#where he failed to call back. and i was left hanging

[delugyu]

Pls toxic guy fic …….. you need to do a pt 2 i love it :)))

hehehe of course <3

(wc: 1.5k — warnings: smut MDNI, jealousy, dubcon elements, thigh riding)

your friends don’t give up in their efforts to convince you that beomgyu’s bad for you, but you have a hard time believing them. beomgyu’s doubled down in showing his care for you—he’s incapable of prying his hands off of you, he showers you in constant praise, and he never fails to reassure you that everything’s okay. the line between platonic and romantic affection has been blurred for quite some time between you and beomgyu, but it’s something you’ve grown used to now.

beomgyu spends every moment he can with you, and makes sure to text you consistently in moments where you’re away. your friends think it’s borderline obsessive, and it never fails to become a topic of conversation in every hang out.

you know better than that, though. this is just what normal is for you and beomgyu. he’s told you enough times for it to be drilled into your head that your friendship can only be defined by the two of you, and you don’t want to make him upset anymore by questioning his behavior.

you do a good job at keeping your life with beomgyu separate from life with the rest of your friends. you learn to stop talking to beomgyu about them, and to feed into your friends’ theories about him as little as possible.

it’s not always easy, however. situations like this, for example, where you’re at the same party with beomgyu and your friends.

“i figured you’d be here,” beomgyu says, finding you as you’re grabbing another drink. he usually doesn’t go to parties unless you go with him, and you came here with your other friends this time. you didn’t even tell him you were going.

“yeah? how’d you know?” you ask. you walk back to the crowd, and beomgyu follows.

“your friend posted something about it.”

you laugh. “keeping tabs on my friends?”

he blinks at you. “no,” he says. seems like he didn’t catch your joke. you ruffle his hair, finding it cute.

you turn when you hear a friend call your name. she’s signaling you over, and you give one last look to your best friend in front of you. “i’m gonna go back to the girls now, but text me if you need me!”

you don’t look for him after that, too caught up in the atmosphere of the party. one of your friends introduces you to a handsome, charming guy. his name’s yeonjun, you find out after a short conversation, and it doesn’t take long for him to ask you to dance.

you’re pressed right up against him, following the sway of his hips, letting him lead the two of you. you’re all giggles as you talk to yeonjun, feeling entranced by the man.

it’s not even a couple minutes later that you’re pulled away from yeonjun, eyes widening at the feeling of being tugged and dragged away from the crowd. you knew who the culprit was immediately; the feeling of beomgyu’s hand on your skin is as familiar to you as the feeling of air filling your lungs.

the next thing you know, beomgyu’s shutting the bathroom door behind you, locking the two of you inside. you get no chance to ask questions before his lips are on yours, kissing you with more heat than you’ve ever seen from him before.

even in your tipsy state, you know this is much further than you’ve gone with him before. he doesn’t pull away, though, sucking your lips like he has something to prove. you jerk your head to the side so his mouth detaches from yours.

“what’s going on?” you ask, searching for an answer on his face. all you find is how pissed off he is.

“you tell me. who the fuck was that?” he levels you with a hard stare, leaving no room for excuses.

“some guy my friend knows,” you answer, shrugging like it’s not a big deal.

his laugh holds no real humor. “your friends always try to slut you out like this?”

“excuse me?” you let beomgyu get away with many things, but even you know when enough is enough.

he doesn’t respond, only leans in to start peppering kisses down your neck. you’re left feeling confused, not understanding his overreaction just a second ago.

your eyes go wide once you feel his tongue on your skin, licking over the spot he just kissed. you give his chest a small shove, but he doesn’t budge. he’s sucking on your skin now, surely trying to decorate it with a mark.

this is definitely too much. alarms ring in your head as all your friends’ warnings fly back to you in droves. you breathe out something that sounds like a whine when he bites down where your neck meets your shoulder. his tongue laves at the area, and his trail of kisses continues down to your collarbone.

“gyu,” you start, threading your fingers through his hair, trying to pull him away. “we shouldn’t be doing this.”

he doesn’t answer, just slips the thin sleeve of your dress down, freeing some skin. his mouth latches onto you dangerously close to your breasts, sucking marks onto you. his hand creeps up your thigh, fingertips pressing into the soft flesh. your other sleeve meets the same fate, prompting much of your chest to be exposed.

“gyu,” you try again, but your call is only met with the feeling of his hand inching further up your thigh.

you finally tug hard enough at his hair to pry him off of you. he’s equal parts anger and lust as he stares at you. he grabs onto your waist and pulls your body into his, wedging one of his legs between yours. a jean-clad thigh meets your center, but you bite back any noise that threatens to slip out.

“what is it with you and trying to replace me?” he asks, eyes flitting down your frame. they linger on the expanse of your chest. he’d just have to pull your dress down slightly for your tits to pop out.

“replace you?” you repeat, trying not to lose yourself to the feeling of him pressing against your core.

“other friends, other men, everyone else but me…” you scrunch your face at his words, not understanding him.

“i hang out with you all the time,” you counter.

one of his hands leaves your waist, making its way up to your breast. you don’t allow yourself to gasp at the feeling when he slowly rubs a thumb across your clothed nipple.

“w-what are you doing?” you ask, hanging desperately onto your sanity.

he brings his eyes back to yours. “i’m taking what’s mine.”

your eyes roll back when he makes you grind against his thigh. his other hand continues to play with your tits, and the stimulation is already overwhelming. this isn’t ever anything you’d expect to be doing with beomgyu.

“we can’t”—your sentence is cut off by a gasp when he presses his thigh against you with more force—“can’t do this.”

“why?” he asks. “you would have ran off to do this with yeonjun anyway. i’m just giving you what you wanted.”

you throw your head back, still trying to fight the feeling, but it’s hard when he’s rubbing you against him so deliciously. your friends were right: beomgyu is taking things too far, but you can’t bring yourself to stop him now.

“how do you feel?” he asks, pulling his hand from your breast to make you look directly at him. he’s got a tight hold on your jaw, so you can’t save yourself and look another way. his stare is so intense, it leaves you feeling naked.

“good,” you answer. he grins at that, and his hand on your hip coaxes you to roll your hips a little more. it doubles the buzz you were already feeling, and you whine at the sensation. your legs start twitching, pleasure taking over.

a knock at the door brings a sense of fear upon you. you look at beomgyu in horror, realizing he’s not going to stop. he leans in, bringing his lips to your ear.

“you gotta cum now, okay?” you shake your head, not wanting to risk the person on the other side of the door hearing anything. “yes, you do.”

he uses both his hands on your hips to drag your cunt across his thigh, determined to get you off before you get kicked out of the bathroom. you cover your mouth with your hand, trying your hardest to keep any sounds from escaping you. it’s so hard when your whole body is succumbing to the feeling, orgasm creeping up on you. another knock sounds at the door, harder this time.

“come on, show me what i do to you,” beomgyu urges, eyes locked on your face. he smiles at your wide eyes, so conflicted between wrong and right. you have no choice—your climax hits you before you can stop it. you close your eyes and focus on being as silent as you can while your hips stutter against him.

“good job,” he praises as you come down, hands moving from your thighs to fix the straps of your dress. you bring your hand off your mouth when he pulls his thigh from you. you feel like you can finally breathe again.

“we need to talk about this later,” you say.

he smiles. “why don’t we just go back to my place and talk about it there?”

[zeroseuniverse]

Safety Blanket

Word Count: 1.2K Summary: "You’re right. I can't resist. This is... incredible." Hoshi let out a dramatic sigh of contentment, resting his head on the mound of pillows. "I told you. It’s the ultimate self-care." Pairing: Hoshi X Fem Reader

She walked into the living room, hoping to find her best friend, Hoshi, ready to hang out and do something productive. Instead, she was met with an unusual sight—an entire fortress of blankets piled high on the couch, with only a small gap near the edge for Hoshi's face to peek through.

She blinked. "Uh... are you okay?"

There was a muffled voice from within the blanket fortress. "I'll let you take one guess."

She raised an eyebrow, walking closer to the pile of fabric. "Hoshi, what... what happened? Did you get buried under here or something?"

A hand emerged from the side, flailing weakly in the air. "Nope! I'm just... embracing my inner potato today." The voice was muffled by the blankets, but she could tell Hoshi was grinning.

She couldn't help but laugh. "Inner potato, huh? Is that a new thing? Because it looks more like you’re hiding from the world."

Hoshi’s head popped out from the blanket cocoon, his messy hair sticking out like a haystack, eyes wide with determination. "It’s called self-care. You should try it sometime."

She squatted down next to the blanket mountain, peering into the small gap where Hoshi’s face was framed. "So, you’re just... hiding in there? Not doing anything productive? Not even thinking about lunch?"

Hoshi dramatically sighed and lay back into the mound of fabric. "Well, considering I spent the entire morning trying to perfect my dance routine for one move, which I still haven’t nailed, I decided it was time for a retreat. You can only fail so many times before you need an emotional support blanket."

She leaned back and crossed her arms, trying to suppress a laugh. "So, you’re giving up on dancing?"

Hoshi shot her a look, his face partially visible beneath the blankets. "I’m not giving up. I’m just... recharging my spirit with the power of blankets. You can't underestimate the healing properties of a cozy fortress." He adjusted his position, fluffed his pillow, and let out a deep sigh of satisfaction. "Okay, I might be a little bit giving up. But at least I’m comfortable."

She rolled her eyes, but there was something endearing about his dramatic behavior. "What happened to the guy who wanted to become the world’s best dancer?"

Hoshi’s head popped up again, and he gave her a serious look, his blanket cocoon shifting with the motion. "He got temporarily replaced by a potato. It’s a phase."

She chuckled. "Alright, well, if you want to embrace your potato self, I guess I’ll leave you to it. But the world’s best dancer doesn’t get to hide forever, you know."

Hoshi’s eyes sparkled mischievously. "That’s why I’m training to become the world’s best blanket ninja right now. It’s all part of the plan."

She shook her head in mock disbelief. "You’re ridiculous."

Hoshi grinned, sinking further into his blankets with a dramatic flair. "Thank you. It’s an art form, really."

She let out a sigh, still smiling. "Well, enjoy your blanket paradise, Potato Hoshi. Let me know if you need anything. Like, I don’t know, a snack or a wake-up call when your blanket fortress collapses."

Hoshi’s muffled voice came from beneath the pile, far too calm. "I’m already preparing my escape plan. Just give me a few hours. Maybe days."

She laughed. "Alright, take your time, Potato Hoshi. Just... don’t forget about the world outside your blanket fortress."

Hoshi, from the depths of his blanket hideout, gave a triumphant thumbs-up. "World? What world?"

And with that, she left him to his blankets, knowing full well he’d emerge sooner or later, probably with a new ridiculous story to tell. After all, this was Hoshi—a potato by day, dancer by night.

She had left Hoshi to his blanket cocoon for a good while, but curiosity—and an undeniable sense of comfort—pulled her back. As she peeked around the corner, she saw him still hidden beneath the layers of fabric, looking like a human burrito, only his eyes visible. He was definitely not planning on leaving anytime soon.

She hesitated for a moment, but then the mischievous side of her took over. She wasn't going to let him have all the fun. Without saying a word, she casually walked over to the fortress and, in one swift move, pulled a corner of the blankets back and slipped underneath.

Hoshi, who had been staring at his phone with a half-interested gaze, blinked in surprise as she crawled in beside him, her face emerging from the same gap he'd been peering through.

"What are you doing?" Hoshi asked, his voice half-amused, half-confused.

She gave him a grin, her hair slightly tangled from the blanket’s cozy chaos. "Joining you, obviously. I can't let you have all the potato glory to yourself."

Hoshi’s face lit up, and a playful laugh bubbled out of him. "So, you’ve decided to embrace your inner potato as well? Welcome to the club."

She snuggled into the pile of blankets, enjoying the soft warmth around her. "You’re right. I can't resist. This is... incredible."

Hoshi let out a dramatic sigh of contentment, resting his head on the mound of pillows. "I told you. It’s the ultimate self-care."

She laid beside him, mimicking his posture. They both stared at the ceiling for a few moments, cocooned in silence. The outside world—work, obligations, the chaos of life—seemed a million miles away.

"How long do you think we can stay here?" she asked lazily, her voice muffled by the blankets.

Hoshi raised his hand as if he were about to give a speech. "As long as we need. The world outside does not exist in Blanket land."

She chuckled, nudging him lightly. "You’re ridiculous."

"I’m serious!" Hoshi replied dramatically. "I’m at peace with the universe right now. No distractions. No responsibilities. Just blankets and—" He paused dramatically, looking at her. "—you. My fellow blanket warrior."

She smiled. "I never thought I’d be hiding from the world inside a blanket fort, but... I think I get it now. This is the best idea you’ve ever had."

Hoshi grinned, satisfied with his self-proclaimed genius. "Told ya! It's the ultimate fortress of tranquility."

She rolled onto her side, facing him. "What do we do now? Should we come up with a plan to conquer the world, or just nap for the rest of the day?"

Hoshi tapped his finger to his chin, deep in thought. "Hmm, I think I’m going with Plan B: nap first, conquer the world later. This blanket fortress has taken a lot out of me."

She laughed and settled her head onto a pillow. "Sounds good to me. I’ve got absolutely no plans anyway."

The two of them lay there for a while, wrapped in warmth and comfort, talking about everything and nothing. No deadlines, no pressures, just the soft hum of the world outside, barely reaching them beneath their blanket fortress.

And as they both drifted into a peaceful nap, She couldn’t help but feel that this was exactly what they both needed. After all, sometimes the best adventures were the ones where you simply stayed still.

"Hey, Hoshi," She whispered sleepily, "I think this might be my new favorite thing."

Hoshi let out a contented sigh, his voice barely a whisper. "I told you. The Potato Club is the best club."

She smiled, snuggling deeper into the cocoon. "Best club ever."

And so, in their blanket fortress, the world outside could wait.

[luvashli]

DANCING WITH GHOSTS

SYNOPSIS -> After a painful breakup, Y/N and Jake struggle to move on, haunted by memories of their love. She clings to the life they shared, while he tries and fails to forget her.

PAIRING: nonidol!ex!jake x fem!ex!reader

GENRE: oneshot, exes to lovers(?), angst

STARTED: 1/23/2025

STATUS: complete

WC: 2.6K

Note: this story is based on the song “Ghost of you“ by 5 seconds of summer, I advice you to listen to it while reading :)

Also I wrote it for a friend of mine, cause she is a huge 5sos fan hehe.

Click here for the song

The house was too quiet. The kind of silence that didn’t offer peace but instead carried the weight of memories. Every creak of the floorboards echoed like a whisper of the past, tugging at your heartstrings in the cruelest way.

It had been months since Jake left, yet his presence lingered in every corner. His laugh still bounced off the walls in your mind, his touch still warmed the spaces he used to claim as his own. You stood in the middle of the living room, the coffee table still bearing faint scratches from one of his clumsy stumbles.

Your eyes fell on the couch, where the two of you had spent countless nights. There was a time when his arms were your home, his heartbeat your favorite melody. Now, the silence swallowed you whole.

"Here I am waking up, still can't sleep on your side..."

You muttered the words under your breath as you wandered into the kitchen. His coffee cup still sat at the back of the cabinet, untouched since the day he left. You didn’t have the heart to throw it away, even though the lipstick stain you once teased him about had faded with time.

If you closed your eyes long enough, you could almost see him. Jake, leaning against the counter, his messy hair and lazy grin the first thing you’d see every morning.

"If I can dream long enough, you'd tell me I'd be just fine... I'll be just fine."

But you weren’t fine. You hadn’t been fine since he walked out, his words cutting through you like shards of glass.

You didn’t blame him, not entirely. You were both too young, too dumb, to know what love truly meant. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.

The rain was pouring outside as you decided to clean up the bedroom. You hadn’t dared to touch most of his things, but today, something in you urged you to. Maybe it was time.

As you pulled open the drawer, your fingers brushed against fabric. You tugged it out, your breath catching when you saw it—his old Led Zeppelin shirt. The one he wore the night he ran away from everything, from you.

You clutched it to your chest, the familiar scent faint but still there, like the last remnant of him refusing to fade.

"Cleaning up today, found that old Zeppelin shirt you wore when you ran away..."

The tears came then, hot and unstoppable. You sank to the floor, the shirt in your lap as you cried for what you had lost, for the love that slipped through your fingers.

Jake wasn’t faring any better.

He sat in his apartment, the dim light of the living room casting shadows that only reminded him of what he’d left behind. His phone sat on the table, your contact still pinned at the top, though he hadn’t dared to call.

He thought about you every day. How could he not? You were everywhere. In the songs he played, the movies he watched, the quiet moments when he was left alone with his thoughts.

He had tried to move on, but no one else felt like you. No one else made his heart race the way you did.

"We're too young, too dumb to know things like love. But I know better now."

Jake ran a hand through his hair, his mind replaying the last time he saw you. The hurt in your eyes as he walked away was burned into his memory, a reminder of the mistakes he couldn’t take back.

Back in the house, you stood in the living room, the old Zeppelin shirt now hanging loosely on your frame. It was far too big for you, but it felt like a hug from him, even if it was a ghost of what you once had.

You turned on the stereo, letting the music fill the empty space. And then, as if guided by some unseen force, you began to move.

Your feet shuffled across the floor, your arms wrapping around yourself as you swayed to the beat of the song.

"So I drown it out like I always do, dancing through our house with the ghost of you..."

The tears didn’t stop, but you didn’t care. You danced, remembering the nights you and Jake would spin each other around this very room, laughing and tripping over your own feet.

But now, there was no laughter. Only the memory of him, and the ache that wouldn’t leave.

Jake stood outside your house, the rain soaking him to the bone. He didn’t know why he was there, or what he expected to happen. But his feet had brought him here, as if they knew what his heart wanted even when his mind tried to deny it.

He peered through the window, and his breath caught in his throat.

There you were, dancing. Alone, but not alone. He could see it in the way you moved, in the way your arms wrapped around yourself. You were dancing with the ghost of him, and it broke his heart all over again.

"That my feet don't dance like they did with you..."

He wanted to go to you, to pull you into his arms and tell you he was sorry, that he’d been a fool. But he didn’t move. He stayed rooted to the spot, watching as you poured your heart into every step, every movement.

And when you finally collapsed onto the couch, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you afloat, Jake turned away.

He wasn’t ready to face you, to confront the mess he had made. But as he walked back into the rain, one thing was clear: he would never stop loving you.

And maybe, just maybe, someday he’d find the courage to tell you.

It wasn’t one singular moment that broke you and Jake; it was a collection of little cracks in the foundation. Tiny misunderstandings, unspoken fears, and the unrelenting pressure of life slowly ate away at the love you thought was indestructible.

Jake had always been the kind of person who wore his heart on his sleeve. He loved loudly, recklessly, and without hesitation. You loved him for that. But love, no matter how passionate, can sometimes falter under the weight of everything else.

It began with the arguments—petty at first.

“You’re always busy with work,” Jake had said one night, his voice tinged with frustration as you sat hunched over your laptop at the kitchen table. “It’s like I don’t even exist anymore.”

You sighed, trying to keep your temper in check. “Jake, I have deadlines. I don’t have the luxury of just sitting around and waiting for inspiration to hit like you do.”

His jaw tightened at your words. You didn’t mean for it to sound cruel, but it did. Jake was an aspiring musician, chasing dreams that seemed so far out of reach sometimes. You admired his dedication, but there were days when it felt like he was still a boy while you had to be the responsible one.

“I’m not sitting around,” he shot back, his voice rising. “Just because my job doesn’t look like yours doesn’t mean I’m not working hard.”

The argument spiraled from there. Neither of you really wanted to hurt the other, but the words came out anyway, sharp and biting.

Then there was the night you missed his big performance.

It was supposed to be a milestone for him—a showcase for local artists that could have opened doors to something bigger. He had begged you to come, to be there in the crowd cheering him on.

But your boss had called an emergency meeting, and by the time you made it to the venue, the show was over. Jake was sitting on the curb outside, his guitar case by his feet, the smile he’d worn earlier completely gone.

“Jake,” you said, out of breath. “I’m so sorry. I tried—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, standing abruptly. “Don’t bother. You didn’t try hard enough.”

“That’s not fair!” you exclaimed, tears stinging your eyes. “You know how much this project means to me.”

“And what about me, Y/N?” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Do I mean less than your job? Because that’s how it feels.”

You froze, your heart shattering at the pain in his voice. “Jake, that’s not true. I love you.”

“Do you?” he asked quietly, his shoulders slumping. “Because I don’t feel it anymore.”

The final blow came weeks later, during a late-night argument that neither of you saw coming. It wasn’t about work or performances this time—it was about the fear that had been building in both of you, unspoken and festering.

“You don’t even see me anymore,” Jake said, pacing the living room. “I feel like I’m just... here. Like a placeholder in your life.”

“That’s not fair,” you snapped, exhaustion and frustration bubbling to the surface. “Do you think this is easy for me? Balancing everything? I’m trying, Jake!”

“Are you?” he shot back. “Because all I see is someone who’s already halfway out the door.”

The words cut deep, but you refused to let them show. “Maybe you’re right,” you said coldly, your voice trembling. “Maybe we’re just holding each other back.”

Jake’s face crumbled, and for a moment, you wanted to take it back. But the damage was done.

“So that’s it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

And with that, he left.

The days following the breakup were a blur. You threw yourself into work, trying to fill the gaping hole he had left behind. But no amount of deadlines or distractions could stop the memories from creeping in.

Jake, on the other hand, buried himself in his music. His songs became darker, rawer, filled with the pain of losing you. He played at dive bars and small venues, pouring his heartbreak into every lyric.

Both of you pretended to move on, but the truth was, neither of you did.

You still reached for him in your dreams, only to wake up to an empty bed. Jake still caught himself glancing at his phone, hoping to see your name light up the screen.

And so, the two of you drifted further apart, held together only by the memories that haunted you both.

As you stood in the middle of the living room, his old Zeppelin shirt in your hands, the weight of it all came crashing down.

"We're too young, too dumb to know things like love. But I know better now."

You whispered the words to yourself, tears streaming down your face. You had loved him. You still did. But love wasn’t always enough to hold two people together.

Jake, drenched in rain outside your house, couldn’t stop thinking about the last thing you said to him.

"Maybe we’re just holding each other back."

He wondered if it was true. Or if you had only said it because you were scared—just like he was.

As he walked away, his heart ached with the knowledge that no matter how far he tried to run, he would always find himself coming back to you.

Jake thought she would help him forget.

He met her at one of his gigs, a girl with a warm smile and a laugh that filled the room. She wasn’t you, but maybe that was the point. He was desperate to move on, to stop seeing your face in every passing thought, to stop hearing your voice in every song he sang.

At first, she was a distraction. Her presence was easy, uncomplicated. She laughed at his jokes and told him his music was amazing. She never argued with him about late nights or missed texts. She was everything you weren’t.

And yet, she wasn’t you.

The first time Jake realized it wouldn’t work was when she sat beside him in his apartment, humming along to a song he had written.

“That’s beautiful,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Did you write it for someone?”

Jake hesitated, his fingers faltering on the guitar strings. “Yeah,” he said softly, his mind immediately going to you.

She didn’t ask for more details, but the guilt that weighed on him was suffocating. He was using her, trying to patch a wound that only you could heal.

One night, she invited him out to dinner. He agreed, thinking that maybe if he gave it enough time, his feelings for you would fade.

But as they sat across from each other, her laugh ringing out, he couldn’t help but notice how different it sounded from yours. How her smile didn’t reach her eyes the way yours did. How her perfume wasn’t the one he’d memorized from all those nights you fell asleep in his arms.

He was quiet the entire night, his mind drifting back to you. To your shared moments, your arguments, your laughter.

By the end of the evening, she looked at him with sad understanding.

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?”

Jake’s heart sank. He couldn’t bring himself to lie. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

She gave him a small, bittersweet smile. “Then go to her, Jake. You’re wasting both our time trying to convince yourself otherwise.”

The walk to your house was long, the cold night air biting at his skin. He had no plan, no idea what he would say when he saw you. But he couldn’t go another day pretending he didn’t still love you.

Jake’s thoughts raced as he approached your front door. His heart pounded in his chest, each step heavier than the last.

What if you didn’t want to see him? What if you had moved on, just like he had tried to?

But the thought of not trying—of letting you slip away for good—was unbearable.

When he reached your door, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the wood. The light in your living room was on, casting a warm glow that reminded him of all the nights you spent curled up together on the couch.

He could hear faint music playing inside. It was one of his songs.

Jake swallowed the lump in his throat and knocked.

The sound was soft, tentative, but it was enough to make your heart stop.

Inside, you froze, your breath catching as you stared at the door. No one else knocked like that. No one else could make your pulse race with three simple taps.

Slowly, you stood, your legs trembling as you approached the door.

When you opened it, there he was. Jake, drenched in the cold night air, his hair slightly messy, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and fear.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy, but not empty. It was full of everything you had left unsaid.

“I couldn’t do it,” Jake finally said, his voice shaking. “I couldn’t move on. I tried, Y/N. I really tried. But it’s always you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, the weight of his words sinking in. “Jake…”

“I’m sorry,” he continued, stepping closer. “For everything. For leaving. For not fighting harder. I was scared, and I let that fear ruin the best thing that ever happened to me.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. Your heart was a mess of emotions—anger, love, sadness, and relief all blending together.

Jake took another step forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me it’s not too late. Please.”

And in that moment, you didn’t care about the past or the mistakes or the pain. You only cared that he was here, standing in front of you, asking for another chance.

You stepped aside, letting him in.

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[lokh]

not us cracking open the mailbox and me finding the day before the cardio appointment that he had sent blood tests. almost 3 weeks ago

[inkskinned]

in the time loop the only way out is to leave her there but you don't ever leave her there, never in the roughly one thousand years you have been in the same day. it is probably like "50 first dates" but you haven't stooped so low as to watch "50 first dates" yet. (but who is to say what another thousand years of the same media will bring to you, maybe you will develop a new taste).

you spent about 200 of these years sulking in a bathtub or on the couch or staring at the seaside. 300 of them have been spent slowly mapping the geographical distance you can actually get before the time loop restarts. you have a list of favorite places: one library in Western Massachusetts called "The Bookmill", which has weird hours and has never raised an eyebrow to you arriving out-of-breath and panting, asking to see a specific book on a specific shelf. There is one beach without a name in North Carolina; it is an accident of geography and ownership title disputes - and it is pristine, untouched, warm and cozy. you've taken her on a lot of picnics there. Acadia National Park. One specific birdhouse in the mountains.

you were stuck in the time loop with the money you entered it with: not enough to rent a private jet. you've robbed a bank a few times, you don't like the way it ends. maybe next century you'll get the hang of it. you don't like the look on her face when you say hang on i have to stop at the bank.

you just have to leave her, and you can go back to being a person again. you took 5 years just catching a flight and sitting in the Grand Canyon. if there's one thing you regret more than anything, it's that you hadn't gotten your passport renewed before this fucking time loop. maybe you should spend some time learning forgery - but also, like, you look like an english teacher. nobody is going to be cool about you asking to see their paper printing machines.

the world is very big. that is one of the things groundhog day gets wrong. there are no consequences, so you have literally all the time (or none of the time?) in the world. in groundhog day, he does a lot of very cool things, but in reality - your muscle memory never gets better. you can't necessarily learn how to play piano or sculpt ice, because your hands never remember the practice. but hey - maybe you'll try violin next. drums. synth.

you can open any door and walk into any conversation. money isn't really an object. you can try every meal off every menu, forever. take her on helicopter tours and into every museum and on every event that is happening right-now at-this-moment. parades and funerals and calligraphy classes.

but you are somewhat trapped by the limitations of your body. if you were reading a book, you still need to get up and go back to the library and find that book again when the day resets. (thank god for the internet). it still takes like 2 hours to board a plane, and then takeoff and landing and traffic. you've gotten off to run around on the freeway. one of the little thankful things: since your brain isn't actually developing (it's a muscle too), the days thankfully don't feel shorter to you. that would be agony.

all you have to do to leave the timeloop is let that man get away with it. that's all. in every version of yourself - forever - you have stopped him.

the problem is that this experience has convinced you of the existence of the human soul. after all, how else are you forming memories? your very cells reset. information has to be transferred somehow. and if timeloops are real, you can convince yourself other magic exists. so you have two choices here: this hell, or the next. there might be a millennia where you have been worn down to the point you can accept fate's decision. this is just not one of them. ironically - she is the one thing you have left.

and besides! if you can't always find something new in your partner, aren't you failing them? there is something new about her, every day with the same morning. every brutal day with the same orange sunset.

after all, you wanted to live with her in heaven, in eternity, and, well - isn't this second-best.

[ghoulphile]

janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | part 01

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 3.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap, hair pulling, teasing, making out, mutual pining, lipstick kink, stockings, frottage, porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --” ➥ notes | i'm so sorry this is later than it should be. i am unfortunately a corporate slave and this fic just did not want to cooperate 🫠 there are a lot more things planned and this fic is turning into a bit of a beast (20+ pages and counting rip lmao) so i've decided to split it into two parts to make it more manageable for myself mostly un-beta'd atm a special thanks to @corinthianism for all her lovely help ❤️!!

feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

One of the ugliest things in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say. At least when he was a Marine, they told him where to point his gun, where to aim; nameless threats vanishing with a quick squeeze of the trigger.

Here, these ‘enemies’ aren’t enemies — not really.

It’d be easier if they were.

Worse still, they have names he holds as dearly as his own. There’s Barb, whip smart and always so clever. Then Janey, the light of his life and so sweet his teeth ache.

Once upon a time, life was sweeter than apple pie on Sundays.

Then came the separation.

Afterwards, he finds it hard to look at what’s left of his family without losing breath like a horse kick to the chest. Their absence rips open a hole inside him ten miles wide, its edges jagged and wrong.

And when he can’t take the silence anymore, fingers of malt liquor help dull the ache, though it’ll never be enough to mend what’s broken.

See, war’s something he understands.

But these domestic battlefields where he sits across from his ex-wife while lawyers barter this weekend and that holiday?

How he struggles to meet his daughter’s eye every time she asks if he’s coming home?

When Barb keeps the house and the money while he keeps the scrapbooks and the dog?

He doesn’t — can't — refuses to comprehend.

Because in what world can you reconcile looking down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman you love staring back, finger on the trigger? Left out to hang as Vault-Tec orchestrates his downfall.

The true depth of their involvement is unknown, but it’s no coincidence his bank accounts dried up faster than the Mojave in June. The ink still wet when the media snapped up the story of his failed marriage.

Thus, his reputation (rather what’s left of it) unraveled faster than a spool of thread.

Knocked on his ass and kept there by a boot heel crushing his windpipe. Whose? He hasn’t got a fucking clue.

But whoever they are, they’re making sure he stays a washed up nobody who struggles to land a call back, much less pay his monthly alimony on time.

See what we can do? You were America’s favorite gunslinger - now look at you. Mind your place.

Hell, millions used to scream his name.

Nowadays people whisper it behind their hands like a dirty secret, “Oh, did you hear? Cooper Howard…” as they dissect pieces of his life into bite-sized Before’s and After’s. “Hah! Serves him right. Y’know, I never liked him much.”

While he grits his teeth and swallows his bitterness with a smile, he hates how he can’t protect Janey from snide reporters and nosy strangers. Juggling actor-father-divorcé with fumbling hands.

It’s only been six months; a heartbeat, a lifetime, and already he’s scraped thin like butter over too much bread.

Something’s gotta give.

After all, he’s only one man.

But just when it's bleakest, the clouds part.

A young woman moves in next door, the first bright thing that’s come his way in a long, long while.

At first, he kept his distance.

Exchanged vague hello’s and how-are-you’s. Then Janey took a shine; always so friendly and eager to talk about her latest books.

Any reservations he might’ve had died when he saw how enamored you are with her.

Only made sense that over time small pleasantries turned into playdates. Then those playdates turned into sleepovers.

Before long, you’re watching her when a gig runs late.

Rustling up grub and tucking her into bed more often than not these days. And when he slinks in through the door, knees aching and stripped to the bone, there you are with a shy smile and a warm meal.

So what if he takes himself in hand after you leave, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress?

Imagines the wide stretch of your ruby lips as you swallow him down, lipstick smeared an awful mess?

Cums hard to the fantasy of your teary eyes and hiccupy breaths as you choke?

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

After all, he’s a gentleman... he promises to keep his hands to himself.

“All right, Sugar Bomb, it’s bedtime.”

Bundled in navy bedding up to her nose, Janey’s wide brown eyes peer up at you from beneath a riot of frizzy curls. Roosevelt, her ever faithful companion, plasters himself to her side. The tip of his tail swishes once, twice before falling limp.

“Ah, c’mon guys. Don’t look at me like that.” You sigh with a fond shake of the head, hip popping out to rest against the doorframe. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow ‘em.”

A muffled response sounds from the lump of little girl, “Nmfhm.”

Squinting, you dip your head and tap the side of your ear, "Pardon?"

“Mnhfmmmm.”

“Ye—eah… Didn’t catch that, Mumbler.”

Janey tugs down the blanket, her mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. “I said,” she crosses her arms with a huff, “not until Dad gets home.”

Shit.

“M’sorry, baby. He’s still gonna be a while.” Walking across the room, you stop beside the bed and motion your hand back and forth. “Scooch over.”

Gangly limbs fumble as Janey wiggles into the middle of the mattress, her feet tangling in the blankets. Roosevelt takes a toe to the nose during the transition, but flops across her knees all the same.

Together they settle with a bounce of springs.

In the open space, you slide in.

The bed sinks under your weight, a plume of rich cologne tickling your nose; mint-spiced citrus. Cooper. Your stomach swoops, and your heart trips.

“I didn’t see him at breakfast — or lunch!” A pout tugs at her mouth. “Not even dinner. I gotta go home tomorrow. So when am I gonna see him?”

“Oh, bug.” You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Your dad’s been real busy at work. And I know that’s been hard for you, but I promise to make sure he’s here for breakfast tomorrow.”

“D’you mean it?” Her cold nose digs into your skin. “Me and Roosevelt miss him so much.”

Cuddled into your chest, Janey tosses an arm around your back. Her fuzzy head rests in the crook of your arm, springy curls tickling your skin.

You squeeze her tight and trace your fingertips over her forehead.

“I can do you one better,” you say, bopping the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle - a soft sound that sits warm and gooey in your chest. “I pinkie-promise.”

Her finger loops around yours, so small and fragile.

“I’ll even make pancakes. How’s that sound for a promise?”

“Oh, yes, please! I think Dad will like that,” a wide yawn cuts her off mid-sentence. “He’s sad, but he always smiles when you make food.”

Janey’s words — unexpected as they are sudden — cut so deep it steals the breath from your lungs. You flounder, your heart a throbbing bruise in your chest.

“... Then pancakes it is.”

As if nothing happened at all, she asks, “Do I have to go to bed now?”

“Afraid so, little miss.” Your responding chuckle sounds stilted even to your own ears. “Just you wait. When you wake up, Dad’ll be home.”

“Fi—ine, but I want extra pancakes.” Janey pauses, considers you with narrow eyes, then adds, “With syrup!”

“Whatever you want,” you say with an indulgent smile. “Now... time to sleep. It’s really past your bedtime.”

She gives you one last squeeze then lets you tuck her in nice and tight, blankets pulled up to her chin. You drop a kiss on her forehead while Roosevelt re-settles on the pillow beside her after a quick scratch behind the ears. 

Everything in order, you turn to go only for a little hand to stop you.

“Yes?” you reply, glancing at her from over your shoulder.

“... can you put on one of Dad's movies?”

The tremble in her voice - like she’s about to get scolded - breaks your heart clean down the middle. Stitching on a soft smile, you nod and walk to the darkened TV set in the room's corner.

After fiddling with the nobs, static flashes to life.

“The Man from Deadhorse okay?”

The holotape sliding into the track swallows the sound of her tiny “Yeah.” Starting up with a whirl of machinery, the second-hand Radiation King flickers to life in black-and-white.

A vast plain and bright sky stretches across the screen.

Then Sugarfoot creeps into frame with the one and only Cooper Howard sitting astride the noble steed. The sheriff’s badge on his chest glints in the sun.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, already half-way to sleep.

“Anything for you, baby. Sleep tight.”

Flicking off the lights, you leave the door cracked. Walk away pretending like hearing her whisper goodnight to the TV doesn’t lance through you like lightning.

The desire to whisk her into your arms and soothe all of her ails is almost impossible to ignore.

Somehow, you distract yourself by wiping up the table, then by fixing a plate of dinner for whenever Cooper rolls in. Though all the while, how brokenhearted Janey sounded sits in the back of your mind like a leaden weight.

When Cooper stumbles into the living room, it’s half past midnight.

You’d gotten up to greet him, curled as you were in an armchair reading, when something about the stern line of his mouth gave you pause.

Where the usual lighthearted greetings lingered, a pensive stillness trembled to life.

Tension crackles through the air; a held breath of agitation. By the faraway gaze and defeated slump of his broad shoulders, it’s plain to see the night didn’t go as intended. And no matter how much you long to soothe, you can’t.

After all, he’s not yours to touch.

Instead, you offer a sympathetic smile and ask, “Rough night, huh?”

Cooper ignores the prompt, squeezing past with a brief touch to your elbow as he makes a beeline for the dry bar. The heat of his body is there and gone in a flash, his cologne teasing your senses. He says, “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Your heart flutters in your throat. “Ah,” you lick your lips, “well, I was going to finish my chapter first.”

Humming, he turns his back to you and fiddles with high balls and decanters. The tink of crystal glassware fills the air as he speculates which alcohol goes best with his mood. 

“Thanks again for watching Janey.” He nods in approval and fixes his whiskey neat. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Howard.” You shrug. “She’s a sweetheart.”

He shoots you a dry look from over his shoulder, stirring the dark amber of his drink with a forefinger. When he sucks his skin clean with a soft pop - a flash of a pink tongue taunting, teasing - your stomach swoops.

God, I wonder what else his mouth can do.

Flustered, you clear your throat and stare at a spot on the wall.

“How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Coop?” he says, digging through some drawers until he finds what he’s searching for: a lighter. “It must be a million and one by now.”

Flint sparks as flames jump, eating away at the end of a cigarette. Cooper inhales in short little puffs, pulling on the filter. His cheeks hollow, the shadows enhancing the cut of his jaw before the tip catches alight.

“Well,” he exhales, his gaze catching yours through a plume of smoke as he turns, brow raised. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you chuckle.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smirk. “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks back the last finger of whiskey before refilling with gin.

Springs groan in protest when he drops to the couch, settling in with an outstretched arm and wide spread thighs.

“It’s been a long fucking day,” he rasps.

Gulping, you try to ignore the space at his feet.

The stirrings of desire provoked by the urge to sink to your knees and fill it with your body, to ease tension from those shoulders with your hands, your mouth, your cunt — if he’d let you.

“You heading home?” Nursing the fresh drink, he swallows a mouthful, only to hiss low through his teeth at the chemical burn. His throat bobs, framed by the open collar of his shirt. “Whew! Goddamn, that’s strong.”

“No, I can stay for a while.” A bird on a wire, you perch on the cushion beside him. “Got nothing else planned for tonight, anyhow.”

Cooper snorts. “I doubt that very much. A sweet young thing like you,” he motions towards you with his glass, “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of fellas calling, especially on a Friday night. Don’t waste your time with me.”

“That’s not why I--” you stop yourself short.

Save for the bustling LA avenue right outside the complex, the apartment itself is stone silent for several heartbeats. Words hover on the back of your tongue, catching in the bend of your throat molasses thick.

Meanwhile, Cooper continues to swirl the alcohol in his glass.

Maybe in a different life, you wouldn’t hesitate to express yourself.

But here — with him — you shouldn’t.

Christ sake, he’s a grieving divorcé, you chastise yourself. The last thing he needs is me trying to lay one on him.

When you speak, his name glides off your lips for the first time, clementine sweet, “... Cooper, I’m not wasting my time. I enjoy spending it with Janey - and you.”

“Well,” he husks, hooded eyes dragging down your visage in a slow once-over, “you’re the first one in a long while to feel that way, sweetheart.”

Dripping like honey whiskey from Cooper’s lips, the simple phrase burns its way down-down-down until it blooms like liquid fire in your belly. Warms you all the way to your toes as your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“I mean it.” Your knuckles twist in the pleats of your sundress, bolts of blue fabric bunched around your knees. “Everything I do is because I want to.”

The flash of red nails plucking at the sheer nylon of your stockings snaps up his attention, his gaze snagging - staying as he chases the curve of your exposed leg, hungry.

He wets his lips, and tenses his jaw when he spots how the soft fat of your thigh dimples in because of your garter. “That’s awful sweet of you to say.”

You tremble beneath the intensity of his attention.

Greedy.

Little kisses of awareness spark bright along the path his eyes carve like the caress of shy fingertips.

However, before you’re able to confront him about his interest, the heat leaches from his expression, grows mute and cold like a muzzled dog. 

Readjusting the waistband of his slacks with a tug, he says, “I know you got better things to do than keep an old man company.”

Irritation sparks. “Cooper--”

“If this is about paying you for tonight,” his lips quirk into a sheepish smile, “I won’t be able to yet.” He scrubs a hand through the stubble peppered along his jaw. “The gig tonight didn’t… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, that’s not what I --”

He plows on, “Anyway, the one I’ve got tomorrow should be enough. How about I stop by around seven o’clock? I’ll treat you to dinner as an apology.”

Frustration bubbles beneath the surface of your skin, antagonism thrumming through your veins. Your hands shake almost as much as your voice. “Cooper!”

“I… uh, yes?” He blinks.

Your brows furrow. “You don’t get it,” you say. “I mean, you truly don’t know?”

“I’m afraid there’s a lot I don’t get. You’re gonna have to be more particular.”

Maybe not said in so many words (or at all) but actions speak far louder.

Otherwise, why else would you spend most of your time in his apartment, fill every spare moment with Janey, and reserve evenings for his company?

Hell, you even cook and clean!

Almost scream your interest from the rooftops, and it’s obvious to everyone but him, it seems.

Here you are thinking he was preserving your dignity whenever he ignored a passing comment or lingering touch when, in fact, he’d been oblivious to their existence to begin with.

How a man can be so obtuse when you’re throwing yourself at him is beyond you.

If he wasn’t so captivating…

“Are you kidding me,” you ask, mindful of your tone, “how could you not know?” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been — for months!”

“Well, I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he snarks, setting his glass on the table. “Care to enlighten me?”

Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, let’s play.

When he moves to take another drag from his cigarette, you strike, fingers locking around his wrist mid-lift. And although his glassy eyes narrow, he keeps his hand still.

Waiting to see what you'll do.

Tucking your knee under you for balance, you bend forward and watch his face from beneath your lashes. When your lips wrap around the filter, a dark hunger bleeds into his expression, his pulse a steady thud against the pad of your thumb.

Inhaling, the cherry lights up, a flashbang in the dim overhead light.

Cooper’s breath hitches, and then you’re pulling away with a lungful of smoke; the taste of ash heavy on your tongue.

He tracks your movements with greed, gaze flicking for the briefest of moments past your chin before refocusing on the ring of red lipstick staining white paper.

“If you wanted one,” he chokes, gripping the back of the couch with white knuckles, “all you had to do was ask.”

With a coquettish grin, you exhale to the side and stare at him with hooded eyes. “Is that so?” Plucking the cigarette out of his limp hold, you stub it out in the ashtray. “What if I wanted to ask for something else, Mr. Howard?”

The next moment finds you deposited in his lap, his hands shooting out to grab at your waist only to freeze before they make contact.

“Woah! I--”

“Tell me something.”

Your lips caress the shell of his ear, sharing breath - sharing space as you plaster yourself to his front, arms looped over his shoulders. He jolts, body trembling with restraint.

“Would you give me what I wanted if I said please?”

The distance between you snaps taut with anticipation. “C-Coop,” he stutters. “Call me Coop.”

You hum. “Well, Coop, would you?”

“That depends almost entirely on what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”

Red nails skate along the back of his neck, play in the downy soft hair of his nape just to feel him shiver. And then you’re leaning back with your hands braced on his knees, your legs falling open in invitation.

The hem of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the soft cotton of your underwear, and the darkened patch of slick soaking through.

“I think you know exactly what I want,” you purr. “Because you want it too. Don’t you?”

He bites down on a strangled moan when your hips arch forward, rocking the soft plush of your ass against the heavy weight of his thickening cock. The zipper digs into your skin as he tents the front of his slacks.

Mouth dropping open, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips - a slick circle of temptation that makes you clench. “I, uh, I don’t…”

Reaching between your splayed thighs, you hook a finger beneath your panties and pull the fabric aside. He jerks forward, exhaling hard at the flash of your soaked cunt and twitching clit.

“C’mon, be honest.”

With a sigh, you gather your arousal on the tips of your fingers.

Cooper’s gaze is a heavy weight pinning you in place as you pretend it’s him dragging his knuckles over the top of your mond. Him dragging calloused fingers up along sticky folds to play with your sensitive clit, ripping soft little mewls from your lips.

“Can’t you see what you do to me, Coop?” you say, pulling your hand away to show the webs of slick stretching between your fingers. “I’m so wet. Please, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

His hips rock against your ass in an aborted thrust. “Shit - shit!” Eyes slamming shut, he grits his teeth and digs his fingers into your sides hard enough to bruise. “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”

“Why not?” Your hand brushes over his groin. “I can feel how hard you are.”

“It isn’t right, that’s why.” He stutters, stumbles over his words, “Besides, Janey…”

“I can be quiet,” you say, lips trembling. “I promise.”

“Goddamnit, you can’t say things like that and expect me not to --” Cutting himself off, strong fingers seize your chin and tilt until you’re met with Cooper’s severe expression, his scorching gaze. “You need to tell me now: are you sure this is what you want?”

There’s no hesitation, “Yes.”

In what world would you refuse?

The words barely pass your lips before Cooper’s bowing his dark head, mouth ravenous as it captures yours in a slick glide of bruising lips and hungry tongues.

He steals your breath, licks into your mouth and traces along the sensitive inside of your lip.

Pulse jump starting, your toes curl over the edge of the cushion and your thighs squeeze the barrel of his chest, kneecaps digging into his ribs.

“Oh,” a moan punches itself out of your throat - a breathy little thing swallowed up by his lips. “That’s--”

Anticipation swells, simmers between you like a band before it snaps. A strong forearm locks around your waist, tugging you into the cradle of his chest until you’re plastered from stem to stern.

Too hungry for tenderness as his free hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers catching in the briar of your hair and tugging at the roots.

You claw at his shoulders while sparks of pain ricochet down your neck, sufficing into a prickly flush that heats your blood. “Hnn, Cooper,” you gasp.

He murmurs your name through languid flicks of his tongue and sharp little nips of skin that leave your mouth tender and swollen. When he pulls away to survey his handiwork, his eyes are dark. Fathomless.

"I never thought I'd get the chance to kiss you like this," he says, wicking his thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip. "You taste as good as I imagined."

Dragging your nails across his scalp, you plead, “No more teasing - I can't take it.”

"Well," he grunts, fingers twisting up in your dress, “If that’s how you feel, then you better put those hips to good use and work for it, sweetheart."

part 2 dropping soon

[maxtermind]

my boy only breaks his favorite toys

★ : summary :: when he cheats on you ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: angst ★ : word count :: 5k ★ : a/n :: please remember that all of this is fiction! anyway, enjoy the angst <3 cheating is not a slip up but a statement and i will not be writing a part 2 where they get back together :) as usual requests are open for other endings if you're interested (maybe she ends up with someone else on the grid to make it hurt more lol) ★ : gifs :: @\f1-stuff @\userhamilton @\slowestlap @\tyrannosaurus-maxy

Max Verstappen

Max and you had a pretty healthy work schedule. Thanks to your flexible remote work, you could travel with him and support him in person. But there were times when you were needed back at the home office but despite the distance, Max made sure to keep you in the loop.

From video calls, to texting whenever one was free, to random pictures shared, you were always pretty aware of what the other was doing. So imagine your shock when minutes after hanging up on a call after congratulating him on his win, you failed to get a hold of him before pictures of him started going viral.

But now, all of that seemed like a distant memory as you stared at the damning evidence on your phone. Pictures of Max, smiling and carefree, dancing with another woman in a crowded club, her arms wrapped around him possessively.

Your heart sank as you scrolled through the images, each one a painful reminder of the betrayal you never saw coming. And then, there it was, the blurry photo that confirmed your worst fears - Max and the other woman locked in a passionate kiss.

The world around you seemed to blur as well as tears welled up in your eyes, hot and bitter against your cheeks. Without thinking, you began to dial Max's number, your fingers trembling with a mixture of anger and desperation.

But each call went unanswered, each voicemail left unheard. With each unanswered ring, your heart broke a little more, until you could no longer bear the weight of your pain.

It was an hour later when you were in your bed, crying your eyes out when your phone finally lit up with Max's name, the screen casting a harsh glow in the dimness of your room.

As much as your head told you to hang up and let that be the final answer, you picked it up and whispered a low. ”Hi?” Your voice barely a whisper, choked with emotion.

”Y/N,” Max’s breathy voice came. It was enough to throw you off again and new tears gathered in your eyes.

”Where were you?” The words escaped your lips before you could stop them, raw with hurt and anguish.

”Baby…” Max's voice wavered, and you could hear the weight of his guilt in every syllable. It spoke volumes, you knew what had happened and he knew that. ”I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the pain of his deceit threatening to consume you whole. And then, without warning, a strangled sob escaped your lips, the sound echoing in the silence of the room.

You could hear Max's sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, a sound that only served to intensify your grief. But you were beyond caring about appearances now, your heart laid bare for him to see.

”I trusted you,” you choked out between sobs, the words a bitter indictment of the love you had once shared. ”Why would you do this to me?”

How could the man that made you feel like the only girl in the world for him do this to you? Did he even love you or was he just a really good actor?

Your voice quivered with pain as you struggled to maintain your composure,”You've broken me in ways I didn't even know were possible.”

Max's voice wavered as he tried to find the right words to express his remorse,”I never meant to hurt you, it was the biggest mistake of my life.” 

The life he has made sure he spent with someone not you. His voice cracked further and you realized that he was also crying on the other end. ”I can't bear the thought of not having you in my life.”

There was a long pause, as if Max was searching for the right words to say. But what words could possibly undo the damage that had already been done, the trust that had been shattered beyond repair?

Your words cut through him, echoing the pain he had caused,”Did… did you even love me, Max?”

”Of course, I love you!” He spoke, his voice carrying a sense of hurt. As if questioning the audacity to even ask that and that angered you. It made you so mad because this was on him. He did this.

”I wish I could turn back time and make things right, I’m so sorry, Y/N.” Max's breath hitched as he spoke before you could. The wounds he had inflicted too deep to be healed with a simple apology. ”I never meant to make you doubt my love for you.”

And as you listened to his voice crack with emotion, you knew that there was only one thing left to do. ”I don't even recognize the person I fell in love with anymore.” You whispered with finality, your voice filled with a mixture of sadness and disbelief.

Was this really the man who had promised you a future filled with a family and laughter? The man who just made your heart bleed out?

Max caught on and rushed to get the words out,”Please, Y/N, don't hang up. I need you more than ever, I love y-”

You hung up because how dare he say that after what he did. He called you again and again after that and if you weren’t half dying in your apartment, maybe you could’ve scoffed at how the roles were switched.

However, all you could do was switch off your phone and wonder how the man who once kissed all your scars better, could leave deeper ones in their place. Leaving you to do the work to mend them all alone.

Lewis Hamilton

It had all started the day you had foolishly decided to set up lunch to have the two most important people in your life, your bestfriend and your boyfriend, meet.

Lewis seemed genuinely enthusiastic about finally meeting the person who had been such a solid support in your life. Little did you anticipate that this innocent gathering would unravel into a scene of deception.

The signs were subtle at first. A quick exchange of numbers, a glance shared behind your back– easy to dismiss as innocent. But why would you look for such signs? When it included your most trusted humans on the planet?

But then came the slips, the accidental mentions of knowing each other's whereabouts better than you did.

”I don't think she'll pick up, she said she had an afternoon meeti-” Lewis caught himself on time before shrugging and ending with a: ”She posted it on her instagram, did you miss it?”

You laughed it off though it irked you. You were just glad that they were close before...

After an especially tiring day, you finally entered your house. Surprised to see the sitting room empty, where Lewis waits for you every time he's home early.

You sighed, instinctively petting Roscoe before moving inside the house. Desperate for a shower and clean clothes to get the day's stench off of you.

So imagine your shock when you walked into your bedroom,to discover Lewis and Rachel entwined in your bed, their bodies exposed and vulnerable. In your bed.

It took a second for you to process it while they both scrambled to get their clothes on. You just stared in disbelief while Rachel cried on the bed under covers and Lewis frantically wore his clothes while saying… something?

You felt like you were underwater for a second because you saw his mouth moving before his words started registering and tears started to pool in your eyes. The pain felt tangible, like a weight pressing down on your chest, as you confronted the unthinkable reality of their infidelity.

”Baby, let me explain. Ple- Please, this isn't what it looks like... I-”

You tore your eyes away from him before looking over at Rachel who was crying because she probably understood exactly what was happening.

You wanted to ask what exactly Lewis thought was going on but decided not to because your throat was closing up. The image of them together was burned into your brain. You just shook your head as tears fell from your eyes before turning around and walking out of the room.

As Lewis desperately jumbled to dress himself, his hands fumbling with buttons and zippers, he pleaded with you, his voice cracking with desperation.

”Y/N, please, you have to listen to me. This isn't what it looks like, I swear,” he implored, his eyes wide with panic as he reached out to touch your arm, but you flinched away as if his touch burned. Feeling disgusted and deceived.

”What do you mean it's not what it looks like?!” you finally managed to choke out, your voice trembling with damage and betrayal. ”I come home to find you two... in our bed, na- naked!”

Lewis's face contorted in anguish, his mind racing for the right words to say, but nothing seemed adequate in the face of your devastation.

”It's... it's a misunderstanding, Y/N, I promise,” he stammered, his voice strained with emotion. ”Rachel and I... we didn't plan for this to happen. It's just... things got out of hand, and we never meant to do you wrong.”

You shook your head in disbelief because you didn’t know what else to do truly, feeling as if the ground had been pulled out from beneath you. ”How could you do this to me, Lewis? I thought you… that you loved me,” your voice turned in a whisper.

All the times he had discussed the future rushed through your mind. He wanted to retire and repeatedly told you how he wanted to marry you. Your hands trembled as you suddenly remembered asking Rachel to be your bridesmaid.

Suddenly, the pressure on your chest got worse.

Lewis's eyes pleaded with you, his voice barely a whisper as he struggled to find the right words. ”I don't know, Y/N. I don't know what came over me. I love you, you have to believe me. Please don't leave, we can work through this together.”

But his words fell on deaf ears as you turned away from him, the pain in your heart too raw to bear. ”I trusted you, Lewis. I trusted both of you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

As you moved towards the door, every step heavier than the last, Lewis's voice trembled with desperation, his hands reaching out to grasp yours, pleading for your attention.

”Y/N, please, don't leave,” he begged, his voice cracking with raw emotion. ”I messed up, I know I did, but I love you. Please, let me make it right.”

You paused, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. ”How can you say you love me after what you did?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, thick with pain.

And with that, you turned away, leaving behind the shattered remains of the life you had once shared, the echoes of Lewis's pleas fading into the emptiness of the night. Swearing to never put your trust in anyone else ever again.

Carlos Sainz

You had sworn off of relationships for so long after your last one that it was honestly a miracle, as your friends and family put it, that you agreed to go out with Carlos. But he was the perfect gentleman to you. The person who gave you hope for a better future. Giving you hope that maybe all the ‘cheesy’ discourse was for you too.

He knew how you were hurt the last time and reassured you about how special you were to him and how you were always enough. Enough for him.

It slowly became a running joke once you guys hit the two year mark. You were finally at a stage where you had a loving partner that you could trust blindly.

So to say that you were blindsided would be an understatement…

Your fingers trembled as you scrolled through Carlos's phone, your heart racing with each new message that appeared on the screen.

You never thought you'd be the type to snoop, but the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach had become too much to ignore. He was so distant lately and so secretive about his phone, it was slowly killing you.

There it was, undeniable proof staring back at you in blue and white. Messages from an unknown number, filled with suggestive language and promises of secrecy. Your breath got caught in your throat as you read through the damning evidence, your heart sinking with each word.

‘Hey babe, can't wait to see you tonight ;) xoxo’

The message hit you like a punch to the gut, your mind reeling with disbelief. How could Carlos do this to you? You thought you had something special, something worth fighting for. But now, all those hopes and dreams lay shattered at your feet.

You tried to push down the rising tide of emotion, to find some innocent explanation for what you were seeing. But deep down, you knew the truth – Carlos was cheating on you.

When he emerged from the bathroom, you were waiting for him, phone in hand and tears in your eyes. And as you looked into his eyes, you knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

”Carlos,” you whispered, the weight of your words heavy in the air as he stepped into the room, his tousled hair and relaxed demeanor a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside you.

You weren’t really sure why you weren’t screaming and thrashing things around already. It was like you were frozen on the spot.

”What's wrong?” he asked, concern etched into his features as he took in your tear-streaked face and the phone clutched tightly in your hand. Though, when you looked at him, all you could see was how he was your everything. How you had given him your everything.

And you still weren’t enough.

You struggled to find the words, to articulate the emotions coursing through you. ”I found... I found something on your phone,” you finally managed, your voice trembling with emotion.

Carlos's expression faltered, his eyes flickering with uncertainty as he took a hesitant step closer. ”What do you mean?” he asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself for the confrontation to come. ”Messages,” you began, your voice barely audible as you held up the phone, displaying the incriminating evidence for him to see. ”From someone... someone you've been seeing behind my back.”

Carlos's eyes widened in shock as he stared at the screen, his hand instinctively reaching out to take the phone from you. ”Y/N, I swear, I can explain,” he stammered, his voice tinged with desperation. Why was he reaching for the phone and not your hand?

But the words fell on deaf ears as the full weight of his betrayal hit you like a ton of bricks. ”Explain?” you echoed, your voice trembling with disbelief. ”How can you even explain this, Carlos? How could you do this to me?”

He reached out to touch you, to offer comfort or reassurance, but you recoiled, the sting of his infidelity too raw and painful to bear. ”I trusted you,” you choked out, tears streaming down your face as you backed away from him. ”How could you-”

Can love like this be lost too? You’ve been on your knees begging the universe to grant you one love that wouldn’t be snatched from you. Thinking all your prayers had been heard only for him to do it too.

Carlos's expression crumbled as he watched you retreat, his own anguish mirroring yours. ”I never meant for this to happen,” he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. ”Please, Y/N, give me a chance to make things right.”

As Carlos pleaded with you, his words heavy with desperation, you couldn't help but feel a pang of doubt. His promises of love and devotion clashed with the evidence on his phone, leaving you torn between the man you thought you knew and the painful truth staring back at you.

You met his gaze, seeing the desperation etched into his features as he struggled to make you believe him. ”Can you hear me?” he implored, desperation lacing his words. ”You are always enough for me. Please, you have to believe me. I love you more than anything, Y/N.”

His words pulled at your heartstrings, the sincerity in his voice almost convincing you to give him another chance. But deep down, you knew that trust once broken was not easily repaired.

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his plea bearing down on you. ”I hear you,” you replied softly, nodding through your tears, your voice tinged with sadness. ”But it's not that simple, Carlos. I want to believe you, but...”

Carlos's grip on you tightened, his body pressing against yours as he sought solace in your embrace. ”Please, don't leave,” he whispered, his voice filled with desperation. ”I'll do anything to make this right, to prove to you that you're the only one for me.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you pulled away, the pain of betrayal still raw and agonizing. ”No,” you murmured, your voice barely audible above the sound of your breaking heart. ”You did to us. You made me believe… I'm leaving. This is goodbye.”

With that, you turned and walked away, leaving Carlos standing alone in the wreckage of your brutally murdered relationship.

Charles Leclerc

You had rushed back home because for the first time in what feels like forever, your boyfriend was back home. Charles was a man of many charms. Despite being with him for so long, he still had you blushing and getting butterflies every time he was around.

He was busy when you got home so you decided to wash up but as you paced back and forth in the living room, your heart racing with anxiety, you didn’t know what to do to figure out what exactly Charles was doing.

Charles had been on the phone for what felt like hours, his voice hushed but urgent as he spoke to someone on the other end of the line. Normally, you wouldn't think much of it, but something about his tone tonight had set off alarm bells in your mind.

You tried to focus on a book, anything to distract yourself from the gnawing feeling of unease in the pit of your stomach. But every word you read seemed to blur together, your mind consumed with worry.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore. With trembling hands, you set the book aside and made your way to the kitchen, where Charles was still on the phone.

”...I can't risk it tonight,” you heard him say, his tone strained ”She's coming home soon, and I don't want to risk it.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Who was he talking about? And why did he sound so nervous?

Curiosity getting the better of you, you crept closer, straining to hear the other end of the conversation.

”...I know, I know,” Charles continued, his voice growing even more frantic. ”But I can't keep doing this. It's not fair to her, and it's not fair to you.”

Your blood ran cold at his words. What did he mean, ‘not fair to her?’ And who the fuck was he talking to?

Before you could process it all, Charles abruptly ended the call and turned to find you standing in the doorway, your eyes wide with shock and hurt.

”Y/N,” he started, his voice wavering as he took in your expression. ”I... I didn't realize you were there.”

You struggled to find your voice, your mind racing with a thousand questions. ”Who were you talking to, Charles?” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles' eyes flickered with guilt as he shifted uncomfortably under your gaze. ”It's... it's nothing, Y/N,” he stammered, but you could tell he was lying. ”Just a friend.”

But you weren't buying it. Not after what you had just heard. ”A friend?” you repeated, your voice rising with anger and hurt. ”Is that what you call my replacement?”

Charles' face paled at your accusation, his eyes widening in shock. ”Baby, it's not what you think,” he protested, but you could hear the desperation in his voice. He looked so scared, as if he knew he was gonna get caught up into lies.

”Then what is it, Charles?” you demanded, your voice trembling with emotion. ”Enlighten me.”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering away from yours as if unable to meet your eyes. ”It's... it's complicated,” he finally admitted, but his words offered little comfort.

”There's nothing complicated about cheating on someone you claim to love.” You were trying to compose yourself, not show him how deeply his words had cut you but your hands were trembling and your voice was cracking. Face pale and eyes glassy.

Charles winced at your words, his guilt written plainly across his face. ”You’re the only person I love,” he insisted, his voice barely above a whisper. ”It's just... things got out of hand.”

You felt like you had been punched in the gut. How could he stand there and try to justify his betrayal? How could he expect you to forgive him after this? Why the fuck was he the one looking distort?

”I trusted you, Charles,” you choked out, tears welling in your eyes. He shouldn’t be expecting you to treat him as a victim too when he was the one guilty. ”I thought we had something special.”

Charles' expression softened, his eyes brimming with remorse. ”We do, Y/N,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. ”I love you, more than anything. Please, you have to believe me.”

But love now felt like a distant memory, tarnished by his infidelity. ”How can I believe anything you say after this?” You scoffed bitterly. Angry at yourself for crying in front of the man who has probably been sleeping with someone else for months now.

Charles reached out to you, his hand trembling as he brushed a tear from your cheek. ”I'll do anything to make it up to you, Y/N,” he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. ”Just give me a chance to prove it.”

You whispered, your voice heavy with resignation,”There are no second chances for cheaters.”

Lando Norris

Because of multiple torments inflicted by past lovers, you were always resistant to fall head first in any relationship. Hesitant to give your heart knowing recovering was going to be the absolute worst.

Comes in, Lando. The man who broke through all your barriers, took down the walls you put around yourself and had you love struck in a matter of time.

For a moment, everything was amazing. He was the best person you could've asked for. He looked at you as if you put the stars up in the sky.

Who could've thought?

Who could've thought that the same fucking man would have you breaking down at a family event in front of everyone.

The room buzzed with conversation as you sat at the dinner table, trying to ignore the growing tension in the air.

Lando's hand found yours under the table, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your palm. ”Are you okay?” he whispered, concern etched in his voice.

You forced a smile, nodding faintly. ”Yeah, just a bit overwhelmed,” you murmured, hoping to brush off your unease. Why was everyone looking at you with such pity?

But Lando's gaze remained fixed on you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of distress. ”You know you can talk to me, right?” he said softly, squeezing your hand gently.

Before you could respond, a sudden hush fell over the room, drawing your attention to the commotion across the room. You followed Lando's gaze, your heart sinking as you saw him make eye contact with one of your cousins, their faces morphing as if they were having a whispered conversation.

”What's going on?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as dread coiled in the pit of your stomach.

You have seen this scene before and you did not like where this was going. Feeling overwhelmed, you got up and excused yourself from the table. Slightly glad to have Lando do the same.

This was all a confusion. You repeated in your head before standing outside the venue, away from distressed eyes and hushed gossips.

Lando's grip on your hand tightened, his expression unreadable as he turned to face you. ”I... I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice strained with emotion.

Your heart plummeted as you watched him fidget, every step feeling like a weight bearing down on your chest. ”What is it?” you asked, your voice trembling with apprehension.

Lando hesitated, his eyes darting away from yours as if unable to meet your gaze. ”I... I don't know how to say this,” he began, his voice faltering.

Just then, your cousin appeared at his side, her expression a mix of guilt and defiance. ”Y/N, we need to talk,” she said, her voice tinged with remorse.

They exchanged another glance and something in your mind stopped working.

Your breath caught in your throat as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, the truth hitting you like a sledgehammer to the chest. ”No...” you whispered, the word barely a breath as tears welled in your eyes.

Lando reached out to you as you took a step away from them, his voice a desperate plea. ”Please, let me explain,” he begged, his eyes brimming with regret.

But you pulled away, the sting of deceit too raw and painful to bear. ”Not you too,” you choked out, your voice breaking with emotion. ”How could you do this to me?”

There were no answers, no explanations that could erase the pain of their breach of trust. They both just watched as you started crying softly. Apparently everyone in your family knew too.

As tears welled in your eyes, Lando's pleading voice cut through the air. ”Y/N, please, just give me a chance to explain.” His hand reached out towards you, but you recoiled, his touch now feeling like a betrayal.

”Explain what?” you retorted, your voice laced with disbelief. ”That you cheated on me with my cousin?”

Lando's eyes widened in panic but instead your cousin's voice broke through the tension, filled with regret. ”Y/N, I'm so sorry. It was a mistake, it shouldn't have happened.”

Anger surged within you at her words. ”Sleeping with my fucking boyfriend was a mistake?” you shot back, incredulous at the audacity of her apology.

Lando stepped forward, his expression a mix of remorse and longing. ”I never meant to cause you any pain, Y/N. Please believe me,” he pleaded, his voice trembling with emotion.

Your trust had shattered along with your heart. 

His voice quivered as he spoke again, desperation lacing his words. ”I love you, Y/N. I made a stupid mistake, but it doesn't change how I feel about you.”

But love now felt like a distant memory, tarnished by their adultery.

”If this is love, I want no part of it,” you declared, your voice filled with anguish. Knowing deep down that you meant it.

Your cousin reached out to you, her eyes brimming with tears. ”Y/N, please, you have to understand...” But understanding felt beyond your reach, lost in a sea of pain and betrayal.

”Understand what?” you cried out, your voice breaking with emotion. ”That my own sister betrayed me with my… my boyfriend?”

Lando's plea echoed in the air, his voice thick with desperation. ”I'll do anything to make it up to you, Y/N. Just give me a chance.”

But the chance had already been squandered, lost in the wreckage of their infidelity.

”You had your chance, Lando, and you blew it.” You wish you could be angry and put them to their places but your chest was hurting so much that it was almost dizzy.

You felt sick and on the verge of passing out.

”I'll do anything to make things right, Y/N. Just tell me what to do.” But there was nothing they could do to undo the damage that had been done, no words or actions that could mend the broken pieces of your heart.

They have insulted you in front of your whole family.

”There's nothing you can do to fix this, Lando. You've ruined everything,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you turned away, the weight of their betrayal too heavy to bear.

As you walked away, their voices faded into the background, drowned out by the deafening roar of your own heartbreak. And as you stumbled out into the night, the stars above offering no solace, you vowed never to let anyone break you again.

( writing masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[aestheticanimegirl15]

TW: slight angst, slight mentions of pregnancy, fem reader

It happens every year without fail since you and Simon got together. Every December, it's almost like clock work. You've come to accept it now as sort of a tradition. You put up the tree, wrap it in colorful lights, candy canes, tinsel, and ornaments that's been in your family for years. You hang up the stockings, make hot coco, etc. All normal, right? Except for this.

It's happens a handful of times, a week or a couple of days before Christmas. You'd wake up at some ungodly hour in the middle of the night because the spot next to you is cold, the personal heater you call your husband no where to be seen. Except you know exactly where he is, and if you can manage to pull yourself out of the comfort of your warm bed and into the cold winter air you will find him exactly where you thought he was.

He'd be sitting on the floor, criss crossed, and just staring at the Christmas tree. His hulking form looks almost comical in such a position, almost looking like a school child waiting for story time. It's easy to tell he's tired and probably cold, too. So you grab a blanket and sit next to him, drapping the blanket around the both of you. He'd accept it, but he won't talk, not a peep, he won't even take his eyes off the colorful tree.

So you don't, either. You'll just sit there with him, looking at the tree and the presents you had managed to wrap before you had to stop because your legs were numb and ran out of tape. You'll notice the distant, almost sad look in his eyes as he stares at the tree, like he's remembering something. But you won't mention it, in the past you did but he'd always divert the question.

"Maybe in the future, love." He'd say.

And since there was no point in asking questions you'd get no awnsers to, you just came to accept this as a part of who he is. After all before he met you, he never celebrated the holiday unless one of his teammates forced him to. You remember being shocked when he told you he had never put up a tree before.

"Just never saw the point in it."

After a while, if you're able to, you'll manage to coax him back into bed. The bed now cold but just as comfy as when you left it, and you'll fall back asleep in his arms.

Simon swears to himself that one day he'll tell you once he's comfortable enough. He'll tell you about his mother, brother, sister in law, and his nephew. Maybe even tell you what happened to them if he can bring himself to talk about it without breaking down. One day, he'll tell you about his past, but not tonight. Tonight he'll just focus on the feeling of you in his arms, the sound of your gentle breathing, but most of all he'll focus on the feeling of your stomach and the five month baby bump that was hidden underneath your night shirt.

But in the quiet of the night, when he knows your asleep. A silent whisper floats up into the air

"Merry Christmas, mom... I hope Santa is able to get little Joseph his present. Say hi to Tommy and Beth for me...."

[donatellawritings]

“a’ight, now look directly into this camera and tell us your name, age, and where you’re from,” the cameraman speaks, his gold-ring clad hand carefully adjusting the zoom of the lens on the expensive camera as you sit on the crème colored couch with a cheesy smile, your swollen lips all glossed and glittery.

letting out a nervous giggle, you flip your blown out hair over your shoulder, gently adjusting your barely there skimpy bikini top to cover your hard nipples, “uh, you can call me angel,” you bat your cat-like lashes, before mushing your glossed lips together with a ‘pop’, “m’twenty-one, and i’m from carolina, puerto rico,” you seal with another shaky laugh, swallowing thickly as you steal a quick glance at the man behind the camera, he was a bit older than you, and very handsome — you couldn’t help but be a silly little school girl.

with a feigned-defeated sigh, the cameraman zooms in on your plump breasts, earning a wide grin from you as you playfully shimmy, allowing your perky tits to jiggle, “puerto rico, huh?” he chuckles, licking over his pink lips as you swiftly run your acrylic-nails finger across the pink-heart shaped pendant that dangled from your bellybutton piercing, “so fuckin’ pretty,” he comments, trailing the camera down to your lower half, focusing on the way the plush curves of your thighs and ass swallowed the flimsy fabric of your tiny boy shorts.

with a clearing of his throat, the cameraman brings the camera back up to your pretty little face, “is this y’first time getting fucked on camera, angel?” he asks, his voice heavy in greed as you nod immediately, “fuck — why don’t y’bend over for me and show me that cute little ass of yours,” he beckons, his eyes hanging low as you obediently stand from the couch.

you couldn’t ignore the goosebumps that rose on your skin as you turned away from the camera, before pulling your the thin cloth further up your fat ass cheeks, before bending over with a muffled giggle as you bit down into the chunk of your bottom lip, “look at that,” the cameraman ogled, letting out a throat groan as his warm and calloused hand suddenly cupped your asscheek, gently jiggling the supple skin.

“y’like it?” you questioned, glancing over your shoulder, letting out a surprised gasp as the cameraman’s hand abruptly slapped down onto your ass.

“i love it, angel— m’gonna open you up a bit, yeah?” he informs you, his eyes squinted as he crouches down onto one knee, carefully angling the camera lens at the crease where your puffy pussy and tight asshole met.

your nails slowly dug into the fabric of the couch as the cameraman’s thumb curled into your skin, pulling your asscheek apart, leaving your wet and eager holes exposed to the cold air conditioned environment of the casting room. you failed to hold back a low mewl as the tip of his thumb grazed over your glistening pussy.

“fuuuck, she’s so pretty,” he cooed, jiggling your asscheek once more, before standing firmly on his two feet as he closed the distance between you two, his jean-covered bulged pressed firmly against your ass, “y’gonna be a star, y’know that, angel?” he praises, holding the camera impressively still with one hand as he undoes the button of his jeans with the other, seamlessly slipping his hand under the waistband of his briefs as he releases his firm cock from its confines.

cutely, you wiggled your hips, your pouty lips plagued with a coy smile as your ass brushed against the flushed cameraman’s erect cock. your cute little act quickly came to a halt as he locked his hand around the dip of your waist, pushing his hips closer into you as his dick laid perfectly atop of your ass. a cocky chuckle left the man’s throat as he measured his dick, his mouth watering at how his tip surpassed the top of your ass and rested on your lower back.

your bambi eyes widened at the feeling of his length resting on you, your heart rate increasing as he pulled down your tiny shorts, revealing your bare ass and sweet pussy.

“m’gonna make you a star,” he huffed with a smile, before spitting a glob of warm saliva down the crack of your ass, lowering the camera to catch how it drooled down into your pussy, before tapping his flushed tip against your aching hole.

a squeaky moan left your lips as he slowly pushed into you, your sticky lips parted in pleasure as his flexed arm grips the the couch, your small hand closing over his forearm as the two of you let out satisfied moans. warmed tears were quick to brim around your waterline as he pushed his hips further into yours, the camera now close to your face.

“i love it,” you smiled, your lips stretch into a drunken grin as you pose for the camera, the sounds of the cameraman’s hips slapping into yours now muffled as you focused your fuck-me eyes on the camera.

you knew that you were always meant to be a superstar — no matter what it took, or who you’d meet along the way.

even if it was the eager cameraman who was fucking himself deep inside of you.

[pucksandpower]

All Locked Up

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: your boyfriend losing the key to your handcuffs was bad enough … but him calling Max and Lando to help look for them? You may never be able to show your face in public again

Warnings: 18+ content implied, mentions of accidental bruising, wrongful assumptions of violence

“Mon amour, have you seen the key to the handcuffs?” Charles calls out from the bathroom.

You strain against the metal cuffs locking your wrists to the headboard. “No, I thought you had it!”

Charles appears in the doorway, eyebrows knitted together. “I could have sworn I left it on the nightstand, but it’s not there.”

You rattle the chain connecting you to the bed. “Well you need to find it, because I’m starting to lose feeling in my hands here.”

“Right, right, I’m sorry,” Charles says, running a hand through his hair. He starts opening drawers and peering under furniture.

You watch him scramble around the room searching fruitlessly. After ten minutes you sigh. “Any luck?”

Charles slumps down on the edge of the bed. “No, it’s gone. I don’t know where it could be.”

You give him a pointed look.

“I know, I know, this is my fault,” Charles says. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure this out.”

He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts. After a moment, he puts the phone to his ear. “Max? Hi, I need your help with something ...”

You groan quietly. Calling Max for help with this is guaranteed to be embarrassing.

“So here’s the thing,” Charles says into the phone, “Y/N and I were having some fun with handcuffs, and I seem to have misplaced the key ...”

You let your head fall back against the headboard. This day is just getting better and better.

“Yes, she’s still cuffed to the bed,” Charles continues. “I’ve looked everywhere for the key. Can you come over and help me find it?”

Charles looks over at you sheepishly. “Okay, see you soon.”

He hangs up and gives you an apologetic smile. “Max is on his way.”

You sigh. “Wonderful.”

Soon there’s a knock at the front door. Charles jumps up to answer it. You hear Charles and Max’s muffled voices for a minute before they enter the bedroom.

Max takes one look at you handcuffed naked to the bed and immediately spins around. “Whoa, okay, wasn’t expecting that.”

You feel your face flush. “Hi Max.”

“I told you she was still cuffed to the bed,” Charles says with a smirk.

Max keeps his back turned. “Right, you failed to mention she was naked though!"

“It must have slipped my mind,” Charles laughs.

“Can we focus please?” You cut in. “Find the key so I can get out of these cuffs.”

“Yes ma’am,” Max says. He and Charles start searching the room, checking under the bed and nightstands.

After twenty fruitless minutes, Charles collapses on the bed next to you. “It’s hopeless, the key is gone.”

You rattle the cuffs in frustration. “What are we going to do? I can’t stay chained up like this forever.”

Max thinks for a moment. “Maybe Lando can help? He’s good at finding things.”

Charles perks up. “Good idea! I’ll give him a call.”

You close your eyes in dismay as Charles calls Lando. This day just continues to spiral.

Soon Lando arrives, thankfully a little more tactful about the situation than Max. The three of them scour the apartment, but still no sign of the lost key.

You’ve resorted to making small talk with Lando to pass the time. “So how’s your season going so far?”

Lando leans casually against the dresser. “Oh you know, up and down. But I got a few podiums, so it could have been worse.”

You’re impressed. “That’s awesome, congrats!"

“Thanks! I think if I keep consistently scoring points, I might be able to beat Max in the championship this year,” Lando jokes.

“In your dreams!" Max yells from the living room. You and Lando laugh.

But then, Charles and Max return to the bedroom, both empty-handed.

Charles runs a hand through his hair. “I think we have to face it — the key is gone.”

You rattle the handcuffs in frustration. “So what, you’re just going to leave me chained up here forever?”

“Of course not, mon cœur,” Charles says, sitting down beside you. “We’ll figure something out.”

Max nods. “There’s always plan B.”

You look between the three of them hesitantly. “Do I want to know what plan B is?”

Lando grins and holds up a paper clip. “Lock picking. I found a YouTube video.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “That does not seem ideal.”

“Do you have a better option?” Charles asks, taking your hands in his gently. “I promise we’ll be careful. And if the paper clip doesn’t work, we can always call a locksmith.”

You sigh, relenting. “Okay, fine. Just please be gentle, my wrists are already sore.”

The three of them get to work carefully trying to pick the lock on the cuffs with the paper clip. You try to stay still, watching them fiddle with the tiny metal piece.

After several tense minutes, you finally hear a click. The cuff around your left wrist springs open.

“Yes!” Lando cheers. “Told you I could do it.”

Charles kisses your freed wrist gently. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”

With a bit more work, they get the other cuff unlocked too. You bring your arms down with a groan of relief, stretching out the sore muscles.

Charles pulls you into a hug. “I’m so sorry about all this. Next time we’ll be more careful.”

You laugh, hugging him back. “It’s okay, it all worked out in the end. But next time let’s stick to something that doesn’t require a key.”

Charles smiles. “Deal.” He turns to Max and Lando. “Thank you both for your help, I really owe you.”

“Anytime,” Lando says. “This was way more exciting than my usual Sunday plans.”

“Now, I believe you gentlemen should give me and my girlfriend some privacy,” Charles says, slipping an arm around your waist.

Max and Lando quickly start heading for the door.

“Have fun you two,” Lando calls over his shoulder. “But maybe put the key somewhere obvious when you decide on an encore!”

You and Charles collapse into laughter as the apartment door closes behind them. Charles pulls you into his lap and kisses you deeply.

“I really am sorry about all this,” he murmurs against your lips.

You smile, running your fingers through his hair. “It’s okay, it made for quite the adventurous morning! But going forward, let’s keep the handcuffs between just the two of us.”

Charles grins. “No complaints here.”

***

Later that evening, you and Charles are having dinner with his family. You’re seated at a table on the patio of a stunning Italian restaurant with a beautiful view of the water. The conversation flows comfortably as you all eat.

After the main course is cleared, you reach for your wine glass. As you lift your arm, the sleeve of your dress slides back, revealing the light bruising circling your wrists.

Pascale notices immediately, her eyebrows drawing together in concern. “Y/N, what happened to your wrists?”

You quickly tug your sleeves down, cheeks flushing. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little accident this morning.”

Lorenzo and Arthur lean in to peer at your wrists curiously. You self-consciously tuck your hands under the table.

“Are you sure it’s nothing?” Pascale asks gently. “Those bruises look quite bad.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Charles chooses that moment to get up from the table. “Excuse me, I’m just going to run to the restroom quickly.”

He squeezes your shoulder as he walks past, oblivious to his family’s concern. You watch him disappear towards the bathrooms, internally screaming.

Pascale reaches across the table to take your hand. “You know you can tell us anything, right? We just want to help.”

You shift awkwardly. “Really, it’s not a big deal.”

Lorenzo frowns. “Did Charles do this to you?” Arthur nods, looking worried.

“What? No!” You say quickly. “Charles would never hurt me.”

Pascale rubs your arm comfortingly. “You don’t have to cover for him, dear. If he’s hurting you-”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that!” You interrupt, face flaming. How do you even begin to explain this?

Just then Charles returns to the table. He immediately senses the tense mood. “Everything okay here?”

“Y/N has some bad bruising on her wrists,” Pascale says seriously. “Do you know anything about that, Charles?”

Charles’ eyes widen almost comically. “Oh, that! No no, it’s not what you think.”

“Can one of you please just explain what happened?” Lorenzo asks in exasperation.

You and Charles share an awkward look. There’s no getting out of this now.

Charles clears his throat. “So, Y/N and I were, uh … having some intimate time this morning. And I may have accidentally … handcuffed her to the bed … and lost the key.”

You cover your flaming face with your hands as Charles’ family stares at you both in stunned silence.

Arthur nearly spits out his drink. “Handcuffs? You kinky bastard.”

“Arthur!” Pascale scolds as Lorenzo tries and fails to hold back laughter.

Charles squeezes your shoulder apologetically. “It was just a silly accident. I promise I didn’t hurt her.”

You peek out from behind your fingers. “I tried to tell you it wasn’t a big deal.”

Pascale pats your hand affectionately. “I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions, dear. But thank you for being honest with us. Even if there are some things I wish I didn’t know about my son.”

Charles kisses your temple. “No more handcuffs though, lesson learned. Right, mon amour?”

You chuckle, relaxing now that the awkwardness has passed. “Right. I think we’ll stick to the fluffy ones from now on.”

[knifeforkspooncup]

Please click for better resolution!

I made this silly little art, and then like a being possessed, wrote 1200 words of pure unadulterated hogwash to go with it (ficlet below the cut)

Duck Duck Goose

Rating: Teen and up

"Shouldn't be feeding them bread." Crowley said, trying and failing to ward off an irate goose with the pointed toe of his boot. "It’s brioche." Aziraphale chided, as if that explained anything. A nattering crowd of ducks was forming at his feet like eager disciples. Crowley didn't ask where he'd gotten the brioche. He'd stuck his chilly hands into Aziraphale's pockets enough times now to know the list of things the angel kept on his person at any given moment was - well, impressive was one word for it. In the way a magpie's hoard of oddities was impressive. A brioche was quite pedestrian, really. "Brioche then.” The goose had moved on to striking repeatedly for his ankles, more pit viper than waterfowl. “Shouldn’t. Feed them. Brioche,” he gritted between defensive maneuvers. He never had gotten the hang of sword fighting. If Aziraphale heard, he pretended not to, ripping off hunks of bread at least double the esophagus diameter of the average mallard duck. One at a time, he tossed them lazily into the fray. The ducks erupted into chattering, nipping each other’s feathers. A shark frenzy had more natural order to it.

The goose took no interest, bloodlust overriding any desire for fine French baked goods. If anything, it doubled its effort to latch onto Crowley’s shin. Had geese always had teeth?

Aziraphale beamed at the chaos, halogen bright. Humming with self satisfaction, he brushed his hands of crumbs, and settled back against the bench. Crowley diverted a sliver of bodily coordination to snake one arm behind him, weaseling into the warm gap left by the angel’s impeccable posture.

This was a thing they did now, apparently. Not watching ducks squabble over bread – that part was old hat. But Aziraphale tucking himself neatly against Crowley's side? For all the world to see. Like he was one of Crowley's wings simply stowing away. Frankly, that hat still had the tag on it. Still had that new hat smell.

This was rapidly becoming their new normal. Embroidery on the familiar weave of their time together. They still did all the things they always had. They still went to the Ritz, where the waiter still assumed Aziraphale was paying for the bill. Crowley still pulled out the angel’s seat like a proper gentledemon.

None of that had changed.

Just now they also held hands on the table between courses, and Aziraphale fed Crowley bites of dessert straight from his spoon. Sometimes they even did exciting things with their feet under the table.

Aziraphale called it canoodling. Crowley was pretty sure that was a fussy type of dog. The kind that wore bows on its head and left the groomer looking like an ornamental hedge.

Whatever it was, it was nice. More than nice.

Take today for example. The clouds were parting, birds singing – the whole production; the sun sparkled just so, really putting the ol’ razzle dazzle on it all.

There went Aziraphale, tipping his head back against Crowley’s shoulder, eyes closing. Lashes sun-gilt and fanning on his rosy cheeks. Straight out of a renaissance painting. A nice, expensive renaissance painting, on with real lapis lazuli pigment for the eyes. The angel really knew when to lay it on thick.

“Oh, that’s quite nice, isn’t it.” Aziraphale sighed, basking in the warmth.

See, nice? It was nice. Five hundred years of coming here, and this moment was the most nice it had ever been. Crowley remembered when this place was a marshy field full of roving geese and snuffling pigs. When the trees that made this nice bench were just scrawny little saplings, runty and wind bitten. Had the bench gotten smaller? It used to feel immense, and not in the luxury Cadillac sense of the word. Used to fit Heaven and Hell between them with room to spare. Back when nice was a four letter –

The goose sunk it’s – definitely toothed – beak into Crowley’s shin, just above the boot.

Satisfied with its grip, it started to flail, giving the impression Crowley was a chewtoy it meant to thrash to death. The small part of Crowley’s brain reserved for humility was starting to believe it would succeed.

"Dinner? How would you feel about a nice, tasty Christmas goose?” Grunted Crowley, shaking his leg and raising his free hand, demonic miracle at the ready. He had just the goose in mind. “With all the trimmings. Could even do some plum sauce on the side if you like,"

Aziraphale frowned, eyes still closed. “…it’s October.”

“That a no, then? Don’t want to get a head start on the festivities?”

Aziraphale looked up just as Crowley managed to dislodge the fowl beast and punt it away like a feathery football. It came right back, tongue stuck out like a rude child and wheezing angrily.

He tsked, mouth thinning. “You’re terrible. Leave the poor thing alone.”

Crowley sputtered. “Wha – ha – me?! I’m not the one biting a boot like a lunatic!” Would that work? Biting it? Maybe the goose would bugger off if Crowley bit it back. Should he bite it back? He should probably bite it, shouldn’t he. Oh, Satan, he was going to get feathers stuck in his teeth.

The infernal creature hissed, undoubtedly reading his mind. Crowley hissed back, tongue forking menacingly if only for the sake of his own ego.

Aziraphale was staring at him and smiling. Well, smirking. Fondly. The corners of his mouth pinching his cheeks, eyes crinkling under a raised eyebrow. He even had a dimple forming on his chin. Ridiculous. Something in the inner workings of Crowley’s chest did its best impression of a snare drum.

“Shall we, my dear?” Said the Very Ridiculous Angel, stirring from Crowley’s side. He stood and straightened his jumper until there were no more wrinkles. Seeing Crowley still engaged in boot-to-beak combat with the feathery fiend, he added tartly: “Before someone gets killed.”

Crowley grumbled something about demonic wrath and taking bets, but slunk to his feet. He flicked his glasses down and shot a final, venomous glare at the goose before sidling up to Aziraphale and offering his arm.

Aziraphale took it, wedging warm hands into the crook of Crowley’s elbow. He made it look habitual, easy as. Just the natural thing to do. Right as rain.

He was faster than Crowley, at this part. At the settling in. He’d taken to it all like geese to psychological warfare.

“You mentioned dinner?” Said Aziraphale brightly, ducks parting obediently at their feet.

“Your turn to pick.” Crowley’s skin was sizzling, water on a hot frying pan.

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, face thoughtful. He took dinner plans very seriously.

“How about Peking duck? From that lovely place just around the corner, the one with the comfortable chairs.”

Crowley gave him a sharp look, nearly spraining an eyebrow in the process.

The angel was looking resolutely ahead, expression perfectly blank save for the way his mouth twitched at the corners.

I love you, blurted Crowley’s brain.

“Every restaurant has comfortable chairs,” blurted his mouth. It was a fact. Every restaurant did have comfortable chairs. Or else. So far Crowley hadn’t met a chair that cared to find out about the or else – chairs not being very curious by nature.

Crowley would say all the other things later, of course. All the sappy, corny, sweet-nothing things. When they were home. When he could wash the burn down with something whispered and sinfully filthy. Something that would make Aziraphale turn pinker than a summer peach.

Aziraphale was watching him, gaze unspeakably soft. “I know, my dear,” he said.

“I know.”

[inkdrinkerworld]

High Hopes 3

part one part two

cw: reader comes from a very tense and abusive home, verbal abuse, allusion to physical abuse, bad sibling relationships, fluff, angst, Remus is a sweetheart and the best almost bf ever

wc: 7.5k

Remus: On a scale of one to ten, how mad would you be if I said I found out your birthday passed and got you a gift?

You read the text as you’re exiting your class building and frown. Your birthday passed just after the new year, and you hadn’t told Remus because you hadn’t even been in the country. 

In lieu of an answer, you call him. Remus picks up on the second ring. 

“What did you get me?” He laughs down the line and you feel your stomach twist into knots. 

“Hello to you too, princess.” Since the Summer weekend sleepover thing (you’d still not decided what to call it), Remus had decided that was your new nickname and as much as you pretended to hate it, you loved it more than the others. 

“Hi Remus,” you breathe, eyes on the street as you cross and begin the walk back to your apartment. “What did you get me?” 

You can just tell he’s shaking his head. “It’s a present, why would I spoil that surprise?” 

“Because I’m impatient?” You rebut quickly. The walk back to your apartment is short, but the lingering winter makes it feel never ending. 

It also doesn’t help that you’d chosen style over cosiness- you’re in a long sleeved baby blue dress and a pair of boots that barely lick past your ankles. 

“I’m at your apartment, dove. I’ll give it to you when you get here.” 

Your eyes widen at the same time your heart constricts. “Remus, I’ve got like ten minutes left on my walk back!” 

As easily as he suggests anything to you, “Do you want me to come get you? It’s minus four right now.” 

“No, that wouldn’t make any sense,” you hear his car start. “Remus Lupin, I’m serious, I’m like one street away.” 

“So I’ll cut your walk short,” The engine roars across the line. “It’s cold, baby.” The fondness in his voice and his sparsely given ‘baby’ is what makes you stop. 

“Fine,” you try to sound much grumpier than you are and fail. “I’m at the coffee shop on the left.” 

Ten seconds later, Remus is there; his grey car collecting droplets of fine snow. 

“Hi,” you say as you slide in the passenger seat, your hands rubbing together making Remus frown. 

“And you wanted to finish the walk.” He flicks on the heating as he turns and goes back where he came. 

“How did you find out about my birthday?” You ask, fiddling with your bag to get out your water bottle. 

“Marlene mentioned that you wouldn’t be able to spend it with her this year and I asked when it was.” 

You hum, “It’s a little inconvenient having your birthday just after the new year,” Remus looks at you funny. “I like winter, don’t get me wrong, but a spring birthday would’ve been ideal. Like maybe in March.” 

He rolls his eyes, pulling into your parking lot. 

“How do you know when mine is?” He asks, helping you out of the car and then grabbing a bag out of the backseat. 

“Sirius and James talk a lot. Your gift is currently in transit.” 

Remus’ eyes shoot up, “When have you been hanging out with those two?” The ‘without me’ is implied and you look at him with a sly smile. 

“Jealous, Remus?” 

He tuts, figuring you out immediately. “You’re not winding me up, princess.” He holds the door open for you as you walk in and Remus sighs as he gets a whiff of your newest perfume. 

The couple of times he’s been to see you since the start of the semester, you’ve been wearing this intoxicatingly creamy vanilla perfume that has just a touch of something spicy to it that has been driving him mad. 

“Why would I be winding you up?” You toe off your boots and then look at him. “I’m gonna take the fastest shower known to man, but there’s food in the fridge and cookies in a Tupperware somewhere on the counter.” 

Remus shakes his head, setting his shoes beside yours. “I’ll wait for you, take your time.” 

You’re out of the bathroom in twenty minutes, in a matching jewel blue set of loungewear and a pair of socks. 

Your hair is tied back exposing a tiny tattoo behind your ear that Remus wants desperately to kiss. He’s on his laptop when you get out, typing away at what you assume is his book.

Remus doesn’t go here, he’s got a fancy writing degree already and he’s got an editing gig that he tries playing off as no big deal- but it is. 

He’s on ‘vacation’ though- meaning, he’s been on sick leave for the last four days so he can spend your first week back at school with you. Not that you know he’s been using his sick days for you. 

“Is roti okay? My mama dropped off some this morning.” Remus has yet to meet the old woman, but the fondness that overtakes your tone lets him know she’s at least half as lovely as you. 

“It’s perfect, dove. What do you want to look at?” He sets about finding your newest psychological thriller- Hannibal- and then makes his way into the kitchen to help you. 

“How was your day? I forgot to ask.” You mumble as you crack the ice into glasses before Remus pours some soda into them. 

“It was alright, got a couple more pages done of the book and then got high with Sirius.” 

You smile, a quiet smile that Remus thinks is going to stop his heart. “How was your classes?” 

You groan, “Long, boring and even longer.” He chuckles, leaving you to bring the glasses while he brings both plates to the living room. 

Remus sits in the corner of the sofa, he isn’t as slick as he thinks he is for sitting with a clearer view of the front door than you have. 

You appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. 

“Can I open the gift first?” Remus watches you with a rapt curiosity. He thinks you’re akin to a kid on Christmas- eyes bright, and hands shaking as you practically bounce in your seat. 

“Yeah baby,” he can’t help the sticky affection that slowly coats his words- an affection that only grows and spreads like warm honey. 

Remus watches you carefully tear the wrapping paper off the gift, his lips quirked just so as he watches your jaw drop. 

“You didn’t,” you murmur, shock and disbelief in your voice as you pull the wooden box out of the wrapping paper. 

“Open it,” the box in your lap is walnut colored, carved with spirals, flowers and dots and divots. The carvings are coloured in bright reds, oranges, yellows and some pinks. 

The lock resembles an ancient rusted clasp lock and as you unlatch it and reveal rows and stairs of chains. 

“Remus,” your voice is all clogged up and your bottom lip trembles and Remus wonders if he’s overdone it. 

“Yeah?” Your fingers trail along the crystal chips on the chains and you find your heart has cracked open. 

“This is the loveliest gift I’ve ever gotten,” the words are whispered into the air, your dinners cold as you take in every single chain in the box. “They’re for my glasses, yeah?”

“They are, pretty girl.” 

Silently, you close the box and put it to the side. “Thank you,” you blink and your tears tumble down your cheeks. His hands reach to wipe your cheeks gently. 

“You’re welcome.” You climb into his lap, Remus’ hands hold your hips. 

“You know you’re the first person since Marlene to get me something thoughtful?” 

Remus knows it’s meant to be a flippant comment, but his heart breaks for you. 

“Dove,” your heart clenches. “You’re breaking my heart.” His hands move up to cup your cheeks.

“I don’t mean to,” you say softly, shrugging one shoulder but Remus sees past the nonchalance you’re trying to exude. He doesn’t understand how someone as lovely as you has been treated so weirdly. 

He gives you an out though because he doesn’t want to push and push and push, “C’mon princess. Eat your dinner.” You take it and your plate as you press play. 

Remus notices you don’t move out of his lap but only smiles when you turn and start eating. 

“You’re staying the night?” You ask after you’ve both finished your dinner. 

Remus inhales, “What time is your first class tomorrow?” 

You pull away from him a little, “Eleven,” you have a hopeful look on your face that makes his answer easy. 

“Yeah I’ll stay the night.” 

You smile so big Remus thinks his heart stops. 

Then you get serious, “Wait, how do you feel about sharing the bed?” You ask the question softly, and Remus frowns. 

“I’ve shared the bed with you before, dove.” 

You shake your head, “I have a um,” you stumble for the words. Remus smiles. 

“A stuffy?” He asks quietly and you nod, nibbling away on your bottom lip. 

“Yeah a little yellow duckie,” Remus’ smile only widens. 

“That’s sweet, dove.” 

“You don’t think it’s silly?” He shakes his head. 

“How come I didn’t see it when we were at the other house?” He asks, his thumbs caressing your thighs. 

“I put him back in my suitcase, and I felt really bad about it too. I left it unzipped a little,” Remus kisses your temple as he chuckles. 

“You’re the sweetest fucking thing in the world.” 

Changing the conversation, “Do you want chai?” 

Remus’ eyebrows shoot up, “You have chai or do you need to make it?” 

You shake your head, a tired smile that’s a little teasing, “Jamie dropped it off for me when he came to see Lils.” 

Remus’ eyebrows shoot up even farther, “Jamie?” 

You giggle, “Yeah, s’what you guys call him.” 

Remus is a little indignant, “Jamie?” He repeats and you laugh even more. 

“Are you jealous, Remus?” 

Your hand reaches to the nape of his neck, twisting the sandy brown hair there as he deliberates. 

“Of James getting a nickname?” He asks and you nod, letting your fingers scratch his scalp a little. “No dove,” Remus fights the shiver that threatens to climb his back. “I’m not even a little jealous,” 

He leans into you, your noses bumping. “Why not?” Your breaths mingle as you lean even closer to Remus. 

“Because,” his hand cups your neck, his thumbs punching your chin upwards. Your chest heaves, “You’re already breathless and I haven’t even kissed you yet, princess.” 

“Please.” 

Remus smirks, wicked and impish. “No,” you whine and Remus almost rethinks his answer. “Go heat up your chai, pretty girl.” 

“You’re no fun,” you hop off his lap and head to the kitchen all the while Remus chuckles, his head against the back of the cushions as he watches you flit about the kitchen. 

-

The next time Remus sees you it’s after possibly one of the worst days of your life in a long time. Everything had gone wrong and there’d been a pit in your stomach all the way to your apartment. 

Just as you were about to walk in, your phone rang and without looking, you answered it. 

“Why does that boy keep going to your apartment?” 

You pull the phone from your ear and curse softly when you see, ‘Devil’s Right Hand,’ displayed on the screen. 

“What?” You really don’t have the energy today. 

Your father doesn’t seem to care though, “The boy. The one with the grey car.” 

As if you’re ten and not a grown ass woman, “Because we’re friends.” 

Simple, succinct and it would’ve been sufficient for any other regular parent. 

Your dad is anything but. 

“And he doesn’t leave till the morning? Do you think I’m an idiot?” 

The ‘yes’ in your brain wants so badly to slide off your tongue. You manage to bite it back. 

“I don’t understand the problem. I’m an adult, I can do as I please. You don’t even pay for the apartment, Mama does.” 

You hear the low simmering anger in your father’s tone. “Your grandmother gives you too much leeway.” 

You roll your eyes, “I’m not in the mood for a fight, was that all you wanted to know?” 

“Girl, watch your tone, it’s not a long drive to your place.” 

You shiver at the threat. “Can I go please? I have coursework to do and I’ve got exams to prep for later this week.” 

“Oh sure, coursework. Come home this weekend, your grandparents are at the house on Sunday.” 

Your body sags as you hang up the phone, the backs of your eyes burn with exhaustion. 

With a sigh, you unlock the door and get into your apartment. 

You don’t even bother to change or sit still, instead you just jump straight into your work; hours pass before your phone rings again. 

This time, it’s Remus.

“Hey,” he doesn’t like your tone, or the way you sigh the word. 

“Hi dove, I’m outside.” 

You’re relieved when you see him. He looks warm and cosy. His hair looks pillow soft and his sweater is a faded yellow one against the brown of his corduroy jeans. 

“I brought snacks,” he says, jingling a plastic bag in his hand.

You don’t smile quite as big as you normally would’ve and Remus frowns. “Long day?” He asks as he steps in, kissing your forehead when you nod. 

“Yeah, I’m just finishing up my coursework and we can have dinner.” 

Remus waits for you, busying himself with plating up dinner- leftover Chinese food from yesterday. 

“C’mon baby,” he murmurs, rubbing your back as he sets both plates on the coffee table and starts the tv. “Have some food and then get back to it if you like, but I need you to eat.” 

You look to argue, but he’s not commanding you. He’s not demanding anything from you, he’s nudging you to look after yourself. 

For a moment, you get stuck in just looking at him and your mind whirs. Remus is unlike anyone else in your life- he doesn’t take, he doesn’t shout and make threats, he doesn’t force you into a box or anything of the sort. 

Instead, he gives you room and watches you, watches you be yourself and encourages you to be yourself. It makes you emotional for a minute, the back of your throat burning as you come to the realisation. 

 “Coming,” you whisper, Remus’ eyes track your movements, and he smiles a little when you sit right up beside him, your forearms brushing. 

Dinner is quiet, little conversation here and there because Remus can tell you’re exhausted. 

In that sense, he washes up the dishes while you shower and he tidies up the living room before double checking your door is locked. 

He’s pouring hot water over the tea bags when you come out of your room, dressed in the softest look pyjamas he’s ever seen. 

“Oh you look cosy, princess.” You go bashful under the lovestruck tone to his words, walking into the arms he has open. 

One hand goes to the base of your neck, holding firm as his other hand squeezes around your back. 

“Tired?” He whispers into your hair and you hum. 

“I can have a cuppa though, not that tired.” 

You barely make it halfway through your cup before your eyes are closing and your head is lolling onto Remus’ shoulder. 

“Poor girl,” he murmurs, setting his cup down and sliding his hands under your thighs and around your back. “S’okay dove,” he coos as you stir, your nose brushed up to his neck as he walks to your bedroom. 

“Stay,” you mumble as he sets you down and Remus smiles. 

“M’right here dovey, not going a place.”

Remus wakes up to you moving around in bed, your legs kicking and your body thrashing. 

“Hey,” he croaks, voice cracking from sleep. “Dovey,” he mumbles, his hand rubbing your arm. “Baby wake up.” 

His nose brushes your cheek, hands shaking your shoulder a bit as your tossing worsens. 

“Wake up dove,” he whispers, stroking your neck. 

“Remus?” Your voice shakes, eyes open wide as you try to get your bearings.

“It’s me baby, I’m right here.” Your heart is racing as you sit up, Remus following suit. 

“Sorry,” you whimper, brushing your cheeks as you feel tears fall. Remus flicks on your lamp and his eyebrows thread together.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” He tucks you into his side. “Wanna talk to me about it?” 

His hand creeps under your shirt, his knuckles dragging up and down your spine. 

“Was just a dream,” you whisper, not quite sounding yourself. “A bad dream.” 

Remus nods, “Yeah, it was just a dream, pretty girl. Your pulse is pounding though, babe.” He can feel the harsh beat of it against the knuckles on your back. 

You shut your eyes, reliving the scenes in the dream vividly. 

“It’s a recurring thing,” you start, letting yourself be comforted by Remus’ hand on your back and the faint scent of his citrus soap. “I’m little again and my dad is blue mad, breaking glass and screaming in my face.” 

You take a shuddering breath and Remus tries his best not to react with his body. 

“I was about ten or eleven I think, by that time our relationship wasn’t salvageable. I can’t even remember what he was so upset about but I always seemed like the perfect target. ‘Specially when I started telling him off for being mean to my mum.” 

“Baby this was real?” You nod, Remus lets himself for a moment, imagine little you stopping grown adults from arguing and he feels his chest tighten at the thought. 

“He tried coming at me and mum with a piece of the glass. It was just a mess. The fight only stopped because our neighbours came to get me.” 

He feels your tears wet his shirt, but he doesn’t care. Not when you’ve started shaking again. 

“You’re alright baby,” his words sound like a promise whispered into your hairline. “You don’t have to go back to that, I swear you don’t.” 

“I think the reason I had a nightmare was because he called earlier. Said to come home on Sunday and that he knew you were staying over.” 

Remus can’t stop himself from stiffening then. He hates the frustration and defeat in your voice. 

“Do you want me to come with you on Sunday?” The offer is as easy as the breath he inhales. 

You look up at him, eyelashes wet and stuck together, lips and cheeks swollen from crying. 

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Remus smiles- a sad smile. 

“You didn’t ask,” he kisses your nose. “Think about it okay? I won’t be offended if you say no, pretty girl.” 

You nod and tuck yourself back into him. 

“Do you think you can go back to sleep or do you wanna watch something?” 

You think for a long time, “Will you hold me till I fall asleep?” 

God his heart really is breaking. Who could hurt you? 

“Till you wake up, dove.” 

Remus wakes up before you do, his arms still wrapped around you, and you’re more on his chest than on the bed. 

His mind wakes faster than his body, racing with thoughts of little you and the things you’ve lived. He finds that you hide it well. The hurt, the pain, the everything. One look at you wouldn’t reveal that, all anyone would see is a rich girl living with her parents and doing whatever she pleases; but under the surface? 

You’re so like everyone else, but so singular that it stops his breath a little. 

You don’t have class today, so he decides quite quickly that he’s letting you sleep in. The only thing you have to do is finish the last bit of your coursework and then Remus thinks a day doing your favourite things- shopping for books and having tea- is in order. 

He also wants to start breakfast, you’d mentioned a couple nights ago that you’d been craving blueberries and he’d had a hankering for pancakes. 

Remus tries moving out from under you but your fist closes around his shirt and he stays put. 

Breakfast can wait a bit. 

“Remmy?” You wake shortly after, the sunlight peeking through the curtains tickling your eyes. 

“Yes, dove?” His hand is stroking your arm, his blunt fingernails dragging slowly makes it hard for you to open your eyes. 

“Time is it?” You stretch as he reaches for his phone. 

“Just gone past ten,” you settle right back into his chest with a sigh. 

“Can you wake me up again at eleven?” You ask at the same time Remus asks, 

“Do you wanna go out for breakfast?” 

You hum, “What’re we having?” 

A yawn tears apart his answer, “Blueberry pancakes? Or bagels? Either or, I don’t mind.” 

“Are you making pancakes?” He can already tell where the question is headed. 

“Yes, do you have everything for them?” You nod then you shake your head. 

“Except the blueberries.” 

Remus pulls you and the covers a little closer. “Want me to go in to the grocery and get them?” You shake your head. 

“I’ll settle for whatever fruit I’ve got in the house.” Remus tuts. 

“Would you prefer blueberries?” He asks, his fingers dancing across the nape of your neck. 

“Yeah,” that’s all he needed to hear. 

“I’ll make you some tea and head out,” Remus isn’t allowed to slide out from under you, your thigh on his hip pins him down.

“You don’t have to,” you say bashfully, an intense guilt that’s completely unnecessary creeps into your voice and Remus has to slide his hands to your neck and push your chin up under your jaw. 

“You’re not inconveniencing me, pretty girl. I’m getting them, coming back here and making pancakes and then we’re going either to the beach or the bookstore.” 

You shake your head as best as you can with Remus holding your jaw. “You don’t have to do all of this just because I had a bad dream.” 

He tuts, “I want to take care of you. I’ll just be fifteen minutes.” 

You nod, accepting your defeat in the argument. 

In the time Remus is gone, you find yourself going through photo albums and reminiscing on the days when things were a lot easier. 

You stop on a picture of you and your grandmother and you sigh. Grabbing your phone, you dial her number. 

“Hello, Mama?” Your voice wavers as you speak. 

“Yes, Bebo?” You smile at the sound of her voice. Instantly, you feel like you’re being swaddled in her arms and like your troubles are eased. Your home name falling from her mouth with such familiarity also makes your chest ache. 

“I’m having trouble,” you say honestly. “I don’t know how to forgive anymore.” 

She sighs, you can hear shuffling in the back and things knocking about and then you hear your grandmother’s voice. “Bebo, you don’t have to forgive everybody.” She says, and you sniffle. “Not everyone needs that, or deserves that.” When you don’t answer she worries. You and your grandmother have an insanely close relationship, summers were spent in her back garden and on the beach near her house. She knows you as well as you can know any person. 

“Do you want me to come over? I can bring you lunch.” You take a minute to consider and know in your heart of hearts that she would be on her way if you said yes. 

“No,” you take the conversation to a different direction quickly. “Are you coming over on Sunday? Dad said.” 

You can hear the smile in her voice, “Yeah, I miss my grandkids, Bebo.” 

You’d seen her just three days ago but it feels like a month ago. “I miss you too, Mama. Would it be weird if I brought someone for dinner?” 

She gasps, always one for a good bit of gossip. “Like a boyfriend? Bebo, I’ve been waiting for this!” She sounds so excited that the image of her smiling wide behind her glasses warms your heart. 

“You don’t think dad will make it a thing?” 

She puffs out air, “Your dad would make the sun coming out a thing if he wanted to. I need you to not live your life according to him, Bebo. He’s my son, but he’s a little shit and he doesn’t rule you or anyone else.” 

You sigh, chest shaking under the weight of your withheld thoughts. 

“Is that why you don’t want me coming over? Your boyfriend is over?” You giggle, feeling weirdly like she’s right beside you as you tuck your phone between your cheek and shoulder. 

“He went to get blueberries because I wanted pancakes, and he’s not my boyfriend, Mama.” She scoffs, you smile. 

“But you like him and he’s nice?” 

“Super nice, like tooth rotting nice. And he’s really gentle and calm too.” 

You can see your grandmother’s smile, and find yourself doing the same. Even more so when you hear the knock on your door. 

“You deserve nice, gentle and calm, Bebo. I’m sorry I couldn’t have kept you kids for longer.” 

“Mama,” you gasp the words as you look through the peephole and find Remus standing there with the groceries. “You did and are doing enough. You’re not in charge of his actions, he is.” 

Remus’ eyes narrow as he sees your glassy eyes as he steps into the apartment. 

“I know Bebo, I know.” 

“I gotta go, but I’ll call you to let you know if I’m coming okay? If I am, would you bring,” she cuts you off. 

“Of course I’ll bring you coconut fudge Bebo, I’ll make it on Saturday so it doesn’t get stale.” 

Remus starts about the kitchen, but you can tell he’s intrigued about the conversation- or at the least, who you’re on the phone with. 

“Thanks Mama, I love you.” You see a little smile break out of his face even as he faces away from you to measure the flour. 

“I love you too Bebo, go enjoy your boyfriend.” You laugh scandalously and hear her chuckle before you hang up. 

“How’s your grandma?” Remus asks as you come into the kitchen and sit on the counter near him. 

“She’s good. I called her to talk about the nightmare but I kept getting too sad so we just talked about other stuff.” You swing your feet as you watch Remus mix the wet and dry ingredients. 

“Is she also going to dinner on Sunday?” He poses it conversationally, because it is but he also wants a feel for who’s there at these dinners. 

You nod, stealing a blueberry from the carton. “She’s always there. I think she comes because she knows if she’s there my dad will be in check for the whole night;” you smile when you eat the blueberry and find it’s sweet. “She’s pretty scary when she needs to be.” 

“I don’t doubt that, dove. You’re the same way, can tell there’s a little fire behind all that niceness.” 

You roll your eyes, “Whatever you say Lupin,” Remus sets your griddle on and oils it as it heats up. “Would you really want to come on Sunday?” 

He pours three pancakes on, “Unless I have to do something strange, then yes I want to come.” 

“If I told you that there was an initiation process that everyone’s super anal about, that would be a deal breaker?” Remus looks at you wide eyed and then notices your poorly hidden smile. 

“You’re a menace.” He says as he flips the pancakes, another raucous laugh bubbling out of you. 

“On occasion.” Remus stacks three for you and reaches for the syrup in the cupboard above your head. “But Mama, my granny, will probably badger you about your ‘intentions’ and whatever else.” 

You thank Remus for the pancakes with a kiss on his cheek. “Eat,” he says, cutting your pancakes for you, making you smile. “I can handle badgering. But I should warn you, I don’t hide anger well.” 

You wave off his concern. “Oh he won’t be out of line, Mama keeps him in check. And I just ignore him anyways.” Remus doesn’t like the way you shrug like your dad being a prick is no big deal, but he decides you’ve shared enough for the day. 

You don’t start eating till he makes his own stack and switches off the stove and that makes him smile a little. 

“Do you have a preference for the beach or the bookstore?” He asks in between bites of breakfast. 

You think for a moment, “Can we go to the bookstore? There’s a couple books I want to check on.” 

Remus nods, not really caring where you go, just that you do something you like. 

-

You decide against Remus joining you, not sure if you’re ready for him to see the circus that is your family. 

Your Mama is on the front porch, sipping what you know is coffee as you get out your car. 

You send Remus a text, Made it. I’ll let you know how it goes. 

His response is immediate, My offer to come get you is always on the table, princess

“Where’s your boyfriend?”She asks, standing to hug you.

“Told him that it might be too much, didn’t want to scare him off.” You try to sound as chipper as possible, but your grandmother knows you. 

“He’s not in control of you anymore, Bebo. You can’t give it to him.” 

You nod, diverting the conversation. “How’d the fudge turn out?” 

You have a couple bricks with her and your older brother in the garden out back before they’re ready to serve dinner. 

There’s a quiet stillness that covers the remaining winter, the coffee and coconut milk fudge just enough to make it seem like the tranquillity could last forever. 

“Mama said you have a boyfriend?” your older brother asks, protectiveness and amusement in his tone as you look up at him wide eyed and shocked. 

“I told her he’s not my boyfriend. Not yet.” 

“She really wants him to be. He made her pancakes and he spent the night.” You tut at your grandmother’s gossiping. 

Your brother smiles, “I’d like to meet him sometime, you look happy again.” You just nod, scared that you might say something that gives away how much you really really like Remus. 

“Dinner’s ready,” your mum comes out on the porch, giving all three of you a soft smile before going back in. 

Dinner is great until the round-the-table questions get to you. You’d avoided it for a couple courses, but it appears your luck is out. 

“How was your coursework?” Your dad says it like it was an actual lie, you don’t miss the vile amusement in his tone, like he’s waiting to catch you in a lie.

“Lots of reading, but I think I got above 85 which is great considering this professor is known for failing students for less than 75.” 

Your dad isn’t satisfied. “What was it about?” 

You stiffen in your chair, you don’t like the implication that you’re lying. “Capital punishment, recidivism and how the two coincide.” 

Your mum can tell your dad is still not pleased, so can your grandmother and she sets him right with a look. 

“Do you need her professors to start running their coursework topics through you? Are you going to call the school next because you disbelieve everything?” 

The table is tense as your grandmother and your dad have a stare off- not that she’s at all concerned about him. 

Your younger siblings feed off your dad’s energy, their own question hot and ready and aimed at anyone with answers.

 “How is it fair that she moved out?” And “Why does Mama pay for her apartment and not just tell her to move back home? It’s silly how much she’ll do for attention.” Or “Maybe if she just came home dad wouldn’t be so upset?” You can’t even get a word in, stunned silent as you realise this is how they see you.

It’s when your younger brother and sister say, “You always make it about you, you’re Mama’s favourite and that pisses us off. Dad doesn’t like you because you think you’re better than us, and it would all be better if you just made a clear decision- do you want to be in the family or not?”, that your breath quickens at their words, your heartbeat roaring in your ears. 

The part that hurts is that they’re too young to know all the things that have happened, they don’t get why it’s so hard for you to sit here even on bi-weekly Sunday dinners and play nice with your dad.

Your food suddenly loses taste when your dad sends an evil smile your way, your stomach rolling.

They don’t understand that you’ve taken their beatings, that you’ve suffered horrid treatment just so they wouldn’t have to.

“Either way, we don’t care. I think we’d be better off without you if I’m honest. All you do is mope and complain, you wouldn’t even have half the shit you do if it wasn’t for dad. He’s not the monster you make him out to be.” 

Your older brother cut them glares, “Enough! You don’t speak for this entire table, find somewhere else to be.” They scamper off, your brother doesn’t even give your dad the time of day, he looks at you immediately. 

“Go take a walk, Bebo.” He’s the only one of them that likes you, the only out of three siblings that actually knows you, that knows what this is doing to you and you’re grateful for it. 

Mama sparks into heavy, brash Urdu, all of it aimed at your father who more than deserves it- these are his spawn. 

You try to think through your feelings, try to sort them into neat and tidy boxes but it just winds you. 

You can't take deep breaths, they’re all shallow and sharp. Your chest aches, a concave feeling to it as you worry about the sharpness of your breath. It only worsens your ability, your breathing even shallower and you can’t seem to stop the cycle. 

You reach for your phone, pulling up a breathing video and trying your best to follow it, your breathing evening the longer you follow along. 

When you can inhale fully, you call Remus. You need him. 

He picks up on the second ring, “Hi, dovey. Everything okay?” 

“I think I should’ve let you come.” Your voice sounds ragged, like you need to cry and Remus’ skin prickles. He wishes he was there too. 

“Need me to come up there?” You debate it, you really do, and maybe if you didn’t feel like such a shitty person right now you would’ve said ‘no,’ but you need Remus and his sound mind and advice. 

“It’s a thirty minute drive.” you say, hearing things rustling in the back and Remus moves the phone from his mouth as he calls to someone. 

“I’m heading out, text me if you need anything.” Then the phone is closer. “Just had to tell Siri and Jamie. I’m on my way, princess.” 

“Drive safely, Remmy.” you sound so sad, Remus wishes he could just apparate to you now. 

“I’ll see you soon, baby. Stay somewhere safe, yeah.”

Tears gather in your eyes at how easily Remus could tell that you were frightened, that you’re in need of some place soft to land. God, you can’t wait for him to be here. 

The front door opens, your older brother coming out on the porch with a heavy sigh. 

“You have to tell them Bebo,” he says softly and you shake your head. 

“Why? So they can think I’m just lying to make him look bad. I’m okay with this arrangement.” 

Your brother takes a seat on the porch swing and pats a spot next to him. 

“Are you actually?” You inhale, thinking it over for a brief moment. 

“It hurts, of course it does. But I used to be mean too, this is them being mean back.” 

Your brother rolls his eyes, “It’s not like they’re ten. They’re sixteen and they’re horrid.” You take your spot next quickly- like if you chance a slow moment the tears will come. 

“But just to me. You get to be the best sibling they have, while I’m the problem black sheep sibling who can’t help but be macabre.” 

“You’re not macabre. You know you’re not. You just lived some dark shit to spare them and it’s time to stop. They can handle it.” You wish you could do it, it might make things easier, but you’re scared. 

“Maybe next time, it’s too charged in there now.” You sigh, head touching the back of the swing. “Do you think I’ll ever have their love?” The tears stream down your cheeks anyway as you think about the idea, as you hear their words rattle around your head. 

Your brother sighs hard, not sure if your siblings would ever wake up from your dad’s spell. Instead of saying anything, he guides your head to his shoulder. “Take a nap, Bebo.” 

“Remus is coming soon. Would you wake me when he gets here?”

“‘Course, Bebo.”

Your grandmother comes out right after you fall asleep, touching your sticky cheek with a weathered hand. 

“They’ll break her, you know. They’ll break her spirit and she won’t hold back anymore.” She sounds sad, like she can see it happening already.

“Mama, she won’t break.”  your brother says, reaching for her but she bats him away. 

“She’s not like you. You brush it off, she can’t. It weighs her heart. Every time she leaves here she looks so sad, so heavy and cracked. I can’t see her crack again, do you remember it?” 

Tears fall down her cheeks, but she doesn’t try to wipe them, she just stares at your sleeping form. 

Your brother sighs, leaning on her shoulder as she sits on his other side. “I remember,” he says quietly, the memories of you being withdrawn dancing behind his eyes. “Her boyfriend is coming here.”

“Really?” She asks and your brother nods. 

“She told me to wake her up when he gets here.” 

Mama smiles, “I’m glad she called him.” 

Remus arrives about forty minutes later, your brother sitting beside you about to shake your shoulder when Remus steps out of the car and shakes his head. 

“Let her sleep a little,” your brother’s confused by his request. 

“She asked me to wake you when you get here.” 

Remus smiles despite his anger. He’d stewed all the way to your dad’s house, wondering if you’d be hurt, if you’d not find a quiet place and the argument would keep going. 

He didn’t know what he was walking into, and finding you asleep is much more welcome than the sadder visions of his brain. 

“Would you tell me what it’s all about? Or what sparked it all today?” 

Remus sits on the floor near the foot of the swing, his hand holding onto your ankle as he looks to your brother. 

It’s clear to him, your brother, that Remus cares about you. His eyes haven’t strayed from you for more than thirty seconds, always coming back to rove over your face like he’s making sure you’re still there and still okay. 

Your brother hesitates- he’s never spoken about this with someone outside of the family. “They have warped perceptions of her; our younger brother and sister. They think she’s ungrateful and just doesn’t come home to get dad riled up- she doesn’t come home because they don’t know what she’s done so they didn’t have to get the dad we got.” 

Remus frowns harder, his thumb rubbing a circle on your ankle. 

“And she doesn’t want to tell them?” There’s no judgement in his tone, just curiosity. 

Your brother shakes his head. “She doesn’t think they’d believe her at this point. I’m always trying to talk her into it, but I think it runs a bit too deep to dredge up just like that.” 

Remus nods, eyes fixated on you as you sleep. “Will she want to tell them goodbye?” 

Your brother smiles, “If you leave without meeting our grandma, I think she’ll never forgive you for leaving without her ice cream.” 

Remus laughs, nodding as he stands. 

“You should wake her up first, I’ll go tell Mama you’re here.” Remus waits till your brother walks off into the house to sit beside you. 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep, but sometime later you feel Remus’ hand on your cheek, thumb a little calloused as it rubs at the apple. 

Only he wakes you up this gently. 

“Princess, wake up. Miss your face.” 

“Hey,” your eyes peel open slowly, a little smile spreading on your face. 

Remus’ smile is small, but not forced. He could never do that with you looking up at him- especially with your sleepy eyes. 

“Was the drive okay?” 

He chuckles, it’s belated that you notice you’re alone with him on your front porch. Your brother’s car is still parked outside and so is your grandmother’s. 

“Yeah it was, pretty girl.” 

Remus kisses your forehead, his hand holding your face even though it’s a little sticky with your dried tears. 

“Your brother went to get Mama.” He says softly, letting you twist your body so you were leaning into him. Your entire front body was pressing against his ribs. 

“I’m so tired, Remmy.” Your voice cracks as you speak, Remus can’t bear it. He hates it that you’re this sad. 

“I know baby,” his words are whispered into your hairline, his hand moving to cup the back of your head as he feels the quiet tears soak his shirt. “We don’t have to stay here any longer than you want to.” 

You sniffle and nod, letting Remus pull you further into his lap so he can hold you. 

“This is Mama,” you hear your brother’s voice and the light steps of your grandmother and then feel Remus lean forward. You assume he wanted you off his lap, but his hand anchors your hip to his as he shakes the older woman’s hand. 

“Remus.” He introduces himself and she smiles. 

“You’re handsome,” you laugh when you catch Remus’ cheeks flushing. “I have your ice cream here, Bebo. He won’t come out, locked himself away in his office.” 

You shrug, “Doesn’t matter. I’m ready to go.” Remus nods, taking the tub of ice cream for you, letting you climb off his lap before standing. 

“Give me two minutes, baby.” You kiss his jaw as you go, the car keys in your hand.

“She’ll be okay right?” 

Your brother smiles at Remus, Mama frowns. 

“She’s a fighter.” He says but Mama shakes her head. 

“She might not have any more fight left in her.” 

Remus knows what she means to say. He remembers how Sirius had been, the brave faces and attitude to hide how sad he was. He looks at the car and spots you with your head against the glass. 

“Just be patient with her.” Mama says and Remus nods.  “She’ll tell you everything soon enough. She looks at you like you individually hung the stars.” 

Remus blushes again, not really knowing what to say. 

Your older brother pats his shoulder and goes inside, “I think I’ll head out too.” He goes to his car, but not before stopping at Remus’ and giving you a kiss to your forehead. 

Remus frowns, “Does everyone disperse after they fight like this?” He asks your grandmother, not wanting to push but trying to understand. 

“Bebo can’t take more of this, you’ll see. I set him straight, he leaves her alone for months and then starts over. It’s like a cat and a mouse- always prodding and slapping and poking until the mouse has had enough.” 

“And the mouse does what when they’ve had enough?” 

Mama smiles, like she’s holding out just a sliver of hope that it will happen. “Revolt.” 

Remus gives her a hug and makes his way to the car. 

As soon as he opens the door, you smile. Tired lines all over your face as your eyes barely open. 

“Wanna stay over?” You ask, cheek smushed to your shoulder as you look at Remus. 

“How abouts you come over to mine? I’ve got fluffy blankets,” Remus kisses that spot where your forearm and upper arm meet. “Oatmeal raisin and chocolate chip cookies,” a kiss to your shoulder, right on the beauty mark. “And I’ve got all your favourites on dvd.” 

The last kiss is right on the corner of your mouth, chaste and sweet and it makes you smile even more. 

“Sirius and James won’t mind?” 

Remus rolls his eyes, “They’ve gone on their own lover’s retreats today.” Wrong, Remus kicked them out the second he’d hung the phone with you. 

“Okay, but can we stop by my place to get my stuffy?” 

Remus chuckles, “Course we can, dovey. That way we’ll both have clothes at each other’s place.” 

You tut, clipping on your seatbelt as Remus turns over the engine. “You’re not getting your sweater back, Remus.” 

He only rolls his eyes as he pulls out of your dad’s yard, tipping his chin to the ice cream tub. “Will that be okay on the drive?” 

You nod, “Yeah, we can have some with the cookies tonight.” 

[luveline]

Hi there! I hope your day’s been going well :)

Could you maybe write something with Spencer where Reader faints? Feel free to ignore this if you’re not up for it!!

thank u for ur request! fem!reader, 1.6k

"It's so hot," you say, startled. The lobby of the hotel had been blissfully air-conditioned. The difference hits you immediately. 

"Don't worry about blazers or professional attire," Hotch says, though he quickly amends, "within reason."

You take off your jacket and follow the herd of the BAU into the black SUVs. The SUVs are even hotter than the outdoors, blistering ovens of heat that have you feeling nauseous instantaneously. Spencer rubs your arm with the back of his hand swiftly —it's a friendly touch to say he's here, but it's quick to prevent any unnecessary added heat. 

It's August in Texas, 107 degrees Fahrenheit. Emily smells distinctly of sunscreen from the front passenger seat. Derek, behind the wheel, looks hot around the collar. Spencer looks as though he wishes he'd had a haircut before he came, chin length curls tucked tight behind his ears. 

Despite this, none of them complain beyond the general whine every now and then. You try very hard to shut up and focus on the case with them, but as the day goes on, bumping you from hot car to hot crime scene (with all inclusive smells of gore!), you feel wobbly on your feet. 

"Spence?" you ask, sitting in a hard-backed chair in the police precinct. 

"Yeah?" He doesn't look away from the geographical profile he's building. You're supposed to be helping, but your notes are half-hearted, likely useless. "What?" 

"Do you have any water?" 

He pushes a pin into the left of the map and grabs a ruler. "No, sorry. There's a staff room by the bullpen, the secretary said to help ourselves. Actually, she said to 'go ham.'"

"Okay. I'll be right back. And I'll be more helpful." 

"You're plenty helpful," he murmurs, leaning down to follow the line of his rules with a pencil. 

You don't feel helpful, you feel awful. Head heavy, eyes aching, every step sends a jolt through your teeth and jaw, your skull like a mashed potato. You know you're a poor sight with sweat wetting your hair and a crawling sensation between your legs and the fabric of your pants. 

Letting yourself into the staff room, you're unsurprised to find a bone dry water cooler and a crate of water bottles with only one remaining. Spencer needs a drink too, and he has a thing about germs. You frown at the water bottle as though that might duplicate it, but when it doesn't, you're forced to take it and put it under your arm. You look around for a mug to at least have some tap water no matter how ill-advised that may be. They're all dirtied in the sink and on tables. Fuck. 

Spencer is super, super lovely to you. You wonder sometimes if he might ask you out, or at least want to, but most of the time you're sure it's just a little extra friendliness because he knows how it feels to be the youngest on the team, how patronised or lonely it gets. And the weight of trying to prove yourself every mission, it's almost as heavy as your head. 

"Hey," Spencer says as you open the conference room door. "I think I've worked something out. Could you call Garcia for me? I've got dry-erase marker on my hands." 

"Got this for you," you say, offering him the bottle. He takes it without looking. 

"Thanks. Are you feeling any better? I know you can be sensitive to the heat." 

"Maybe we can get portable fans on the FBI budget next year," you say wistfully, pushing a chair in at the table. You lean on it to grab the phone in the middle of a sea of papers and cases and jackets, black spots popping up in your vision. "My head's rushing." 

"Hey, guys," Emily says, sounding strangely chipper as she and Hotch trudge in. Her hair is in a tight ponytail away from her face. 

You try to greet them and end up hanging your head. 

"Y/N," Spencer chokes, alarmed.

You slump forward over the chair, desperate to keep your footing and failing. Your shin knocks into the chair and your hands grasp at the top of it, but you can't hold yourself up any longer, knocking your face into the chair as you collapse. A cheap tent in a strong breeze, you fall with little more than a weak sigh. 

You're hurting a lot when you come to, blinking like your lashes have been brushed with glue. The lights have been turned off, and a blissful chill soaks your hairline. Someone presses a water bottle to your lips and lifts your head. You drink half the contents in three gulps and get laid down again with the utmost care. 

"She's coming around," Hotch says. 

Your neck aches propped over a leg. Two deft hands hold your head still. 

"Don't move too much," Spencer says, his voice odd. You blink as his face moves into view upside down. "An EMT is on the way, okay? You passed out." 

You can't find your voice. Spencer strokes your cheek with his thumb, says, "Hey, can you hear me? Let's hear your voice. Talk to me." 

"You don't sound like yourself," you say hoarsely, each word tenuous. You wince at the bruising heat that radiates from your nose with each word. 

"I'm worried about you," Spencer admits. "It makes it hard to stay objective." 

"No, you sound funny." 

"I'm worried," he repeats. His smile is strained. 

"She's okay," Hotch says. 

You realise Emily's got your hand in hers when she squeezes it. "Have you had anything to drink today?" she asks you, fondly incredulous. 

"No, she hasn't, and I didn't say anything about it. I'm an idiot. I'm so sorry, Y/N," Spencer says. 

"Y/N's responsible for her own preservation, Reid. And it's been a tough case, with the heat. Let's not blame anyone for anything." You press your chin to your chest to see Hotch's anxious frown. "We will be having a discussion about this later." 

You turn your face into Spencer's thigh. "Oh." 

"Don't close your eyes," Hotch says. He employs a firm, boss-like tone that has you rushing to follow orders. "You hit your head." 

"I don't feel well," you complain, wanting to close your eyes.

"Considering your behaviour," Spencer says, one of his hands trailing down your face, neck, and collar, where he rests it genially, "you likely have a mild to moderate concussion. And you're dehydrated, so you'll be feeling the effects more severely."

"Why haven't you been drinking?" Emily asks. 

"I just…" You blink sluggishly. "I don't know… We don't take anything that isn't coffee with us places and…" You lean your cheek into Spencer's hand, not quite connecting that it's his hand, or that you're laying on the precinct floor. "They only had one bottle in the staff room." 

"Why didn't you drink it?" Spencer asks softly. 

"I knew you hadn't had anything to drink, either." 

"We could've shared," he says, sounding genuinely confused. 

"You don't like sharing stuff like that. Germs." 

Spencer's voice is barely above a whisper, "I wouldn't care about your germs, Y/N. They're your germs." 

You don't have time to ask him what he means, but you've ample time to think about it on loop when the EMT arrives. He props you up, checking you over thoroughly, shining a light in your eyes and deeming you concussed.

"You don't have to see a doctor," the EMT advises. "But we're happy to take you to the hospital if that's what you want." 

"Yes," Spencer says, as you say, "No." 

Spencer puts a hand on your shoulder blade. It is an extremely forward move on his part, so unlike him that you recognise how odd it is despite your foggy mind. "She should go." 

"She fainted, Spencer," Emily says. 

"Exactly! So she should go to the hospital and–"

"I didn't break anything," you say, waving a shaky hand at the small but concerned crowd of people you've attracted. 

"Luckily," the EMT says. "Drink plenty of water and take it easy. Don't be afraid to call again if you feel worse." 

Hotch walks the EMT out, needing to take a phone call. Emily goes with him, promising to return with a dry shirt for you to wear now that yours has been soaked at the collar by the water they'd been cooling you down with while you were unconscious. 

Spencer settles practically knee to knee with you in two of the uncomfortable chairs, his assessing gaze frankly perturbing. 

"You'd share germs with me?" you ask. 

Spencer's hand leaps across the gap to yours where it rests on your knee. His eyes, brown and sweet, have all the light of a blinding smile as his lips quirk into something more sheepish. "If it stopped you from fainting, yeah. And even if it didn't, I'd be stupid to care about germs when I…" 

You breathe out slowly. "When you what?" 

"Well," he says, looking down at your hands. "I guess I just wouldn't mind your germs, that's all." 

If he's saying what you think he's saying, he's doing it in the most Spencer Reid way possible. Concussed, your charisma fails you. You've no wit to tease him with. 

You fold your hand around his. "Thanks for catching me," you say gently. 

He squeezes your fingers clumsily. "You're welcome. But it was actually mostly Emily." 

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Seventeen

TW for biological functions I guess? In a fantasy setting? And brief mention of blood.

“Stee,” something nudges Steve, rocking him a little, and then there’s another, whispered but urgent, “Stee.”

Steve blinks the rest of the way awake, squinting in the morning light, “you okay?”

“No. Ow.”

Steve’s all the way alert immediately, “where? What’s wrong?”

Eddie takes Steve’s hand, pressing it real low on his tummy, “ow.”

“Oh,” Steve says, leaning over and pressing a little bit.

Eddie immediately seems to panic, dragging Steve’s hand away and shoving one of his own right up between his legs, pressing hard. He looks uncomfortable as fuck.

“Oh! Baby, do you need to pee?”

“Called pee?”

“I-it’s when- you know what never mind, just come with me.” Eddie comes with Steve into the bathroom, and Steve shuffles him over to the toilet, “you need to pull your pants down.”

Eddie looks at him uncertainly.

“Here, these,” Steve gives Eddie’s sleep pants a tug, and Eddie soon joins in on pulling them down. “Uhm,” Steve says intelligently, faced again with that slit between Eddie’s legs, “I didn’t...I guess you should sit?”

Steve guides Eddie down, and he perches on the toilet.

“Now just, relax I guess? Let it happen?”

“Stee,” Eddie says, plaintive and confused and clearly fucking uncomfortable.

Steve squats in front of his knees, which is so new it takes Steve by surprise all over again, and he rests a hand on Eddie’s brand new bare knee, just because he can. Just to feel it under his palm, smooth and...maybe there's a little stubble growing on Eddie's thigh. He uses his free hand to gently press at Eddie’s lower stomach.

Eddie yelps, grabbing Steve’s hand away, “ow ow ow ow ow,” Eddie’s bloodshot eyes water, and then there’s a splash and very loud and insistent stream of urine that goes on for quite some time. Eddie’s breath is shuddering throughout, his eyes squeeze closed and he grips Steve’s hand and shoulder desperately.

It’s finally done, and Eddie's left panting, “many ow. Many.”

“Uhm...it doesn’t usually, maybe because it was the first one? No ow next time?”

“Next time?” Eddie repeats, sounding distraught.

“Yeah, sorry baby. Pee a few times a day.”

“Called few?”

“Few...not many.”

Eddie sighs through his nose, kind of relieved by the news, “not many.”

“Just wait until you gotta’ poop.”

“Called poop?”

“I-it’s- you know what, lets just cross that bridge when we get there.”

When Eddie stands, pulling his pants back up, still a little uncertain on his feet, the toilet bowl looks like it’s full of blood. Steve drops the lid and flushes it away, trying desperately not to worry that Eddie’s kidneys are like, failing, or something. “Yeah, hopefully the next one will be okay, like with what you coughed up...you should probably drink plenty of water today.” It’s not like they can get Eddie to a doctor.

“Water,” Eddie repeats, “brush teeth?”

“Yeah baby, we can brush our teeth.”

Eddie does, standing next to Steve. Steve watches them both in the mirror, but Eddie appears to, mostly, be frowning at himself. Once he rinses, he touches where his eyebrows were, then runs a hand over the top of his head. “Different. No hair. No Eddidie.”

“Oh baby,” Steve reaches out, touching gently, “hey, there’s a little bit of stubble, here, feel,” Steve guides Eddie’s hand. The first sign of hair is so minute as to be not visible yet, but Steve can definitely feel it, “your hair will come back.”

“Tomorrow?” Eddie asks, more hopeful.

“No baby...it’ll take some time,” Eddie pouts, “but it will.”

By the time they get back to the bedroom, Eddie is pulling a face, “wet,” he tells Steve, pulling at the crotch of the sleep pants.

“Oh...right. I guess we’d better wipe next time, hang on, I’ll get you a clean pair.”

“Clean pair,” Eddie parrots back, sitting on the bed, all long flailing limbs. He struggles a little, getting tangled, but he doesn’t ask for help, so Steve just waits and watches; he’s going to have to get the hang of this at some point. “Breakfast food?”

“Sure thing.”

Eddie stands, and his pants immediately fall down. Eddie looks down at them, pooled around his ankles on the floor, “pull pants down.” Steve can’t help but laugh.

Eddie’s pouting, but Steve can tell it’s good humored, a little smile hidden underneath. Eddie hasn’t changed at all; still just happy to be involved. Happy that he’s made Steve laugh.

“Okay, lesson one I guess,” Steve goes and stands next to Eddie, “come on, you can get them.”

He’s awkward in his movements, and Steve stands close to make sure he doesn’t like, fall over and face plant or anything, but Eddie manages to bend and grab them, and then pull them back up, clutching at the material.

Steve pulls the drawstring cords tight for him, tying it securely, “all my stuff it going to be way too big for you.”

“Too big.”

Eddie sits on the stairs, and Steve waits half way down. He sits for a second, looking at Steve, thoughtful. And then he stands back up, both hands awkwardly gripping the rail, “oh boy,” Steve sighs, “okay, but carefully.”

“Carefully,” Eddie hovers a bare foot out, wobbling. It takes him a second to coordinate bending his knee, and his foot lands on the next step with a thump. Steve never really thought about how much easier up is than down, but it definitely is.

Eddie gets a rhythm going, still white knuckling the rail, but they get there, and he’s much more confident by the time he gets to the bottom.

Steve looks at the sad contents of his fridge and sighs. He’s not giving Eddie a cold bowl of cereal, he’s not doing it.

“Wait there,” he heads into the garage, rummaging through the freezer. He comes up with a couple of frozen pizzas, and prays he’s not setting a bad precedent with pizza for breakfast...but then it occurs to him what day it is, and he thinks fuck it, it is Christmas.

Steve gets both pizzas in, dealing with the pot of peas they had abandoned on the stove top last night.

Steve makes himself a coffee and Eddie another glass of water; Eddie looks at it mistrustfully, and Steve figures Eddie has already made the link between drinking and peeing, “you need to,” Steve tells him, pushing the glass closer.

Eddie sighs like a man going in front of the firing squad, but he does sip it.

“Pizza good good good,” Eddie says, licking his fingers clean of cheese grease.

“Yeah, I like it too. You done?”

“Done?”

“Finished?”

Eddie looks sad, “no yes,” and rubs his tummy.

“I get that,” Eddie has half his Pizza left, and Steve three slices of his, “but we can eat the rest later.”

Eddie perks up, “lunch?”

“Yeah, we can eat it at lunch time. You want to see what’s on TV?”

“TV.” Eddie stands up, determined. Steve watches; Eddie uses any furniture in reach, and then the wall, to make it to the kitchen doorway. He stands for a second, faced with the gulf between the doorway and the couch. Slowly, and a little uncertain, Eddie makes the trip.

He sits, and Steve watches it dawn on him that he needs to get back up again to turn on the TV. The sigh that comes out of Eddie is spectacular, but he gets up, and he does it.

Steve feels like he just watched Eddie sink a winning basket, or something.

Eddie’s fallen asleep again, Steve can feel it in how his breathing has evened, how his body is lax. They’d watched 'A Wonderful Life' this morning. Granted they missed the first little bit, and Steve is sure Eddie didn’t really follow the plot, but Steve just...couldn’t resist it.

Clarence earns his wings, Eddie got his legs.

Eddie had finished his pizza at lunch time, and had more water, but only because Steve bribed him with half a beer for afters. And then came Eddie’s second ever pee; almost clear this time, with maybe the faintest trace of pink. To say Steve was relieved is an understatement.

Steve figures he’s right, just like with the crap that came out of Eddie’s lungs, there must be some sort of trauma when it comes to using body parts that are brand spanking new.

Steve’s not really watching the TV any more; there’s another Christmas movie on, something about Prancer the reindeer. It makes nice background noise as Steve decides Eddie has the right idea and allows himself to doze.

He’s very nearly asleep when the phone rings, startling both Steve and Eddie awake.

Steve’s halfway up, Eddie flopping off him onto the couch when it hits Steve; he hasn’t told anyone. Shit.

He answers the phone, already half certain the it’s Robin, “Hello?”

“Hey,” it is Robin, “look, Steve, I know you said no and everything but I’m really worried about you, and it's Christmas so I really don’t think-”

Steve cuts her off, “Eddie’s fine. He’s here he-”

“What??!”

“Yeah, he, he came out of the pool last night. He’s like, completely fine.” Steve smiles as Eddie appears in the doorway, one hand resting on the wall.

“So he’s just- alright? Like, what happened then, why..?”

“Oh. Oh shit, no he has legs Rob!”

She squeaks down the phone, “legs!”

Eddie moves closer, careful steps that are already about a million times more confident than yesterdays, “called?”

“It’s Robin, you want to say hi?”

“Birdidie.”

Steve hands the phone over, watching as Eddie holds it to his ear, “hi Birdidie.”

Steve can hear the noise Robin makes, it’s so loud, Eddie completely startles, dropping and then fumbling the phone and nearly stumbling himself. Steve manages to grab Eddie by the tops on his arms to steady him, and then takes the phone back, he can vaguely hear Robin saying, “hello? Are you still there?”

“Sorry, Robs, you just scared him a little.”

“Okay, yeah, okay yeah that’s fair. Sorry. Can I come over? I should come over-” and Steve cannot blame her at all, but he does kind of wish their little bubble had lasted a tiny bit longer.

“Okay Robs, I’ll see you soon?”

“Yup yup Mom will drop me, I’ll bring left overs!”

Eddie sits with his legs pulled up, trying to tuck them under himself like he would his tail; it isn’t really working.

“Birdidie in?” He asks looking distinctly uncomfortable, plucking at the frayed edge at the bottom of his sweater.

“Yeah, Robin's coming to visit.” Eddie looks distinctly unhappy at the prospect. “What’s wrong? You don’t want Birdy?”

“Eddidie-” he starts and the stalls out, “Birdidie good bad.”

“Okay, can you tell me why?”

“No Eddidie,” he says, a hand going to the top of his head.

“Oh...you’re worried about you hair?” Eddie nods, “baby, no ones going to care.” Eddie just looks, if possible, even more downhearted, “but you care, don’t you?”

Eddie nods.

“Okay. Okay I can sort this, wait there.” Steve heads upstairs, raiding his mother’s wardrobe. It’s arranged by season and then occasion, so all of her ‘skiing’ – drinking too much in a lodge – outfits are all clumped together. Steve finds three hats, they’re all bobble hats and all distinctly feminine, but Steve takes them to show Eddie. On his way out, his eyes catch on the jewelry box.

All the rings in here are probably too small to fit Eddie properly, but Steve takes a plain silver band that might fit Eddie’s pinkie finger. He takes his haul back down stairs, kneeling in front of Eddie where he’s sitting on the couch.

Steve lays out the three hats across Eddie’s thighs, “okay, here we go, what do you think.”

“Called?”

“It’s a hat,” and then Steve commits a personal cardinal sin, he pulls one on to demonstrate.

Eddie seems to brighten as he understands, touching each one individually. He chooses the one Steve hoped he would, it’s the subtlest of all of them, black and white herringbone with a black edge and a grey faux fur pompom, which Eddie quite likes the softness of if his stroking is anything to go by. He pulls it on, smiling, “hat good.”

Steve reaches into his pocket, pulling out the little silver trinket he found, “and this.”

Eddie brightens again, touching the ring where it lays on Steve’s palm. He clearly wants to say something, his mouth opening and closing, but he doesn’t have the words. Eventually he points to the lights on the tree, opening and closing his hand to imitate the slow blinking of the lights.

“Those are lights...they're shiny,” Steve tilts his palm, the ring catching the light, “this is shiny.”

“Shiny...good.”

“Pretty”

“Called pretty?”

“Uhm...so if something looks...good. So if you like shiny lights,” Steve points, “or…” Steve struggles through Eddie’s known vocabulary, “trees, trees can be pretty.” He touches Eddie’s sweater, “blue, pretty blue.”

“Purple more good than blue,” Eddie informs him with some certainty, making Steve laugh.

“Okay, purple pretty,” Eddie nods, “so, you want this on,” Eddie gives his left hand over easily. His fingers are actually much slimmer than Steve had really anticipated, and the ring spins loosely on Eddie’s pinkie finger. Steve moves it to the one next door, where it fits well, snug against the last vestiges of Eddie’s webbing, “okay?”

Eddie leans forward to kiss Steve, “thank you Stee.”

Part Nineteen

[kykyonthemoon]

Rain On The Way Home

Zayne takes you home after an argument between the two of you.

ಇ. Zayne x Reader/MC

ಇ. Tags & warnings: since there's a bit spicy at the end I shall put 16+, MDNI here, fluff, short and sweet, kiss and make up, making out, argument, hurt/comfort, established relationship, character might be a bit ooc idk.

ಇ. Word count: ~1k9

ಇ. Based on a request by YNhi.

ಇ. Masterlist ♡ Request a fic

Your lips were pursed tightly. Hands placed on your thighs were clenched so tightly that you could feel the nails digging into your skin. You did your hardest to keep back the tears that threatened to fall, but failed. Warm drops dripped on the back of your hands, and you brushed them away as soon as you noticed a familiar figure approaching from afar.

Zayne opened the car door and sat in the driver's seat. He did not glance at you or say anything. You turned entirely to face the window, observing the soft drizzle fall outside. All you wanted to do was kick the car door open, run out into the rain and scream your lungs out.

The atmosphere between the two of you had never been this stuffy. You could have left alone, but because your body was injured and your emotions were all over the place, you lacked the strength to oppose Zayne's decision. So you let him do anything he wanted. Perhaps that was best for both.

Just a second ago, you fought to reject him and ended up sitting here with bitterness in your heart, allowing him to take you home, allowing him to control you like a puppet again.

The third time you had been hospitalized in one short month, you had also reached Zayne's limit.

People at the hospital claimed that when Dr. Zayne was upset, he became quite frightening. They thought he would explode and anyone unlucky enough to get in his way would suffer. On the contrary, Zayne's rage was like a blizzard on the horizon. You might believe it would not find you, but when it did, no matter where you hid, you would never be secure. 

And that day, for the first time ever, Doctor Zayne was seen losing his usual composure.

His lengthy and fast steps resembled racing through long and busy corridors. The hospital room door opened in such a way that it was about to come off its hinges. Zayne's face solidified. Without a word, he confiscated your medical documents and commanded everyone to go, in such a frightening manner that the nurse caring for you had to shiver from the cold after leaving.

Zayne looked at the documents and then at the wound on your shoulder. It was treated in time but remained painful. The injury had left you quite weak, but after nearly a day of medical care, what distressed you the most was Zayne's attitude.

Before he could say anything, you spoke up and explained:

“It was just an incident… It wasn't like I took the initiative to accept this mission. It's just that there were no other Hunters closer to the attack area than I was…”

“That's why, despite the fact that you hadn't completely recovered and were resting, you hurried to the scene, dismissing your prior injuries. Dismissing your doctor's orders?"

One corner of the file in Zayne's hand was so tight that it became wrinkled when he let go and threw it hard on the nearby table. He turned his back on you and looked out the window. One hand on his hip, the other hand to bury his face. He acted as if he was trying his best to retain the last bit of composure. 

"I'm fine." You said. "I honestly felt no discomfort. I have been able to move properly for a week now. Staying at home constantly is boring. I needed to stretch a little so I could get back to work quickly."

Zayne slowly turned around to look at you. He was still standing in the corner of the room, and you noticed the window glass behind him starting to freeze. 

“You were bored? If you feel bored, call your friends. If you feel bored, go shopping or hang out where you like to go. You were bored so you decided to jump right into a group of Wanderers?"

“Zayne…” You grimaced. “I don't like you this way… You… are acting so strange…”

“Do you think I'd like to see you lying here? Do you think I'd like to see you being carried to the hospital?"

"I'm sorry…" You murmured. You knew it was you to blame for not listening to him and instead running to the scene of the attack. But you were conscious of your own strength and wanted to fulfill the commitment you made when you decided to become a Hunter.

"You've said sorry for the third time this month." Zayne responded. His face was rigid, yet his fists were clasped firmly. "I've heard enough."

"Oh, just quit it!" You abruptly raised your voice. "I told you I didn't like you acting this way. As a Hunter, it's normal for me to get hurt!"

Zayne opened his eyes wide. He was astonished by your response. He stayed silent so you could pour out your feelings.

“I am capable of taking care of myself! I don't like being told what to eat or drink. I don't like being told what time I must  go to bed. Or being compelled to stay at home even though I have completely recovered and ready to battle! I'm not a child for you to order around, or tell me to do this and that!”

“You're saying, I'm too controlling over you?”

“I…” You halted. It seemed that was true. Even while you knew Zayne had good intentions and genuinely cared for you, you were unable to avoid feeling as if he was in charge of every part of your life, controlling every meal and sleep. 

"Understood."

Silence permeated the hospital room for a long moment. Zayne gazed at you as if he was considering something, then he started to pack up your clothes and belongings that remained in the room.

“What are you doing?” 

Zayne responded: “I don't want to be the one who controls you. You will be discharged from the hospital and free to do as you please.”

“What do you mean by that?” Free? It sounded like he did not care about you anymore. It sounded like he was going to give you your freedom back by not getting involved in anything related to you anymore.

“I will not force you to stay here. No one can do that. In roughly ten minutes, someone will come and take you to my car. I only ask you to do this for me once more.”

Having said that, Zayne turned and left. The door closed behind his broad back and you swore you were about to cry right from that moment.

The nurse came to inform you that Dr. Zayne had directly requested your discharge from the hospital. They let you go since your situation was not too serious and they believed Zayne would care for you discreetly at home. Zayne waited for you in the parking lot. He unlocked the door for you to enter first and returned to fetch a few more medical supplies before driving you home.  

All along the way, you kept wondering if you had made a big mistake. You were exceptionally disrespectful and became frustrated with Zayne for no reason. However, he did not give in to you as he always did. Confused, you simply wanted to lie down on your pleasant mattress at home and weep loudly. However, as the car came to a halt in front of your flat, Zayne refused to let you get out.

You turned to look at him. He looked exhausted and miserable. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, then your eyes met for a moment. You were the first to break that connection.

"I'm home now. Can I leave yet? Or do I still have to wait for your permission?"

"Just stay a little more." Zayne's deep voice rang out. He was considerably more relaxed now than he had been previously. "I'm sorry…"

That was the first time you had heard an apology from him. How strange! Usually, you were the one making trouble, and Zayne was the one who looked after you. You were the one who said sorry. Hearing those words coming out of his mouth made you feel so odd.

“I'm sorry if I become too controlling and that makes you feel uncomfortable.”

You were astonished for a second. You still wanted to weep, but your emotions had settled down considerably.

Zayne slipped his hand down from the steering wheel to seize yours and turned it over. He said:

“When I saw you almost unconscious from the poison, being carried into the hospital room, my heart seemed to stop beating. That is not something I want to see at all.”

Zayne's eyes were quite sorrowful. You subconsciously imagined that if you switched roles and the injured person was him, you definitely would not be able to remain calm in such a situation.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” Zayne continued. “But I still want to help you do that and protect you. In my own way.”

After he finished speaking, there was a moment of calmness. The street lights were illuminated, and the rain stopped pouring. You softly clutched his hand.

“I'm sorry too, because what I said was not true… I didn't mean to call you a dictator who controls this relationship…”

You smiled at him. The corners of Zayne's lips also loosened somewhat. He took your hand and tenderly pressed a kiss on.

“I'm really okay.” You added. “The doctor also said that the poison from the Wanderers had been purified. I don't feel too much pain anymore."

Zayne gave a slight nod. He understood this from the moment he read your record. That was why he boldly asked for you to be discharged from the hospital. Even though he was upset, your safety would come first in any case.

"You said you were fine?" Zayne inquired out of the blue. "How do you prove it then?"

You exhaled. After all, he still had reservations about your ability to care for yourself. You leaned in to offer him a passionate kiss. The resentment in your heart melted away in his warmth.

As your lips withdrew from Zayne's, he whispered:

"Good enough. However, in the future, if there is an issue between us, or if you are dissatisfied with something I do,... can I trust you to talk to me directly about it?"

You gave a modest nod. Zayne kissed you, deep. He caressed you but only so gently, as if afraid that you would melt into rain bubbles if he became too greedy. A while later, perhaps since your head was hazy from the injury, you had no clue how you ended up sitting on top of Zayne in the driver's seat, your lips locked with him while your hands constantly touching his flesh underneath the shirt. His delicate but searing kisses fell on your shoulder, around the bandaged area that had just been revealed to his sight as he pulled your shirt down. He kissed your wounds, new and old. He asked softly, would you feel pain if he touched them? And you replied that there was only pain if he did not do so.

Rain began pouring again; it might last all night long. How convenient, since he did not intend to let you get out of the car in such a condition.

[silent-stories]

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘

Pairing: Eddie x F!Reader

Summary: Wayne didn't trust you, until one night.

Warnings: angst, fluff, nightmares

Wayne Munson just wanted to protect his boy. And that's why he was so reluctant towards you.

It wasn't that he didn't like you, it was that he didn't trust you: after all the years Eddie had spent almost alone in school, you came in the picture. You, saying you cared about him, saying you were interested in the music he listened to and the books he read, saying you loved him.

It all seemed too perfect and Wayne just knew there was something wrong.

Not because he was a bad person, Wayne absolutely wasn't, but because he was afraid you were playing with Eddie's feelings. He was afraid that one day you'd laugh in his face and tell him there was no way a girl like you could ever love someone like him. An outcast. A cult-leader. A freak.

The worst part was that Eddie, on the other hand, was really in love with you. He could see it by the way he talked about you when you weren't around, by his loving gaze when you visited him at the trailer, by the smile that appeared on his lips whenever he mentioned you in a conversation.

Wayne was afraid Eddie would suffer when you left him.

Because he knew you would. It was just a matter of time.

After what had happened in the upside down, after Eddie had almost died (because yes, he knew the whole truth even if he had a hard time believing it at first) he often woke up due to nightmares.

Often he heard the bed creak as if Eddie was tossing and turning in pain, sometimes he heard him talking but never understood what exactly he was saying. He was probably calling your name, the name of girl he was in love with, poor naive boy.

Once, he opened the door to his room slightly, slowly and asked if everything was all right, watching the figure curled up on the bed, his legs drawn up to his chest in a defensive position.

Even in the dark he could clearly see that Eddie was shaking.

It was pretty obvious that no, he wasn't all right. He was far from it.

Eddie told him to go away, that he was fine. Wayne pressed for a while but Eddie didn't seem to want to talk to him. Finally he closed the door and went back to his room, hoping that giving him the space he wanted would help.

He wasn't sure if it had really helped him when he started hearing muffled sobs coming from his room.

He really didn't know what to do. Eddie should have talked to someone about it, vented in some way but he didn't seem to want to do it with him.

He didn't seem to want to talk about it even with you, his "girlfriend". Wayne had expected this too: You wouldn't be there for his boy when he needed it.

After that night, Eddie had locked the door to his room, so even if Wayne wanted to go inside to check, he couldn't.

One night though, Wayne woke up to a noise coming from the room next to his, from Eddie's room.

He sighed running a hand over his face, tired, knowing he was going to have another sleepless night and that Eddie would too.

Thar time though, he heard the door to Eddie's bedroom open and the sound of bare feet making their way down the hallway where the phone was hanging on the wall.

What the hell was he doing?

Wayne got out of bed and headed for the door to his room but, when he was about to open it, he heard Eddie's voice on the other side of the door and stopped.

He knew eavesdropping was wrong, but that didn't stop him.

"Hey, sweetheart."

Wayne realized Eddie called you. At two in the morning.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." Eddie whispered, almost as that was all the voice he could get out at the moment.

"Yeah, don't worry. I just... I think I just wanted to hear your voice. I'm sorry, I'm sure I woke you up. Yeah, I told you I'm fine." Eddie muttered, if his words were to sound convincing, he was failing miserably.

He sounded like a kid scared by a thunderstorm, in moments like that Wayne wished Eddie's mom was still there with him, some things really would've been easier.

“No, that's stupid, I shouldn't even have called, you probably just want to sleep and not worry about my dumb problems. It's just…I'm tired, Y/N. I'm so tired and the nightmares won't stop and I… I don't know what to do. Every time, every night I'm there again and there are the bats and the lightning and- and It's hard to sleep without you. I'm scared Y/N. I'm scared they'll never stop, that I'll never be okay." Eddie sniffed.

Was he crying?

"But it's okay. I mean, yeah, I- don't worry and-" he probably stopped to hear what you were saying.

Were you telling him to go fuck himself for calling in the middle of the night? Were you trying to console him? Wayne couldn't know but either way, he didn't trust you. He had never done that.

"No. You don't have to. No, Y/N, no please, really, I-" Eddie stammered before silence fell on the other side of the door.

You hung up the phone. You hung up the phone on Eddie's face when he needed someone to listen to him and when he trusted you enough to call you and talk about how he was feeling.

Wayne knew it would end like this. You never loved Eddie like you said you did, you didn't even care about him or you wouldn't have hung up the phone. Maybe it was a joke all along, "make the freak your boyfriend, make him fall in love and trust you and then leave him when he needs it most and break his heart."

He knew how mean teenagers could be, they always managed to hit where it hurt the most. And, of course that's what you did with Eddie, you played with his heart that had already been broken too many times for someone so young.

He heard Eddie pacing nervously down the short hallway a couple of times, and just as Wayne was about to walk out of the room despite having no idea what to say, he heard the trailer door open and close.

Eddie went out. And Wayne wasn't going to let him spend the night in the cold or whatever that boy was up to.

The older Munson finally came out of his room and made his way to the door Eddie had disappeared through.

He opened it slightly and looked out, finding himself faced with the most unexpected scene he had imagined.

There you were, your car parked in front of the trailer, the door still open, and you were striding towards Eddie.

The sky was dark and moonless, only a few stars were visible, a nearby street lamp allowed the man to see what was happening.

Wayne leaned against the door frame, watching the scene a few feet away from him.

As soon as you reached Eddie you wrapped your arms around his neck and pushed him towards you, he immediately wrapped his arms around your body in a hug Wayne wondered if it could actually break any bones.

Eddie held on to you as if his life depended on it, squeezing the fabric of your shirt with his hands and closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief as he hugged you, as if having you there in that moment solved all his problems, as if Eddie was okay again just because of your presence.

"I'm here. It's okay, I got you." You said holding him, your voice soft and sincere.

That was the moment Wayne realized he was completely wrong about you, all along.

"You didn't have to come." Eddie whispered, not letting you go.

"But I wanted to." You responded by stepping away from him slightly, cupping his face with your hands and running your thumbs on his cheeks.

"I swear, you are something else." Eddie said with a slight smile. "Thank you for coming, really."

And Wayne, seeing you looking at Eddie as if he was the most precious thing in the world, wondered what had been on his mind every time he doubted your sincerity, every time he thought you didn't really care about Eddie.

You went there in the middle of the night because you knew he needed it, and he didn't even ask you. That was all it took to know that you were a good person. That you were there for his boy.

"I love you." He murmured before bringing his lips to yours in a light but affectionate kiss. Wayne had to look down, feeling he was slipping into a too intimate a moment.

"I love you too." You responded leaning your forehead against his. "And I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you, you know that."

"Do you- think you can stay the night? I understand if you can't- if you don't want to- I mean-"

"Eddie, I've come to stay. I wouldn't leave even if you begged me, right now." You reassured him.

He nodded, leaving a kiss on top of your head. "I love you so much."

You smiled grabbing his hand with yours, intertwining your fingers ready to reenter the trailer.

Your eyes met Wayne's still in the doorway.

Eddie's hand squeezed yours tighter as you reached for him.

"She's spending the night here whether you like it or not." Eddie announced to his uncle.

Wayne looked between you and Eddie, then back to you as you started to talk.

"I'm sorry I showed up here in the middle of the night but I can't leave now, I-"

"I'm sorry I didn't trust you." He finally admitted.

A surprised expression came onto your face.

"I was wrong about you, I was wrong from the start." He said leading you into the trailer.

Eddie smiled at his uncle's words.

"It's okay, I understand where all your resilience came from. Really, don't worry about it." You answered with conviction.

Wayne patted your shoulder. "You are a good kid, thank you for being here."

You smiled again. "You don't have to thank me. None of you have to."

Eddie put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him, up against his Metallica shirt he used to sleep in.

"We're going to sleep, uncle Wayne." Eddie said before heading to his room, dragging you with him.

You turned one last time to Wayne before disappearing behind Eddie's bedroom door. "Good night."

The man's gaze softened even more. "Goodnight kids."

Eddie was in good hands now, he always had been even when Wayne didn't know it.

You were always there, even when Wayne didn't know it. You were family.

Tags: @jacklesdeanvessel @morning-sky7