even after it’s over.

When he finally pulls back, breathing against me, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“Okay. Now, I’m ready.”

[cherrygirlfriend]

idk what u are planning but could u write something about fragilefawn!reader remembering rafe? like she just knows him while he tries to understand her? pretty pls 🫨 and tyyy

can you tell me your name?

rafe goes to visit fragile fawn’s house and properly meets her for the first time.

thank you for the request!! i’m loving my fawn girl <3

rafe knew that it was stupid to worry about some girl he didn’t even know the name of; but after driving through the road you’d taken every day for that one week at the exact same time and not seeing you anywhere, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t considered to just drive by the house he’d followed you to that one night.

rafe had considered it to the point where he didn’t even register the moment he got into his car, or starting to drive, or even going down the road. he only realized it when he arrived right outside the house, when he saw a familiar figure standing at the front porch, sweeping leaves away. even though the house was hidden by surrounding trees, far and isolated from all the other people on the island, it was large, and based on the flowers planted around it, well taken care of.

rafe got out of the car, his loafers crunching on the gravel as he walked towards the entrance to the building, while you didn’t even seem to notice him, your head ducked low as you continued cleaning. as he got closer, he noticed just how different you looked when you weren’t in the long nightgown matted with dirt. right now, you had on a short-sleeved white ruffle-collared button-up, as well as a pair of dark brown shorts, your feet once again bare. as he got closer, he could see your lips moving and hear mumbled words, just unable to make them out, but even as he stood right in front of your house, it was as if he was a ghost.

the boy cleared his throat, and you looked up from the floor with furrowed brows, “yes?” you asked softly, “is there something i can help you with?”

“it’s me.” rafe said, but when your brows remained furrowed, he scratched the back of his head, “the shoe guy?”

“oh. oh! yes, that. your shoes were very comfortable.” you smiled warmly, “would you like them back? they’re right inside.” you leaned the broom against the wall. “no, ‘s not it.” rafe cleared his throat, “just wondered how come you weren’t doing it anymore. y’know, walking and shit.”

“oh.” you chuckled softly, clapping all the dirt off your hands as you sat down on the highest step, while the boy looked to the step right next to you, narrowing his eyes as he thought about whether or not you’d want him to join you. in the end, he ended up doing it, his longer legs reaching the lowest step. “it’s a thing i do.” you shrugged, “a full moon walk. for the three days before the full moon, i do a night walk, as well as on the full moon, and three days afterwards. i feel like it helps me connect with myself, and the world.”

rafe raised his brows and snorted, “you’re fuckin’ with me, right?” but your face remained passive, “you’re… serious?”

“don’t worry, i didn’t think you’d understand.” you chuckled softly, looking down at your feet. “i’ve always felt connected to nature in a way most people don’t. the world… speaks to me, in a way it doesn’t speak to others.”

“you sound insane.” rafe said bluntly, but you simply let out a chuckle, making the boy furrow his brows, “you not offended?”

“no.” you shrug your shoulders and look up at the sky, “when i tell most people about what my thoughts are like, what my brain is like, they just start avoiding me like the plague or say those things about me, just behind my back.” you look at him with a genuine smile, your eyes crinkling from the way you smiled, “honesty is refreshing. what’s your name?” you asked, telling him yours.

rafe narrowed his eyes and sized you up; what you were saying sounded like pretentious hippie shit to him, but the kindness in your eyes, the way the sunlight reflected in them, showing every last detail in them, just… made him trust you. “i’m rafe.”

“that’s funny.” you chuckled under your breath, making rafe furrow his brows. but just as he was about to ask what you meant by that, he could hear someone call out your name from inside the house. “duty calls.” you got onto your feet. rafe watched as you walked to the door and pulled it open before turning around to face him one more time. “it was nice to see you again, rafe. you should come see me again sometime.”

and then you disappeared like you were never there.

thank you for reading! send a request & check out my masterlist <3

taglist + some moots <3: @rcsbabydoll @inbred-eater @littlelamy @dollyfiles @nemesyaaa @filthyrafe @drewsephrry @houseofblve @jjslaybank @soldiersgirl

[sulkenswan]

♱ casual, part i

ellie fucking williams, the girl you've been in love with for years, she who only sees you as casual. no strings attached. but you're tired of pretending it's casual, and she's tired of the feelings.

cw: 2.4k words, inspired by chappell roans single 'casual' slight angst, smut! mdni, 18+, eating out no diner, fingering, semi-public sex? ellie's kinda a dick but she's needy so it's okay

note: hiiii it's me @taintedpearls but on a new account... thought you might've missed this fic so here it is slightly more edited hope you enjoy it more than before && part ii out soon x

"you're such a loser!" your friend chuckles from beside you at the bar.

you had been staring at ellie, you knew that. she knew that. but she was simply just so... so pretty.

"pfft, no i'm not," you laugh it off, taking a sip from your far too strong drink. eyes lingering on the auburn haired girl a second longer before you hesitantly turn your head back to your friend, failing to notice ellie's eyes immediately looking back at you.

"you still hang around and talk to her? you should know better by now then to get involved with her. i've heard the rumors, you know. she only sees you as some girl to fuck on her couch"

"i'll be fine," you jump in with defense. "it's not like it's serious. it's casual. let me have my fun!" you play slap her, the alcohol in your system starting to take its effect.

"okay, okay," she laughs along with you, taking a sip from your own drink. "i won't get in your way. just.. be careful. you never know with girls like ellie williams."

"wowww, her government name-?"

"mind if i steal her for a second?" you could recognise that voice from a thousand miles away. turning your head ever so slightly, meeting eyes with her, before quickly looking away and giving apologetic eyes to your friend.

"of course," she glances to ellie before looking back to you "i'll see you at home, okay?" she smiles at you, ellie is quick to grab you by the waist and hurriedly push you towards the exit down the stairs.

"ellie? why're you being so pushy? you didn't even thank my friend-!" you begin to protest when she suddenly pushes you up against the stair wall, roughly placing her slightly chapped lips on yours.

you moan into the kiss, allowing your purse to fall by your side as you subconsciously put both your hands into her hair half up half down you thought, she's wanted to do this all night.

"i couldn't stand to see you in that fucking dress any longer without my hands on you," ellie moves down from your lips to your ears, to trailing down your neck. sucking on that one sweet spot, you know there's going to be a purple mark there later. "and you were laughing with her as if she was the funniest person alive." she has one hand around your head, another slowly trailing along the outline of your hips.

"ellie..." you sigh happily, your nails slightly scratching and pulling at her hair. "we... we're just friends." that sentence made you mad. you didnt want to be friends. friends dont do shit like this. friends dont fuck on the regular. friends dont get jealous. at that sentence, she roughly pulls away from your neck, removing her hands from your body, forcing your own hands to be pulled out of her hair. you whine at the loss of contact, chasing her lips.

she's quick to move away, dodging the kiss. "ellie c'mon, please dont be like that," you throw your head back against the stairwell, locking eyes with her.

"baby, no attachment." she reminds you.

"i know."

she looked... needy. she looked desperate. desperate for you.

"ellie?" you question for what felt like the millionth time that night.

"my car. now. please."

and thats where you were. in a more secluded parking spot, knee deep in the passenger seat, dress pulled up and panties pulled down with ellie's tongue working around your pussy as if she was starving. her fingers pushing in and out of your cunt at such a fast pace and it felt so fucking good.

you were a moaning mess. squeezing your eyes tightly shut with your head placed firmly against the headrest. when you began to feel your orgasm approaching, ellie knew it too. from the way your walls were squeezing her two fingers tightly and slowly adding a third one. "look at me baby, or i wont let you cum."

immediately you open your eyes, letting out a few panicked "no"'s, worried that your orgasm would be ripped away from you.

"ellie..." you whimper "please, please can i cum?" you practically beg, falling apart on her fingers bit by bit. your wetness dripping down your own legs.

"how could i say no to a girl as pretty as you?" she briefly lifts her head up before diving back down, working at a much faster pace and showing more attention to your swollen bud, and its not long before you let her overtake your entire being as your orgasm rippled through you. pathetic "thank you's" spilling from your mouth at lightning speed, the girl below you helping you work through your orgasm. detaching her mouth from your puffy clit and reaching up to attach her pink lips to your own. to get you to shut up, of course. her tongue lapping up your liquids.

when you begin to calm down, she slowly starts speeding up her fingers again.

"think you got one more for me?"

it's just casual you remind yourself, looking down at her with your fluids dripping down her chin. casual.

11:02 pm ellie

hey

my dad was asking about u

he was wondering if u wanted to come over for dinner tmrw night

11:36 you

hi ellie!

sure i would love that, what time should i be there?

11:37 ellie

around 6

dont dress too fancy

his name is joel and he's chill, you dont have to bring anything

oh and here's the address ***********

11:40 you

okay! i'll see you there :)

11:40 ellie

see you

"hi mr. miller!" you cheerfully introduce yourself. you wanted to make a good impression on ellies father, taking off your coat and stepping into the house. not forgetting to hand him the surprisingly nice bottle of whisky you had purchased him on your way.

"hey kid! it's nice to finally put a face to the name after hearin' ellie talk my ear off about you." he hugs you quickly before thanking you for the bottle. the southern accent was the first thing you took into account the second he opened his mouth, the second was the words he actually said.

ellie talks about me to her dad? and we're casual?

"joel!" you hear ellie complain from behind the man, he moves out of the doors way, giving you a perfect view of ellie and ellie a perfect view of you.

you had taken her advice, opting to wear some simple low rise baggy jeans and a white shirt that had bows on the sleeves.

"hi baby," she makes her way towards you, abandoning her previous task of setting the table. giving you a kiss on the cheek before grabbing the small bunch of flowers you had also brought for dinner and grabbing your waist. gently leading you over to the table.

your cheeks heat up at this action. casual. its just casual, shes trying to be respectful. respectful around joel.

"how've you been kid? ellie tells me your volunteerin' at a local dog shelter eh?" he makes his way to the old wooden table. ellie nudges you towards him, insinuating you too are able to sit down while she finishes prepping dinner.

"um yeah i have been! honestly its been incredible even if a little hard..." ellie tunes out of whatever your talking about, simply staring at you as you had been to her at the bar only two nights prior.

you were so pretty. too pretty.

and she could already feel herself beginning to drip, she was so fucked tonight.

"foods ready!" ellie announces, pushing the feeling deep down. you stand up and make your way over to her to help bring the array of dishes to the table.

ellie uses this opportunity to whisper in your ear a simple, but desperate,

"i need you."

and you couldnt even think about focusing the rest of dinner.

your entire body was on high alert, ellies hand placed firmly on your thigh and her gaze unwavering whenever joel was asking you a question.

it felt like she was mentally undressing you, imagining all the things she would do to you when dinner was over.

but you werent having it.

it was supposed to be a nice dinner, one night where you two dont fuck and you're able to respectfully meet her adoptive father. but as always, ellie couldnt fathom to see you fully clothed for more than five minutes.

plates were empty and the conversation was starting to die down, this is when the auburn haired girl took the opportunity to stand up from her seat and start collecting plates, you (respectfully) following in suit.

"dinner was lovely mr miller and ellie, thank you so much." you compliment, trying your hardest to be slow and force ellie to wait even longer for your touch.

"of course, you're so kind. oh and please call me joel. it's so nice to see ellie's got herself such a... respectable partner."

you let out a small laugh at his comment, thanking him and starting to wash the dishes.

"oh no no no please let me, you've already done plenty." joel inturrupts, grabbing the sponge and dish from your hands

"oh no its okay really i dont mind-"

"no point in arguing with the old man, he's stubborn as fuck." ellie's voices creeps up from behind you while she loops her arms around your shoulders and rests her head on the top of your own.

"ellie, language!" joel scolds while laughing, making it clear he clearly curses more than he does -- especially based on the conversations the two of you had at the table.

"sure, joel" she huffs, discreetly trying to push you towards her room.

"thank you again joel! hopefully i'll see you before i leave!" ellie lets go of your shoulders and instead, grabs your hand, turning you around and making a run for her room.

"'course kiddo! see you later" the old man chuckles, leaving you and ellie to your own activities.

the minute the door to her bedroom was shut, your lips were already on hers. roughly pushing her up against the sticker filled wood. you remove your lips from her mouth and start kissing down her neck, simultaneously unbuttoning her jeans.

"hey," she says, almost like she's scared you'll stop "what're you tryna do?"

"did you think you were funny when you kept teasing me all dinner?" you ask mockingly, ellie stays silent. she's too lost in the mere thought of you to acknowledge her precious actions.

when she doesn't answer, you pull your hand out of her jeans. she opens her eyes at lightning speed.

"what the fuc-?!" her words are cut short when you drop to your knees, pulling her jeans about midway to her knees. you can see her slick seeping through her boxers.

"all for me ellie?" you giggle slightly, pulling down her boxers as well and allowing the cool air to hit her aching cunt.

"oh shut up... fuck" she moans as you started kitten licking her pussy, you did that for a couple seconds, basking in the moment before she grabbed your head, pushing you in further, indicating she wanted needed more.

so, you did exactly that. going rougher, harder. diving your tongue in and out of her pussy faster and faster. you could barley breathe as she had her hands on the top of your head, pushing you further into her. you copy exactly what she does with you, swirling your tongue around her clit before inserting it back into her clenching hole.

she was on the verge of coming, if her lewd moans and harsh grip on your head weren't sign enough, she started to curl her toes and you could feel her knees on the edge of bucking. she was so close.

"cmon baby you can come" you let her know, removing your mouth from her clit for a second before going straight back in.

tears are leaking from the corner of her eyes while she screams, you cover her mouth quickly, removing a hand from her thigh and shushing her. what are now muffled screams ring throughout your ears while you help her ride out her high.

casual. you just made this girl cum, don't forget your casual. don't fucking forget you're-!

"thanks for that," ellie says, looking down at you while you stand back up again, using the back of your hand to wipe her off your chin.

"um... yeah no worries?" you hesitantly reply.

"you can go now," she's buttoning up her jeans, and you look at her in shock. is she serious right now?

"are you serious?" you voice your thoughts.

"yeah? why wouldn't i be?" ellie's looking back up at you, as if she's done nothing wrong.

you scoff, wiping the rest of ellies fluids off your face and pushing her away from the door, she blocks it before you can leave. please, just let me go.

"hey hey hey what the hell is wrong with you?"

"you want me to leave? well i'm leaving." you bite back

"yeah but like- why're you actin' like your pissed at me?"

"ellie i-" you stop yourself as you can hear your voice raising, you want to be civil. and you know your voice will crack sooner or later. "ellie, i don't know if i want things to be causal anymore."

silence.

"wha-" she stammers "what? that's what we agreed on!"

you start to tear up, "i've heard the rumours, you know. you tell everyone how i come everytime you simply touch me, how im just another girl on your roster you bang on your couch," you point to the grey sofa just a few meters away.

ellie scoffs, running a sweaty hand through her hair in disbelief. how the fuck did you know?

"listen-"

"no. no ellie i can't. i just can't, you invite me over to meet your dad just to get a quick fuck? are you serious?"

ellie's silent again, this time she doesn't know what to say. because she knows the truth, and she knows how fucked up it was of her to do.

her silence, however, is everything to you.

fuck this casual shit.

with tears silently streaming down your face, you make a move towards the door. ellie moves away, and it solidifies your broken heart.

a hand on her doorknob, you say your final words to her "my favorite bra is still in your dresser, by the way. please give back when you can." your voice shakes, as are your hands, and with that you open the door and leave.

and as soon as you do, both you and ellie are broken messes on either sides.

[tobiosbbyghorl]

the man who waited | psh

pairing: sunghoon x reader

genre: angst, comfort,slow burn, and fluff

Summary:You met Sunghoon during your healing stage—a time when love felt too fragile to hold. He was kind, patient, and everything you thought you needed, but no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t give him what he deserved. Years later, fate brings him back… and this time, you're ready.

You met Park Sunghoon when love was something you no longer believed in. Not in the way you used to—bright and promising and all-consuming. After everything, love had become something small and quiet. Something you kept hidden like a scar.

He didn’t try to fix you. That’s what made him different. He never once said you needed to heal faster, or that your sadness was inconvenient. Instead, he held space for you—wide and warm and safe.

You met at a book café your friend dragged you to. He was there with a soft smile, helping the elderly barista with the espresso machine, flour dusted on his sleeves like he’d just come from baking something himself. He had that kind of aura—gentle, like the first breeze after a storm.

You were in your healing stage. Or whatever people liked to call that liminal place between heartbreak and wholeness. And he… he was the kind of person who made you feel like being whole wasn’t necessary to be loved.

You talked over cups of tea. Walks through the park. Quiet dinners where he’d ask about your day and actually wait for the real answer. He made it easy to laugh again. To smile without forcing it. But even as warmth bloomed in your chest, you felt the edges of your heart still frayed. Still stitched together by trembling hands.

And you knew.

You knew it wasn’t fair to let him fall when you were still learning how to stand.

⸻

“I really like you,” he said one night, voice soft under the stars. “But I’m not asking for anything. Just… wanted you to know.”

Your throat tightened. Because deep down, you liked him too. Maybe even more than that. But love, real love, terrified you.

You turned to him and tried to say what your heart was screaming.

“I wish I met you later,” you whispered. “When I was more whole. When I could love you the way you deserve.”

He smiled, just a little. The kind of smile people wear when they’re hurt but understand.

“I didn’t come into your life to be owed something,” he said. “I came in hoping maybe I could be part of your peace.”

And for a while, he was.

But there was always a part of you that stayed behind a locked door. A part too afraid to let someone in again, even if they knocked gently, even if they waited.

You tried. God, you tried.

You’d text him first. You’d invite him over. You’d cook his favorite meals. But it still felt like you were holding his love with trembling hands, afraid to drop it. Afraid to break it. Afraid you were the one breaking.

⸻

The last time you saw him, it was raining.

He stood by your front gate, umbrella in hand, eyes searching yours like maybe they could still find a way in.

“I know you care,” he said, voice steady despite the ache behind it. “But you keep giving me half of you. And I want to be understanding, I do. But I also know I deserve to be loved fully.”

Your lips parted, but the words didn’t come. You wanted to say, I’m scared. I don’t know how. I’m trying, please believe me.

But you only nodded. Because he was right. And because the hardest thing about healing was realizing that sometimes, love wasn’t enough—not if you couldn’t let it in.

“Sunghoon,” you said, voice cracking. “Be the man I couldn’t pursue. The man I couldn’t love the way you deserve. Not because I didn’t want to… but because I couldn’t yet.”

He looked at you for a long time. Then, with a soft exhale, he reached out and tucked a strand of wet hair behind your ear.

“You will one day,” he murmured. “And when you do, I hope someone gives you the kind of love you kept trying to give me in pieces.”

Then he walked away.

⸻

You never stopped thinking about him. About the way he loved you without pressure. About the way he never made your healing feel like a burden.

And sometimes you wonder—if you met him now, years later, would things be different.

But some people enter your life not to stay, but to remind you what love should feel like. Gentle. Safe. Given without begging.

He was the love you needed at your lowest. The peace in the middle of a war you were fighting inside.

And maybe he wasn’t meant to be your future—but he was the reason you finally started believing you had one.

———————————————————————————

Three years later, you saw him again.

It was in the most unexpected place—an art exhibit downtown, one you almost skipped because of a last-minute meeting. You were walking past a piece that looked eerily like a memory—painted with the same kind of softness he used to show you.

And when you turned the corner, there he was.

Park Sunghoon.

Still with that familiar gentleness in his eyes. Still with the kind of presence that made the world go quiet for a moment.

He looked up just as you saw him, and for a second, everything stilled. Time. Breath. All of it.

“Y/N,” he said, a little breathless. Like saying your name brought something back.

You hadn’t prepared for this—for the way your heart would ache and flutter at once.

“Hi,” you whispered.

It wasn’t dramatic. There were no tears, no running into each other’s arms. Just a silence that held everything you hadn’t said back then. A silence that, for the first time, didn’t feel heavy. Just… full.

He motioned toward the piece on the wall. “I like this one.”

You stepped closer. “Me too. It reminds me of the quiet after the rain.”

He smiled softly. “Still poetic, I see.”

You smiled back. “Still kind.”

He glanced down, nervous for the first time since you met him again. “Do you want to grab a coffee? Catch up?”

Your heart skipped. Not from panic this time. But from hope.

“I’d love to.”

⸻

The café down the street hadn’t changed. You laughed softly when you realized it was the same one from your very first meeting. Same mismatched chairs. Same cinnamon scent in the air.

“So,” he said, wrapping his hands around the mug. “How have you been?”

You paused. Thought carefully.

“I’ve been better,” you said truthfully. “Stronger. I went to therapy. Learned how to stop apologizing for taking up space.”

He looked at you like you’d hung the stars.

“I’m proud of you,” he said quietly.

You sipped your tea and smiled at your cup. “I thought about you a lot. About what we could’ve been if I wasn’t so… scared.”

Sunghoon nodded slowly. “I used to wonder the same thing. But I stopped holding it against you. I knew you weren’t ready, and I didn’t want to become another weight you had to carry.”

Your throat tightened at how gentle he still was.

“You were the first person who made me feel safe,” you said. “The first love I didn’t have to earn.”

He met your eyes, voice steady. “And you were the first person I wanted to wait for.”

Your eyes welled unexpectedly. Not from pain this time—but from relief.

“I’m not broken anymore, Sunghoon,” you whispered. “I’m not perfect, but I can love now. Fully. Bravely.”

He smiled then, slow and soft, like a sunrise.

“I never needed perfect,” he said. “Just someone who would let me in.”

You reached across the table, hand trembling slightly as you placed it over his.

He turned his palm to hold yours.

⸻

You didn’t rush it this time.

You spent the next few months learning each other again—only this time, it wasn’t during your healing. It was during your becoming.

You learned that Sunghoon had taken a break from dating after you. That he traveled. Took cooking classes. Helped his sister raise her kid and started painting again.

And he learned that you started journaling again. That you ran your own small business now. That you learned how to sit with your feelings instead of running from them.

And slowly, piece by piece, you gave him what he deserved.

This time, not in fragments.

But in full.

⸻

One quiet evening, you sat beside him on the floor of his apartment, backs against the couch, fingers intertwined.

The movie played softly in the background, but neither of you were really watching.

“You remember what I said last time?” you asked quietly. “That I wished you’d be the man I couldn’t pursue?”

He looked at you, nodding gently.

“I think I was wrong,” you said. “You weren’t the man I couldn’t pursue. You were the man who waited patiently until I could.”

He leaned in, kissed your forehead with a kind of reverence that only comes from waiting.

“I’d do it all again,” he whispered. “If it still led me here.”

⸻

And maybe some love stories don’t begin at the first meeting.

Maybe they begin when the heart is finally ready to receive the kind of love that never needed fixing—just timing.

Epilogue — “The kind of love that stays.”

The sun filtered through the sheer curtains, warm and golden. You were curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies, reading. Sunghoon sat beside you, sketchbook in hand.

“I like this,” you murmured. “Us. Slow mornings. No pressure. Just… being.”

He smiled. “Me too.”

“Do you still think about who we were back then?”

“Sometimes. Not with regret. Just gratitude.”

“You were the first person who made me feel safe.”

“You were the first person I wanted to wait for.”

You reached for his hand. He laced your fingers together.

No grand confessions. Just lived-in love.

In shared breakfasts. In quiet Sundays. In the way he kissed your forehead every night.

You weren’t healing anymore.

You were living.

And Sunghoon?

He was still the man who waited.

But now—he was the man who stayed.

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @kkamismom12 @pocketzlocket @semi-wife

[at4-raxia]

I've been eating up Mark Grayson X reader Fanfictions like a machine: series, one shots, headcanons and so on. But like, a lot of the readers in those are human and I can't help but think about the fact that the both of them, no matter what ending, they are doomed.

I mean, Mark is half alien and that gives him a really long life span. Compared to his, ours is the one of a thraxan.

Imagine the grief, the mourning, the sorrow that doesn't just appear when you die, it comes in your lives way before.

Sometimes you can't easily fall asleep in Mark's arms, you lay awake and look deeply at his face. Something builds up in your chest and your eyebrows furrow. He hasn't changed over the years, but you have: grey hair and wrinkles greet you in the morning as you stand by the mirror, while Mark's face is youthful and his hair is black and luscious.

You don't know if you should be angry at your humanity or at his alien heritage that will keep him alive in this world far longer.

In the deep of the night you wish he hadn't fallen in love with you, because it was selfish. You know Mark, you know how much he loves you, how much he will grieve.

Yet it's too late to go back, too late to not accept his shy invite on a date as the both of you are freshly out of highschool, when life was easier.

It's selfish to hope that he will love you even centuries from now on, so while deep down you want him to love you forever, you wish he will move on and find someone else that can keep him just as happy.

Mark tries to ignore the signs, you can call it denial I guess. At first he hadn't thought about this, he didn't really notice the grey hair, he saw some wrinkles here and there but nothing that made the alarms in his head ring. What really made him aware of your ageing was the frailness that came with it, the way you stopped going outside with him in fear of being judged due to the big age gap in appearance.

I think that Mark will mourn and if he moves on it's up to you, even though I don't think he would, especially if you have children (even worse if the kid looks a lot like you, even if the viltrumite genes are strong as hell).

Like imagine he remarries after your death and yet everything just reminds him of you, bonus points if your children don't like his new wife, lol.

[lowkeyerror]

My Wife, My Everything

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Notes: Requested, established relationship, Rio in the coven, fluff, wedding

Summary: It's been over 300 years it might be time to put a ring on it.

An: 🫣 hey... how yall doing? It's nearly 3 months since my last post, it's also 3am. The inspiration came and died and then i got scared to go the app 🫣 idk if I'm back, but hey

Masterlist | Masterlist 2

It just made sense. That’s what you told yourself when you decided to propose to Agatha. She hadn’t hinted at wanting to get married or pressured you into it, but it had been years. Hundreds of years, that you had been committed to each other. You’d been married over and over if common law had anything to say about it.

You were in the backyard of your house late on night. Simply going down memory lane with each other. Sharing stories and laughter easily. Agatha was looking out at the sky while you were looking at her. The ring box flat in your pocket.

“We should get married,” you had said casually.

“Is this you asking me?” Agatha had an amused tone in her voice.

“Give me second.”

It’s not graceful as you get out of your chair. Her eyes follow you as you get down on one knee. Your hand finds one of hers.

“Are you-?”

She watches carefully as you pull out the ring box from your pocket. It opens, and inside is one of the most beautiful gems Agatha has laid her eyes on. The central diamond sparkles something fierce while the band also gleams.

“I think it’s fair to say that I’ve already made the decision to spend the rest of my life with you. It’s nearly been 3 centuries that we’ve been together.  Which perhaps makes this very long overdue, but neither of us are too keen on good timing. I don’t want to ramble too much. I did have all these things I wanted to say and express, but I think in the simplest terms, it’s just that I’d love to marry you.”

Agatha had tears welling in her eyes, she wiped them away dramatically, “I mean you could ramble a little.”

You roll your eyes but begin speaking nonetheless, “We never really talked about marriage so it never really crossed my mind. Recently though, I’ve been wondering, why not? Why not add, my wife into the vocabulary of all the other things I call you? It’s a new age, it’s perfectly legal. I decided a long time that I wanted forever with you and I'd like to think you want forever with me. This ring is just me doubling down on something I already believe in, us.”

She takes your face in her hands, “You’re taking my last name.”

You surge forward, lips pressing against her’s. Her soft palms feel warm against your face. You melt like it’s the first time you kissed her.

You pull away first a giggle escapes your lips, “I figured that much.”

She pecks your lips once more, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Wedding planning wasn’t something you and Agatha were necessarily good at. However, your coven was more than capable of handling the special day. It wasn’t going to be anything extravagant, just a backyard affair with your closest friends.

Rio handled the flowers, Jen and Billy worked on the set up, Alice was preparing the music, and Lilia would be officiating.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you look at yourself in your wedding attire.

The classic white color with accents of purple had you smiling.

“About time any longer and I would’ve stolen her back from you,” Rio approaches you from behind.

“Very funny Vidal,” you say dryly.

She turns you to her straightening out your clothes a bit, and fixing a loose strand of your hair. She smiles at you brightly, “There, now you look a little more ready to marry the love of your life.”

“Thank you, Rio. For all your help,” you get sappy with her.

In classic fashion she rolls her eyes, “Don’t go all soft on me. I just want to see my girls happy. Now get out there and make it official after 300 years.”

You go out first, standing to the right of Lilia as your other friends looked on. You couldn't stop the smile on your face waiting for Agatha to walk down the aisle.

Alice begins playing the classic wedding song. Your posture straightens a bit. When you see Agatha in her dress for the first time it knocks the air out of your lungs.

You don’t fight the tears that spill from your eyes. How could you? She was stunning possibly even more than the day you met her.

When she’s directly in front of you, you reach for her hands and she takes yours.

Lilia properly starts the ceremony and when she gets to the vows you’re prepared, but Agatha wants to go first.

“I never thought that someone like me could be afforded a happy ending. The life I lived is far from innocent and pure. It had been an uphill battle for as long as I could remember. Then you came into my life and did something that I didn’t think was possible. You loved me. Despite all of my… flaws, despite my reputation, despite my stubbornness, you loved me. There’s not a second that goes by that I don’t feel your loved wrapped around me. Something like a warm hug shielding me from a snowstorm. It doesn’t seem like enough, but from you it is. I vow to be that for you until my last breath because for over 300 years you’ve been saving me from freezing me to death."

It takes everything in you to keep from sobbing during her voes, your speech forgotten in your brain. You look into her eyes when it’s your turn, speaking from your heart.

“When I proposed I said I didn’t want to ramble, because if I started, I’d never stop. There’s nothing that I don’t love about you Agatha. I love when you scowl at the kids at the mall, I love when you use magic for mundane things like turning the lights on, I love when you hum to yourself while you work, I love when you yell at me for not wearing my glasses. You say that I’ve been saving you, but love, you’ve been saving my ass since the day we met. You quite literally saved me from those hunters, you took me in when you didn’t have to. When everyone was saying it was against your character. Maybe I saved your from freezing, but you’ve saved me from burning myself into the ground. I don’t have anything new to promise you after over 300 years. All I have is the same thing you’ve had since the beginning; my everything.”

There’s not a dry eye in the audience as you two stand across from each other. Tear streaks running down your faces. Even Lilia has to wipe her eyes.

“If anyone has a reason that these two shouldn’t be married, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Rio slowly pretends to raise her hand before Jen smacks her in the back of the head. It earns a chuckle from the audience, everyone knowing it was a joke. It was needed after such intense vows.

 “Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you wife and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

Neither of you hesitated. Though you had an audience there was no use in trying to hold back the passion. The vows had charged the moment. With rings on your fingers and tears on your face, you melted into each other.

Applause and boisterous cheers rang out when you parted. When you looked into her eyes it’s as if she was the only person there.

“I love you, my gorgeous, powerful, and brilliant wife,” you can’t help but smile while saying it.

Agatha lets out an endearing laugh, “I love you too. My wife, my everything.”

[heyimkana]

Blood Promise

AO3 Link

Pairing: Sub Vampire!Jinwoo X Dom Vampire!Reader

Genre: Vampire AU, smut, fluff

Summary: Sung Jinwoo is your devoted lover. Not wanting to part from him just yet, you turn him into a vampire before the heavens can take him away. Now, as you both enjoy the taste of each other's blood, he asks you to deepen your bond with him.

Content Warnings: blood sucking, penetrative sex, oral sex, swearing, mentions of murder and death

Word Count: 5K

This one is for my sweet moot Courtney @pa1nrema1ns for giving me the idea of newly-turned!vampire Jinwoo wanting to suck reader's blood. I hope you'll like it, babe 🥺

Jinwoo holds you close against him as you sink yourself into the bathtub, your spine glued to his chest, the water around you warm and soothing on your skin. You’re nestled between his legs, your muscles unwinding, your shoulder kissed lovingly by your partner from behind.

“This feels nice,” you say, smiling contentedly to yourself, but Jinwoo doesn’t share that blissful feeling with you, not just yet.

“Master…” Despite no longer needing air to survive, the word is spoken breathily in his deep, sultry voice. His lips, coated with the never-ending affection he holds for you, are slow and sensual against your skin. You can feel his sudden need, his desire to consume. His tongue traces the juncture between your neck and shoulder, his throat parched. “Can I…?”

“Again?” You reciprocate with a chuckle. “Insatiable, aren’t you?” But you grant his wish like always, gathering your damp strands in one hand, exposing your neck for him to feast on. 

“No, not there.” His hand reaches down to your leg, the water rippling from his motions. “I want to do it right here,” he whispers, his voice quivering with need. “May I?”

You feel his hand gliding up further, his fingers dancing along your inner thigh. “All right.” You stand up from his lap, the water rising and falling around you. Jinwoo’s hooded gaze follows your every movement, watching with anticipation as you settle yourself down on the edge of the tub. With a luscious smile, you spread your legs for him, slowly, teasingly, revealing yourself like the sweetest secret. 

His eyes, cobalt blues beneath the shimmering golden glow of the candles, turn purple bright at the sight. They glow eerily in the dimly lit room, hungry and eager. He stares in silent wonderment for a moment, his fangs growing twice their size, nearly puncturing his own lip when he murmurs, “You’re fucking gorgeous, Master.”

You lean back, a smirk adorning your face. “What are you waiting for?”

He wastes not one second. Diving his head between your legs, Jinwoo parts your legs wider, his mouth ghosting over your core before he moves slightly to the side, where your flesh is the most supple. He attaches his mouth to your thigh, his teeth prickling against your skin, the sensation electrifying. And he sinks them inside. Deeply.

You let out a breathy chuckle as they pierce your skin, taking pleasure from the pain and finding amusement in the way he so zealously drinks from you. It’s almost as if he were a newborn vampire all over again, even when a year has passed since you turned him into one.

“Mmph…” Jinwoo moans, his lids shut close, his eyebrows furrowed as he loses himself in you. He drinks as passionately as he makes love, taking in the sweet coppery taste so hungrily as if he had been starved for weeks. 

Jinwoo craves blood the way an addict yearns for his drug, but still, no matter how thirsty he is, he refuses to drink from anyone else but you. A vampire's blood isn’t anywhere as sweet or gratifying as the one that streams in a human’s veins, and Jinwoo perfectly understand the difference. He’s sucked a fair maiden dry on the night he turned, but that was the only time he ever allowed himself to do it. It wasn’t because he felt remorseful for playing with an innocent's life, no. He would kill—he has killed—hundreds of humans before your eyes just to satisfy your bottomless desire. But when it comes to blood, he only wants yours. In the same way he only yearns for you, for your heart, your body, and your soul, for the rest of his life. And for an immortal like him, that means forever.

The young vampire moans against your skin, sucking your blood fervently, draining your strength and suffusing you with the sweet toxin that drips out from his fangs. “Easy, darling,” you weakly titter, your hand reaching down to caress his undercut, your fingers slipping through his strands, giving him a gentle tug to remind him that there was only so much he could take before he drains your life force with it.

Jinwoo detaches his teeth from you, just for a moment. He lifts his head to speak, his mouth drenched with your blood. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” he speaks drunkenly, pressing his lips to your inner thigh, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses all over your sensitive skin. He looks up at you through his long lashes, his eyes burning with desire, his body on fire. “You always taste so sweet… Mmm,” he digs his fangs into your skin once more, his tongue darting out to lap up every drop of blood that wells up, groaning wantonly at the taste. “I can’t get enough of you, Angel.”

“Angel?” You laugh quietly. “Believe me, love, I’m no angel.”

Of course, he knows that, too. No angel takes pleasure in slaughtering thousands of humans in the span of a hundred years, drinking their blood without any guilt, just a predator feasting upon her prey. But you are still, even with your teeth bared and your eyes glowing menacingly in the dark, the most divine creature his eyes have ever laid on. Your skin is so soft, your lips are just as sweet as your blood, and your face… God, your face. You’re a piece of heaven on earth.

“Yes, you are, Master.” Jinwoo takes another long, slow lick up your favorite spot, his hands moving to grab your thighs, spreading them wider, giving him more access to you. His eyes are locked on yours, his mouth lavishing your flesh with kisses and licks. “You’re the sweetest thing, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” 

You’re stronger than him due to your age, much stronger, but looking at you right now, all small and vulnerable in his arms, he can’t help but feel protective. Possessive. Obsessed. He wants to take care of you, to hold you, to love you and ruin you all the same.

You smile, tilting up his chin with your fingers, watching his eyes droop as he looks up at you, surrendering every part of himself to the person who owns his soul. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

And that is the understatement of the century. Sung Jinwoo is the most handsome thing you've ever seen, and you've been with so many men over the decades you've roamed the earth. Tall, strong, and muscular; he’s flawless from the tip of his strand down to his toe, the epitome of masculinity, the evidence that perfection does exist, but beyond all that, beneath his rugged exterior, there’s a form of tenderness that you can’t find anywhere else, love that thaws your icy heart and brings lights to the depths of your soul. There’s some sort of devotion that feels both thrilling and dangerous at the same time. It was the reason why, when he was on the brink of death, you succumbed to your selfish desire and changed him into your own kind, stripping him of his humanity just so you could keep him for eternity. 

But he never thought you were selfish. If anything, he wants you to be. To obsess over him the way he's obsessed with you.

Jinwoo leans in, his mouth hovering right over your heat. “Master… Can I taste you here, too?”

He knows he should wait for your approval, but his desperate need turns him bolder. He takes a long, slow lick of your core, his eyes dark and filled with lust when he looks up from between your legs, watching you the entire time.

“Naughty boy,” you smile coquettishly. “I haven’t granted you permission yet.”

“I’m sorry.” Yet he takes another sinful, torturous lick, at your heat, his tongue sliding between your folds. He took in every bit of your expression, addicted to how your face contorts with the beginnings of pleasure. “I’ve grown… impatient.”

“Aren’t you always?” You push him down to his knees, your hand fisting a handful of his hair as you stand before him.

He flinches from the pain, but as fearless as he used to be when he was still a human, he keeps his heavy gaze on yours, unwavering. His hand skates up your thigh, hugging you close to him. “Let me pleasure you,” he speaks against your skin, his touch, his kiss, his stare reverent. “Please, Master, I want to—mmph—"

You bring him back to your core with a sudden push of his head, grinding yourself against his face, using him as you please. Jinwoo groans, grateful for the opportunity, and he works his mouth on you as best as he can, licking and sucking on your clit as your grip keeps him imprisoned between your legs.

It doesn’t take long before you crumble, your essence trickling down his chin, watching him drink every drop that coats his tongue. “Satisfied now?” you ask him, your mind still gyrating from ecstasy. 

“For the time being,” he replies a little shamelessly, earning himself a soft giggle out of you. Jinwoo runs his tongue across his lips, relishing your taste before he brings you back to his lap. He places a string of kisses from your jawline down to your neck. “Thank you, Master.”

“Pleasure is all mine.” Your hand slides up his chest, your touch titillating. Your fingertips caress the side of his neck, your tongue gliding over your bottom lip as your own hunger arises within you. “May I have a taste as well?” 

If he were still breathing, it would’ve turned ragged. “You can have all of me.” He pulls you toward him with ardent passion, embracing you as if he wanted to fuse your body into one. Your mouths collide in a searing kiss, your tongue sliding against his own, tasting your own blood in his mouth. 

The consuming kiss lasts a few seconds before your thirst takes hold of you again. You lick a stripe up his neck, feeling his body tensing underneath. “Nervous, love?”

"Excited," he corrects you with a chuckle, desire exuding thickly from his voice. His palm glides up your back, all the way to your nape. “Bite me here, Master.” He pushes your face forward, guiding you to where he wants you to be. 

You pull back your lips, your teeth grazing his skin just to tease. ”Where’s your manners, Sweetheart?”

“Please.” His grip tightens around your strands, his tone desperate. “Please. I want your teeth in me. Please, Master…”

“Mm,” you reward him with a soft kiss above his vein. “That’s a good boy.” 

Jinwoo lets out a low moan as he feels your fangs sink into his skin, the pain and pleasure washing over him in waves. His body arches against yours as his blood spills into your mouth, his body shuddering in ecstasy from being completely under your mercy.

The taste of his blood is beyond amazing, even when he’s no longer human. “If you think my blood is sweet,” you moan softly against his skin, “You should taste yours.” You bury your teeth into him again, digging in deeper with each passing moment, your eyes shutting close in rapture.

You’re being rougher than usual, taking big gulps, taking every drop as if it were your last time drinking from him. “Ah…” Jinwoo rakes his nails down your back, leaving red angry scratches on your skin that fade away within seconds. “Don’t bite so hard, Angel,” he admonishes you lightly with a pleased smile, his hand gripping your thigh tighter than before. He tilts his head, baring more of his long neck for you to devour.

You chuckle darkly, “Saying that while exposing more skin for me to bite.” You lap on the wound, his body healing faster than you wanted it to. “You’re a dirty little thing, aren't you, Sung Jinwoo?”

He lets out a low, breathy laugh, his nails sinking into your thigh. “Nothing about me is little, Master. You know that.” A wave of arousal courses right through him, and you can feel it too, with the way his hardness pressing against you. 

You adjust your position, sitting properly on his lap with your legs spread, facing him. Your heat rubs against his throbbing cock under the water, the feeling hot and dangerous. “You’re right,” you rock your hips against him, rubbing your folds against the underside of his cock. “Nothing about you is little.”

"Master—"

You silence him with a passionate kiss, letting him suck on your tongue and see just how fucking sweet his blood tastes in your mouth. One of your fangs grazes his lip, tearing the skin and you suckle on it, leaving it swollen and bruised. His groan, deep and guttural, bounces off the wall, wanting you to be even rougher with him. You share a messy kiss, smearing crimson on his cheek and chin before you return to his neck once more, taking another deep bite. 

“You taste so fucking good…” You say, feeling a rush of power and desire streaming through your system. “Maybe I should suck you dry.”

His body shivers at your words, the threat of you taking all his blood only fueling the fire burning inside him. Jinwoo wraps his arms around you, never wanting to let you go. ”Do it,” he says, his voice thick with craving. He needs the pleasure. He needs the pain. He needs you.

“Careful what you wish for, love,” you chuckle, your eyes still glazed by the sweet temptation. “I might actually kill you if I continue.”

He feels no dread for it. If anything, to die by your hand, by your side, wouldn’t that be heavenly? “I can take a bit more.” His words come out low and slurred, his mind swimming in a haze of pleasure.

You hear his plea, but you also know his limit. “Don’t be greedy, honey,” you tell him as you put a small distance between you. “I don’t want to lose you just yet.” 

Jinwoo displays a slight pout at your line, and you kiss it away. You swipe your thumb across his blood-stained lips, wiping them clean before you push your digit into his mouth. He obeys almost immediately, sucking on your finger until his cheeks hollowed out, his eyes, dark with lust, never leaving yours.

His cock twitches under the water, rubbing against your thighs, begging for attention. You give him the friction he wants, but only barely. Jinwoo hisses at the slightest contact, his glowing purple eyes following the obscene sway of your hips. He wants to slide it in inside, to stretch your walls, to fuck you until you cry out his name but he can’t, not until you give him permission to. You may be his lover, but you are still his master. There’s a wall he’s not allowed to breach, but that’s the challenge he loves. There’s something so sexy about being under your control, your mercy, and if somehow, he gets to be the one who makes you beg in return… God, nothing can beat that feeling. 

“Want me to ride you, baby?” You ask him, your voice tantalizing. One of your hands slides down to curl around his length, bringing his tip to your entrance but never letting it move past the ring. 

He almost growls in response, his fingers raking against your hips. You’re such a fucking tease, you always are. “Would—“ He swallows thickly. He just had his third round with you this evening, and yet, he still can’t get enough. “Would you do it if I said yes?”

You smile in return, saccharine sweet, your face leaning forward until your lips hover just a hair's breadth away from his own. “No.”

He grunts in protest, tossing his head back in frustration. But the second your giggles ring through the air, he thinks it’s worth every torture he goes through. To make you laugh… To make you happy… That’s his sole purpose of living.

“What if I said please?” He questions softly, his lips featherlight as they caress the valley between your breasts. “If I begged you nicely, Master… Would you let me make love to you?”

“Hmm…” You hold onto his face, running your tongue from his neck, his chin, to his lips. “Maybe.”

“Please,” he pleads almost instantly, a hint of desperation in his voice. He draws your body toward him, holding you tight, chest pressing against chest. “Please, Master…” he whispers deep in your ear, his voice drenched with desire. “Let me fuck you… I’ll make you feel good, I swear it.”

Your lust glints in your eyes as a sense of superiority permeates you. You may be trapped in his arms, but you’re nowhere caged. You’re still the one who holds the leash and it fucking pleases you to see just how submissive he is for you. Only you.

“Let me please you…” He guides you down by your hips, letting you feel his hard, swollen tip nudging against your folds. “Let me make you scream my name again. Let me make you come. Please… I need—” His sentence ends with a gasp as you sink yourself onto his cock, taking him all the way down in one fluid motion. The sensation of having your warmth envelop him beneath the water is enough to drive him insane, but you’re nowhere near finished. Your teeth pierce his neck again, ripping it open and taking huge gulps of his blood.

“Fuck,” Jinwoo hisses, his nails leaving tears on your smooth skin but you enjoy the pain. You enjoy the desperation that suffuses him. 

Feeling like he’s about to topple over the edge, Jinwoo sinks his fangs into your shoulder, his groan muffled by your flesh, your blood dripping down his chin, staining the clear water below you. You drink each other's blood as your body mingles in a rhythmless dance.

“Master—” Jinwoo groans, sipping more and more, his hips thrusting in and out at such a frantic pace. “Master—ngh—you feel so good—”

For a moment, you let him be, let him grip your hips, and move you up and down his cock.  Water splashes down the tub as his thrust turns vigorous, so deep and hard, he’d knock out all the air in your lungs had you had any. “Master—fuck—I’m about to—”

You twine your fingers around his neck, grasping it tightly until he chokes out his words. His body turns still under your silent command, the lines in his features contorting in pain. “Not yet, darling,” you warn him with a smirk, the perilous gleam in your eyes making him turn even harder inside you. “We don’t want this to finish so soon now, do we?”

His jaw slackens on his face, his eyes half-lidded as he looks up at you. “Master… I want to come…”

“In a moment, Sweetheart.” Your eyes travel down his body, exploring, memorizing every plane and every dip. “Where do you like it the most?”

“Master…?”

“When I bite you, Jin. Where do you want me the most?”

A quiver runs down his spine at the sudden question, at the way your tone remains gentle, yet authoritative. “I want you everywhere, Master. Every part of me you can reach. But… If you'll allow me... There’s one thing I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Oh?” You lower yourself to him, sliding down on his cock and keeping him buried inside as your face hangs just an inch away from his own. “Tell me nicely, and maybe I’ll do it.”

He feels your teeth grazing his ear, his body tingling. “I want you to mark me, Master… Right here.” He points a spot right below his collarbone, his eyes filled with both desire and submission. “Not bite. Mark, Master. I want you to leave your mark on me.”

Your gaze darkens in an instant. “You know what you’re asking me, don’t you?”

He swallows. He can sense your emotions rising like the tides. If this were a joke he played, he knows you’d make him regret it. “Yes, Master.”

You’re tightening your hold on his neck without realizing it, your expression grave. “If I leave my mark on you, Jinwoo, you’ll never be able to escape me. You’ll be bound to me for eternity. You won’t be able to survive a single day if you walk away from me. Are you sure that’s what you want—”

“Yes,” he says, no doubt, no hesitation. “That’s what I want. That’s what I’ve always wanted ever since you turned me—no, ever since I met you. To be with you forever. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Your heart, something that has been frozen cold for so long, starts to rattle inside your chest. You want to believe him. God, he doesn’t know how much you want to put faith in his words, but… “Forever is a very long time,” you speak your reasoning quietly, as if you were afraid that he’d be frightened by it.

But Jinwoo simply smiles, a smile so soft, so beautiful, it feels like a dream. “Not long enough if I spend it with you.” He tucks your loose strands behind your ear, holding your gaze affectionately. “I love you, Master.” His arm slithers around your waist as he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Let me be yours forever. Please…”

Your lips tremble before you tighten them, your eyes drooping. “I… love you, too…”

He chuckles softly, planting a tender kiss on your temple. “I know.” There’s not a sliver of arrogance in his voice, only the truth. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have turned me, would you?” He places your palm against his cheek, his lips brushing against the lines as he speaks. “You took the first step, and now I’m taking mine. But I cannot do it without your help, Angel. So, mark me. Claim me. Body, mind, and soul, I’m yours.”

You part your lips to speak but there are no words that can express how… grateful you are for his presence, for his wish to be with you. You almost gave up, didn’t you? After a hundred years of walking the earth alone with only the moon keeping you company, you thought there would be no chance for you to find a partner who speaks to your soul. But now he’s here, and he’s blinding.

Jinwoo looks at you, his gaze both pleading and expecting. His vulnerability shows, mirroring your own. “Please…” he murmurs one last time, and it cuts the final thread that keeps you in control.

You lean close, your lips hovering right above his collarbone. For the first time in your life, you tremble at the sweet smell of blood. If you mark him now, there will be no second chances. If he regrets it later…

Jinwoo embraces you close, his touch soothing. “It’s all right,” he says softly against your strands. “I won’t regret it. I will never blame you for this. I’ve thought about it for so long, over and over again and the answer remains unchanged. I just want to be with you. Let me be with you. Truly."

You gulp, your eyes hot with unshed tears. Then, you yield. “I’ll… I’ll do it gently.”

“No. Hard.” He draws himself back just enough to meet you in the eyes, holding you firmly by the cheek. “I want to feel it. To feel you. So don’t hold back. Not for me.” 

He wants to experience it, the sting of your fangs, wants to bask in that sweet, sweet pain that only you can give. You shake your head. “This one is different. It’s going to hurt.”

He laughs fondly. “You think I can’t handle it?”

Though your concern for him still swells inside your chest, you toss him a defeated smile. "You're too brave for your own good." You kiss him on the lips, light and romantic, your mouth moving slowly against his. It’s almost like a goodbye kiss, and perhaps it is, in a way. A farewell to the life he once knew.

“Hurry, Master,” he whispers, his voice low and pleading. He brings you back to his neck, his hand sliding through your strands, keeping you in place. “I can’t wait…” 

Please. Take me.

With his name resounding in your mind, you bare your teeth.

I love you.

Your fangs, sharper than a hundred needles combined, puncture his skin. The bite is unlike any other. It burns him to his core, stings harder than a javelin through the chest. His eyes jolt open in pain and his irises gleam brighter than they’ve ever been. He can feel it, your emotions, your desire, your power surging inside him. His soul is now intertwined with yours, your name engraved in every drop of blood that flows beneath his fair skin. He’s bound to you, for eternity.

Despite trying his best to restrain his voice, a low groan still escapes him, his muscles tautening as jolts of agony shoot through him. His hold on your hair turns painful, clutching onto you like a lifeline until a few seconds pass by, and the scorching pain begins to morph into pleasure. He’s losing himself, his mind in a state of euphoria as the effect of your venom starts to kick in. He lets out a soft laugh, gladdened and relieved. He’s finally yours now, truly yours. 

You can feel his cock, still buried deep inside, throbbing against your walls as his blood oozes into your mouth. The dopamine dripping from your fangs, and the sizzling mark you put on his skin, are enough to push him to the limit. A few more sucks and he’d come undone inside you.

I need to stop, you tell yourself, still finding the hardest time to unclasp your mouth from him. He’s already lost so much blood before. If I keep this up—

“No,” Jinwoo demands, the second he senses you retracting your fangs. “Don’t let me go yet. I want you to feel me, to revel in my taste, to remember how good”—he suddenly thrusts forward, startling and robbing a cry out of you—“I make you feel.”

You moan at the sensation, your mouth still latched firmly against his neck as you clutch onto him. Jinwoo rises to his feet and turns around to press you against the wall, his strong arms wrapped protectively around you to fight back gravity. With his fingers squeezing tightly against your behind, he drives his hips forward, sliding his cock out completely before he drives himself back to the hilt. 

You throw your head back, his blood dripping from your chin to your chest. “Fuck—” You moan his name beyond restraint, your legs being spread apart, fucked like an animal against the wall. “Jin, slow down—”

“I want to mark you, too,” he says, almost in a growl, and it stuns you to your bones. The previous tenderness he displays has vanished without a trace, replaced by this aching desire to own you. He wants nothing more than to see his mark on you, a physical reminder of your bond. “I want to sink my teeth into you and make you mine.”

There’s pain in the pleasure he gives you, something that you quickly grow addicted to. He holds you by your throat, his hips never stopping, his gaze dark, darker than the blackest night. “Can I?”

This new side of him excites you. You always thought he was the sweetest boy, a handsome prince who would never lay a finger on you without your consent. But this… This beast before you who wishes to possess you without giving you a chance to ruminate...

Lucky for him, you've made your decision a while ago.

“Yes,” you reply, your perfect marbled teeth peeking from behind pretty lips. “Put your mark on me.”

His restraint snaps. A primal urge surges right through him, the need to claim you as his and his alone growing stronger than ever. With a low, possessive growl tumbling off his lips, he digs his fangs into the soft flesh of your shoulder, breaking the skin and taking what belongs to him.

The unbearable pain of his bite intensifies your pleasure, and as he fucks you hard and fast against the wall, his fingers threatening to crush your windpipes, you find yourself smiling in rapture. 

God, this feels so fucking good.

Jinwoo drives you to cloud nine and he follows you there, your mouth smashed and devoured, your unrestrained moan mingling with his own in the air. 

A hundred years… You’ve lived for a hundred years, and this… This right here is the best sex you’ve ever had.

Jinwoo, with his body still trembling from the aftermath of his orgasm, slowly releases his hand from your neck. The nasty bruise lingers for a second before it begins to fade, disappearing faster than the pain that’s still etched on your skin. “I’m sorry,” he says, carefully settling you down, one leg at a time. “I don’t know what suddenly took over me. Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

Did I hurt you he said, you chuckle to yourself. If you didn’t have the power to heal, you wouldn’t even be able to speak right now. “I guess you've turned into a real vampire now, huh?” you tease him with a pat on his cheek. “You’re making Mommy so proud, baby.”

He scrunches his nose adorably at that but then his gaze wanders back to your shoulder. Unlike the previous bites he’d left on your skin, this one stays, the same way the one on his collarbone does.

“When you mark someone, the wound doesn’t heal,” you explain, seeing his confusion. “And you can’t mark anyone else. Or get marked by someone else. These marks are just for us.”

His eyes shimmer, still fixated on the mark he left you. “Oh…”

You gather his face in your hand, your thumb stroking against his cheekbone. Jinwoo returns his gaze to you, greeted by your smile. “Do you regret it?” You ask him softly, a hint of sadness clouding your features.

“No,” he answers firmly, his fingers curling around your wrist, pressing your palm further against his cheek. “No, Master, I’ll never—”

“My name.” He stops, his eyes widening in surprise. “Call me by my name, Jin. I’m no longer your master, I’m… I’m yours now.”

His lips part in surprise, taking in your sheepish smile, then his joy transforms his whole features. He brightens, his gaze fond as he holds yours and when he speaks your name in a reverent whisper, you feel like you’ve returned home.

Jinwoo draws you close, his smile pressing against your own in a delicate kiss, murmuring I love you I love you I love you each time your lips separate, only to reunite again. You giggle as his lips move to your cheek, and your nose, placing kisses here and there until he brushes the last one against your forehead.

“With this, our bond is complete,” you utter, your fingertips moving to sketch your name on his chest. “If you die, I will die, too. And if I die—”

He captures your wrist, kissing the vein that no longer beats beneath your skin, all the while keeping his eyes on yours. “I will follow you,” he continues your sentence, his resolve glimmering in his eyes. “Heaven and hell, wherever you go, I will follow you for eternity.”

Your chest tightens, suffocated by the affection you hold for him. “For eternity.”

Suddenly, forever doesn’t seem so long anymore.

Jinwoo buries his nose in your hair, his face radiant with joy. “May I carry you to the bed?”

You chuckle. “Sure, if you treat me like a—” He leans down to wrap his arms around your back and in the crook of your knees, lifting you with ease. “…princess,” you finish, can’t help but turn flustered. When was the last time a man carried you this way, treating you like a delicate flower?

Jinwoo watches you with his eyebrow raised. “Is there something wrong?”

“No.” You cast your face to the side. It almost feels like your heart is beating again. No, racing. 

Though he’s still confused, he refrains from asking further. There’s something he wants to do, and that is to take care of you. He steps out of the tub, drenching the marbled floor.

“Wait,” you stop him. “We’re still covered in blood. Shouldn’t we wash it off?”

He blinks once before his lips tilt up into a smirk. He shortens the distance between your faces, his gaze filled with adoration, his voice low and sensual when he says—

[vampiremerlot]

˚₊‧꒰ა APHRODITE EYES — finnick odair

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. the first time you meet finnick odair, it is as the victor of the 68th hunger games, a child who no longer knows her place in the world.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. first meetings, district 2 victor!reader, canon-typical behavior, sfw, can be read as simply platonic, f!reader, victory tour post 68th hunger games, canon compliant but potentially ooc characters, — 4.0k words

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈. hi! i'm new to writing for anything for thg so please be kind <3 finnick is my long time loverboy, but i've never properly written anything for him. btw this is part of a little series of one-shots that are all connected, feel free to check out the masterlist below!

𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 .˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊

The worst part of the Victory Tour — save for the ghosts of dead children looming over your shoulder, nesting in your mind at night — was how much time you had to spend with your mentors, Enobaria and Brutus.

The latter, though cold, mostly kept himself at a distance, all too eager to let Enobaria be in charge of your behavior.

Every word you spoke, she was breathing down your neck, a critique to match every small twitch of your muscles, even it was from nothing but the cool winter air creeping up your spine. If your smiles were anything less than genuine, she made a snide remark, pushing her pointed nails, sharp as her teeth, into your cheeks, fixing that right up. 

If there wasn’t such a sour taste in your mouth when you looked at her, one that burned as you swallowed, then, maybe, you could’ve convinced yourself that Enobaria really was looking out for you. After all, she’d helped you out plenty during the 68th Hunger Games, made sure that you’d gotten enough sponsors, that you’d put on a good show at the interviews. 

Her methods may have been less than kind, but so far, they’d kept you safe. 

Even if you’d let her down, let your District down, for not sharing the same sort of need to bring glory to the Capitol that your former victors had, she’d protected you. Enobaria had made sure you’d pretended, enough to convince the Capitol that you were thrilled with your victory.

But you weren’t. 

You weren’t naive, and you weren’t stupid enough to think Enobaria and Brutus actually liked you. But District pride ran deep, especially in Two. You may have been a less than adequate victor, an embarrassment of a Career, but you were their victor, nevertheless.

The train skidded to a stop, pulling into one of your last stops on the Victory Tour. District Four. 

Despite the small talk that had persisted, endless prattle from your escort, you’d spent the past few days with your eyes glued out the window, soaking up what little time you had to observe the scenery outside. Perhaps, this was the real victory — getting to see the wonders of a country you’d come to hate. 

It was a horrific realization, that Panem truly was beautiful, that every District had its charm. Even the ones with the flattest plains, with the people who had coal smudged across their faces, the ones with looming factories and child labor; they all had a spark of tenacity. 

Nature in the Districts was beautiful, and the spirit of the people in them, even more.

Quickly, you brushed those ideas away, feeling the sharp stab of Enobaria’s voice in your head. Even a thought like that was treasonous, and when paired with your deep hatred for President Snow, dangerous.

What could you get away with, now that every pair of eyes in Panem were on you? What games would you have to play now?

That line of questioning was quickly dissipated by your mentor, who pushed you forward, nudging you to the door of the train. 

“Stand up straighter,” Enobaria snapped, before your escort, with hair dyed a horrendous shade of purple, could say a word. 

For that, at least, you were grateful. You could handle being bossed around by Enobaria, but being told what to do by someone from the Capitol felt like just another stamp on your forehead, another reminder that they owned you. 

“We need to make a good impression in District Four,” your escort said, humming excitedly to herself. “Don’t disappoint us, dear.” 

Your face turned further into a scowl, hating that she lumped herself in with the rest of you. What had she done, but convince elite assholes to place bets on you murdering children? She may not have spilled a drop of blood, but more was on her hands than she realized.

As always, your other mentor, Brutus, said nothing — he’d hardly uttered a word to you since the end of the Games. The two of you may have been from the same district, but from the minute you’d volunteered, Brutus had held something against you. Like he’d seen right through you, garnered your true intentions. 

Enobaria might have been willing to overlook your short remarks about the Capitol, but Brutus couldn’t stand having a victor who hadn’t truly wanted to be a part of the Hunger Games. 

And while you hadn’t been the one to kill your district partner — it had been the other Careers, filthy backstabbers — you might as well have, with the way he glowered at you. Like you were a traitor.

Enobaria, as if sensing the turmoil, stepped between you, as the four of you got off the train in District Four. “You’ve done well so far,” she said, patting your shoulder. Though it was meant to be a reassuring gesture, it still came off as threatening. As if what she was really saying was, you’ve done well so far, don’t fuck it up now.

You didn’t need to be told. There had been enough riding on your shoulders to make you volunteer, and though you’d been certain you’d come out a martyr, murdered for all the hush-hush activities you’d been involved in back home, you’d, somehow, come out a victor. 

That was, likely, another reason for the coldness from your mentors. You’d played the part of a Career, completed the interviews flawlessly, earned the adoration from the Capitol in a way so few had before. Yet, the moment you’d stepped into the arena, you’d been just another child from the Districts, uncertain, disgusted, and unwilling to kill. 

You’d stood by your morals, but fear had a nasty way of controlling you in ways you didn’t expect. It was the crippling dread, the knowledge that death was permanent, that had kept you alive, in the end.

Not exactly the kind of proud victor they normally raised in District Two. 

Although you’d thought you’d done a good enough job at playing the Capitol’s game, the rest of your team already seemed to be suspicious of where your loyalties lied. You were certain that that was what had sent them even more into a frenzy when you’d been on the train to District Four — your escort fussing over your appearance, even when your dress didn’t have a wrinkle; Brutus’s eyes becoming even more narrow; Enobaria nitpicking every slight move you made. 

It could’ve been that. 

Or it could’ve been the fact that the last Career that had won had been from District Four, and it would be an embarrassment to look a mess next to Finnick Odair. 

He’d won three years ago — an expected victory, despite him only being fourteen. Finnick had gone into the Games, looking like the child he was, and left the arena, sprung into early adulthood, blood on his cheeks and a smile on his lips.

That had been the year you started to doubt the Games. Finnick was the same age as you, barely a teenager, and when he’d been triumphant, you’d looked around at your friends, wondering why anyone would want to kill one another.

If Finnick had felt the same way you did after winning, he gave no indication of it. Maybe he’d learned, as you had, to keep those thoughts locked up, only for yourself. 

But, unlike you, already scorned by President Snow himself, Finnick was adored in the Capitol. So much so that if you were a fool, you might have thought they accepted him as one of their own.

You sighed as Enobaria straightened your collar, adjusting how the top sat on your shoulders. 

It seemed to all lead back to Finnick, didn’t it? The way your life had spiraled. The Capitol’s increasing hunger for another Career win.

And here you were now, in his home, fussed over as your team grew desperate to show District Four that they had a victor just as charming, as lovable as their darling boy. 

“Remember what I said about the interviews?” Enobaria said, guiding you along the station. “That’s how I expect you to act here.”

Be charming, but with indifference. Make them think they can have you, but don’t give them too much. Keep an air of mystery. 

You refrained from rolling your eyes and swatting Enobaria’s hand away as she pulled your shoulders back roughly, getting rid of your slouch. As if your perfect posture could hold a candle to whatever performance — genuine or not — Finnick put on. 

It was a short walk from the train to the Justice Building, but it was plenty of time for your nerves to gather. 

You’d expected it would’ve been an easy feat, to slip on the mask that you’d gotten comfortable in, one that had now molded to your features. But the minute Finnick Odair turned and caught your eye, you’d already forgotten everything Enobaria had requested of you.

The District Four escort tittered about, greeting your own escort like they were old friends. They might have been — it wasn’t like you really paid attention to any of her endless chatter.

“Hello, Finnick,” your escort said, and you blinked away from the boy, back at her. The way she looked at him, like she could eat him alive, made your stomach turn. But Finnick soaked it up anyway, kissed the back of her hand, and she batted her lashes at him without shame. The corner of his eyes only creased when she giggled, fawning over him like she wasn’t a decade older than him.

“It’s nice to see you again,” Finnick said, winking. “I think you get prettier every year.” 

“Why, you flatter me.” She hid her sly smile behind a gloved hand, and gestured you forward. “I’d like you to meet my victor.” 

Your eyebrows pinched together, hating that she emphasized her possession of you. You were District Two’s victor. If you had any pride in your win — which you didn’t — it would’ve belonged to your home. 

Finnick’s eyes flashed, his gaze skimming over you quickly. “I’ve been dying to meet you. Congratulations on your victory,” he said, taking your hand in his own, pressing a kiss to the back of your palm, as he’d done your escort. His fingertips were callused from fishing, but the rest of his hand was smooth from the salty water and the sandy beaches. “I didn’t know people from District Two could be so beautiful.” 

For a moment, stupidly, you faltered. No one had ever said something like that to you and looked like they’d meant it. 

Sure, it was a lapse in judgment, but briefly, every word left your mind, for possibly the first and hopefully the last time in your life. Where a smart quip was usually at the edge of your tongue, your head was empty and muddled, as you stared at the boy from the District Four, whose smile was brighter than the sun, eyes the color of the wild sea. 

The winters were long in District Two, the summer mild, and no one there had the kind of complexion Finnick did — a bronze glow to his wild hair, almost the color of his sun-kissed skin. There was a radiance about him, electrified by a halo of beauty, and you did feel dreadfully plain next to him. 

So much so that you were certain the compliment only came as a jab to Enobaria, and not a comment about your appearance at all. 

Enobaria coughed, and quickly, you recovered, snapping your hand back down to your side as you looked over Finnick’s shoulder, past his widening smile. 

“We are,” you said, stiffly, feeling ridiculous for letting yourself fall so deeply into his charming eyes. “But unlike other Districts, we tend to rely on more than just our looks to get by.” 

You hadn’t meant for it to come out so bitterly, but your words were the only layer of protection you had.

Briefly, Finnick’s smile flickered, and, as quickly as your frustration came, you began to feel bad for saying anything at all. 

But his gloominess evaporated quickly, and he waved a hand, dismissive, as he slung an arm over your shoulder good-naturedly, catching the eyes of a few people around you. 

Let them stare. You needed an endorsement from their golden boy, after all. 

“Ah, well,” Finnick said, pulling you into his side, talking like you were old friends. The two of you took a few steps forward, as he dragged you along. “Mags always did tell me to utilize my strengths. But, beauty can be a burden, as they say.”

You licked your lips, darting your eyes to the side, uncertain if you were supposed to read into that comment. Ever since the Games, you’d started to feel a bit paranoid, wondering if everyone was out to get you, make you say something you weren’t supposed to. “I’m not sure I’m familiar with that saying.”

“No?” Finnick asked, grinning brighter. It was blinding to look at, and he was far too close, the smell of the salty sea a constant presence on his skin. “Well, I only mean it’s hard to have women throwing themselves at you left and right.” 

You blinked, and whatever amicability had been between you quickly evaporated. Finnick seemed kind enough, but, as you’d said, you’d never been a fan of victors who cared more about their looks than anything else. 

Never once had you considered yourself ugly, but you’d known, the moment you’d raised your hand to volunteer, that you couldn’t rely on your appearance in the Capitol. It was so unlike the boy before you, whose confidence and beauty had carried him through, to the very end.

Feeling sour, a characteristic frown back on your face, you shook Finnick off. “I’m sure.” 

You wouldn’t know. No one had ever thrown themselves at you in your life. 

Finnick, despite the cold air growing between you, caught your gaze again. He squinted, searching for something in your features, but you only stared back, blankly. 

It must have been a shock to meet you — to find out you were a mere shadow of the girl from the television, the one that had scored so highly by the judges, who had bantered with the crowd at your interview, made a show of yourself for all of Panem.

You’d stopped believing everything you saw on your screens, but after a life spent in District Two, where Capitol loyalty ran deep, you weren’t fool enough to think that every victor shared your sentiments about rebellion. Brutus and Enobaria certainly didn’t. Perhaps Finnick was just the same as them.

The mood of your escort shifted, a nervous energy growing as she noted the eyes of citizens on you and the bubbling tension between you and Finnick. Quickly, she stepped between the two of you, a hand on Finnick’s lower back, one between your shoulder blades. 

“Well,” she said, sharply, scolding you. As if anything but a few words had left your mouth. She’d always thought you had a horrible disposition, even for a District Two girl. “We’ve got a schedule to stick we, don’t we Finnick?” 

The smile was back on his face, and you couldn’t be sure that it’d ever left at all. He nodded, and led you to the Justice Building, pointing out notable places in District Four.

Like that, your visit turned into just another stop on the Victory Tour. Another forced alliance between the host District and your own, as the people that lived there pretended they were thrilled to see you, instead of heartbroken that it hadn’t been their own child coming home. 

Despite their distance, their unwelcomeness, a part of you was excited to be in District Four, and you tried not to let it show on your face. You’d always been curious about the shorelines, ones you’d only ever caught glimpses of on television. The Capitol had never been too interested in revealing what the rest of you were missing, outside of your own Districts.

But, of course, you hadn’t had time to take a true detour down to the beach. Instead, you were ushered back into the Justice Building, your prep team needed to clean you up for your speeches and dinner. 

The spell, casted by Finnick’s charm, shared with his escort and your own, broke.

You were guided into a separate room by Finnick, the rest of your team sticking behind to talk with the mayor, discussing details of the feast that would take place in just a few hours. 

“They’ll wait out there for you,” Finnick explained, nodding towards the stage, just outside the window, one that was barely big enough to be considered that. The room, without any light overhead, was cloaked in shadows, dark and dreary from the lack of sun coming in. “I have to go soon, but I’ll be at the dinner, in case you need anything. I am the host victor, after all.”

You were certain there was more than just two victors in District Four, but you didn’t say anything. Maybe they’d sent only Finnick because he was the same age as you. Maybe they really did love their darling boy that much.

It wasn’t worth dwelling on.

“Okay,” you hummed in return. You’d carry on with or without him. 

Glumly, you stared out the window, feeling, vaguely, like you were trapped in a prison cell of your own making. 

How much easier everything would’ve been if they’d just let you die.

Finnick had opened his mouth, then shut it, debating if there was anything more to say before he made his departure. Then, he turned, footsteps fading. Before he could reach the door, they stopped. 

A pause suspended between you, one you refused to break. 

“You look too sad to be a victor,” Finnick suddenly said.

Although his words held a hint of amusement, when your eyes snapped back over to him, he wasn’t smiling at all. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, piecing together an expression that you thought would appease the knowingness in his eyes. Your lips pulled at the corners, eyes growing small as you squinted through a grin. The apples of your cheeks pushed your skin up, making your face look even wider. 

“You get to go back home. Your family is alive. You won. Don’t look so sad.” 

His accusation lit a fire in your chest, and you scowled, looking back out the window. “You don’t know anything.” 

“Don’t I?” Finnick’s words were hushed as he came to stand in front of you, pulling your attention away from the crowd of people that had begun to gather outside. Not a single one of them looked pleased — their faces illustrating exactly how you felt. “Look, I saw your games. You played the part well. I think—”

Then, panicked, you met his eyes once more, and clamped your hand over his mouth. Your heart thundered as you gazed around the room, wondering if there was anything in there they could use to listen in. Even if the room was mostly empty, you had no doubt that they’d find a way, that President Snow wouldn’t be afraid to warp Finnick’s words into you engaging in more rebellious conversation.

“I think you’re mistaken,” you said, sharply, before releasing your hand, slowly bringing it back down to your side. “I appreciate your concern, Finnick, but I don’t need your help.” 

He studied you, momentarily, reading the words you didn’t offer. 

“I see,” Finnick said, licking his lips, where the feeling of your hand still lingered. “Well, I’d offer it all the same. I’ve been in your shoes before. I’ve been doing this for three years.” He leaned forward, tucking a piece of hair behind your ears, his touch warm. “If you don’t want help, maybe I can be a friend in the Capitol next year. I assume you’ll be mentoring?”

You pinched your eyebrows, studying him. You’d gotten far too used to everyone having ulterior motives — how could you be sure that Finnick had none? 

Instead of saying anything, arguing with him at all, you nodded, ignoring the strand of hair he’d wrapped around his finger. Perhaps for the first time since the tour had started, you exhaled, releasing a pit of nausea from your gut.

“Friends?” you said, but your smile was stiff. “Does that mean next year, you’ll hold up your alliance with my District?”

The Careers in District Four had been the first to turn on the rest of you. What had been a steady alliance through the first half of the games quickly soured, in a second bloodbath that left only you and the District Four girl alive. 

How lucky the rest of the Districts must’ve felt, to see the Careers tear themselves apart from the inside out. 

Finnick cringed, but it was just a small moment, the muscles of his face twitching. Then, he shrugged, not even bothering to look sheepish. “I didn’t tell them to betray their allies. I them to do what it takes to stay alive,” he said grimly. “Looks like they didn’t take my advice.”

You licked your lips. An apology rested on your tongue, but for what? Those kids had almost killed you. Were you sorry for not lying down like a dog, letting one of them stick a trident through your throat?

“No,” you said, instead. “They didn’t.” Words that felt hollow to your own ears. 

Finnick noticed the shift in your demeanor, and reached back out to you again, letting his hand hover between the two of you. “Don’t take it personally.” 

“I’m not.” You scowled, stepping away. His hand fell back between you. “You’re not responsible for their choices. I just find you irritating.”

He laughed, loudly. A sound that seemed half-forced, to your own ears. “Well, you’re not too charming yourself. I certainly have trouble seeing how you got so many sponsors.”

“I’m a good actress,” you said, thinly. 

Finnick’s smile held, but it was tight, a little sad. “Well, you’ll need to get even better.” The words were flat, almost as if he felt sorry for you. Like he knew you had no idea what you’d gotten yourself into. “The Tour’s almost over, but that doesn’t mean anything. You won the Hunger Games. This is your life now.” 

“A life I should be proud of, should I not?” you said, sharply, narrowing your eyes. Suddenly, you felt as if you’d been stripped bare in front of him, your true opinions on the Games worn on your sleeves. Your treasonous ideals, held only in the back of your mind, yet seemingly written out on a manuscript that Snow would surely find. “I’ve brought glory to my District and the Capitol.”

What was it about you that made it so obvious, that had lured the Peacekeepers to you in the first place.

 What made you seem like you were a rebel?

Then, Finnick’s face did something it hadn’t before — he smiled, a real, genuine smile. His eyes held a brightness, like the sun reflecting off the endless ocean, crinkling at the corners.

 “Of course,” he grinned, knowingly. “I apologize for assuming anything. You must be exhausted from the Victory Tour.” And, as if noting your worry, he added. “I remember how I felt when I won. Probably very similar to you.” 

You held his gaze for a moment, watching the swirl of secrets swimming in his eyes. Then, you relented. 

“You’re right. I’m tired.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Forgive my rudeness earlier. It’s been quite the week.” 

“I bet.” Finnick nodded. “Well, you should get some rest, before you get to District Three. The people there are a lot smarter than I am. They might notice your exhaustion more quickly.” His eyes scanned you one last time, now more curious than appraising. “You are quite the Career, aren’t you?” Finnick laughed, mostly to himself, as he walked away. 

Quite the Career, you thought, even though you weren’t exactly sure you knew what he meant. 

[bucketgetter535]

No Margin for Error: Chapter Four

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd (Formula one AU)

CW: drinking,weed

WC: 4.4k

Notes: I think you guys will like this one 😏 (also possibly another surprise tonight if I’m feeling motivated)

The thing about being home — if you could call it that — was that everything slowed down just enough for Azzi to hear herself think.

New York wasn’t peaceful. The streets below her penthouse buzzed all night, a city on a loop of sirens and car horns and late-night laughter. But the windows were thick, the lights inside low, and the weed — just enough — made everything feel wrapped in velvet.

She lay sideways across her couch, wine glass on her stomach, and her phone in her hand. Her legs dangled off the edge, socks mismatched, half a playlist spilling from her speakers like smoke curling up the walls.

Neither Paige nor Azzi finished in the points in Canada. Just a truly terrible weekend.

Spain had been hot and brutal and fast.

Monaco had been worse — precision hell.

She’d gotten third in Spain and Monaco. Third.

And Paige had stood above her both times.

That fact settled in her chest like a weight she couldn’t quite shake. Not anger, not jealousy. Just… pressure. Paige was pulling ahead. Quietly. Efficiently. And worse than that — she wasn’t being smug about it.

They hadn’t even argued lately. Which somehow made it worse.

She was midway through a half-hearted scroll through her F1 side of TikTok when she saw it. Paige, in a black blazer and dark-wash jeans, standing in front of a logo wall at a brand event somewhere downtown. Probably SoHo. The caption was useless — something about brand activations and “American girl in the city.”

Azzi blinked.

She’s here?

In her defense, she was high. Which didn’t impair her judgment so much as loosen it.

Her thumbs moved before she could second-guess herself.

AF35: come over for a drink

AF35: not like a weird drink. i just have tequila and i’m bored.

AF35: you’re in nyc i saw

PB5: k

She didn’t expect a yes.

But twenty-five minutes later, she was lighting the stupid hotel-scented candle by the front door just as her intercom buzzed.

–

Paige looked… different in the hallway.

Same height, same attitude, same somehow-always-laced sneakers. But her hair was loose and soft and there was something casual about her — black hoodie, gray sweats, the faint shimmer of perfume that Azzi didn’t recognize but knew she’d think about later.

“Hi,” Paige said like it was maybe a mistake. Like she’d still bail if Azzi gave her a reason.

“You came,” Azzi replied, stepping back. “Not a trap, I swear.”

“Yet.”

Azzi rolled her eyes and headed for the bar cart. “Still like tequila?”

“I never said I liked tequila.”

“Well. It’s what I have.” She poured two glasses anyway, handed one over, and flopped onto the couch with the weight of a person who lived here.

Paige followed, sitting sideways in the armchair, drink balanced carefully, eyes trailing the skyline for a beat too long. The silence between them was comfortable in the way only people who have screamed at each other on radios could understand.

“How’s the city treating you?” Azzi asked eventually.

“It’s loud,” Paige said. “And weird. But good.”

Azzi smirked. “Welcome to my world.”

Paige shrugged. “I’m just here for the brand thing. Back to Minnesota in like four days.”

“Figures.”

Another sip. Another silence.

Then:

“You’re on a roll,” Azzi said, watching the way Paige tapped her glass once on her knee, thoughtful. “Monaco. Spain. That car is made for you or something.”

Paige grinned — a tiny, quiet one. “It’s not just the car.”

“Ugh.” Azzi threw her head back. “Say that again and I’ll throw you off the balcony.”

But it wasn’t venom. Not really. And Paige knew it.

They talked for a while longer. About the season. About the team. About how both of them still felt like they were fighting ghosts — old legends, old stats, old press narratives. Azzi’s PR boyfriend came up, almost accidentally. Paige raised an eyebrow.

“You know you’ll need one eventually,” Azzi said. “Or at least the media will say you do.”

“I’ll let them pick,” Paige replied dryly.

“Have you ever had a real boyfriend?” The question came too fast, too clean, but Azzi didn’t pull it back. She just watched Paige.

Paige blinked. “Define ‘real.’”

“That’s a no.”

Paige just smiled behind her glass.

And Azzi wasn’t sure if it was the tequila or the candlelight or the scent of that damned perfume — but something shifted.

Because suddenly Paige looked different again.

Not like a driver. Not like a rival.

Just… like Paige.

Azzi’s gaze lingered too long on the shape of her jaw. On the way her collarbones showed just barely beneath the hoodie neckline. On the way Paige tilted her head, asking a question Azzi hadn’t heard.

“Hm?” she said, eyes snapping up.

“I said — you okay?”

Azzi nodded, a little too late.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

Paige raised her glass in a quiet toast. “To not crashing into each other.”

Azzi clinked her own glass against it. “Yet.”

And they drank.

Not as teammates.

Not as rivals.

Not yet as anything else.

But it felt like something had changed in the air between them.

And Azzi — tipsy and warm and barefoot in her own apartment — wasn’t sure what to do with that.

The glasses clinked faintly as Azzi set them down. The tequila buzz was warm now — not heavy, just humming under her skin. That soft, fizzy kind of buzz where everything felt slow but sharp, like the city had been dipped in molasses and lit with a thousand little neon flares.

She turned to Paige, lounging half sideways in the chair, one leg kicked out, the other bent beneath her. The hoodie had shifted just enough to show the edge of a tank top strap. Azzi’s eyes lingered for a beat too long. She didn’t look away.

“Do you smoke?” she asked.

Paige didn’t blink. “Why? You got some?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “If you tell the team, I will crash you in Austria.”

Paige laughed — a low, real sound — and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Guess I won’t tell the team then.”

Azzi pulled herself off the couch with a slight sway and disappeared into the bedroom. When she came back, she had a small tin in one hand and a lighter in the other. The joint was already rolled — perfect, tight, clean — the mark of someone who’d done this more than once.

“You roll that yourself?” Paige asked, amused.

Azzi settled next to her on the couch this time. “I’m good with my hands.”

A beat.

Paige’s smile twisted just slightly at the corner. “Noted.”

Azzi lit it.

They passed it back and forth in silence for the first few minutes, the smoke curling in thin ribbons toward the ceiling, lit softly by the candle on the table and the glow from the kitchen lights behind them. The city beyond the window blurred just enough to feel distant, like it couldn’t quite reach them here.

To say it loosened them up would be the understatement of the year.

Azzi leaned back on the couch, her body turned just enough toward Paige to make it obvious. Her laugh came easier now. Her eyes lingered longer. And she didn’t stop herself — not tonight. Not with the liquor in her blood and the smoke in her lungs and the city vibrating beneath them like it was waiting for something to happen.

“You know what I keep thinking about?” she asked, voice low and lazy.

“What?” Paige tilted her head.

“That Saudi podium.” Azzi’s eyes flicked over Paige. “You, top step. Lights all purple. Drenched in champagne and looking like… I don’t know.”

Paige blinked. “Like what?”

Azzi shrugged, but it was the most deliberate shrug in history. “You looked… golden. Or something. Glowing. I was high when I watched the replay, though, so maybe I imagined it.”

Paige’s voice dropped just a bit. “You didn’t imagine it.”

They didn’t touch. Not yet.

But something pulsed between them now. Something thick and slow and impossible to name. The tension wasn’t rivalry. Wasn’t hostility. It was… a question. An inch of space. A dare waiting to be taken.

Azzi handed the joint back. Paige didn’t take it right away. Just looked at her. Then finally reached for it, her fingers brushing Azzi’s — hot, electric, brief.

Azzi felt that touch all the way down her spine.

“You ever think about what happens if we keep trading podiums like this?” Paige asked softly. “Like — if it’s just us the whole season?”

Azzi’s eyes locked on hers. “It’s already just us.”

The joint burned low between them, and Paige exhaled slow.

Azzi leaned her head against the back of the couch, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. She didn’t move away when Paige shifted closer, legs brushing now. Not quite on purpose. Not quite by accident.

She didn’t speak again for a while.

She just sat there, drunk and high and golden-warm, listening to Paige breathe beside her.

She wasn’t resisting anything. Not tonight.

And that was the dangerous part.

The joint was just ash now, curled in the tray between them. The city still shimmered on the windows, golden and indifferent, but the room itself had gone quiet. Almost too quiet.

Paige was close. Closer than before. Her leg was still pressed to Azzi’s, and neither of them had moved in a while — not even a twitch. Just this steady, measured breathing that filled the space between them, too soft to be anything but intentional.

Azzi’s voice came a little rough, caught in the stillness like a hand brushing against silk. “You ever had a boyfriend?”

Paige turned her head slightly. Smiled, slow. “You already asked me that.”

It wasn’t sharp, wasn’t teasing — just a quiet reminder.

Azzi’s mouth quirked. “Right,” she murmured. “Guess I did.”

But she didn’t take it back.

And Paige didn’t ask why she’d brought it up again.

Instead, Paige leaned in the smallest amount — not enough to close the space, just enough to acknowledge it. To breathe the same air. “You tryna ask me something else?”

Azzi looked at her, and for once, didn’t retreat. “Maybe.”

Paige nodded once, slow and steady, like they weren’t on the edge of something sharp and irreversible. “Then ask.”

And god, maybe it was the weed or the tequila or the glow of the city playing tricks on her, but Azzi suddenly felt fourteen again, like she was back at some middle school sleepover daring herself to admit something she wasn’t ready to name.

But she wasn’t fourteen.

She was twenty-two. A two-time world champion. And she didn’t want to keep pretending she didn’t notice the way Paige looked in candlelight or how her voice always went low when she got serious or how their rivalry had always been a little too electric to be just about racing.

So Azzi asked — not with words, not really.

She just leaned in.

Not fast. Not dramatic. Just… honest.

Paige met her halfway.

The kiss wasn’t fireworks or thunder. It was quieter than that. Softer. A confirmation more than a confession. The kind of kiss that didn’t need buildup because everything before had already been foreplay — all the races and podiums and fights and those stupid lingering looks in the paddock.

It was slow. And warm. And easy in a way that made Azzi forget about Monaco or Spain or Austria. For one second, there wasn’t a championship or a car or a headline. Just Paige.

When they pulled apart, Paige’s forehead bumped gently against hers.

Azzi let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “So I take it you like girls.”

Paige smiled again — that same calm, crooked thing that made Azzi want to throw something and kiss her again all at once. “Told you already,” she said quietly. “You just weren’t listening.”

Azzi opened her mouth to respond, but Paige cut her off with a second kiss — surer this time. No maybes left.

When it ended, Azzi’s voice was almost a whisper. “So what now?”

Paige tilted her head, eyes still half-lidded, voice brushing Azzi’s jaw like velvet. “Now we go to Austria… and try not to crash into each other.”

Azzi grinned against her skin. “No promises.”

–

Austria was fast.

And Azzi loved fast.

There was something about the Red Bull Ring that felt like it had been designed by someone who understood her. The uphill sweep into Turn 1. The high-speed descent into the back straight. That perfect balance of aggression and grace. Austria let her show off — not just as a champion, but as someone who knew the edge of control better than anyone else.

It was free practice. The skies were clear, the car felt dialed in, and Azzi was singing through sectors like it was nothing. She liked this track. No, she thrived on this track. And for once, the Ferrari felt like it was really hers again. Like it was working with her, not against her.

Which was good. Because the radios were still a mess.

“Mateo,” she called, breath calm through the corners, “are we actually connected this time or am I talking to god again?”

“God would’ve told you to pit five laps ago,” her race engineer replied dryly. “You’re good, Az. We’ve got full coverage. Mic’s working.”

“Well hallelujah,” she muttered. “That’s already better than Miami.”

“You say that every weekend.”

“Yeah, and I’ll keep saying it until someone gives me a headset that doesn’t cut out the second I’m about to brake.”

There was a pause. Some quiet chatter on the backend of the pit wall. Then Mateo’s voice again. “Data looks good. Sector 2 especially. You’re flying.”

“Told you,” Azzi grinned. “Austria loves me.”

“Don’t get too cocky. It’s only practice.”

“I’m not cocky. I’m fast.” She downshifted into Turn 4 like the corner owed her money. “There’s a difference.”

Another pause. “How’s the balance?”

“Better. Still a little stiff on exit, but—” She stopped, squinting at the digital display flashing on her wheel. “Wait. Is Paige on track?”

There was an audible blink in Mateo’s silence. “…Yeah. She just went out.”

Azzi didn’t say anything.

“Why?” he asked slowly.

“No reason.”

More silence.

Then: “Do you want her sector times?”

“No,” she said immediately. “Why would I want her sector times?”

Mateo hesitated. “Because you ask for them literally every practice?”

Azzi rolled her eyes so hard she nearly missed her braking point. “Whatever. I was just wondering if she was on track. Chill.”

Another pause. Longer this time. Azzi could feel the curiosity building on the other end of the radio, but Mateo wasn’t stupid. He didn’t push. Just clicked his mic and moved on.

“Anyway, you’re coming up on a Red Bull. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Azzi exhaled, sharp and focused again. “Copy.”

But the thing was—

She had asked about Paige one too many times.

And Mateo had definitely noticed.

What he hadn’t noticed was that Azzi hadn’t spoken to Paige since New York. Hell, Mateo didn’t know they’d even seen each other in New York.

Not a word. Not a text. Not even a glance on the flight in. Which maybe wouldn’t be weird if they hadn’t made out in Azzi’s living room while the Empire State Building lit the sky outside her windows.

But they had.

And now they were back to cars and silence and championship points.

Azzi braked late, leaned hard into the corner, and caught the tail of a Red Bull just before the turn-in. Easy work. Fast and clean.

Yeah. She was fine.

Totally fine.

And maybe later she’d ask Mateo to show her Paige’s telemetry just for “technical reasons.”

Totally technical.

–

Austria loved her. Azzi knew it in her bones. Qualifying was a perfect display of that.

It was the feeling in her chest when she opened up out of Turn 7, the way the car practically begged her to take more speed into the corners, the way the sky stretched wide and blue above the rolling hills of Spielberg like it had cleared itself just for her. The Red Bull Ring was smooth, brutal, honest. No tricks, no street circuit secrets — just pure speed. And Azzi was fast.

She was so fast.

Her hot lap was clean, relentless, the kind that comes from instinct not calculation. No traffic, no mistakes, no hesitation. Just her and the car and the roar of the track laid out beneath her like a dare.

As she crossed the line, her voice came easy over the radio. Breathless, a little proud. “That was a good one, yeah?”

Mateo’s voice crackled back with something flat but hiding a smile. “Yeah… good lap.”

She let herself exhale as the car eased into the cooldown lap, coasting down through the gears like the whole world was hers again. Not that she needed confirmation from Mateo — she knew that was fast — but it was nice to hear it.

Then, like lightning, something moved in her mirrors.

Or not in her mirrors.

Past her.

Paige.

The red Ferrari blurred by in a flash of speed that made Azzi’s jaw click shut. Paige was flying. Like she’d hit a slipstream only she could see. The engine note was perfect. High, tight, cutting through the air like it wanted blood.

Azzi’s grip on the wheel tightened by half a degree.

The Ferraris were fast on the straights. That much was obvious. But that fast? That wasn’t just the car.

She said nothing.

Mateo said nothing.

They didn’t have to.

The final runs came next. Azzi and Paige lined up in sequence, separated by barely ten seconds. Out laps were quiet, focused. Tyres warmed. Brakes dialed in. The sky over the circuit held a gold hue now, late afternoon light turning everything cinematic. Austria always felt like a movie.

The last lap was a weapon.

Azzi wielded it like one.

It was push-lap aggression and pedal-to-the-floor clarity. She nailed every apex, bled speed in all the right places, trusted the car so fully it was like they shared a pulse. She couldn’t see Paige ahead of her, but she could feel her. Somewhere out there, carving a line just as precise. Two Ferraris. No room for error. The ghost of Red Bull in the data screen.

As she crossed the line again, Mateo’s voice came back, louder this time. “1st. For now.”

Azzi didn’t ask for Paige’s time. She didn’t need to.

But then the live board updated.

1: Azzi Fudd

2: Paige Bueckers (+0.091)

She blinked. Not even a tenth between them. Paige had flown.

Back in the garage, the mood was light but wired. Mechanics bustled, tire blankets hissed, engineers gathered around screens like priests at an altar. Azzi climbed out of the car, yanked off her gloves, and checked her phone while Mateo reviewed telemetry.

And there it was.

Someone had posted a meme. A freeze-frame of Red Bull’s team principal looking like he’d just swallowed battery acid, overlaid with the caption:

“Red Bull Ring? Not anymore. Welcome to Ferrari World.”

Azzi smirked and double-tapped.

This was her track. Always had been.

But Paige… Paige was right there. Nipping at her heels. And if she was this fast here?

Azzi pulled her helmet off and ran a hand through her hair, skin still burning from the heat of the drive. She didn’t know if they’d talk before the race. Didn’t know what she’d say.

But one thing was clear.

Tomorrow, they were going to humiliate Red Bull.

And maybe — just maybe — each other.

–

It was a pretty race.

That was the only word Azzi had for it.

Not brutal. Not technical. Not desperate. Just fast. Smooth. Controlled. A ballet of apexes and throttle curves set to the music of the engines and the glint of the sun off red carbon fiber.

Spielberg gave them blue skies and perfect temperatures. No wind, no chaos, no variables. The kind of race that let you breathe through the straights and think through the corners. The kind that reminded Azzi why she loved it. Why she needed it.

From lights out, the Ferrari twins were untouchable.

Paige got the better launch, slicing into Turn 1 like she was born for it. Azzi stayed close, shadowing her through the first lap, reading every move, every lift, every millimeter of steering angle.

By Lap 7, she made the pass down the straight with DRS — textbook clean — and Paige didn’t fight it. Not yet. Not there.

But a few laps later, Paige took it back. Same corner, different line. She braked later, harder, but still smooth. Always smooth.

Back and forth they went.

No wheel banging. No dirty air tantrums. Just two of the best drivers in the world showing exactly what that looked like.

Red Bull couldn’t catch them. Not even close. Mercedes looked confused. McLaren hung around 5th like they’d forgotten how to climb. Somehow, both Williams drivers ended in the points. But Ferrari? Ferrari was painting lines across Austria like it was theirs.

And maybe it was.

By Lap 50, Azzi took the lead again — and this time, she held it.

The tires were still in a good window. No overheating. The car felt light, eager. She could feel how close Paige was behind, matching every sector, every turn-in, every breath. A second and a half at best. Nothing.

But Azzi didn’t flinch.

Not once.

She crossed the line and exhaled — a sharp, satisfied breath that sounded like relief and pride and ownership all at once.

Mateo’s voice came through her radio, beaming. “P1, Azzi. That’s a win.”

Then came Fred’s voice, warm and crackling but clear. “Beautiful job, both of you. Real racing. Proper Ferrari racing. Great points for the team.”

Azzi smiled into the sweat of her helmet.

And Paige?

Paige crossed a second and a half later, still fast, still right there. If she was annoyed, it didn’t show. She pulled alongside Azzi on the cool-down lap, gave the smallest nod. Respect. Approval. A quiet yeah, you got me.

After they parked the cars, when the helmets came off and the engineers swarmed, Azzi turned, expecting a pause. A beat. Maybe even another day of silence.

But Paige stepped forward and stuck out her hand.

They met in the middle with one of those classic teammate dap-hug combos — just a beat longer than strictly professional. Their first time doing it. No words, just shared breath and hot skin and adrenaline still buzzing in both their veins.

Fred came over, clapped them both on the shoulder, grinning like he’d won the lottery.

Because maybe he had.

They’d gone 1–2 in Austria. On Red Bull’s turf.

Clean. Fast. Beautiful.

And for the first time in this increasingly tangled championship fight, Azzi wasn’t just racing against Paige.

She was racing with her.

–

The post-race debrief room was too bright, too cold, and way too full of old men who hadn’t touched a steering wheel in years.

Azzi slouched a little in her seat, arms crossed, still in her race suit with the sleeves tied around her waist. Paige sat a few chairs down, sipping water and tapping her foot against the tile floor. The high from the Austria win hadn’t worn off, not really — but it was already being buried under media directives, sponsor guidelines, and the endless grind of image control.

Fred Vasseur stood near the door, not speaking. Just watching.

It was the PR team that ran this show.

“We want to build a dual narrative,” one of them said, gesturing toward a sleek slideshow that none of the drivers were actually watching. “Two champions, one team. The key is in balance. Equal exposure. Shared press. Cohesion.”

Azzi blinked. That last word sounded like a threat.

“We also think less ambiguity between you two would be good for the public,” another PR rep chimed in, glancing toward Paige. “You’ve both been… intense. In interviews. Online.”

Paige didn’t answer. Just raised an eyebrow like she was waiting for them to get to the point.

“We’re not saying don’t compete,” the woman clarified. “We’re saying show unity. Respect. Mutual support. The fans love a duo dynamic. We want to lean into that.”

Azzi felt her jaw tighten. “So we’re supposed to be a brand now.”

The room went quiet for half a second too long.

“Well—” a third person finally said, smiling too much, “—you are Ferrari.”

Fred didn’t stop them. He just kept watching.

There were notes about what to wear in certain press appearances. How many mentions of each other were “ideal” for interviews. Even brand-approved phrases: It’s always about the team. We push each other. We race hard but fair.

Azzi tuned most of it out.

By the time the meeting ended, she had half a headache and a full tank of irritation. The PR team filed out quickly, chatting about logistics and fan events and Monaco footage still trending. Paige lingered in her seat a beat longer, arms on her knees, staring at the floor.

Azzi stood. “You good?”

Paige looked up. “Yeah.”

The room was emptying. Fred had already disappeared somewhere, probably to make peace with a sponsor or shut down another Red Bull rumor.

Azzi walked over, thumb hooked into her waistband. “Wanna get some air?”

Paige nodded, slow. “Yeah.”

They didn’t talk until they were out in the hallway, walking side by side past team offices and winding corridors. Eventually, they found a spot near the back lot — quiet, shaded, warm from the summer heat still lingering in the concrete.

For a minute, neither of them said anything.

Then Paige broke the silence. “That meeting was bullshit.”

Azzi snorted. “Total bullshit.”

“They want us to be a duo, but only if it looks how they want it to.”

“Like a tag team with no heat,” Azzi said. “No edge. Just smiles and synergy.”

Paige leaned against the wall and folded her arms. “You think they know what happened in New York?”

Azzi looked at her. “Do you?”

That got a real smile out of Paige — lopsided, dangerous. “Nope.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable.

Azzi chewed on the edge of her thumbnail. “You were good today. Clean. Fast.”

“You too,” Paige said. “Didn’t miss a beat.”

Azzi looked at her for a second longer than she should have, then dropped her eyes. “Cool.”

Paige shifted on her feet. “So… are we good?”

Azzi hesitated. The weight of that question wasn’t just about the race. Or the meeting. Or even New York.

But she nodded. “We’re good.”

There was a pause.

Then Paige reached over, just briefly, and tapped her knuckles against Azzi’s wrist and walked away.

Not a handshake. Not a hug. Just something in between.

A little contact. A little understanding. A little we’ll figure it out