#winter can go fuck off and die

[waterbearable]

like. i don’t even think it’s better necessarily, but if the only person with actual buy-in on the hunt aside from lottie was van (i don’t really buy tai as having committed here, she’s just going along w van which i think does repeat old patterns), then why not just to subdue lottie from the start? like i GUESS it’s some attempt to suggest groupthink but as soon as lottie starts trying to pursue shauna why would you make it seem like you’re also trying to get her? like i could see at least a couple of them trying to subdue lottie, lottie+van trying to fight them off, chaos/giving into the violence ensues. idk it just does not work for me and the outcome...ehhh

(more in the tags srry but for my non-yj folks cw for mentions of ideation, overdose, addiction)

[beezelbubbles]

Okay but could people then stop making fun of Texas when we have people die in the cold?

every single year there is some headline like 30 children vaporised into ashes in record heatwave and the most unpleasant person u have ever met is like "they could NOT handle texas 🤣"

[vampiromano]

fuck it I'm starting singing classes

i actually wrote a lot of tags on this one. it's mostly personal reminders. but I'm posting it bc I'll forget to do any of this otherwise

i do not check my scheduling apps I'm a disaster❤️

anyway the tldr is I'm leaving this year's seasonal depression behind‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ fuck yes

i get it in summer bc I'm built different (got a few mental disorders) but yeah anyway I don't fucking care I'm DOING SHIT AGAIN somebody clap

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Man, even if they cured covid tomorrow I would still bring a mask with me in winter. That and a hat is like wearing a balaclava that it easy to take off once inside. Even though I wear n-95s now I’m still going to be wearing a cloth one on top this winter because when it’s -18 degrees Fahrenheit (around -27 for you Celsius people) and you have a cloth mask on my skin feels so much less burning and my throat stings less. I don’t know why we didn’t think of this combination sooner but man, I’m not stopping it this winter

[jewishrat420]

No one has ever flirted with Steve the way Eddie flirts with Steve.

And it's not like no one flirts with Steve. God, no, it's not like no one flirts with Steve. Steve can't walk into the grocery store without at least three sets of heads turning and focusing all their attention on him.

And he's not even trying to be cocky about it. That's just the reality he was gifted when he came out of his mother's womb looking like the world's freshest Adonis. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if they changed the colloquialism to "Steve."

Regardless. For as many people like to flirt with him, make themselves known, filtering in and out of his orbit like willing planets, no one knows quite how to get him going like Eddie. Maybe it's that they're not as confident as he is, maybe they're scared of the rejection Eddie was born facing and will die knowing.

Maybe they're scared of ruining their chances. Maybe Eddie isn't.

For whatever reason, Eddie doesn't seem like he's scared. Even though there was a long time before he knew Steve was bi, was just as into the flirting as Eddie was, even though there was a chance (not like it'd ever happen, but the unknown was there) that Steve could have beaten him up just for calling him "sweetheart," he did it anyway. He got right up into Steve's space, close enough that Steve could get high off the remnants of the joint he'd smoked earlier, and gave him a look that offered everything.

And, God, Steve wanted it. He wanted it all.

And so that began months of what Steve has so aptly referred to as torture. Apt, because he knows what it's like. He has the scars and the fear of ice cream and needles to prove it.

But this... this is a different kind of torture. Mental, emotional, spiritual, whatever you call it-- this is meant to tear him apart from the inside out, meant to make him want to rip his own bones out from his body and offer them to Eddie if it meant the other man making a fucking move.

And Steve would, is the thing. He would absolutely make the first move-- it's what he usually does, anyway, and he's got a pretty damn good success rate for it.

But, for whatever reason, this feels different. This back and forth they have, the constant teasing, the sliding in and out of each other's orbits, unable and unwilling to refute the most fundamental laws of gravity... it's something special, at least to Steve. Something sacred.

Which is why, when Eddie calls Steve "Harrington" for the first time in months, his first response is to pout.

They're about halfway through splitting a joint, the sweet smoke curling around wisps of hair and parted lips and filtering in and out of the holes in their sweaters. The air outside is getting colder, thinner, sharper, as the winter months dreg on. But inside the trailer, it's comfortable and warm. Safe.

Steve's being a bit of a hog, and he's man enough to admit that. But he had a shitty day at work and all he wants is to feel nothing other than the weightless relaxation of a good high buzzing through his bones. Sue him for taking a little more than his fair share of the good stuff, even if it is Eddie's.

"Steve," Eddie whines, reaching his hand out and curling his fingers in request. "Give it over."

"No," Steve responds, just on the edge of whiny. He brings the joint to his lips and takes a long, slow, deep drag, feeling the sweet heat of the smoke burning in his lungs, taking up the space where oxygen should be. He goes a little dizzy with it, feels his eyes lower. "Mine."

Steve can't see it, but he knows Eddie's rolling his eyes. Can sense the shift in the air, can sense every little fucking thing about Eddie at any given moment.

"C'mon, Harrington, you're being a brat."

And, normally, Steve would find another aspect of that sentence to freak out about. Would zero in on the word brat and relish in the flare of heat it sends shooting up his spine like firework sparks. Would squint his eyes at Eddie and tilt his head in the way he knows makes him look good, would give him his cutest little smirk and say, "Who, me?" and would preen in the response it gets.

This time, though, he's much too focused on the other name Eddie used for him. The one he hasn't heard come out of Eddie's mouth since before he realized that Steve was, as he put it, "actually a good dude."

He doesn't realize he's pouting until the sudden silence in the room starts to creep in, make a home in the buzzing in his ears. He didn't realize that he didn't say anything, and neither did Eddie, and now they're sitting in a mess of their own making. Of Eddie's own making, really.

His next words come out without effort, without intent.

"Don't call me that."

He chances a look over at Eddie, at the risk of appearing as vulnerable as he feels, and to his distress, he can't get a read on the man. His dark eyebrows furrow, brown eyes squinting slightly, and his lips part like he wants to speak. He licks them. Steve's eyes follow the motion unintentionally.

"Call you what?" Eddie says on an exhale. "A brat?"

Steve shakes his head. "Harrington. Don't like it when you call me that."

Eddie kind of softens, then, and Steve didn't realize he had stiffened until he isn't anymore. He sort of sinks into the couch, spreads his legs imperceptibly wider, and Steve wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the way his left knee brushes against Steve's just barely. Just enough for those heated sparks to send a couple pinpricks across his skin.

"No?" he says, looking over to meet Steve's gaze. His cheeks are flushed, whether from the weed or the heat of the room or the heat between them, and Steve's sure that his look the same. "What do you want me to call you, then?"

Steve's definitely blushing now. He looks away from Eddie, tucks his chin to his chest, lets the joint between his fingers burn away. Eddie takes it from him, gently, and brings it to his lips. Steve hears the paper crackling as he inhales.

His voice is quiet, almost meek, when he speaks. It's completely unlike Steve, completely unlike the persona he used to so proudly take on-- but then again, Eddie is completely unlike anyone that Steve has ever met. He's more real, more human, and in turn, Steve is too.

"...You know."

Eddie makes a little noise, then, something in the back of his throat that was born and died within the very same second it was released. Something soft, almost pained, like his body couldn't help the reaction it had to that sentence.

Steve watches the thin, long line of Eddie's arm reach forward and press the joint into the glass of the ashtray. He follows the motion until Eddie's hand settles into the rips over his knee, fingers intertwining with the thread. His pinkie is dangerously close to Steve's own sweatpant-covered skin, and he feels the contact as if Eddie were touching him.

Eddie's hand twitches like it wants to move, and Steve resists the urge to grab it, hold it within the warmth of his own palms.

"Do I?" Eddie says, his voice quieter than it was a moment ago. That thick silence fills the trailer once more, settling in between the soft buzzing of the lightbulb in the kitchen and the muffled humming of the crickets outside. Steve hears Eddie take a stuttering breath. "Tell me."

Steve sighs, feeling his chest burn as his heartbeat picks up. His throat pounds with the pulsing of it. He places his own hand on his right knee, pinkie finger edging closer and closer to the space where Eddie's meets his. Eddie's hand twitches again.

"Like it when you call me sweet things," he says on an exhale, as though getting it out all in one breath would make it easier. "Like how it makes me feel."

Eddie lets out another one of those noises, then, something more like a cut-off groan. His hand curls into the fabric of his jeans for no more than a second before he releases it, and Steve gets to watch as the blood blanches and then returns to his knuckles.

"Sweet things, huh?" he muses, voice only slightly strained. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd say Eddie is nervous. "Like... Stevie?"

Steve hums. "Yeah. I like that."

Eddie's pinkie moves closer. Barely. Imperceptibly, if not for the way Steve is tuned into his every movement, like a dog to the sound of their owner's keys.

"Yeah?"

Steve hums again.

"What about... sweetheart?"

Steve closes his eyes. Lets out a shaky breath, inhales a smoother one.

"Yeah."

Steve feels something brush against his pinkie. Something warm.

"Honey?"

Steve nods, biting his lip. "Mhm."

Eddie lets out a quiet little laugh. "Even big boy?"

Steve returns it helplessly, feels the edges of a smile pulling at his lips. The air feels cold on his teeth, as though he's burning up from the inside out and anything outside of his own body is a cooling salve.

"Especially big boy."

Eddie laughs a little louder, and the jostling of his body brings his pinkie even closer to Steve's. Completely pressed against his own, now.

Steve swears he can feel his heartbeat through it. Or maybe it's his own.

"What about..." Eddie takes a breath. "Love?"

Steve's own breath hitches. He opens his eyes, looks at where their skin is touching in more than one place. He feels it, feels every point of contact where the cells that make Eddie are existing with the cells that make Steve. Wonders, maybe, if they stay here long enough, if they'll merge and mold over time. Become one.

"Yeah," Steve breathes. "I like that one a lot."

Eddie hums, and the room falls back into silence for a moment. Steve's skin burns where their fingers are touching. He moves his hand to the right, just barely, just enough to let Eddie know that he feels it. Just enough to ask Eddie if he does, too.

His response is overwhelming.

Eddie moves his hand to the left, solidifies all the points of contact between them, and Steve feels like he's exploding. Feels like a bubbling pit of lava that's set to burst, to overflow, like it can't hold back anymore. Like it's tried for so long that it's hurting, now, pressurized and boiling and hot, way too fucking hot.

And then, Eddie crosses his pinkie over Steve's, and Steve thinks he's dying.

He takes in a sharp breath like it's the last one he'll ever get, and he doesn't even have it in him to be embarrassed about it. He knows Eddie is right there with him, knows he's not the only one feeling this irrefutable pull like gravity between them. Knows, hopes, it's only a matter of time before they collide.

Eddie hums again. He taps his pinkie once over the smallest of Steve's knuckles, almost like he's making a decision. He takes a long, slow breath before he speaks.

"You know which one's my favorite?"

Steve's throat clicks. "Which?"

"Look at me."

Steve turns his head to the right for no more than a second before Eddie's lips are on his.

It's hungry, it's indulgent, it's immediately addictive. It feels like breathing.

Eddie presses his whole body against Steve's, and he can feel the way his tendons flex where his hand is covering the back of Steve's. Where their pinkies meet, their fingers intertwine and cross over one another like the roots of a tree, their bodies the whole mycorrhizal network.

The next word is spoken against Steve's lips, and Steve can feel the way his mouth forms around it. Decides, from this moment on, that he never wants to hear it another way.

"Baby."

Steve's exhale is more of a moan, a dying sound that, like Eddie's before, lived for only a moment in his throat before pushing through the wall of his lips. Eddie takes it, holds it in his own mouth, swallows it down hungrily and slides his tongue against Steve's as though asking for more.

"That's--" Steve pants, getting his hands on Eddie's hips and pulling until he's seated in his lap. "Mine too."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, his lips still pressed against Steve's. Their words are muffled against each other, but they don't need to hear them to understand. They only need to feel the outline of them, the shape of the consonants and vowels against and around each other's tongues. They only need to press their bodies together and know, intimately, the meaning in each other's hearts.

"Yeah. Want you to call me that forever."

This time, Steve feels Eddie's laughter against his lips. His chest. Feels it bubble up in the space between his ribs, feels it flow into his mouth like a river, swallows it down like the first glass of water after a run. Feels his own creep up behind his teeth in return, gives it back to Eddie like an offering, who takes it greedily. Hungrily. Gratefully.

"Think that can be arranged, baby."

[entitled-fangirl]

Indeed, my girl.

Cregan Stark x Velaryon!reader

Summary: The reader is dealing with the grief of losing Luke. Cregan helps in the ways he can.

Warnings: Talks of attempted sa, Threatening, Talks of death, cursing, mental health

Masterlist

................................................................

She hadn't been the same since the death of her younger brother. 

Cregan had noticed it. 

Fewer meals, fewer baths, fewer words, and fewer movements entirely. 

As if the grief was killing her from the inside. 

And he could only watch.

He was a man of action. He'd killed men with his bare heads for far less.

And he could only watch as grief was murdering his wife. 

...

"There's something on your mind," he stated from the doorway of their shared chambers.

She sat on the floor in front of the fireplace. 

When she made no motion to look at him, he walked to her, kneeling down with a hand on her back, "I wish I knew what you think so much about."

She shook her head as she stared at the flames. Her voice was hoarse, "No, you don't."

He tilted his head, "Try me."

She turned and looked at him from over her shoulder. 

Only then did he notice the hollowing of her cheeks. 

The dark circles under her eyes. 

She sniffled, "Does the pain go away?"

He felt his chest tighten. 

The death of his own younger brother. 

His brother had died years ago.

"No."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"You just learn to live with it." He said awkwardly. 

Starks were not made for emotions.

She turned to him completely now, abandoning warmth of the fire, "How?"

"I dunno. It just happens one day." He looked off in thought. "You forget about it for a while. But…" 

She felt herself leaning into every word.

"You still see him in every first snow of the winter. Every pine tree with missing branches." He lets out a strained laugh, "And every fucking rabbit."

She shifted herself closer, wiping at her cheeks. "I… I see him. When I close my eyes."

He nods, "You will. You always will."

"I haven't felt this since," she pauses, "Since… Ser Harwin died."

Ser Harwin Strong.

Her biological father.

"And did that ever go away?" He asked quietly.

She sniffled, "No. But it became easier with time. When…" Her eyes flooded with tears again, "When I forgot what he looked like."

He couldn't help the coo from his throat as he immediately pulled her into his lap.

"What if I forget what he looks like, Cregan?" She asked in horror.

He tucked her face into his neck, "It'll be alright."

"What if… if this was my fault?" She sobbed into him.

"How could it ever be your fault, my girl?" He asked calmly.

Her shoulder shook with hiccups, "Like… with… with Harwin… and I… it's… it's my fault…"

He pulled her away from him to look into her eyes, "What do you mean?"

"I had… and when…" 

"Shh," he immediately cooed. "Tell me when you're ready. " His hands brushed her cheeks gently, catching stray tears as she tried to steady her breathing. 

After a while, she managed it enough to speak, "I was the reason… Harwin was sent away."

His brows furrowed, "I'm not understanding you, sweet girl."

"He was sent away for… for defending us as bastards against Ser Criston. And… Harwin was already mad at Criston because of me."

Cregan hummed, "Alright?"

"I look like him but… I… I looked like my mother then. And… Criston at one point liked my mother very much. And… and in turn, he began to take a liking to me."

Cregan's jaw clenched at the sound of where the story was going. 

"One night, I… I was going to my chambers and… and he pinned me to the wall and… tried to… sully me."

His hands that were on her hips tightened and his eyes darkened, "What?"

"You took my maidenhead, Cregan. You know that."

Her words did little to comfort him. "But how far did he get? I'll fucking kill him myself."

"I'm fine. I got out. And… I told Harwin. He promised to deal with it the next day and… Criston questioned our parentage that day. That day it all happened and he was sent away. To die in that stupid fucking fire." She leaned back, "If I had just kept it to myself, he wouldn't have been so angry-"

"-No. No. Don't even begin to say that," Cregan said firmly as he took her face in his hands again. "You did it all right."

"It doesn't feel like it."

"I know it doesn't."

"Luke looked like him the most."

He pulled her to him again. 

Her voice grew low, "I'll kill them all."

Cregan stared at the flames of the fireplace. 

He was quiet for a while, until his voice came out strong and firm, "The North remembers."

She leaned away, rubbing at the few tears that still laid on her cheeks. "The Greens don't know what they've done."

"Aye. They don't."

Here, in Winterfell, the two lovers began to find solace in each other. 

"You're the only other person that I…"

Cregan hung on every word now. He spoke in a low murmur, "Say it. You can say it to me."

"-I've never told anyone else what happened with Cole. Besides Harwin. Just… you."

He felt a protective feeling surge through him. Nothing was getting through him to her, he'd make sure of that.

"You remind me of him, you know."

He paused, "Who, my girl?"

"Harwin."

His lips parted, "How…. How so?"

Her hands moved his face, caressing his cheeks until they grew firm, "You wouldn't let anything fucking touch me either."

He could've let that smirk grow more on his face, but he kept it suppressed, "I won't let anyone or anything touch you, my girl. I swear it."

She hummed, relaxing, "Much like him. Like home."

Cregan let a smile come across his face, "I'm honored I'm like home to you, sweet Princess."

"He…" She smiled, recalling a memory, "He had taught my brothers the sword. As a girl, I had no luxury. But… in secret, he gave me lessons with throwing knives."

His head tilted, impressed, "He taught you how to throw knives?"

"He was a talented man."

"Aye."

"That's how I did it."

"Did what, pretty?"

She paused, taking a deep breath, "How… I defended myself. Cole, he… he pinned me to the wall. When he was distracted, I pulled my knife on him and threatened him with something… too unladylike to say."

Cregan Stark felt a deep surge of pride flow through his body at her confession. "Tell me."

"Oh, no. It's… it's too crude."

His hands moved to her thighs, "Please, wife. I must know."

"I threatened to… 'take the thing that he thinks with' and... I did not mean his head."

Cregan let out a bark of a laugh, throwing his head back dramatically. 

When he came back to, his smile never left, "My little dragon of a wife. It seems you're just full of fire!"

She smiled, "Is that a bad thing?"

He pulled her closer to him, "Absolutely not." His lips brushed hers, "I'm quite fond of it."

"Good," she whispered. 

Their lips connected in a soft kiss.

"They'll pay. I promise." Cregan said as he pulled away. "Starks don't forget oaths."

"Winter is coming. Isn't it, Cregan?"

He smiled, "Indeed, my girl."

.........................................................................

[marvellous1917]

Icarus

(Part 1)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x tattoo artist!reader

Summary: you come home from work, only to find a mob boss in your house looking for your roommate.

Warnings: mentions of a gun, mentions of arms and drug trafficking, murder, kidnapping, torture, swearing, tattoos, gambling, think that’s it

A/n: I’m a simple girl. Mob!Bucky makes my brain go whurrrrrr. This is pure self service because I have this tattoo lol. Been along time guys what’s up?

————

“Late night?” The deep voice came from the dark.

“Holy-” fear spiked through your heart from the unfamiliar sound, your arms dropping the bags and your back crashing into the closed front door, “-who.. who are you?” You asked the unfamiliar voice. Turning slightly you see the long haired, leather covered man sat in the dining room. His left arm rested on the table, the prosthetic shining, the light from the street lamp outside shining through the window. His face was half shrouded in darkness, the other half showed his eyes, a little confused but also amused.

“You’re not Caleb.” He replied, sitting back in the chair, tilting his head to the side and moving something that looked suspiciously pistol shaped off of the table and into the inside pocket of his jacket, you reached up and flipped on the light.

“N-no no, I’m not. I’m his roommate.” You said, finally registering who you were talking to. The now fully visible metal arm was a pretty big giveaway, if nothing else. ‘There is a mob boss sat in my kitchen, what the fuck’.

“What do you want with Caleb? Does he owe you something?” The thought was out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Oh god no sorry forget I asked. Sorry... sir? I don’t-”

“I’m assuming from that reaction you know who I am,” He said, smirk on his face as he stood and moved closer, your back pressing flatter against the wall beside the door with every step he took.

“Of..of course I do, everyone in New York knows who you are..Sir” You replied.

“Hmm, I’m gonna take that as a compliment doll,”

“It is! Sorry! Congrats on all the… mafia shit.” Did I just say ‘mafia shit’ to a gangster.

The silence is awkward, his face blank and all you can think is ‘Oh my god I’m gonna die.’ His face twists into a …smile.. you think, y’know its hard to tell, fear has your vision all fuzzy.

He then starts to..laugh. He’s laughing? He’s actually laughing.

“Is this something you do before you kill people? You laugh, give them a false sense of security then shoot them?” You ramble quietly, confused at what’s happening.

He moved his left hand to rest on his stomach, the metal catching the light, shining right in you eye and it fully registered that, holy shit, James fucking Barnes, The Winter goddamn Soldier is in my house. This man is literally wanted by every law enforcement agent in the country, he’s in control of one of the most ruthless organisations in the world, they traffic arms and drugs and gun down anyone that gets in the way. Apparently, at least that’s what the news said. The stories about him though, way more upsetting.

The rumor was that after he left the special forces, he was captured by an organisation that wanted him to work for them. When he tried to escape the first time, they took his arm, and he was stuck working for them for a decade. The story goes that after he finally escaped, he tracked down everyone that was a part of it and killed them all, by himself. Alone. Just him. On his own. Then he took over their supply and demand and built his empire from the ground up.

“Oh god.. ‘congrats on all the mafia shit’, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while…” he pushed out while chuckling. “I’m gonna get that shit tattooed, I swear,” he said.

“I could do that for you,” it was out of your mouth before you could stop it. ‘Oh my god, shut up Y/N’ you thought to yourself.

“What?” He asked, eyes flitting over to yours, his piercing stare causing all sorts of feeling to rise inside your chest; fear, confusion, attraction. Attraction? What? Damn him and his pretty face. He’s a killer Y/N, remember that?

“Nothing, sorry” you answered, looking down at your feet.

“No what did you say Y/n?” He asked again, his voice more stern than before. If you weren’t so scared, you would have questioned how he knew your name.

“I said that I could give you that tattoo, sorry, just slipped out” you replied, unsure what his response would be to your completely unnecessary comment.

“Stop apologising would’ya doll, there’s no need.” He said, sort of sweetly, a small comforting smile on his face, the pet name causing all sorts of lovely feelings inside.

“Sor.. yes Sir,” you corrected yourself.

“And stop calling me Sir darlin, only my employees call me that,” he said, “well my employees and some others..” he said with a dirty smirk, causing your eyebrows to raise sky high.

“Sorry Sir,” you said quickly, not even thinking. “…shit.”

“Seriously doll, you don’t need to be so scared of me,” he stated, his right hand reaching out and landing on your shoulder, your muscles tensing for a second then relaxing when you saw the look in his eye, he was telling the truth

“Ok.. then can I ask why you are here?” You ask, some fear creeping it’s way into your voice despite his reassurance. He kept his face carefully still and he looked you up and down, the feeling of being examined was strong, like he was trying to decide if you were worthy of knowing his business.

“You got it right earlier, your roommate owes me something, and I came to get it from him,” he removes his hand from your arm as he spoke after a tense silence. He was being purposely vague, trying to gage your reaction, to see if you were really clueless or you were playing with him.

“It’s money right, I mean it has to be, what else could he owe you. I told him to stop freaking borrowing money I swear I tried to stop him, but he never listened to me..l”

“You’re rambling darlin, you realise that?” He cuts you off with a smirk on his face.

“I’ve been told I do that when I’m nervous. I don’t know how much Caleb owes you and I don’t know what the situation is but.. if you.. I mean..”

“What doll? What are you trying to say. I won’t be mad, I swear,” Barnes responds, one side of his lips tugging upwards at your mumbling.

“Could you give him some more time?”

He was not expecting that. ‘Brave little thing’ he thought.

“I mean I don’t know how long he’s owed you for but he’s getting back on track I swear, he’s getting better, he is, in-fact he’s at a gamblers anonymous meeting right now, and he has a job interview tomorrow so he can pay rent and pay back people he owes money to.” You rush out, trying to help your friend, “Of course he never told me that he owes money to a mobster but that besides the point” you add quieter, more to yourself than anything but Barnes still heard it. He chuckled and ran his flesh hand through his hair, pushing back the long strands out of his face.

“He does owe money to a mobster, quite a lot in fact so I’m gonna have to say no to that request darlin, I’ve given him long enough.” He responds, his tone dripping with authority, the Brooklyn drawl on the pet name he threw out made your heart beat faster.

“Please. Please just think about it Sir.. uh Mr Barnes.. Sir. Caleb’s had a rough go of it lately, he lost his father not too long ago and he’s been a mess ever since, if you could just give..”

“I already said no once doll, I don’t like repeating myself.” His tone was final, and even though his words were not that intense, the threat in his voice hung in the air like poison gas before slamming into your chest, the fear that had previously been quelled came racing back, sitting on your shoulders like a lead coat.

The silence stayed for longer this time, you eyes firmly fixed to the floor to a sound even the possibility of upsetting the man that had broken into your home.

“So you’re a tattoo artist huh? He asked, his low voice calming you some. Huh he’s trying to make me less afraid of him, what kind of ruthless criminal is he?

“Yes..um I am,” you answer, incredibly aware of the position you were in, better to go along with whatever he did.

“You got a flash book?” He questioned, genuinely interested.

“Uh yeah I do.” You reply awkwardly, not sure where this new line of conversation was coming from.

“Can I see it?”

“…sure,” the word came out as a question.

He nodded at you, and you took it as a sign that you were good to move. Turning slowly and moving away from the wall to your bag on the floor, you reach down and grab your flash sketchbook and hand it to him.

“Are all of these available?” He asked, flipping through the pages, taking in each design.

Seeing him like this, calmly looking through the sketchbook makes it very easy to forget who he was, a ruthless calculating Mob Boss, wanted for almost every crime under the sun.

“The ones with the X’s over them have been done before but could be repeated if someone really wanted it,” you answered, slightly more confident in yourself as you were talking about something you loved.

“This is Latin, right, what does it mean?” He asked, moving to stand next to you pointing to a design in the book, an alien inside a bottle of wine.

“‘In Vino Veritas’, it means ‘In wine, there is truth’” you say, “ I though it was funny, y’know.. ‘the truth is out there’..aliens..” you trailed off, not sure how to explain that design

He let out an quiet amused sound, his shoulder brushing yours, sending a trail of chills down your spine.

“This one is beautiful,” he said, pointing to a different design on the next page.

“Thank you, it’s Icarus, I have it tattooed on me, it was hard as hell doing it on my own leg,” you say, proud of the design you created.

“Icarus, what’s his story? I can’t quite remember, ” he asks.

“It’s a Greek myth y’know, Icarus and his father were held captive by King Minos in a tower, his father created wax wings so they could fly away from their captors. The father warned Icarus from flying too high or too low, but he ignored his fathers warnings and flew too close to the sun and his wings melted. It’s a moral story to warn against the dangers of complacency and hubris, but to me it’s just a tragedy.” You say, turning to face him, making eye contact with the man. He listened intently to the story, his face unreadable but you thought you saw a flash of something in his eyes, maybe he related to the myth, a man that was once held captive, now with everything in his hands, in danger of losing it all if he flew too close to the sun himself.

“A tragedy huh? I don’t think there’s anything tragic about it. He was warned not to do something dangerous and he went and did it anyway, it’s his own damn fault,” he stated, something slightly argumentative in his tone.

He looked straight at you while speaking and you couldn’t help but feel as if he was looking into your soul, like his statement was some kind of test.

“I agree with the idea that he got what he deserved, but I meant it as a tragedy for his father. Creating something so pure for you and your child to escape from captivity, only for your child to ignore your warnings and pay the ultimate price for it. His father probably spent the rest of his life regretting escaping his prison because that was the action that ultimately lead to his sons death. It’s heartbreaking if you see it from a different perspective,” you say back, not really expecting him to engage you in a philosophical debate.

“Hmm.. that’s an interesting way to see it, I’m not really one for looking at different perspectives, mine suits me just fine,” he answered, the fact that this man was dangerous came screaming back to you with the look on his face, blank like he was devout of all emotion at that moment. You got the feeling he wasn’t speaking metaphorically anymore.

The tension was palpable, you not knowing what to say next and him deciding he was done talking for the time being. He placed the book down on a side table, and turned back to you. “Y’know what, I want it.” He said, confusing flooding your brain.

“Want what?” You ask calmly, not wanting to push your luck with the man.

“That tattoo, the Icarus one, I want it.” He answers, leaning back against the side of the table he was sat at earlier. His crossed his arms, which should have been intimidating, but for some reason the only thought floating through your head was Damn his arms are bigger than my head. Gimmie.

“You want the Icarus?” You ask, somewhat stupidly and he had just said that.

“Yes I do,” he answered simply, “Are you free tomorrow?” He asks, smile on his face.

“Umm not really, I have a few appointments tomo..”

“Move them, hell cancel them. Block out a spot long enough for me to get this tattoo.” He states, cutting of your sentence.

“I can’t do that, it’s too short notice and I could loose..”

“I’ll pay what ever you lose for cancelling the appointments. I’m getting this done, tomorrow.” He cuts you off again, a finality in his tone that warns you it would be pointless and probably rather stupid to argue.

“Uh..ok” you respond, shaking your head a little, still trying to figure out what just happened.

“Great.” He clapped his hands together and the sound made you jump. Barnes either didn’t notice it or just didn’t care. “Give me your phone.”

“Huh? Why do you want my phone?” You question.

Barnes just rolled his eyes, walked forward until he was stood right infront of you, toe to toe, staring down at you with a semi amused look on his face.

“How am I supposed to find out where your shop is if you don’t text me the location?” He said sarcastically.

Literally a million different ways, google it for starters, get one of your goons to find it, stalk me and follow me there.. c’mon man think. Obviously you kept these thoughts to yourself but Barnes smirked as if he could hear them anyway. Pulling out your phone and handing it to him you ask, “What time do you want to come in for?”

“Around 1-ish doll, that ok?” He asked, knowing that it is, as he’s already told you to move/cancel your other appointments.

“That’s fine by me Bar..Mr Barnes” you answer, slipping up, almost forgetting the level of respect you should probably show to the gangster in your home.

He calls his phone from yours, adding the new number to contacts in both phones, “there, now you can let me know the address of your shop.”

“I’ll sent it to you tomorrow.. unless you want me to send it now?” You asked he hands your phone back , uncertain of what he wanted

“Tomorrows fine” he answers, walking backwards towards the front door, “I’ll see ya in the afternoon doll,” he says while opening the door and mostly leaving until he pauses completely, slowly turning back towards you.

This is it, he’s been messing with me this whole time and now he’s going to shoot me.

“Tell Caleb he has 6 weeks to get my money back to me or I’ll be paying him another visit, ok doll.” He says, no question in his voice. He waits until you answer with a “Yes, Mr Barnes,” and disappears into the hallway outside your apartment.

It takes about 5 minutes for the shock to fully wear off, and it causes you to stagger over to the couch, fall backwards onto it an ask into the empty room, “What the actual fuck just happened?”

As soon as the question was out of your mouth , your phone buzzed in your hand.

James:

Don’t ever call me Mr Barnes again Y/n.

It makes me feel ancient.

I hate that.

[familyvideostevie]

you have me, you have me only

joel miller x reader you get (minorly) injured on patrol. joel does his best to patch you up and not worry too much. | jackson!joel, hurt/comfort, wound-patching, some blood, a jesse cameo, joel being joel, all that good stuff. | 4.2k a/n: part of the just and just as verse. not too soft but not too angsty, either. just another day after the end of the world, you know? thank you @mrsmando for your eyes on this! <3

___

"Almost there," you mutter. "Fuck."

The icy winter wind dulls the stinging in your palms to a numbness. The leather gloves you've had for half a decade stay tucked in your pockets. You don't want to ruin their lining with dirt and blood.

"How's the head?" 

Jesse pulls up alongside you in a trot. The adrenaline from your patrol-gone-wrong pulses heavy at the top of your spine, your vision sharp and the whole world a little too loud around you as Jackson comes into view at the bottom of the hill. Your head, like the rest of you, throbs.

"I'll live."

He scoffs and his horse snorts as if agreeing with him. In truth, you're more pissed than injured, though it certainly looks like you lost a fight. Jesse's cheekbone will no doubt bloom purple tomorrow and his lip is still bleeding sluggishly. His jeans are splattered with gore, same as yours.

"Thanks for back there," he says.

You shrug and wince when it pulls at the skin of your side where you fell. 

"You, too," you tell him with a grimace. "That was quick thinking with the brick."

You like him -- he's good at his job and he's a good friend to Ellie. You know Tommy and Maria are not-so-subtly training him to run this place someday if he wants to. As a patrol partner, you can't ask for much better. He knows all the routes and he's a good shot and his mom knows everything there is to know about everyone in town and sometimes he passes tidbits on to you.

But knowing your shit doesn't mean a damn thing in this world, sometimes. You can still get ambushed by infected on patrol and it can still fuck up your day.

He waves you off. "I just can't believe an elk chose our station to fucking die in."

"Tommy is going to shit himself when you tell him," you laugh. It pulls at your ribs. God, is there any part of you that didn't take a beating?

"He'll just be pissed he wasn't here."

Your horses reach the bottom of the hill and Jesse hesitates, the green scrap of cloth in his hand. The red one indicating an injured party peeks out from his pocket.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the clinic?"

"I'm fine," you say firmly. "I can patch up at home."

He eyes the cut on your forehead and your scraped palms but caves under your glare and waves the green flag.

"Joel makes the same face," he mutters. "Ellie does, too. Freaky."

The gates open and you grunt when you get off your horse, palms back to stinging.

"Joel's two expressions are pissed and annoyed," you say. “Not hard to pick one up.” You press the back of your hand to your forehead and it comes back tacky with blood. "Fuck."

"I don't think you'll need a stitch." Jesse holds his hand out for your patrol rifle and pats the neck of your horse. "I'll debrief and get these guys settled. You go home."

Normally, you'd protest. But you really just want to take a hot shower and sleep for twelve hours, so you nod and shoulder your pack carefully.

"Make sure you tell Tommy about beating a stalker to death with a brick," you call over your shoulder. "He'll be impressed."

Jesse laughs.

Snow crunches under your boots on the way home. Fuck, you're exhausted. The adrenaline fades with each step and the aches become sharp pains. There aren't too many people out today on account of the cold but you nod and wave, ignoring the double takes at the blood on your clothes.

It'll be a pain in the ass if you can't patch the ruined knees of your jeans. Maybe you can convince Joel to carve something for the woman down the street who can sew better than anyone in town. Finding new pants is damn near impossible.

You’re practically dragging your feet by the time you reach your house. The mailbox labeled Miller, the wind chimes gently swaying on the porch, all of it puts you at ease. You made it home.

The porch steps groan as you climb them and the front door opens from the inside as you reach the top. Joel steps out, hand still on the knob when he looks up and sees you. His eyes widen.

He was on patrol today, too. You left at the same time but he had a shorter route and must have gotten back a while ago.

"Are you coming to meet me?" you say with a grin that's genuine despite the way your body pulses with pain. He does this sometimes -- milling around the gate, chatting with people on the wall as he waits for you to return. You never really feel like you're home until you see his face.

Joel does not smile back. His eyes rake over you the same way he surveys a room, cataloging all of the important things. The gash on your temple, the rips in your jeans, the way you're favoring your left side. The blood, too -- it's everywhere, you're sure. Palms, knees, collar. Jesse helped you wipe your face before you rode back so that you could see without blood in your eyes, but you must look pretty fucking rough.

"Jesus," he says. His hand twitches like he's going to reach for you. "You okay?"

"I'll be better when I'm not standing out in the cold."

His nostrils flare and he heads back into the house, you on his heels. You dump your pack and sit down heavily on the bench to take off your boots. Joel beats you to it, lowering to one knee with a slight groan, fingers working at your laces.

Normally he'd ask how patrol was, how Jesse did, if you saw anything interesting. Instead, his cheek twitches like he's clenching his jaw so hard it hurts. He unties your double knots with practiced ease and his silence fills the entryway of your house.

In another life, the sight of him on one knee would set your heart aflutter. As it is, you want to run a hand through his hair and smooth the worry lines on his forehead. You know him and this is how he handles it -- he chews on blame that doesn't belong on his shoulders until he can fix it.

"I'm fine," you say softly. You open and close your hands, resting them on your knees. You got most of the gravel out but there's dirt and god knows what else embedded in the tender flesh. Joel pulls off one boot with a firm hand on your calf and then the other before finally looking up at you.

"You wanna explain...this, then?"

His hand waves up in your general direction. There's no tremble in his palm but his brows are furrowed, his shoulders set in that way of his, like he's bracing for bad news. You have a rule about not lying to each other. So if you say you're fine, you're fine. Achey, bloody, and gross, sure. But you made it home in one piece and now you'll let him take care of you and he has to be okay with that.

But you don't mind reassuring him. He worries, and you know the feeling.

You shrug and fail to hide your wince. Joel wraps a hand around your ankle and squeezes lightly.

"I've had worse," you say. "I'll tell you about it if you patch me up."

He softens a little and sighs. It won't do anything to remind him that he can't go back in time and stop you from getting hurt. Joel knows he can't fix everything, can't keep everyone he loves away from harm, can't save the world. Won't, if it comes at the expense of the people in his heart.

But you can give him something to do -- a way to make it better. You could probably bandage your hands and your forehead and the rest on your own but it'll help him just as much as you if he does it.

Life in this world is a constant give and take. You have to be okay with some things, with cuts and bruises and ruined clothes if it means you survived. There's no safety, not anymore.

"Alright, c'mon," he says, standing with a groan. "Upstairs, 'fore you bleed on the furniture."

He holds out a hand for you to stand but you show him your mangled palm. Joel clicks his tongue and grips your forearm gently instead as you rise.

"Gotta clean that," he says.

"That's the plan." You leave your coat and pack behind in a heap and head for the stairs. "A hot shower sounds so fucking good right now."

Joel stops you with a hand on your elbow and you turn on the bottom step. He traces the cut on your forehead with light fingers and you try not to wince.

"Shower," he says.  "I'll patch you up after." His tone leaves no room for argument.

You ghost your fingertips along his jaw and smile at him.

"Yes sir, Mr. Miller, sir."

More tension melts from his shoulders and he rolls his eyes at you. You laugh all the way to the bathroom, even though it hurts a little.

It's been a while since one of you returned from patrol with any sort of injury. Winter means the hoards are sluggish and easy to track and tends to keep groups of people from coming to the valley and making trouble. Today was bad luck and could have been much worse.

You both know how quickly all of the good in your lives can be snatched away. Everyone does.

But you just can't dwell on it. Joel knows it, too, and letting him fuss over you in that way of his will remind him. You're home. You're okay.

You leave the bathroom door cracked as you shower under the gentle spray. Your various injuries sting but you manage to clean the scrapes on your knees and hands and wash the blood from your skin and hair, the water rusty brown as it swirls around the drain. 

Joel knocks when you're almost done and the hinges groan when he steps into the bathroom.

"Leavin' you clothes," he says, voice raised so you hear over the spray. "You okay?"

"Still alive," you call back. "Almost done."

The water starts to turn lukewarm so you switch off the stream and drag back the curtain. Joel is nowhere to be found but he's left you loose shorts so your knees are exposed and a big, faded graphic t-shirt that you brought home for him as a joke last year as well as fresh underwear and warm socks. You gently pat your skin dry with an old and scratchy towel and do your best with your hair before sliding them on. 

Joel knocks again and this time he has the bag with all of your first aid stuff in his hands. The steam from your shower rushes out into your bedroom and you shiver.

He jerks his chin at the counter. "Wanna get up there?"

You haul yourself up with a groan and he stands between your knees, arms crossed and head cocked.

"What're we dealin' with, here?"

You look down at your messy palms and rattle off what hurts.

"Cut on my forehead, bruised rib, probably, fucked up hands and knees, and..." You look up and find Joel running a hand down his face. "That's it."

"You sure?"

You glare at him. He glares back. His eyes drift to your forehead gash.

"Cut could use a stitch." 

He's still tense, you can tell, probably will be until he wakes up tomorrow and you're still next to him in bed. Until the wounds turn to scabs turn to scars. Maybe not even then.

"I think I've had enough cuts over the years to know what needs a stitch."

His eyebrows rise just a little bit, turning his expression from interrogative to exasperated, but he knows better than to tell you to do something when you’ve set your mind against it.

"They're offerin' medical degrees on the Creek Trails, now?"

"Joel."

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Fine," he says. "Let me feel your ribs."

You raise your arms a little and he slides his palms under your shirt and up your torso, pressing gently as he goes. Braless as you are, he brushes the underside of your breast, and your breath hitches. His eyes are soft with quiet amusement but he doesn't tease you.

"Your hands are warm," you murmur. He reaches the place on your side that took the brunt of the impact and you hiss.

"Sorry," he says. "Doin' real good. Deep breath for me." You obey and he withdraws, satisfied.

"Nothin' broken," he says.

"Told you."

He hums and pulls out the precious few disinfectant wipes from your first aid kid. You can get Joel to do a lot of things just by asking, but arguing with him about wasting supplies on you never works. He washes his hands in the sink and glares are you like he knows what you’re thinking.

"Forehead first, then hands, then knees," he says. "Okay?'

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. He grips your face with gentle fingertips to keep you still.

"How was your patrol?" you ask him.

He makes a noise low in his throat that's halfway to being a laugh.

"C'mon," he says. "You don't want to hear about mine. I know you're dyin' to tell me what happened."

The alcohol wipe stings as he swabs at your forehead and you tense. Joel's thumb rubs slow circles at the corner of your mouth and you press your knees into his hips.

Funny how you've had broken bones, been stabbed, shot, pretty much everything over the last twenty years but it's the small stuff that hurts the most. Stubbed toes, sliced fingers, alcohol wipes on shallow wounds. Some things just don't change.

"Okay," you say. "Well, you'll never believe it, but a damn elk decided to die in the station where the logbook is."

You tell him how you and Jesse rode up and saw the blood trail immediately and heard the moans and groans. You kept the horses on the other side of the fence and checked the first floor and the overlook, but the elk had weaseled its way under the collapsed staircase.

It smelled like death, rust and decay heavy in the air. The animal must have died just after the last patrol.

But it wasn't the problem. It was the group of Infected it attracted -- two runners and four stalkers. You have no idea where they came from but, since you were on patrol, the priority was eliminating them. The runners were easier, although one of them was responsible for the gash on your forehead when it managed to push you into the wall. You and Jesse cleared them quickly, one bullet each.

You thought you got all of the stalkers. One of them was munching on the carcass and went down fairly easily with your good aim. Jesse helped you clean your forehead so you both could clear the passage to get to the upper level and sign the logbook. The corpses went over the side of the station into the forest below. The Infected had eaten so much of the elk that it wasn't too heavy, though you both were sweating and dirty by the time you finished.

"Lemme guess," Joel says. You open your eyes as he carefully pulls the wound closed with two butterfly bandages before he gestures for your hand. He holds your wrist gently and tilts your palm side to side, looking for dirt. "There were infected inside the station, too."

"Look at you," you tease. His eyes flick to yours for just a second, intense as always. "It's like you were there."

"Smartass," he grumbles. The disinfectant stings on your palm, too, but you keep talking and keep your gaze on his face.

"Jesse climbed the rope up to the control room first but had to fend off a stalker at the top so he didn't see when another one grabbed my ankle and pulled me down mid-climb, which fucked my hands. The fall is how my rib got bruised and I tore up my knees fending it off."

Joel's cheek twitches. He wraps one of your palms in gauze and turns his attention to the other.

"Fuckin' hate those things."

"Me, too. When I got to the top, finally, Jesse was tugging a pipe from the head of a corpse. There was one more -- it jumped out of that supply room on the side, the one where Ellie found a bong, once, I think. I dodged it but my gun jammed and my hands were bleeding."

"Should've been wearing gloves."

You tap his leg with your foot and ignore him. Not taking your bait about the bong means he’s still pissed. "And then Jesse killed it with a brick."

"I taught him that," Joel grumbles.

He ties off your other palm and as soon as he's done you frame his face. Joel allows it, allows you to stare at him for a few seconds like you're memorizing him. You're telling the story like it was a fun adventure -- and it was. You're plenty capable and he knows it, too.

But you were scared. You don't tell him that right now, instead grounding yourself in the man in front of you. His hands are rough and dangerous to most, but tender and careful to you. The broad, firm line of his shoulders, always braced for the next hit.

The gash on the bridge of his nose, the lines at the corners of his eyes. His beard, greyer every year. You swipe your thumbs along his cheekbones and he sighs.

"Lucky me," you say softly.

You lean in to kiss him, just a light press of your lips to his. His wide palms rest on your bare thighs and he kisses back with a kind of desperate firmness, as if he's proving to himself that you're real. That you're here in front of him, under his hands, in his care.

Joel drags his lips along your cheek.

"Knees," he says.

He steps back and releases your thighs with a squeeze. He treats more of your torn skin, a frown back on his face.

"I do want to hear about your patrol, by the way."

He shrugs. "Not much to tell," he says. "Didn't even get to shoot anythin’.”

You swing your foot back and forth, tapping the side of his thigh with every pass.

"But you had the nice route," you whine. "Tell me what the lake looked like."

"Quit distracting me," he grumbles.

"Like you don't have the steadiest hands in all of Jackson," you say softly.

He snorts. "Are you flirtin' with me?"

"I'm always flirting with you, Joel Miller."

You lied to Jesse earlier -- Joel has hundreds of expressions. He just keeps most of them for you. For Ellie, and Tommy, too. You know every one of them by now.

The look on his face now says he's thinking about kissing you again, maybe just to shut you up.

You grin at him. "Tell me about your patrol, now, seriously. Unless talking and using your hands at the same time is too much for you."

He smirks back. "Think we both know that ain't true."

"Now who's flirting?"

Lazy heat curls in your belly but fatigue stops it from turning into anything. Joel must see that in your eyes because he simply taps your chin with a knuckle and starts talking.

You start to slump as his Texas drawl wraps around you. He tells you how the lake was still, how he and Astrid saw bear tracks but no bear. How he found a tape for Ellie that he's going to give her tomorrow, how he wore his gloves today like you've been telling him to.

Some people might say that Joel is a man of few words. You thought he was the quiet type when you first met him, another stoic survivor in a world that demands hardness of everyone. But not shy, never shy. Just...waiting. Watching.

He and Ellie can shoot the shit for hours -- a dynamic they've fallen back into easily enough since they started spending time together again. He's funny, he's clever, he's annoying as shit when he wants to be.

And Joel is quite the storyteller. If you had to guess you'd say it comes from having to entertain Tommy when they were kids, from getting Sarah into bed on his own over and over. Keeping Ellie occupied, keeping her talking when things were scary and hard and fucking awful.

It's just another way he takes care of people.

"Still with me?" he says. You realize your eyes have closed. When you open them you find Joel looking at you with tenderness and a spark of amusement. The tense line of his shoulders is nowhere to be seen. "All done. Tired?"

"And hungry."

He washes his hands and throws away the various wrappers and blood-stained wipes.

"Sure you're awake enough to eat?" he teases.

You roll your eyes at him. He laughs.

"Joel," you say, catching his elbow. "Thank you."

"C'mon, now."

He looks like he wants to argue with you for saying it but reaches for you instead. He traces the cut on your forehead just like he did at the bottom of the stairs, brow drawn again. You can't tell what he's thinking as he drags his thumb down and around your eye, cupping your cheek fully for just a breath before releasing you and stepping towards the door.

"I'll heat some soup."

Dinner is quick and quiet, your energy sapped from you to the point of exhaustion. Everything aches, despite Joel's thorough care. When he suggests turning in early you don't protest.

He takes longer than you to get ready for bed. You slide under the worn duvet and wait, trying very hard to keep your eyes open. Your bruised ribs throb in time with your heartbeat and when Joel finally turns off the light and gets in bed next to you in his threadbare sleep pants he practically hauls you into his embrace.

You go willingly, tangling your legs and laying your head on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. You press your palm to his chest, fingers threading in the coarse hair. His heart thuds and it grounds you.

"I didn't get any good gossip off Jesse," you whisper. "On account of the whole surprise-infected thing."

He yawns. "S'pose it's a good excuse."

"Can I tell you something else?" you whisper. "A secret?"

Joel hums, lips brushing your temple as his hand snakes up your sleep shirt to press against your lower back.

Even though you know each other down to the bones, some things remain inexplicable. Parts of your pasts that linger in the darkest parts of you, the parts that stay shrouded until the moments like this. You don't have to be brave in the quiet hours of the night, entwined with him as you are. It's the safest place you'll ever be. Safe enough that you can crack open and let Joel in, let those steady and worn hands keep you together.

"I was scared today," you say into his neck. "When the stalker dragged me off the rope. I panicked, I --"

You don't tell him how your initial thought when you hit the ground was of him, how you closed your eyes tight and thought of your name from his mouth, of his smile when you come through the door. The stalker had its bony fingers digging into your ankle and you wondered if you'd ever feel Joel's hands on you again.

Death will come for you sooner or later and when it does it'll be Joel's face that you hold in your mind before it all ends.

But today, you kicked death until its stupid fucking mushroom skull caved in.

Joel presses his lips to your temple. You can feel his heart beating faster, as fast as yours. It's the only thing that betrays his own fear.

Wounds in this life often go deeper than the skin. When Joel comes home with bloody knuckles and shuttered eyes it's one thing to stop the bleeding, to bandage him and get him to eat something. It's another to hold him, to coax out the story, the fear. To follow him downstairs when he has a nightmare, to look for him in every room. It's all part of what you do as partners, as lovers, as people in this world. You take care of each other.

Neither of you can fix a lot of things. But you can ensure the scars heal into something light, something you can barely see.

You can hold each other in the dark.

"Scared me, too," he rasps. A secret for a secret. "Lotta damn blood."

You kiss the underside of his jaw. "Can't get rid of me that easy."

Joel pulls you closer, somehow, mindful of your side.

"Rest, now," he says. "You ain’t goin' anywhere."

It's a command, a promise. You hum your agreement and let sleep drag you under.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[hairmetal666]

Closing shifts at Scoops Ahoy are always boring, but Robin took off early to study and nobody is coming in for ice cream at 8pm on a school night in mid-winter. Steve's alone and has been for the last forty-five minutes, with no end in sight.

He's doing tricks with his scooper, counting how many times he can twist it through his fingers without dropping it (57 so far), when the most beautiful man Steve has ever seen, walks in. He's got long dark hair that falls in perfect curls around his shoulders; wide eyes the same deep brown of fresh, dark coffee; and the most perfect plump mouth.

Steve can't move, his head going fuzzy. His eyes catch on the man's chest--visible through the black mesh tank top he's wearing-- revealing tantalizing swirls of black ink and the glint of silver bars through each nipple. The guy also has on leather pants that cling to the line of his legs like a second skin.

Jesus. Steve just realized he's bi and the physical embodiment of his wet dreams walks into the store like it's nothing. He's going to die.

The man rushes to the counter, his eyes finally falling on Steve, and it's like his feet get caught on each other for a second before he struts forward. His face melts into this heart-stopping smile, bringing out the cutest set of dimples Steve has ever seen. This is it, Steve is done for, time of death, 8:06pm.

"Ahoy, sailor," the man says with a mischievous glint in those dark eyes.

He returns the smile and somewhere, somehow, finds the words to reply, "I think that's my line."

Steve leans towards the counter, but in doing so, drops the scooper hanging from his fingers. The metallic clatter is harsh against the tile, and blood rushes to his cheek. "Whoops," he mumbles. He ducks down to retrieve it, mentally kicking himself for his clumsiness.

The man's smile only grows, and now there's a faint flush across his pale cheeks. And fuck if Steve can't help but smile right back, to let their eye contact linger.

"What can I get you?" He asks. His voice is way too low for regular customer service, and if he flutters his eyelashes too--well, that's between him and the USS Butterscotch.

"I know this is ridiculous. It's late and it's starting to snow," the man says. He leans over the counter. "But I need a strawberry shake to go."

"Strawberry shake, good choice," Steve nods. "Coming right up."

They don't stop looking at each other or smiling as he blends up the drink, and when he hands the cup over, their fingers brush, linger, both their faces staining red.

"How much do I owe you?" he asks.

Steve shakes his head. "On the house."

"You really know how to charm a guy, sailor-boy."

"Maybe I'm hoping to see you again."

"Depends," the man says. His smile widening, his dimples getting somehow deeper.

"On?"

"How good this shake is." He winks.

Steve thinks he might burst into flame before the man can taste the drink, but then the guy glances at his watch and curses. "Sorry, sweetheart, I gotta run. Been a pleasure, sailor."

And with that, he runs from the store, strawberry shake clutched in his long-fingered grasp.

Steve collapses against the counter, burying his face in his hands. He's not ever gonna recover from that.

---

Eddie's guitar is in his lap, his melted strawberry shake at his side. He can't get the guy from the ice cream shop out of his head.

Fuck, he had all that perfect hair under that silly little hat; his face dotted with cute little moles and freckles; eyes that flashed from honey to gold to green flecked hazel; and the poutiest, most perfect lips ever had Eddie seen. Not to mention how he looked bent over in those itty bitty shorts. Shit, if he isn't totally done for.

He can't stop smiling.

That is until a guitar pick hits him right in the forehead, dragging his attention back to his surroundings.

"Earth to Eddie," their manager, Chrissy, says. "You go on in ten minutes."

"Don't tell me you didn't get the stupid shake." Gareth shakes his head.

"No, I got it. Not to worry."

"Then what's up with you?" Jeff asks.

Eddie can't help the huge, stupid smile that illuminates his face.

"There was a guy," Eddie sighs.

Chrissy and his bandmates share a look. "Let me guess," Gareth says. "You walked in and he was like 'Oh, Mr. Munson. Let me get you ice cream, let me suck your dick. Oooh, you're so hot. Corroded Coffin is my favorite band.'"

"C'mon, no. I don't even think he knew who I was."

At one point, that would've bothered him. But now, after five years of hooking up with dudes who were only interested in famous Eddie Munson, he likes that the guy from the ice cream parlor seemed totally oblivious. That, when his eyes lit up with interest, it was for genuine attraction and not name recognition.

"Did you get his number?" Chrissy asks.

He slumps. "No."

His friends all groan. Another guitar pick flies at him, getting caught up in his curls.

"Well, you'll go back tomorrow. Now get your head in the game, Munson! You have a sold out stadium to play!"

---

"I'm not kidding you, Robs, he was the hottest guy I've ever seen. I didn't even know dudes could be that beautiful."

"Uh-huh," she says.

"You're not even listening." He jabs her in the ribs, making her squeak.

"Sorry, sorry," she bats his hands away. "Describe him again?"

And he does, leaving nothing out. Once he's done, Robin is gaping at him, gum about to fall out of her open mouth.

"What?"

She grabs his wrist, dragging him out of the store.

"Robin, what are you doing? We're supposed to be working!"

She doesn't answer, just hauls him to the record store down the hall.

"Was it this guy?" She asks. She's out of breath.

"What?"

"Steve! Was it him?" She gestures to a new release display and it's Steve's turn for speechlessness.

He's surrounded of images of the man from last night; on magazines, CDs, cassettes, on a couple posters hanging on display. He's with a couple of other guys, they're in a band called Corroded Coffin, but all Steve can see is deep brown eyes and plush lips, the bright dimples.

"Well?" Robin demands.

"Yeah," he nods. "That's him."

"Oh my god!" Robin screams. She grabs his arm and squeezes. "You flirted with Eddie Munson! Steve! You minx!"

"It was nothing," he blushes. "He's probably got someone already, anyway. I mean, look at him."

Robin makes a little face. "There are some rumors, but nothing serious."

"It was a nice dream," he says. He gives her a little smile. "Now, let's get back to work."

She loops her arm through his. "Whatever you say, dingus."

---

It's been a long day of slinging ice cream. Maybe Robin's revelation that the cute guy from the night before was an insanely famous rockstar is to blame, but Steve is exhausted.

"Hey, dingus!" Robin calls from the front.

"Yeah?" he mumbles.

"Some guy is here for you. He looks a lot like Eddie Munson."

She's not even finished with her sentence before Steve is vaulting back behind the counter, coming face-to-face with the man of his dreams.

Eddie's gorgeous, his face already flushed a faint pink. And just like the night before, Steve can't help but smile at the man before him, who dimples up immediately in return.

He forgets that Robin is there until she says, "Go get 'em, tiger," and snaps him in the chest with a towel.

With Robin gone, they still don't say anything for a second, both smiling and blushing and staring at each other.

"So, uh, I guess you're wondering why I'm back today."

"That's easy," Steve says. "It was the best strawberry milkshake you ever had."

Eddie laughs with his head back and Steve is stuck staring at the long lines of his throat.

"Well, it was the best, no question. Made me realize I was a fool not to ask for your number."

Somehow Steve's smile grows. He jots his name and number on a Scoops napkin, passing it to Eddie who does the same, before carefully ripping the paper in half.

"We're still on tour for the next three months, but I'll call you when I can?"

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Talk soon, sweetheart," Eddie leans into Steve's space, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Steve still has a hand resting on the spot when Robin re-emerges.

"Oooh, you've got it sooo bad," she sing-songs.

He's so happy, he can't even bother to shush her.

---

Corroded Coffin has a new album out. It's a huge hit, number ones across the board, a fixture on MTV. It's full of heavy metal love songs, sales bolstered by the rumors that Eddie's been in a secret relationship for years.

They're at the Grammys, nominated for Best Metal Performance. The band has moved on down the red carpet, but Eddie's still answering questions, their assistant waiting with him. The interviewer asks Eddie, "There's a lot of speculation about your romantic life because of this album. There are rumors that the song 'Sailor Boy' is in reference to how you met your lover. Will you tell fans about the person you're dating, the one who inspired the album?"

"No," Eddie smiles for the camera. "But oh, do I love the way he moans," he sings a lyric of the song in question before giving the interviewer a lascivious wink, and continuing on down the carpet.

Years later, after Eddie and Steve are comfortably out and married and Corroded Coffin has cemented themselves in metal history, the video of that interview will be uploaded to YouTube.

It's obvious, now, the way Eddie and Steve, the "assistant", gravitate towards each other. How Steve flushes a pretty crimson that spreads below the collar of his shirt as Eddie sings. The way Eddie smirks at him with a raised eyebrow. The way his hand cradles the small of Steve's back as they walk away together.

It causes a frenzy online, fans compiling blog posts and videos of moments of Steve and Eddie being totally obvious about being in love before the world knew that they were.

Eventually, Steve posts a photo to the band's webpage. It's of him and Eddie at Scoops Ahoy. He's wearing his uniform, and Eddie is in a faded Metallica t-shirt and ripped jeans. They stand at the counter with their arms around each other, smiling hard, eyes locked. He captions it with, "putting the sailor boy allegations to rest."

[lustspren]

P.S.T EP. 7 | Hold on Tight ft Aespa.

length: 6.6k words ✦

Aespa & Male Reader

genres: airplane sex, blowjob, oral sex, kinda fivesome, hard sex, footjob, squirt, ass eating 

✦✧✦✧✦✧

“H-hello…” you stammered. You were sure that when you first met them you hadn't acted like an idiot, but this time it was a different situation. They were waiting for you, hunting like a pride of perfectly coordinated lionesses. You weren't going to let your nerves get the better of you that time, you decided that you would be confident at all times. As much as they allow you, of course.

They all looked exaggeratedly beautiful for just a simple flight. Karina's bangs looked exaggeratedly pretty, she was wearing a kind of short black dress, with separate sleeves that went from her shoulders to her hand, covering it like a glove, and black boots. Ningning wore her brown hair down and in slight waves; a gray knit crop top, a black sports skirt, and chunky platform Mary Jane shoes. Giselle also had her dark hair down, dressed in a long, loose black skirt, a long-sleeved black blouse, black shoes, and a black choker. Winter looked the most stunning by far, with a light brown bob haircut, a black knit crop top, baggy jeans that revealed her milky, flat belly, and high-soled converse.

When they finished their joint laughter, Winter stood up, took a few steps down the hallway and leaned her shoulder against a wall to look at you, as if she were waiting.

"You can leave your things here, we'll go somewhere else," Karina, despite appearing intimidating many times, was by far the friendliest and kindest of all of them. She was the leader, you wouldn't expect anything less.

"Somewhere else?" You took off your backpack and left it on your seat, you hesitated whether to leave your phone there or not, but you thought about it for a second and considered that maybe you wouldn't need it for the trip. You wouldn't be too far from reality. You left your phone in one of the front pockets of your backpack.

While you were doing that, the rest of the girls had already stood up and were heading towards the hallway. Karina waited for you while the girls were behind.

"Follow me," Karina nodded at you toward the hallway, and you, moving away from all your belongings, followed her, "you know, we're really excited to have our own 'personal assistant'," she made quotes with her fingers.

"Oh my god yes," Giselle confirmed a few steps ahead of you, "our companions do nothing but talk about the wonders that happen in that fucking spa."

"I can confirm that," Winter said as she walked with her hands in the pockets of her jeans, looking to the front, "I've done nothing but die of envy over the past few weeks."

While they were talking you couldn't help but focus your attention on Ningning, who so far hadn't said a single word and was just walking with a relaxed look on her face. She didn't seem as impatient and forward as the other three, in fact, she seemed unexpectedly shy, you would say reserved, as if she didn't want to appear vulgar towards you.

"Fuck, Seulgi-unnie couldn't stop talking about how much she loved how you worshiped her feet," Karina said, as you stopped at the door that led to another booth, "you must be good huh?" she asked you, raising an eyebrow with an amused expression on her face.

“I do my best,” you shrugged.

"Let me believe you do a lot more than that," Karina laughed, and just then Winter opened the cabin door for you to walk inside.

The cabin you had entered could easily be part of a Star Wars spaceship thanks to its design and futuristic atmosphere. White leather furniture and black trim, each and every one of them with white LED lights underneath; the floor and walls were a perfect combination of varnished walnut wood and satin white paint, with abstract divisions that matched the fluctuating ceiling and the number of curved shapes that the cabin had.

To the left were two chairs facing each other, which, like the rest of the furniture, lacked legs attached to the floor, instead, they were fixed to the wall. Embedded in the curved wall was a long screen, which indicated the cabin temperature and certain data that you didn't stop to detail. To the right was a small U-shaped sectional couch, with a thin table in the middle sticking out from the wall. On that same wall were the tinted windows of the plane.

Further on to the left was a chair exactly like the previous one between two semi-walls, and in the last visible section of the cabin, which looked like the rest area, a bed with curved edges embedded in the wall to the left, and a long sofa on the right that looked unconventional but at the same time extremely comfortable. On that same couch, sitting while she looked at her phone, was Noze.

The exaggeratedly beautiful woman, dressed in a wide, loose black T-shirt, sweatpants of the same color, and a pearl pink cap, had her legs drawn up on the sofa in an Indian position, a cushion in her lap and her fanny pack at her side. She seemed focused on her affairs, so you noticed how you disturbed her peace as you approached her.

She took off both AirPods, turning her head towards you as she examined you up and down; she let out a funny and sexy little smile that left you cold. How was it possible that she was just a manager and did not dedicate herself to being a model or actress? She had everything to be one, from her face, her body, and even her charisma.

"Welcome aboard, pretty boy," she greeted you, as each of them took a seat except you. Winter and Ningning on the bed in front of Noze, Giselle on the chair behind you and Karina next to Noze, "everything okay?"

"Well, you could say so," you shrugged, looking at the cabin around you, and then at the navy blue curtain a few meters away from you that marked a division, you were sure there was more space behind there, "I certainly never expected to get on a Mercedes-Benz private jet."

"Life takes many turns, you of all people should know that," she laughed, "for now just focus on holding on tight for what awaits you."

"Are you trying to terrify me with a reference to one of their songs?" at that moment Ningning began to sing the beginning of Hold on Tight very quietly, only audible thanks to the small silence that was generated between your question and Noze's answer. You all turned to look at her, she opened her eyes wide, and a small wave of laughter flooded the cabin for a few seconds.

“Hey, don't just stand there, come here,” Ningning, who was still blushing thanks to the embarrassing moment she went through just now, moved to the side to give you enough space next to her.

"Oh, thank you," you and her looked into each other's eyes for a few seconds as you smiled at her, sitting in the space between her and the inside wall of the bed. She smiled back at you, but then turned around surreptitiously.

At that moment, two men dressed in elegant and immaculate suits entered through the curtain, each of them had a tray in their hand, with glasses full of what appeared to be Champagne, six of them, one for each of you. On each tray there was also a box of Melatonin, a medicine to help you fall asleep.

"Thank you," Karina said to the butlers, as they let you take your glasses, you all gave them your thanks too. Unlike the others, you hesitated whether to take a pill or not.

"I recommend you take it," said Noze, taking a sip of champagne, "it will be quite a long trip, and that will help you with the jet lag," at that moment they all took their pills with the help of the champagne.

"Are we going to sleep right now?" you asked, leaning forward slightly so you could see Winter next to Ningning, you also looked at the others.

"Yup, so make yourself comfortable," Karina said cross-legged, making circles with her glass to stir the champagne.

"Uh..." you looked around, knowing there wasn't enough room for all of you to sleep and lie down separately, "where?"

"I don't know, there are a lot of seats, some of them should work for you," said Karina, after finishing all the champagne in one go. Giselle imitated her, as did Noze. Winter took her time, and Ningning only left the cup half empty.

"The back couch is mine, you have to sleep in a chair, darling," Giselle said, standing up, blowing you a kiss and going to the couch near the entrance.

"Do you want to sleep with us, pretty boy?" Noze asked as she lay down with Karina behind her on the couch, "we could make a sandwich with you in the middle," the unintelligent you would have accepted without question, but your brain reminded you that that could easily be a joke and that it wasn't serious. So you decided not to push your luck.

"Uhm, I think I'll be better off in a chair, thanks," you said more nervously than when you climbed aboard, Karina and Noze laughed, and then snuggled together.

"Hey, would you give us some space?" Winter asked you in a low and adorable tone of voice, seeing that you were still taking up space on the bed.

"Oh right," you stood up immediately, and exchanged glances with Ningning again.

"I don't like that you have to sleep in a chair, I'm sorry," Ningning said, and you noticed the honest regret in her tone of voice.

"You have nothing to apologize for," you smiled, shaking your head, "it's not my first time sleeping in a chair, in fact, compared to these chairs the old ones are pieces of scrap metal," Ningning laughed, and her laugh rubbed off on you. You automatically felt your cheeks warm and your stomach ticklish. Oh no, it was happening again.

"I'll see you in a bit then," she said.

"See you in a bit, yeah," you nodded, and without taking your eyes off her, you slowly retreated to your chair, which was not too far away but when you sat down you could only see Giselle, who had settled into the sectional sofa just a few feet from you.

"She likes you," Giselle said with a mischievous smile, covered up to her neck in a blanket. You looked at her with a frown and an expression as if she had said something very stupid. She started talking to you with her very nice and charming English.

"Of course not, you're trippin," you returned, also in your English, "and lower your voice, she's probably listening to you."

"You're not very smart at reading eyes, are you?" she asked, laughing at you like you were a fool. You probably were.

"Not really, but why would she like me?" Unlike her, you did lower your tone of voice, "she barely knows me."

"I don't know, you're cute," she replied, shifting so she was on her stomach facing you.

"Is that enough for you to like a boy?" You raised an eyebrow.

"No, first I have to know if they have a big cock," Giselle rested her head on her forearms, letting you see how her ass formed a big bulge under the blanket, "and you have it."

You felt like you were going to get tongue-tied coming up with an answer, so you stayed quiet for a few seconds, breathing deeply as you stared at her, Giselle just laughed. It was going to be a pretty long tour.

"You know there's a completely free spot on the couch that you're not using, right?" you asked her, masterfully changing the subject.

"Yup, I know perfectly well," she nodded.

"Aren't you going to offer it to me?" You raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to grab a blanket that was folded over the back of the couch.

"I could, yeah," she raised her head to see you, "but what if I woke up out of nowhere wanting to suck a cock? There wouldn't be a bell to save you, what's happening on that side of the couch can't be seen over there," she pointed her finger to the space behind you, where the other girls were.

"It's a risk I wouldn't mind taking," you replied, playing her game as you hugged your still folded blanket. Giselle bit her lip and smiled.

"Alright then," she motioned her chin toward the free space, "rest well, I'll see you in a few hours..." she shifted position on the couch again, this time with her head toward the corner and her ass purposely not covered by the blanket for you to see.

"Aha, rest well too," you said, and got up from the chair to go settle into the free space of the sofa. On the table in the center of the couch, there was an unopened bottle of water that you used to take the pill. Minutes later, after waiting for it to take effect, you lay down on your side of the couch and soon fell asleep.

—————————————————————————

You woke up feeling a little strange, colder than normal. You remembered covering yourself with the blanket when you fell asleep, but why couldn't you feel the soft cotton fabric against your skin at that moment? You also noticed a slight pain in your spine, and you had to stretch your neck from side to side to relax it. You hadn't opened your eyes yet, first you wanted to rub them, like you always did when you woke up, but when you wanted to raise your wrists to bring your hands closer to your face, they didn't move.

"Hfmm?" you stammered, opening your eyes slowly as you felt something cold in your crotch. The light blinded you for a few seconds, but when your vision cleared, you almost had a heart attack.

In front of you, standing at different points, were the Aespa girls completely naked as they watched you (Noze wasn’t there). Karina with her arms crossed, Giselle with her hands on her waist, Ningning with her hands on her back, and Winter… Winter was measuring your erect cock with a transparent silicone dildo.

"Hm, it's even bigger than my favorite toy," Winter said, as you slowly regained your senses. You tried to stand up, but it was useless since you were tied hand and foot to that chair, which you were originally going to fall asleep in a few hours ago.

"What the fuck?!" you exclaimed, clenching your fists with a worried expression, "what the hell have you done to me?"

"Wow wow, relax silly," Karina intervened, taking a step forward, and your gaze inevitably went to her heavy tits and the rest of her milky body, "we would never have done anything to you while you were asleep, and Ning had Winter under control."

"How the hell did you move me here and why?" You weren't as upset as you were at the beginning, but you still deserved a good explanation.

"Your sleeping pill was a little stronger, otherwise we wouldn't have been able to move you there," she explained, "Look, I know this isn't to your liking, but we've heard great things about you, and we wanted to somehow... test your reputation before anything."

"Weren't all the so-called tests that Noze put me through enough?" you asked, indignant at the aforementioned manager who at that moment was not among the faces in front of you. You would have loved that, tho.

"Those were tests Noze set up for you, we were never involved in quality control," she exonerated herself, "so this is our quality control."

“Fuck…” you cursed under your breath, “so be it,” you said out loud, followed by a sigh of pure resignation.

"Alright..." Karina took a couple more steps forward, gently pushing Winter away to sit on your thigh, you felt her bare buttocks against your skin, and your cock throbbed, "this is what we're going to do, sweetie," she put a hand to your hair and started caressing it, "we will all have our turn, and at least three of us have to cum so that your test can be considered passed."

"And what happens if I don't get it?"

"Then our tour will be drastically different for you compared to how it's planned so far," she said with an innocent smile, giving you a kiss on the forehead, "no pressure."

"Anyway, I can't move, everything is your responsibility and in that case, the fault wouldn't be entirely mine," you defended yourself.

"That's true, but I don't care," she patted your chest and stood up, "good luck," she winked at you, and gave way to Winter, who had a hungry look on her face as she climbed right into your lap.

Her small tits were just a few centimeters in front of you, you wanted to put your hands on her small, tight and delicious body, but all the effort was useless. Without saying a single word, she let out a big spit on her hand and brought it to your cock, to lubricate it a little before raising her hips and impaling herself completely on your throbbing erection.

"Oh fuck! And it feels even better than my damn toy!" Winter whimpered after letting out a long moan with you. Her tight pussy smothered your cock from all directions, and you began breathing heavily with her ass resting against your pelvis. She hadn't started to move and she already felt fucking wonderful, in addition to that, you could notice a slight bulge protruding from her lower abdomen, it was the tip of your cock.

"That fucking whore has been wanting to do that ever since we tied you to the chair," Giselle said, sitting on a chair with her legs crossed, one meaty thigh on top of the other.

"And it'll be worth all the waiting," Winter moaned, gripping her hands on either side of your neck firmly as she began to slowly move up and down, feeling how easily your cock slid in and out of her before she dedicated herself to frantically bouncing on you.

Winter moved over you with the ease and lightness of a feather, filling the entire cabin with the dry sounds of her tight ass slapping against your pelvis and thighs. She dug her nails very superficially into your neck, before completely embracing it with her arms and immersing herself in your lips with a kiss lacking affection and care, instead, she attacked you furiously with her tongue between incessant moans.

That was being much more difficult than you expected, it was torture not being able to hug her small frame, or her thin waist while she jumped full of vigor and desire on you. She separated from your lips, and looked into your eyes with her face flushed and distorted by pleasure, you looked down, noticing once again how the tip of your cock constantly made a bulge in her abdomen.

"Fuck, I'm getting really horny..." Karina said close to you, but you couldn't see her since your gaze was fixed on the cutie in front of you.

"Me too, you can tell that cock is filling her up so well..." Giselle confirmed.

Winter tangled her fingers in the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling it hard and then planting her feet on either side of your hips and starting to bounce even harder against your cock.

"He's filling me up too fucking good!" Winter squealed, letting her head fall back as she bit her lip and closed her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the immense pleasure your cock was giving her before she climaxed, "Oh my god!" she screamed, clinging to your neck again and pressing your heads together.

She violently impaled herself downwards, and when she lifted her hips to pull you out of her pussy she squirted all over you, wetting your cock, your thighs, and even the floor. Her body began to shake between violent spasms, screaming and moaning with her nails digging into your shoulders.

"Fuck, this girl made a mess," Karina sighed, "whatever, we'll clean up later."

When her orgasm had passed Winter lowered herself to her knees over you again, looking into your eyes with an evil smile and heavy breathing.

"Consider that a gift," she winked at you, "it was obvious I was going to cum."

"Thanks, I guess," you said between gasps, still recovering from the wonderful ride she just gave you. She stood up, and you noticed how she had gone to lie down so she could rest.

Your vision was clear now, and your eyes went to each of the girls to see who was next. Karina, with her arms crossed and a small smile of satisfaction, did not stand up, Ningning, who had her cheeks flushed and licked her lips while looking at your cock, did not stand up either, the one who stood up was Giselle.

She was without a doubt, the complete package and the definition of luscious and thick body. Her meaty thighs were a work of art on their own, not to mention her surprisingly big juicy tits and her massive round ass. She walked towards you slowly, noticing that your eyes never left her thighs.

"You seem to love my thighs, don't you?" She asked, standing between your legs, even knowing the answer, "and what do you think of my ass?" When she said that she turned around so that you could have her ass facing you, she leaned forward very slowly, and grabbed her buttocks to spread them apart and let you see her plump pussy and butthole, "I bet you would love to have this ass bouncing on your cock."

You said nothing, your mouth watering as you stared at the exquisite work of art a short distance from your face. At that moment, by the work and grace of God or some guardian angel of yours, a timely turbulence shook the plane and the cabin, everything shook, and thanks to that Giselle staggered and, unintentionally, fell on your face, which was buried between her soft buttocks.

Instinctively the first thing you did was devour her like a hungry animal, using your tongue to lick between her delicious, wet folds. You sucked, kissed and moved your tongue in different possible ways, and Giselle, between cute moans, didn't even try to separate her ass from your face, on the contrary, she leaned even further back to lean on you.

In less than a minute Giselle was already going completely crazy between moans and whimpers while you ate her pussy with utmost greed. Her folds were deliciously soft, as were the fluids that seeped through them, it was without a doubt the tastiest pussy you had ever eaten in your entire life, closely followed by Lia's.

"Don't think it will be so easy to make me cum, boy," Giselle said with one hand on your head, fingers clinging to your hair, "higher," you obeyed and moved your tongue up through her slit, reaching her entrance to insert there your tongue, Giselle let out a louder moan as you explored her pussy inside with your tongue, but it wasn't enough, "I said... higher," she whimpered, and you smiled, realizing what she meant.

You raised your tongue a little higher, and when you reached her beautiful butthole, the first thing you did was spit all the saliva accumulated in your mouth onto it, and then make circles with your tongue around it. Giselle tensed her body, and she let out a louder moan as she felt the contact on her butthole. Great, another butt play lover.

After a few seconds of just playing with her you finally began to force your tongue into her tight butthole, causing loud squeals to come from her. You moved your tongue in circles inside her, hitting places that made her jump and jerk with pleasure. She was incredibly delicious, and you let her know that by eating her ass like a hungry dog.

Her buttocks felt too good, pressed on either side of your face, and feeling them tense was the last straw for you. You clenched your fists and arms tightly, making a tremendous effort to try to free yourself from your bonds; you tensed your entire body, pressing your forearms upward. A vein stood out from your temple, and you stopped eating Giselle's ass only to grit your teeth, let out a grunt, and finally free yourself from one of the restraints.

Your right hand was completely free, and it immediately went to one of her buttocks to squeeze and grope it as much as you could, returning again to her ass and slowly taking Giselle towards her peak. The seconds passed, and between loud moans she climaxed in an intense attack of spasms that made her collapse onto your lap, pressing your cock between her round buttocks while her body shook constantly.

"You better use that strength to stop me from walking," Winter said from somewhere behind you, in contrast to her adorable little tone of voice. You could only laugh in disbelief, with Giselle's back resting against your chest. Your chin rested on her shoulder, from where you could see her pair of tits rise up and down between heavy breaths.

After a few long seconds, Giselle finally gathered enough strength not to get up, but to lean forward as far as she could, put her hands on the floor and slowly lower herself towards it, making sure that your cock passed between the folds of her pussy before getting on her knees and hands. She looked at you over her shoulder, winked at you, and began to sensually crawl away from you, knowing that your gaze was on her dump truck.

You were completely mesmerized by the sway of her hips as she walked away from you, but soon your attention was transferred to Karina, who had stood up and was now walking confidently towards you, swaying her hips from side to side. You admired every corner of her hourglass shaped body, from her voluptuous tits to her creamy thighs, not ignoring her pretty, shaved pussy. At this point you were too horny, and your cock hurt from how hard it was.

"Maybe there was more than just melatonin in that pill you took earlier," she apologized when she was standing in front of you, "I'm sorry, but I couldn't risk that cock dying early."

"I don't even care at this point, you tied me to a chair against my will," you shrugged, looking her up and down, "Well? Come get me, precious," she stared at you in silence for a second.

"You're having fun, aren't you?" she asked, and before you could answer, she raised one leg and put one foot inside your already opened mouth, you sucked on her toes as much as you could, and then she rested her sole on your chin. Understood, you were never going to be in charge with her.

You didn't try to answer her question, instead you started kissing every part of her foot as much as you could, going up from her sole to her toes, which you sucked and licked with great care and delicacy. You raised one hand to bring it to her foot and give it a kind of massage while you used your tired tongue to lick between her toes, leaving them completely wet and sloppy.

Karina noticed the tiredness in your tongue as it danced between her fingers, and in an act of mercy, she lowered her foot from your face and placed it now on your crotch, her fingers gently placed on your balls, you held your breath, with fear that she would apply pressure.

"You're incredibly lucky that you had enough balls to break free from one of your restraints," she said with her arms crossed, staring at you, "otherwise you wouldn't have had a chance with me," after saying that, she picked up your wrist and guided your free hand to her wet pussy, which immediately felt warm against your fingers, "now then, I repeat... are you having fun, darling?" she applied light pressure to your balls.

"I'm enjoying every damn second, Yu Jimin," you replied, as you began to rub her pretty pussy with your fingers, concentrating on her clit first. You made small slow circles, and then moved your fingers along her slit to moisten them with her fluids.

"Was Minjeongie's pussy tight enough for you, honey?" You turned your head, seeing Winter on the bed slowly rubbing her pussy as she watched the two of you.

"I fucking loved it," you responded between gasps, taking one of your fingers inside Karina's pussy to begin pumping very slowly in and out, "I loved how my thick cock slid so easily in and out of that tight little pussy," Winter started moaning and touching herself faster, "I also loved how it made her pretty belly bulge, and how that pussy squirted all over me at the end."

With that answer, Winter inserted two fingers inside her pussy and began pumping them frantically between adorable moans, and Karina began to play with your cock with her foot, running her soft fingers up and down over it. In response, you inserted another finger inside her pussy, pumping slightly faster.

"And tell me, did Aeri taste good to you? Was she delicious?" Karina asked, playing with the tip of your cock between her toes.

"She had the most fucking delicious holes I've ever tasted," you gasped with a small smirk, then biting your lip. Saying this, Karina removed her foot from your cock and planted it on the ground, only to raise her another foot from it and stick it directly into your mouth.

"You're only saying that because you haven't tried mine," she said, removing your hand from her pussy as well, "but you will."

During her little interrogation you had been applying force with your other wrist, the ties were already loose, so you only had to give a small pull upwards to free your other hand, which you brought to her ankle to hold it and keep her foot still, while you repeated the same work as with the previous one, distributing kisses, licks and sucks to her toes.

Karina allowed you to continue working on her foot for a few long seconds, until she placed it on your cock again to slowly rub it from the balls to the tip. With your two hands now free, you brought the left one to one of her beautiful tits and squeezed it, feeling how soft and spongy it felt, while you brought the other one back to her pussy, quickly rubbing her clit as you pinched her nipple.

“Fuck… Seulgi was right about you,” she moaned, slowly falling for you, “do you like my feet, baby?”

"I love them," you responded between gasps as her foot continued to work on your cock.

"And you'd like to fuck my brains out, wouldn't you?" She asked, moaning slightly louder, as you continued to rub her clit and then stuck your fingers back inside her pussy, pumping them hard. Your other hand was still on her tit, squeezing and massaging it. Her foot was making your cock twitch, and you felt how little by little she pushed you closer to the edge.

"Believe me, I would do anything to pin you against the wall and hammer that pussy," you said between moans.

"Now tell me..." she paused slightly, closing her eyes as she controlled her moans, "Do you like my feet better than Yuna's? Does Aeri taste better than Chaeryongie? Is Winter tighter fucking than Yeji?" In the midst of that flurry of unexpected questions your anger began to heat up inside you, she saw it in your eyes and smiled, and you became rougher with your touches on her, "I'm sure Yuna loved how you fucked her in that mall," she laughed, "Oh, and how does Lia's ass feel? I don't think it's as tight as Aeri's."

"Unnie, you're going too far..." Ningning finally spoke close to you, she was sitting on the back of the sectional sofa, with her hands crossed on her thighs as she waited patiently for her turn.

"Shut up!" Karina said to Ning, looking at her, and then back at you, "do you want to know how I know all those damn things?" She said angrily, removing her foot from your cock, and you had no choice but to please her.

"I like your feet better than Yuna's," you started, now pumping three of your fingers in and out of her pussy as fast as you could, jiggling her thighs, and also squeezing one of her tits, "Aeri tastes a lot better than any of Chaery's holes... and Minjeong is much tighter than Yeji."

When you finally gave her the answer she was waiting for she reached her orgasm between loud moans and whimpers, her spasms shook her completely, and she fell to her knees while her entire body trembled. You heard another wave of moans behind you, these ones higher pitched and smaller, Winter had come for the second time in 20 minutes.

Karina was still on her knees, with both hands on your thighs as she caught her breath. When she did, she struggled to her feet and looked into your eyes with a devilish smile.

"Good boy," with that, she walked away from you, her smile still stretched from ear to ear. She had left triumphant.

“Fucking b...” you muttered, and caught yourself when you saw Ningning separate herself from the couch to slowly walk towards you, her hands on her back and a slightly worried expression on her face.

"You already passed the test, don't worry," she said with a calm and soothing voice, "you don't have to test your skills on me."

"Huh?" She fell on her knees between your legs, and as she looked at you with her beautiful big eyes she took your cock with one hand and started pumping it slowly, "Oh..." you stared at her, feeling your stomach become ticklish again, you felt affection for her, and maybe something more.

"You're a cute boy… you deserve it," she said as she continued to move her hand up and down your throbbing cock. You felt your cheeks warm again.

"T-Thank you..." you thanked and then gasped, when you did, she brought the tip of your cock to her mouth. You moaned louder, and Ningning began to suck on your tip slowly and sensually, being careful but still perfectly working her tongue and head motions.

She brought her mouth further to the middle of your shaft, slurping softly on your cock with one hand at the base and the other caressing one of your thighs. You two exchanged glances, and once you did, you couldn't stop looking into each other's eyes for a single second, not even when she took your entire cock inside her mouth, sucking something faster without the need to be disastrous.

You raised a hand to gently caress her face, your finger on her cheekbone and the rest of your hand on her chin. Her eyes changed at that moment, and you could notice how they somehow transmitted affection and gratitude towards you, they were extremely beautiful, and you were hypnotized.

Ningning took you out of her mouth for a few seconds, licking, kissing and sucking on your balls as her hand pumped quickly on your cock, and after giving your balls enough attention, she returned your cock into her mouth to take you straight down her throat. She didn't show any gag reflex, she just scrunched her face up a little as she looked into your eyes and rested her nose against your pelvis. You moaned loudly, and she pulled you out of her mouth with a long gasp of air.

She didn't give herself any time to rest, a few seconds later she dove back into your cock, giving it more sensual sucks and slurping all the saliva that was dripping from it. Your breathing was agitated and you felt how you were slowly reaching the top. Karina noticed your expression, and quickly took a step forward.

"Stop right there," Karina said to Ningning, who had pulled you out of her mouth, walking over to you and sitting next to the confused girl. She leaned back, bringing her feet up and closer to Ningning's face, "prepare them."

Ningning looked at you for a few seconds, once again as if to say that she was sorry, and then grabbed Karina by the ankles to lick and kiss her feet as disastrously as she could, leaving them all slippery and full of saliva.

Once her feet were ready, Karina turned her body towards you and raised her feet onto your lap, trapping your cock between them and starting to give you a footjob which completely suppressed the rage you felt at that moment thanks to her. Her feet moved deliciously up and down, your cock sliding easily between them and throbbing as your orgasm was just around the corner.

Karina's toes also swirled over your tip every time they went up, and one massaged your balls every time they went down. That resulted in an inevitable downhill slope from which you had no salvation.

"Cum baby," Karina moaned, moving her feet faster around your cock, "Cum on these pretty feet that you like better than Yuna's."

That last sentence made your blood boil, but at that point you couldn't do a damn to show it since you started shooting multiple thick jets of cum everywhere. You held on tightly to the chair and squirmed on it, while Karina drained you completely with her pretty feet, which were being completely covered by a layer of white liquid. You squeezed your eyes shut, still spasming slightly as your throbbing cock spilled the last drops of cum onto Karina's feet, which dripped your cum into your pelvis.

Karina stopped, and removed her feet from your cock to turn around and present them to Ningning once more.

“Go ahead honey, clean up,” she ordered in a cute, kind voice that sounded really fake to you.

Ningning sighed, and took Karina by the ankles again to begin passing her tongue through every corner of her feet, collecting your cum and swallowing every little drop without even complaining, on the contrary, she seemed to enjoy it, knowing that the true architect of that great load had been her. Once Karina's feet were completely clean and shiny, Ningning took the liberty of ignoring her and began running her tongue over your pelvis, collecting the small pools of cum that accumulated there before taking you into her mouth. again, just to suck your cock clean for a few seconds and then pull it out.

At that moment, a small beep was heard through the plane's speakers.

"Attention, passengers, we are approaching the final descent," the pilot's voice said over the speakers, "so please, we recommend that you fasten your seat belts properly," another beep sounded, and the pilot fell silent.

"Well, you certainly won't need to fasten the seat belt properly," Giselle joked, followed by a loud laugh, you looked down, and noticed that your ankles were still stuck to the chair.

"Fuck you, Aeri," you told her in English.

"You'll have time to fuck me later, don't rush it silly," she replied back in English.

—————————————————————————

Spren Notes:

FINALLY P.S.T IS BACK AND ON FIRE FAM.

[maxlarens]

I got a lot to say so it might be long,

starting with, thank you for the Charles smau and the Lando fic <3

it took me time to choose an emoji lol but I've been doing an internship and time goes by way too quickly, but I decided to go for the strawberry one 🍓

and since you said you wanted to write for driver! reader, and that she was very intense about driving, maybe you can write something about her racing while she's sick/not feeling well but she still wins the race

woo hi again!!! literally no big deal! i hope ur internship is going well, it’s awesome that you’re doing one!! but yeah literally real life is always the priority as much as i’d also like to spend all my time on here lol. but anyway yay the strawberry is super cute 🍓🥺

and YES lol driver!reader is consuming my thoughts right now. i have other things i should be writing instead of this but i smashed this out in a few days😭 i decided not to make it a win because i have a thing brewing for driver!readers first win and i didn’t want to use up all my ideas for that. anyway!!! as usual thank u for the ask and pls enjoyyy 🤗

OP: extraordinary machine

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: you push yourself to your limits. (also sorry i simply don't know enough technical terms about racing for this to be fully accurate but i hope it works)

word count: 3.4k+

Here is a fact— you’ve got a fever of 39.4 degrees.

Here is another, indisputable fact— you’re racing in Imola today.

The fever had come on overnight after a persistent tickle in your throat all weekend. A mildly sore throat had turned rapidly to a snotty nose, full body chills and sweat pouring off you like you’d just run a marathon. You’re wearing a puffer jacket over your racing suit and it’s twenty-nine degrees out. You feel freezing, you feel delirious, and you’re eating Sour Patch Kids by the handful to keep the sugar rush going. Your race engineer, Rachel, keeps telling you that it’s okay if you can’t race. George can step in, I promise. You keep telling her I’m fine. I’m fine. I can race. But the expression on her face says she doesn’t believe you.

You’re telling practically everyone who’ll listen that you’re getting in that fucking car today. Rachel, George, your mum who keeps calling. Lewis keeps looking at you like you’re about to keel over and die and you want to scream at him you did this! Brazil 2015. You had a fever. You got on the podium. If I can’t do this and you can, what does that mean? But you don’t because that’s your 39.4-degree fever talking and this isn’t about being better than Lewis. It’s about knowing without a doubt that you can still get in that car and race your ass off.

Your phone keeps buzzing with texts from Susie that reassure you that you’d be disappointing no one at all if you had to let George take over this race. You’re not letting down women everywhere and you’re not letting down the team. I know Susie, you keep saying, but I’m still racing.

You know you’ve got to convince Toto when Rachel starts a hurried conversation with George and he starts grabbing his fireproofs like it’s a sure thing he’ll be driving in your place. Bundled up in your coat like it’s the middle of winter, you stomp over to Toto’s office and barge in.

“I’m racing,” you tell him without any preamble.

His head snaps to look at you, expression only mildly surprised— not that you would even notice if you didn’t spend so much time around him. He gives you a once over, eyes lingering pointedly on your jacket and then he raises his eyebrows, “It is twenty-nine degrees outside.”

You suck your teeth in frustration, “I know. The car will be hot. I can race.”

He frowns.

You plead, “Toto. Do not take me out of that car. I can do this.”

He shakes his head, “I can see you sweating from here. You’re not well.”

You shake your head frantically, ignoring how your vision starts spinning, “Let me race. If I fuck up you can put George in the car for Monaco. If I fuck up you can even replace me. I don’t care. Just let me drive today.”

Toto’s face pinches in the way it does when he’s considering something, you can see cogs turning in his head as he evaluates what you’ve said and decides if he should listen to it.

He sighs, “I am not putting that kind of ultimatum on you,” your heart stutters and stops in your chest, and you hold your breath, “Okay. Against my better judgement, I will let you race today.”

You let out an audible breath, it edges out into a sob that makes your aching body curl into itself. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes for a moment to suppress the urge to give in to your fever. It would be easier to give up, it would be easier to let George take your seat for the race so you could crawl into bed and cry the fever out. But none of this has ever been easy for you. You’ve fought tooth and nail to get here, you won’t forfeit a race and let people say you took the easy way out.

You look up. Toto looks concerned.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“You won’t.”

You practically stumble onto the asphalt before the national anthem, passing your coat off to Rachel while your trainer wipes your forehead with a towel as if you’ve just finished a full-body workout. Your shoulders feel tense, you can’t stand up straight without shuddering so you’re hunched over awkwardly hoping it doesn’t come off looking too strange.

People are still milling about, setting things up while the drivers assemble. You don’t really notice on account of the fever state you’re in, but you end up standing between the McLaren boys. You must brush against Oscar because he looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed, mouth set in a line and his eyes wide like a puppy dog. You get lost in them a little— because of the fever. Definitely.

“Dude,” Oscar says to you, “You’re really hot.”

On your other side, Lando breaks into a fit of laughter. You frown, your brain trying the puzzle through the sentence. You feel foggy, your eyes feel heavy. You need more Sour Patch Kids, or a shot of espresso, or five Red Bulls. Max could swing it for you.

Oscar leans past you and swats at Lando’s shoulder, “She’s burning up, stupid.”

Lando’s laughter pauses, and he says seriously, “Oh shit.”

Suddenly, you’re being twisted around and you’re wincing at the contact on your shoulder that makes it ache even more. Lando puts a hand on your forehead and then immediately rips it away.

“Eugh. You’re sweaty.”

The back of Oscar’s hand replaces it. You twist away, brushing it off.

“You’ve got a fever,” he tells you, his voice thick with concern for you, “Have you told anyone? Does Toto know? Lewis?”

Instead of answering you press a hand over your eyes and crack your neck, trying to work through some of the stiffness in your back. You roll your shoulders and stand up as straight as possible, pushing through that aching, sickly feeling that runs through your whole body. When you finally drag your hand from your face— a thin sheen of sweat coming with it— Oscar is staring at you with a deep-set frown on his mouth. At his shoulder, Lando looks at you with a markedly less severe, but still concerned, expression.

“I’m fine, Oscar,” you insist.

You’re not. He knows you’re not. It doesn’t matter, you don’t want to seem weak. Not barely thirty minutes before the race. You can’t have either of them thinking you’d be easy for an overtake or that you’ll back out of a fight first. Off the track, fine— you’ve been vulnerable and honest with both of them at times. On the track is a different story. This is Formula One. You’re not here to make friends. They are not here to make friends.

“Mm,” Oscar hums, “Pretty sure you’re not.”

“You’re sweating bullets,” Lando adds, “Can see it from here.”

Something white-hot and pissed off flares up your spine. Oscar is not this kind of person, even on track; but the suspicion that he’s just trying to eliminate you as competition rises anyway. You think it because if the situation were flipped, you’d be weighing the pros and cons of having a sick driver on the track. Their weaknesses, what it means if they’re distracted. It doesn’t make you a good person, but you’re already pretty sure you aren’t one.

“I am fine,” you bite.

Oscar’s expression drops. Into something not quite offended… accepting, maybe? Resigned? It closes off to you, is what you mean. That’s fine, you’re trying to close yourself off to him. You’re re-drawing a line that you’ve been crossing without a thought for at least two years now. You’re not here to make googly eyes at Oscar and let him put his hand on your fever-ridden forehead and have him reprimand out-of-line, so-called professionals for you. You’re here to get in that car every Sunday and put your life on the line for a shiny trophy and fucking glory. Even if you’ve got a fever. Even if you’ve got a weird crush on Oscar Piastri.

“I’m racing,” you add in a different tone, feeling as if you’ve been a bit harsh on a well-meaning Oscar, even if you mean what you’re thinking.

Oscar nods, and says, “Okay,” in a way that really means, ‘If you say so, then it is’.

In the car, on the tarmac, sitting in your starting grid position, you’re shitting bricks.

Your cheeks are squeezed tight into your helmet, you can feel sweat, slick and soaking through your balaclava. Your arms hurt, your legs hurt, your ass hurts where it’s pressed into the seat. You’re not crying, but your mouth— hidden away by your helmet— is open like you’re about to. Set into a grimace that you breathe raggedly out of. Toto says something over the radio before the lights go out, you don’t hear it. You’re too busy regretting how earnestly you’d begged him to let you race. It would have been better if George had taken over. It might have been better if you’d passed out during the national anthem so you really had no choice but to sit it out. No one could say you weren’t committed to this sport if that had happened. They’d have plenty to say about women and their weak constitutions though.

You’re on autopilot when the lights go out. One second you’re freaking out like it’s your first time in a car, the next second everything is fading into background noise and you’re fighting a Ferrari and a McLaren for your original grid position. Twenty of you tear down the straight to turn two and you find yourself slotting easily into what you think is P4. Ferrari— not the same one— in front of you. Your mirrors reveal the McLaren behind you. It’s Oscar, you’re sure. You can tell by the way he sticks to your ass. Every nudge of the car you make he makes with you.

You press the radio button, “That Piastri behind?”

Crackle, “Yeah.”

“Knew it. He’s up my butt, Rach.”

“Okay. Go faster then. Not sure what to tell you.”

You make a face. You weren’t looking for sarky advice, you were trying to commiserate. You press the button and make a vaguely mocking neh-neh noise that gets a laugh and then radio silence because you’re supposed to be fucking concentrating. Which, okay, fair.

You press the throttle, done with trying to manage your tyres for the moment and taking Rachel’s comment as permission. You tear away from Oscar, stopping his fight to overtake you through the chicane in its tracks. You start slowly gaining on the Ferrari in front of you, its red rear wing growing closer and closer.

“Sainz in front?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yup,” Rachel confirms before rattling off some lap times when you ask for them.

By lap thirty-something, you’re on Sainz’s ass like Oscar was on yours. You’re fighting him through every chicane, threatening him on the straights and generally behaving in a way that you know for a fact is putting him on edge. But Carlos isn’t giving up P3 without a fight.

A safety car goes out around lap forty, and you pit. Everyone ahead of you does as well. Oscar doesn’t, Oscar is lucky to have gone in earlier. Rachel tells you he’d made up four places after being forced to box for some tyre issue. You feel a strange mix of pride and jealousy swirl in your chest as you all file into a discordant line behind the safety car.

Verstappen leads the pack, as per usual. Then Oscar, Sainz and you. Leclerc is behind you, then Lando. You’re in P4, right where you started and right where you’ve been fucking sitting the entire race so far. twenty-five laps to at least make it onto the podium. Then you’ll be happy. Or not quite happy, you’d need pole for that. Content. You’d be content.

Max starts weaving. The safety car goes off and Max keeps you all ready and waiting until the exact millisecond that he decides the race can properly begin again. You hate when he does this— you know that’s exactly why. Eventually, finally, he gets going.

You have to run defence like crazy for a few laps to keep Leclerc behind you until everything is warmed up. The gap widens as you drive. At some point, you stop worrying about the Monégasque so much and focus your attention on car fifty-five like your life depends on it. The laps fly by as time ticks on. Twenty-five to go, twenty, fifteen, ten. You’re back on Sainz’s rear wheel, a gap of 0.2 to 0.3 that’s been consistent throughout this last stretch of the race. You’re watching him like a hawk, waiting for the smallest slip-up to take advantage of. Somewhere you can push, somewhere he’s weak. It’s hard— he’s covering all his bases. Not giving you an inch so you can’t take a mile.

You’re closing in on sixty-four laps— with only three to go— when he gives you that fucking inch. It’s in the first chicane. His wheel locks up, and he jerks the car slightly the wrong way, something like that. You get in his space and you push and he backs out first. You press down on the throttle and rocket past him, shouting FUCK! FUCK YES! to yourself.

P3. P3. God, you hope it’s P3.

You press the talk button, “Rach?”

“Yes, P3,” she barks, “Fucking, focus. Three laps to go.”

Those last three laps of Imola are some of the hardest of your life. Defending against Carlos is a task, of course, but it’s not even that. The sickness starts to creep back into your awareness as the adrenaline that had hit its peak during the overtake starts to subside. Two laps to go and you’re remembering the fever again. The sweat soaking your hair and streaking down the back of your neck. Your whole body is on fire and it aches everywhere. It feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to the inside of your skull. You want so badly to close your eyes and drift away to sleep, but the car is flying through the air demanding your attention with the way it thuds against the track. You’ve got one lap to go and Carlos is on you like white on rice. You can’t afford to make a mistake until you’re firmly over that finish line.

So you don’t. You grit your teeth and you refuse.

Carlos is downright reckless in the last chicane, he tries to bait you by moving to one side and pushing but you’re not going to fall for something like that even if you’re near delirious from the 39.4-degree fever. Though surely it’s higher now, the car temp can’t be helping. You hardly realise you’ve crossed the finish line because you’re thinking so hard about how lightheaded you feel. On instinct, you slow down to a safe speed as Oscar’s McLaren enters your vision, but you think your toes have pins and needles and there’s some feeling tingling up into your shoulders. You blink hard and take a long sip of water so you can make it to the pits before your head starts to spin.

Crackle, “Where are you going? That was P3.”

“Huh?” you realise you’re following the other drivers instead of heading into the pits where you’re supposed to go, “Shit. Sorry.”

You edge back as carefully as you can, avoiding other cars that pass by, lucky you’ve not overshot too far so you can turn into the pits and park your car in front of the P3 sign without going around the entire track. That would be embarrassing. Or that would be more embarrassing than how disgusting you’re going to look when you take your helmet and balaclava off.

Toto, Rachel and a few of your engineers are there to meet you at the barricade when you clamber out of the car, unsteady on your feet. Rachel’s eyebrows are furrowed as she tries her best to smile at you, trying to put on a brave face even though you can tell she’s concerned you’re going to keel over. You brace yourself with a hand against the gate and tear your helmet off, then your balaclava. You’ve never been so fast to put a cap on your head, trying to cover the sweaty mess that is your hair right now.

“That was phenomenal work,” Rachel says, reaching to put a hand on your burning hot bicep, “You look fucking terrible, though.”

You suck in a ragged breath and you nod in agreement, trying to keep the black tinging your vision from taking over completely. 

“Get her something to drink,” you hear Toto bark, though it comes to your ears, muffled and staticky.

You’re fine. You’re fine. Until you’re not and your sweaty hand is slipping against the guardrail and your vision is fading into darkness and you’re falling face first into a metal railing. And, and, someone’s got their arm around your middle and you’re not on the ground with your face in the asphalt. You blink, hot tears— from what you assume is exhaustion— burning your eyelids. The arm around your middle is covered in something orange and black… Oscar. It’s Oscar who’s got you propped up, held firm into his body so your legs don’t collapse underneath you. The two of you sway and stumble for a second as you gain your footing back, your vision returning to normal, the buzzing in your ears going away.

“You’re good,” he breathes, “I’ve got you.”

You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine, you attribute it to your current state.

You remember the cameras that are on all of you right now. You try not to look panicked as you step away from him. You try to do it calmly and not frantically like you so want to. Toto has some electrolyte drink held out right in your face and you take it, chugging half of it straight away while you swivel around to face Oscar. You nod, feeling slightly better, but gripping the guardrail tight so as not to repeat earlier.

“Thanks,” you try a smile, but it’s just turning into a grimace because you feel like shit.

Oscar shakes his head, “Don’t mention it.”

“Great driving out there.”

His eyebrow goes up, touching the curl of his hair that peeks out from his cap.

“You’re kidding?” he says, tone laced with amusement.

You frown, which is much easier, “No. You drove great.”

He makes a face like ‘yes, obviously’, but somehow does it in a humble and endearing way that you find you like a little too much. It leaves you confused as to his point.

“No,” he scoffs, “Okay, yes. What I mean is that you just got P3 with a raging fever.”

You purse your lips, countering, “You don’t know I have a fever.”

His tongue darts out to wet his top lip, hiding the small smile that threatens on his face.

He shrugs, “Bit obvious, unfortunately.”

You roll your eyes. You think what he means is it’s a bit obvious because you look like absolute death. There’s probably sweat rolling off you in buckets, your cap is jammed on your head and your hair is probably sticking out at crazy angles. There were dark circles under your eyes before you left for the track this morning, they’re probably ten times worse now. He might also mean it’s obvious from the way your skin is burning hot, like touching a radiator in the middle of winter. Or, perhaps, the way you’d passed out into his arms a few minutes earlier.

You suck your teeth, “Well. I told you I was racing today.”

Oscar nods, biting the inside of his lip, “Yeah. You did.”

There’s more that neither of you are saying. A conversation that you’re trying desperately to have with prolonged eye contact, small little smiles and breaths out through the nose. You think it might be ‘I’m proud of you’ or ‘You’re very impressive and I’m going a little bit crazy about it’. That’s how you feel at least, somewhere in between the fever chills and the urge you’re suppressing to curl into a ball on the tarmac. This is okay, you think. You don’t have to be Oscar’s sworn enemy just because you’re both chasing the win. You can let him worry about you, but make sure he understands he can’t stop you from taking the things that you want. You can say things that mean other things and Oscar can smile at you like it’s something private for just the two of you.

You can be happy with that. Or not quite happy. Content.

🏎️ song inspo (fiona apple my Beloved) -> https://open.spotify.com/track/5h9Iek7Hp9wayRt7fBp7Ab?si=9PnuH5CDSC-qTurLPGiTwg

💫 fill out this form if you want to be added to my tag list: @clowngirlsstuff @leclercsluvs @c-losur3 @mael1pastry @papayamusha @mvk1ma

[peachesofteal]

18+ mdni / dark and twisty, whump

It’s snowing.

You don’t even have to move your head to see in order to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds and feels during a snowfall that blankets everything, houses, trees, mountains, your mind.

You love it. Always have. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It was what drove you to move out here in the first place. Chasing the snow. The feeling of a quiet forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white. The smell of the air the morning before a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the darkness when everything is dampened down by the weight of a million, billion unique, crystallized webs.

Except this snow feels different. It doesn't feel like a velvety white, soft dream world, but a nightmare... one filled with pain, anxiety. Why are you here? What's happened?

And why do you hurt so fucking bad?

"You're awake." A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn't as lighting sharp pain shoots through your upper arm all the way to your neck, and you cry out. "Easy." It's the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He's sitting in a chair that cannot possibly be comfortable, watching you.

"Where... am I?" You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to choke back the burn of bile that's racing up your throat.

"Are you going to be sick?" He reaches, stroking a finger down your face. You hold your tongue, unsure, and he must not like it, because he sighs, and then frowns at you. "Tell me."

"No, I don't-" You can't even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving, and he's springing to action shifting you amidst unbearable pain, turning you on your side to where a clean bucket sits, right beneath your bed.

"It's alright, that's it." A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears leaking from your eyes.

"Nnnrgh-"

"I know, I know. Poor thing." He coos, and it sounds so... endearing, so sweet yet... frightening, like the poison of a predator, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.

"H-hurts." You cry as he rolls you back into your original position. "It hurts."

"I know it does, sweet girl. We're going to fix it." He dabs a cloth on your face, across your forehead and then down to clean your mouth up, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, concern rife in his features.

"Poor baby. Were ye sick?" You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, encouraging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you've had a few sips with a gentle 'not too much'.

"Who are you?" You smack your lips. The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it's well water, maybe?

"I'm Johnny." He's setting up something, beside you. You can see him organizing something, but can't quite make them out due to your lack of mobility. "An' this is Simon. Or Si. But ye probably won't be callin' him that quite yet." Johnny and Simon. Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can't you remember?

"What happened?" You try again, gritting your teeth against the pain.

"Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about this yesterday? Ye slid off the road, ended up in a thick of trees. Ye're lucky the one didnae impale ye." Impale?

"And you found me?" You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?

"Aye, we did. Pulled ye free, brought ye home." Home?

"We couldn't leave you to die, and the storm is pretty bad. Pass is closed." Simon offers as an explanation, and you close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed.

"Thank... thank you." Johnny hums, and then to your complete shock, leans forward, brushing his lips against yours as you blink furiously.

"Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we wouldnae." What?

"Do what?" The broad one, Simon, casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He's got a piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them. Do what?

"Bite down on this, precious." Simon instructs, placing it against your bottom lip, to which you jerk away in protest with a whimper.

"Do what?" You try again.

"We need to set your humerus, and clavicle." Set your humerus? And your-

Oh. Oh no.

"N-no. No, you ca-can't." You stutter, but Johnny gives you a sad look, shifting on the bed to place a hand on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm against your good shoulder, the one that doesn't hurt. His hand is warm, so warm against you, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong... intimate. "Please, don't. Please, please-"

"It's alright." He shushes you, and the pressure against your body increases as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather into your mouth, bracing a hand above your elbow, and below your shoulder on the side that hurts. You gasp for air, fear shaking your body, and Johnny coos at you, telling you you'll be alright, that you're with them now and they'll take care of you, that it will only hurt for a little. "Ye'll probably pass out, bonnie. We'll get the second one done while ye're down, and I already gave ye something for the pain." He assures, like it's supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon's grip.

This can't be happening. How can this happen? No, nononono-

There's a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating agony that's delivered to your arm like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it's way out of your throat. You think you're crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, everything all at once. It hurts. It hurts so bad, it hurts-

"We're sorry, we're sorry." Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your mind starting to sever itself from your body, floating away as you slip inside a dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to unconscious as they both stare down at you, sickeningly sweet concern layered overtop the faces of a bear and a wolf, predators licking their maws in preparation, waiting to devour their prey.

[xxsugarbonesxx]

retired!Miguel rambling

🩷 I love domestic Miguel he is my everything

i guess this is head canons??? idk i just wrote what i thought felt right lol

mostly fluff, some smut, no gender is specified for reader,

though it doesn't go into depth, pregnancy and pregnancy sex is mentioned so read at your own risk 🩷

MINORS DO NAWT INTERACT!!!!

Miguel is naturally warm, his skin is so soft and warm. He smells like firewood and citrus, trust. In the winter you’ll lounge over his body like a seal on a rock in the sun. In the summer, you drag the kiddie pool from the back and fill it up. Dipping your feet in the cold water while you two watch the kiddos and dogs play in the sprinklers. 

He makes chunky babies. If you have the ability to get pregnant, most people will assume you’re having twins ‘cause how big your tummy is once you’re with child. But you just got one chubby little babe in there, and then they’re born with a whole head of their papa’s coffee colored curls. 

Piggy backing off the previous: once he gets out of his office in the Spider Society, leaving the Spider Man role behind, he’ll gain some weight. He’ll get that daddy pooch/dad bod going down, his pubes thick and curly. A whole forest is growing under his pudgy tummy. He doesn’t think shaving is that important once he’s settled down and has his kids but is willing to shave if that’s what you prefer. 

He did do the thing where he shaved his face completely to show the baby when they were around five months old. Popping out from behind the corner to show the babe his clean shaven face with you filming it. It all ended with all three of you crying and snuggling with the baby once they started sobbing and screeching since all they’re tiny life they’ve seen their daddy with a neat, salt and peppery beard.

And if you CAN’T get pregnant, (whether you’re amab or infertile) bro will be going at it with you like an ANIMAL. He’s got fat breeder balls, full of hot, sticky cum to pump into your needy hole. Once he’s cum, he’ll give one last thrust, nice and deep into your gummy walls. Plugging his semen deep inside you, keeping it there. After care in this instance is nonexistent, since he falls asleep on top of you, still deep in your guts.

He just likes touching you, if you’re alone in the car, waiting at the red light. His palm travels up and down your thigh absentmindedly as his eyes bore into the stop light. (He wears those glasses that turn into sunglasses when he goes outside, argue with the wall) Maybe he’ll get brave enough or the light still hasn’t changed for awhile, his hand will dip under your shirt, his thumb pad playing with your soft nipple until it hardens.

As long as you’re alone, he’ll have his hands on you. Six times out of ten it leads to actual sex.

I don’t think of him as a god in bed really, he’s just a guy. He’s gonna do what he thinks you and him are gonna like (what you want will always be top priority for him I know it) Acting on lizard brain, he’s gonna do what he’s gonna do without much thought beforehand. He couldn’t edge you to save his life, if you’re whining or crying, he’s just gonna let you cum, he just can’t say no to you. :(

Foreplay is always important to him though, mainly just because I want him to rub my back, I think he’d go for the whole massage thing. Spending a good amount of time rubbing and massaging your shoulders, back and cunny/cock. His hand is so big, he’d be able to grip the space between your thighs with one hand no issue. Rubbing back and forth until you cum from his hands alone. He likes to have you cum at least once before he’s actually inside you. He’s a gentleman after all. :))) His favorite positions are full nelson, side fucking, doggy style (I will die on the hill he’s more of an ass then a titties man I don’t care!!!) and face sitting.

If you can get pregnant, pregnant sex is even more tender and loving. Usually taking brakes to pepper your body and face with little kisses. 

@cupcakeinat0r wrote a tasty yummy fic about growing old with Miguel, and I’ve had that stuck in my brain since then. Around his forties, Miguel’s really mellowed out. He’s not as a perfectionist or cold and irritable as he used to be. Having kids has helped him calm more, having a more relaxed approach to problems now. Then his quick to anger, slow to calm back down personality when he was acting as spider man. Getting married and having kids has helped him realize that he doesn’t have to be the tough guy in the room. Though his kids are just as stubborn as him now. 

I love the domestic potential of Retired!Miguel, you two having a song, that’s your song as a couple. Cooking dinner together for your little babies. Having a show you two watch an episode or two of after putting kids to bed. Sitting on the couch, your legs over his lap, drinking wine with a kids movie on as your makeshift date night. 🩷

[pierregazly]

you make loving fun ꨄ pierre gasly smau

pierre gasly x fem!russell!reader

in which pierre has made it obvious he worships the ground his fiancé walks on, but her brother just has to make it clear he can fight if he needs to.

ynrussell has posted a story

liked by pierregasly, carmenmmundt, and others

replies

pierregasly je t'aime mon chérie 🤍

georgerussell63 you better be sleeping in different beds. and the food better be fully cooked

ynrussell we've been engaged for 9 months. ynrussell and it's a fucking croissant it's obviously fully cooked you dolt

pierregasly

tagged ynrussell

liked by ynrussell, charles_leclerc, carmenmmundt, and 650,093 others

pierregasly what a great winter break with my favourite person! time to get back to work 💪😈

view all 3,209 comments

ynrussell i love youuuu

ynrussell thanks for massaging my sore ankles after :(

liked by pierregasly

username they are literally so CUTE

username i want to be ynrussell so bad... like she's so pretty and pierre brings her EVERYWHERE

georgerussell63 this doesn't seem like a safe date option

georgerussell63 my sister better be in one piece by the time you finally return her home

ynrussell i am a grown woman??? i am not being returned home??? what is WRONG with you pierregasly i think i'll keep her actually, sorry mate!

username do you guys think george is serious or is he just playing a joke

username he comments on EVERY single one of their posts... my mans gonna fuck pierre up if he ever steps out of line frfr

liked by georgerussell63

ynrussell

tagged pierregasly

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc, georgerussell63, and 46,209 others

ynrussell a special happy birthday to the king of my heart 🫶🏻 one year closer to 30 handsome!!!

view 306 comments

username happy birthday pierregasly!!!!!!

charles_leclerc 🥳🥳🥳

pierregasly do you want to fight??? one year closer to 30???

georgerussell63 i've got this ynrussell, don't threaten my sister or it's game over

pierregasly je t'aime 🤍

georgerussell63 is there a video of pierre getting his face shoved into the cake? i'll pay good money for it

username george omg

username LMAOOOO pleaaaase george is ruthless does he even like his future brother in law

georgerussell63 no. happy birthday pierregasly.

username why is no one talking about how he's looking at her in that second photo???? the pure love??? im gonna cry i hate that i love them

username the 😭 king 😭 of 😭 my 😭 heart 😭

ynrussell

tagged carmenmmundt, alexandrasaintmleux, pierregasly, and 12 others

liked by pierregasly, georgerussell63, alexandrasaintmleux, and 52,951 others

ynrussell spoiled absolutely rotten by all the wonderful women in my life this weekend, thank you all for making my bridal shower so special 🫶🏻 (and an extra special thank you to my best friend for the beautiful present he dropped off for me in the middle of it all)

view all 902 comments

carmenmmundt had so much fun celebrating the beautiful bride to be!!

username it makes my heart so full that carmen's planned so much of ynrussell's pre-wedding stuff, she has to be in the wedding party omg

username do we think george is one of pierre's groomsmen???

username if pierre doesn't want to die on his wedding day i'd hope so lol

georgerussell63 i hope pierregasly didn't ruin your special day by showing up. so happy to see how overjoyed you were in all the photos 💗

ynrussell pls stop harassing my fiancé. love you georgie.

username i literally cannot WAIT for their wedding, i just know pierre is going to go all out to make sure ynrussell is the happiest bride in the world (or george will get his ass)

pierregasly i stand by what i said, prettiest flowers for my prettiest flower 💐

georgerussell63

tagged ynrussell

liked by ynrussell, pierregasly, carmenmmundt, and 879,092 others

georgerussell63 can't believe the little girl who used to make me zip up her raincoat on the way to school is getting married tomorrow. honoured to be apart of your special day. and even though i mention it 14 times in my speech, pierregasly i know where you live and i will hurt you if you ever hurt her.

view all 2,311 comments

ynrussell 🥺🥺

ynrussell i'm going to cry. love you always georgie 🥺

username the picture of him zipping up her coat i'm going to cry... my fav brother/sister duo HONESTLY

username i just know this man would get away with murder for her if he had to

username pierre would not stand a chance against george

username bestie be so fucking for real, george's skinny ass ankles wouldn't stand a chance against my man pierre

carmenmmundt i think you've made enough threats by now?

liked by pierregasly, ynrussell, and 63 others

pierregasly may as well make it 15 times, i just dont think 14 is enough little brother

georgerussell63 do NOT call me that

pierregasly and yngasly

liked by georgerussell63, charles_leclerc, alpinef1team, and 1,673,942 others

pierregasly i am truly the luckiest man in the world to finally be able to call myself your husband. the tears were worth seeing you in the most beautiful dress, on the most beautiful day. i will hold my vows until the day i die. je t'aime, i love you.

view all 3,564 comments

username omg he cried!!!!!!

username i KNEW IT i knew pierre would be a crier my man's looks like he would be

username do we think george made him cry

username girl dont be delulu i'd be crying too if yngasly was about to be my wife

georgerussell63 i have a video of you crying. don't act up.

pierregasly wouldn't count on it lil bro. username pierre may get beat up without it even involving yngasly as this rate

yngasly can't believe i bagged myself such a looker

yngasly i love you mr. gasly

pierregasly i love you mrs. gasly

honestly this was one of those one's that i started, imagined myself in this position and then basically HAD to finish it. thank you to the lovely person who requested a russell!sister!reader who is engaged to pierre, who constantly get's threatened by george. i hope you all loved it!!

my requests are open

taglist:

@leclercdream @myescapefromthislife @princessria127 @iloveyou3000morgan @love4lando @asfaraslifegets @decseptapril @somanyfandomsbruh @fangirl125reader @imagandom @motorsp0rt @jspitwall @sarahedwards16 @glitterf1 @christianpulisic10 @carlandonorri-s @smoothopz @eugene-emt-roe @epitios

if your name is struck through it wouldn't let me tag you! let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist/if you're missing from it :)

[grapejuicestyless]

Stupid F-ing Tattoo

JJ Maybank x Fem!reader

Summery: Y/n and JJ both had a few things in common. One, love didn’t exist. And two, they both wanted her dead.

She wasn’t dead, but sometimes, he wished she was.

It was honestly fucked up, there was no silver lining. She hadn’t wronged him, or cheated, or lied. She was as guilty as a fish, and he was the shark. But he still wished she was dead.

Sometimes, JJ wondered if she wished the same thing. If some nights, if she ever were to by chance hear his laughter in a passing moment, maybe with his head hung out the back window of the Twinkie like she used to do, or in a lazy jog away from the cops, he wondered if she wished he would also, drop off the face of the earth to give her some peace.

Then he would remember that even though it didn’t feel like it, he had won. Because she had no peace, and he was certain she never would. While he was up all night wishing her to be gone, she was up all night praying for the same thing.

She often told him that the only things keeping her going were him and her dog, but mostly her dog. An old white dog, a stray she’d taken in when she was merely seven. He was as crusty as they get, and while he and his friends often joked about how gross the old thing was, she happily scratched behind his ears and reminded him of how good he was always.

But the dog was getting old, and JJ had long been extracted from her life. Sometimes he wondered if his prayers meant something, and then he would get on his knees and take them all back in a guilty sob. Because JJ didn’t want her to die, he just hated the fact that he had fallen in love with someone who couldn’t fathom love more than he ever doubted it.

JJ felt like an asshole. What kind of person prays for another persons death? Especially someone like her?

He figured he liked her so much because they were so alike. Like the seasons, they were the coolest winters and the sweltering summer all at once. They were so close, yet so far. Like January and December. Born with the same love and loyalty, but destined to fall apart, prophets forced to be divided.

His finger hovered over her contact every night, but every time he thought of how she would answer, and his tongue would go dry. She would probably only say hello, and he would say it back, and the line would go quiet for a few minutes, just breathing in each others inhales, aligning his breath to hers, and then she would ask him why he was calling. He would say he didn’t know, but he hoped she was well, and she would wish the same for him because she always did, and she always meant it more because she never wished that he was dead. Then, she would ask if it was okay to let him go, and he would ramble about something and how it was all dumb to begin with. She would listen and then the line would go dead. Dead like how he sometimes wanted her.

He couldn’t bear the idea of letting her go again, even if he didn’t realize he had the first time.

They had just gotten matching tattoos. “P4L” poked into their ankles until the skin swelled red and even air burned. They were fucked, and it was a dumb idea.

JJ said it was the stupidest fucking tattoo he’d ever gotten. She had laughed, playfully pushing his arm away and setting the needle down.

“You don’t have any other tattoos.” She reminded him softly, eyes shining in the moonlight. The twinkles reminded him of the north star, and he felt that he too found home in the same way.

“Not yet.” He promised her, his fingers slotting between hers. “I’m gonna get your name tattooed right across my palm so I can hold you eternity.” JJ smiled, proud at his use of larger words. He’d felt like a poet then, smiling from ear to ear at himself, a dork by textbook definition.

“Well, then I’m going to get your name tattooed on my lips, so I have every reason to talk about you.” She promised him, and JJ remembered the look in her eyes, he knew it from the way John B looked at Sarah and the way Pope’s dad looked at his mom. He knew it was love.

He should never have confessed it.

He knew better than anyone that her mothers neglect had beaten her heart black and blue, and her cousins hatred towards her and her friends who had bullied her, he knew that much like him, love was a construct of some sort of fantasy, a promise of forever that could never be fulfilled, because eventually, someone has to leave.

She laughed, and then she cried. She promised JJ that she also loved him, loved him like a dog loved its owner, unwavering and loyal. But there was no way in hell she could ever love him the ways he wanted, and that hurt JJ because he had spent weeks working up the courage to even come to terms with his very real feelings.

“I can’t love you, JJ. I do, but I can’t because I can’t even promise myself that forever. I’ll break my own heart and I’ll blame you.” She had explained with tears streaming down her face. He regretted the way he yelled at her.

They never spoke again. His best friend, and the love of his life, her voice became a concept in his mind, and he swore that he had forgotten the sweetness of her smell. He hated that because that meant he was just like everyone else. Just another person who would miss her when she went.

So, he started wishing death on her. More for himself, until it became a prayer for her. She never laughed anymore, never smiled. When he saw her from afar, he’d noticed that she’d gone back to her friends she hated because suffering is better than loneliness when all you can think about is the quickest way to go.

He saw a girl floating in the ocean the a few days into the summer, her hair resembled Y/n’s and her eyes did too. It was only when he saw the way she seemed to fold herself into the water he knew it was her because only she would have the drive to try and let the ocean swallow her whole.

JJ ran as fast as he could out, wading through the crashing waves until he could wrap his arms around her. She was wet, cold, and limp. A hollow version of the woman she once was. It reminded JJ that she was just a girl, the same age as him, and he once again, felt guilty for ever wishing death on her.

When he laid her in the sand, he knew two things.

One, on her skin, she had another small tattoo scribbled down to memorize her love forever. His name, just two little letters, the same one, poked into her shoulder in the same font as their matching tattoo.

“Stupid fucking tattoo.” He cried, gritting his teeth together, his hands searching her body for any warmth he could cling to, a sign that maybe he hadn’t seen her too late.

The second thing he knew, through his salty tears and guilty heart, was something he prayed he would never have to witness, but something he had always wished for.

His prayers had been answered.