#you had a speech you speechless
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CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS by Taylor Swift start playing; 💍🧝🏻♀️
#your celebrimbor's ring in your pocket.#you had a speech you speechless#ropedit#SPOILERS#halbrand#sauron#galadriel#rop 2x08#rings of power#haladriel#taylor swift
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I finally saw TV Glow last night and just. Wow. Im kind of speechless. It's been a LONG time since a movie has affected me like that. A true experience and also absolute gut punch. It's given me an absolutely depressed yet vaguely (?) Hopeful outlook? Like it makes me want to live to see tomorrow but only so i can continue to grieve.
#anyways classic “im speechless” says speech#this movie i think is genuinely life changing#like a piece of art to be genuinely talked about for generations#im high as fuck rn but watched this with my boyfriend#Which fhank GOD BTW PLS WATCH WITH ANOTHER HUMAN#cuz it will not leave you in a good place!!! holy fuck#we had to just sit silent for like 15 mins after to sob and heaeve lol
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Taylor swift fans with wax on and on about how she’s this amazing poet and people who don’t like her music just aren’t listening to her Incredible Lyrics and then quote the worst lyric from the song they’re talking about like at least make an effort
#‘you had a speech youre speechless’ is not the shakespearean prose that you think it is i promise you#like legit someone quoted that at me#taylor swift#like someone save me from them
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DEVILISH DESSERT — ༉‧₊˚.
ft. astarion !
꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : your cramps have hit you especially hard this month and astarion has an idea that could be mutually beneficial
꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. f!reader, period sex, oral (f!receiving), mentions of blood, unprotected sex but astarion pulls out, multiple orgasms, blood sucking, praise, pet names (darling, my sweet, pet), — WC : 2.2k
reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.゚
“believe me, pet, it would be a win-win.” astarion drawls, his hands following the flow of his speech. “you lay down and let me take care of you while i get my fill.”
the thought had crossed your mind before —fleetingly. the last time he fed from your neck the idea planted itself in your mind in a haze joined by many other ones, swirling together as your body tried to make sense of what was happening.
“but,” the argument you were about to make dies in your throat. but, what? astarion was asking you to let him indulge, a chance to satiate his hunger while also pleasuring his lover. his eyes plead with yours, giving away how eager he really is. “sure, why not.”
“that’s the spirit.” he claps his hands together before reaching out for your hand. “i promise i’ll take good care of you, my little treat.”
“what did i say about using that nickname?” you mumble as he takes your hand, quickly bringing it up against his lips for a quick peck, hiding the small smirk that was blossoming.
flashes of the last time he called you that floods your mind – the way it slipped off the tip of his tongue and lured you to his bed. the first night you let him feed off of your neck, taking the blood he needed while his cock was buried in your heat.
“what’s that? can’t hear you darling.” he teases, knowing exactly what was running through your mind right now. he finishes guiding you to his tent and he closes the curtain. “no matter, it’s just you and me now.”
suddenly, you feel a bit nervous under his stare. the reality of your moment coming into the forefront of your brain. you knew he has an affinity for blood, but what if it tasted bad — what if you tasted bad?
his lithe fingers gently cradle your face, adoration soaking his features. his dark red eyes trail all over your features, taking in every little piece of your face.
“gods, you’re beautiful.” he breathes out, slowly leaning in to kiss you. you meet him halfway, lips colliding against one another as his hand starts to trail down the curve of your waist. he pulls apart for a second, placing a quick peck before he speaks again. “i can’t wait to taste you, i know you’ll be as sweet as always.”
his words pour over you as warm reassurance, your body melting against him as he kisses you again. the small flame that had formed before was quickly simmering into a wildfire, lying just beneath the surface and ready to consume both of you in a spark of passion.
but for now, he takes his time with you. his lips trail down your neck, fangs barred as they lightly drag along your jugular. you hold back a gulp, ashamed at how much it makes you yearn for him even more.
he doesn’t bite, not when he’s so eager for what lies below. you lay all the way down the bedroll as he makes his descent, murmurs of praise slipping off his tongue and onto your skin.
he makes quick work of the pants you had on, tearing them down your thighs as his bloodlust starts to kick in. in seconds, his head is buried in between your thighs, nose pressed against your clit as he deeply inhales.
“darling-“ he breathes out, absolutely in awe of how delicious you’re going to taste. “this is…” he trails off, unsure if words could describe how much this means to him.
“never seen you so speechless before.” you tease, trying not to squirm under his gaze, his eyes locked onto the blood woven slick pooling at your entrance.
“what can i say?” he presses a kiss just above your clit, eyes darting up to yours. “this is a gift, and i plan on showing you just how appreciative i am for it. for you.”
you open your mouth to retort but his tongue catches your throbbing nub first, sending a jolt throughout your body. after that first taste, he’s gone. completely lost in you and the frenzy begins.
he tosses your leg over his shoulder, angling himself to get deeper. his tongue delves back into you and you feel him everywhere. it’s enough to arch your back, your fingers clawing in his hair. he grunts approvingly into your messy cunt, licking up every little speck of blood he can get his mouth on.
each precise stroke of his tongue has you unraveling in his hold, undoubtedly gushing more of your bloody essence on his eagerly awaiting mouth. he was practically moaning now, the vibrations shooting throughout your body. he breaks for air for a moment, licking his lips and looking up to you.
“no one could ever taste as sweet as you, darling.” a soft nibble to your inner thigh, his darkened, blown out eyes still locked onto you.
he goes back down on you, slowly pushing in his fingers to draw more out of you, wanting you to flood his vision with the small slice of heaven you’re granting him right now.
it’s all too much and you’d be lying if you said his enthusiasm wasn’t the driving force towards your release. you’d never been with a man so desperate for your taste, especially when you were in this state.
your back starts to arch off the bedroll, reeling in the pleasure that’s about to snap. the coil shatters into a thousand pieces as you dig your fingers into his curls once again. you don’t know if you were loud or not, you don’t know anything as a white veil had taken up your vision, pleasure coursing through your veins as your blood pounds within your ears.
the tent is silent, save for both of your heavy breathing. through half lidded eyes, you see him greedily lick around his lips, ensuring he didn’t waste a drop of the gift you’ve given him.
it takes a few moments for you to come back down to reality, your head swimming in the pleasure astarion hurtled you in. you watch as he places one last kiss against your cunt, slowly backing up on his haunches.
without breaking eye contact, he slips his still coated fingers in his mouth, eyes almost rolling to the back of his head as he savors the taste of you. a beat goes by and you think it’s over and time to head back to your own tent.
but he’s always been a selfish man.
“you know, i don’t think i’ve quite gotten my fill of you yet.” his voice sings in your ear. “i think i want a little more.”
“you might have to wait a bit.” the words flow out of you as you prop yourself up on your elbows, getting a better look at him. his eyes were still blown out — crazed. whenever he has that frenzied look in his eyes, his hunger is still strong and his sights are set on you.
“or, maybe not.” he tilts his head to the side. “let’s have sex so i can make a proper mess of you.”
“what? i-i’m not sure.” you frown slightly. the cramps had subsided, sure. but who’s to say that wouldn’t bring them back?
“think about it.” he drawls, taking off his shirt, showcasing his body. “coming a few times will be very beneficial. it’ll clear everything right out.”
“well.” you pause. realistically, there could be a truth in that. but who knew if your body would listen to logic anyway. and yet, “well i suppose it couldn’t hurt to try.”
“exactly, darling.” he smiles before a softer look falls onto you. “but if it does, you’ll let me know.”
it wasn’t a question. the underlying care he held for you was slipping through the cracks of the tantalizing facade he loved to put up. you nod your head in confirmation. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited to test this theory out, especially watching him slowly untie his breeches. lithe fingers that were just inside of you untwisting the knots woven in the string.
his cock springs out from being stuffed away, begging for some sort of relief judging by the amount of precum that was pooling on its head.
he hastily lines himself up to your slick entrance, rubbing his tip around it before it kisses your swollen clit. you gasp out as your body tingles with electricity. after a baited breath, he starts to slide in agonizingly slow, carefully watching your face as he does so.
but you look away, the eye contact feeling a bit much — even after everything. he was just too pretty, his expressions too raw. every moment you held his gaze, the fire inside of you threatens to take over.
“you need to look at me, my sweet.” his cold fingers grasp your chin lightly, tilting your head so you had no choice but to look at him.
before, when you had first slept with astarion, things hadn’t been so intimate. of course, it was all very rushed. it was the end of a gruesome battle and tensions were high, not to mention alcohol was swirling around in both of your systems.
but this was different. so much time had passed since then — or at least, that’s what it felt like. it’s all been so intense since you first met the pale elf that you hardly believe it’s only been less than a few months.
and in that time, you two had gotten so close, really close. slowly prying each other's heart open with gentle, reassuring hands. something that had forged itself out of forced trust, blooming into a beautiful and vulnerable partnership.
“i’m here.” you whisper, finally looking at him. his eyes soften and you realize at some point you started to caress his cheek. your finger smooths over his soft, smooth skin before his lips meet the palm of your hand, pressing a kiss onto it.
“and thank the gods for that.” he whispers back with a pleased look. his hips were flush with yours, moving in slow and short movements so he didn’t overwhelm you. but every second he filled you up, you could feel the pain subsiding in your lower abdomen.
you let out a soft whine, clenching around him as he starts to go a little faster. his eyes trail from yours and down your neck, looking at the twin marks he left the last time he had you in his embrace.
“astarion-.” you gasp out, savoring the way he continues to roll his hips into you, molding your cunt perfectly to take him and him alone.
“yes, my love?” he whispers, pressing a delicate kiss against your neck, taking every ounce of his self control to not sink his teeth into you. but he was making you feel so much better, one bite couldn’t hurt, right? you tilt your neck to the side to show it off for him. he hesitates. “are you sure?”
“please.” a simple request he wouldn’t leave unfulfilled as his fangs dig into your neck, the same spot he drank from before. he sucks lightly, your mind clouding and filling with nothing but stinging pleasure.
his starts to thrust again — faster this time as he gets lost in the overwhelming sweetness of your blood. it fuels through his body, giving him the strength he normally needs to help keep you safe. but instead, he’s only using it to drive into you harder.
he pulls back from your neck with a gasp like he’s been shocked, blood dripping down the sides of his mouth. his attention shifts, watching his cock disappearing into your cunt, feeling you already start to gush around him, blood starting to soak around his length.
“so sweet.” the words barely leave his lips, but enough for you to hear it. his fingers move down to swirl against your clit, trying to give you the same pleasure you were giving him. “make a mess for me, my sweet.”
words escape you as moans take its place, his name a mantra you can’t stop yourself from repeating. the sting from the bite he gave you was rushing through your veins now, every sense of your nerves being heightened to places it’s never been — overwhelming pleasure coursing through your whole body.
you clench around his cock, squeezing him so tightly he can’t control his hips anymore, rutting against you as the pleasure finally consumes you both.
astarion’s eyes flutter shut as you cum around him, coating his cock in your bloody essence. once you stop fluttering around him, he quickly pulls out and cums all over your lower abdomen.
your head lolls back, coming down from the high he just gave you, aftershocks running down your body. astarion lightly trails his hands along you, a surge of energy overcoming him as he breathes in your scent once again.
“there, now that that’s settled,” he pauses, immediately sliding down and tucking his head back in between your thighs. he licks his lips quickly, his tongue darting across as his feast lays before him. “i’d like to resume my meal.”

taglist : @boogiebooboo @niqhtfell @collin-thegreat @zorosdimples @oikawabi-sabi @mammon-s (happy bday!) @moss-is-a-tasty-snack
#◟˚. ☁️ ⋆ daydreams.#astarion x reader#astarion x you#astarion smut#bg3 x reader#bg3 x you#baldurs gate x reader#baldurs gate smut#baldurs gate astarion#astarion#bg3 smut
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astro thoughts - short n sweet <3 pluto in the house
Pluto in the 1st house - Very strong auras. Could deliberately see through bs a mile away. Not gifted in being friendly, lol just kidding. Their not 'nice' though. And they don't have to be. They don't like faking the funk so this pretty much gives them an interesting outlook on people and they way they see themselves. Can shift the whole room with just their magic. Can be very intimidating to some, but very inspiring to others.
Pluto in the 2nd house - Could have financial issues from time to time. Not likely to say the same thing twice, if they said it once they meant it. Dont bother them again about it. These individuals can use their psychic senses to make money if that is what they wish, they could be very therapeutic to say the least. Give em a chance, they really wouldn't hurt a fly.
Pluto in the 3rd house - There speech is very compelling. They could hold a room with just their words and it could open the minds of a few listening to them. They have a gift in impacting you with just the way that they think, making you beg for more each day at a time.
Pluto in the 4th house - Could of had a transformative experience at home and I don't mean that nicely. There are somethings that should be left unsaid but sometimes things need a reawakening. They don't seem to let things go here.. but why would they? There past is like a haunting story awaiting to be unraveled just so you can piece together the puzzles that we're left unfinished. They are quiet when it comes to their personal life and hide themselves from the world so that you won't get an inkling of what truly is masked behind the bushes.
Pluto in the 5th house - Very deep bonds with their art work and can do a performance like no other. They will have you feeling every bit of emotion in their vibration just to help you feel what the character is feeling. I noticed there are a lot of good actors with this placement. Anywho, they have a powerful presence and when it comes to dating them or even just experiencing them for a little while it can be a transformative, healing experience for people involved with them.
Pluto in the 6th house - Like their martians mates in the 6th house, these people can have a pretty interesting experience here. They have a tendency to be obsessive over what they want so they work as much as they can until the wheels falls off. This could become a problem if they don't think to chill out on working and sacrificing their well being for something out side of themself.
Pluto in the 7th house - Deep, penetrating raw auras. Could be self-reflective on the way they see things, themselves , others and just the world at large. They have a gift of discernment but most of them never use the gift and can get caught up into the wrong things sometimes. There is more than what meets the eye with these individuals. They never let others in so easily, sometimes they're worth the wait. ;)
Pluto in the 8th house - Really good at seeing through things that others just can't seem to pick up on. Really gifted in occult sciences. Have issues with commitment and could have trouble with individuals because of traumatic experiences in past lives or current one. Could have people who want to be around them just to unravel them, but not really want to be with them. Have a very mysterious presence, hard to read.
Pluto in the 9th house - Very interesting and their thoughts can penetrate the mind in so many ways. They will leave you speechless when its all over. They travel to different places all the time but they are pretty good at finding places that match their flow, and love ot bring anyone along for the ride. There just a different layer to them that no one really knows how to explain, but its a gift that keeps giving.
Pluto in the 10th house - Woah. Thats the word to describe em. Its their touch and raw auras that keep you on your knees. VERY strong personas and do not like being talked down on. Could use their experiences/circumstances to their advantage. Gifted and seeing beyond what no one wants to believe is true. They can have the world if they know they got it in them already. Hard headed but gets to the bag with just their two feet. No one else can beat them at their own game.
Pluto in the 11th house - Whew. These people have a spell on the people that no other pluto house placement can compete with. The issue is these people don't know how to use that power but thats not all that bad. They can have people do things for them because something about them just makes people want to do things for them.
Pluto in the 12th house - very odd things comes out of the mind with these individuals. The subconscious/dream world is the most important part of their day to day because it rules the present in a way that cant be controlled but must be felt. How are you doing living a life that no one seems to live? It seems like they are all alone, but the world is calling for them to give them all the answers.
Talk to me in the comments, let me know how yall feelin! <3
#astrology thoughts#astrology theories#astrology#tropical astrology#astrology observations#spirituality#astro observations#astro knowledge#short n sweet astro#deja's astro observations
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Teen MC snapping at Caleb
Context: Yk how when you're teenagers, guys think the only way to flirt with the person they like is by teasing them? Well, imagine if Caleb had an era like this until it went too far and mc finally snapped at him.
Beware: this is gonna be SO BAD. im not a writer at all and english isn't my first language either. its just that i've had this scenario in my head for a few days now and i needed it out of my system. Also, I decided to use they/them pronouns for mc. So its more inclusive that way and also bcs even I personally don't always refer to my mc as she/her. So yeah, for the bitches, bros and non binary hoes.
Imagine this, Caleb and you bantering like usual on your way home but you're having an off day which makes it easier for you to get pissed off and fed up with all the teasing. Unfortunately, Caleb doesn't notice this and keeps teasing you until you just snap.
So mc, exasperated, scoffs at him and turns around to leave with their arms folded across their chest and eyebrows scrunched so hard they almost look like a unibrow.
"I'm done talking you. Go find someone else to pick on, Caleb. I'm not in the mood."
Sensing the sudden shift of mood, Caleb is speechless for a bit and left floundering, looking for the right words to say. He thought this was just your usual banter so why were you suddenly taking the jokes seriously? Hell, he can't let you stay in a bad mood for the entire day because that means he's getting the silent treatment and he'd rather die (well not really but he almost feels like it) than have you completely ignore his entire existence. Again.
He approaches you slowly, using a gentle voice to not alarm you the same way one would with a hissing kitten.
"Pipsqueak? Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry... Tell me what it was and I promise I won't say it again. Don't be mad anymore, we don't want you to develop any more wrinkles, do we?"
And oh, the way you stiffened up, very much reminiscent of a stray cat on full alarm against anybody trying to steal its food. Caleb gulps, knowing somewhere along the lines, he triggered a tripwire and a bomb's about to blow.
"Uhm! You know what, nevermind me! How about we go buy your favorite snack? Oh, what a coincidence your favorite stall is right around the corner-"
You turn around with a glare that makes him immediately shut up, looking like you're about to rip him a new one.
"WRINKLES?! First, you make fun of my height. Calling me pipsqueak around everyone and never shutting your damn mouth about how not a day has passed where I was taller than you. Then you start being weirdly aggressive towards my other guy friends, which by the way, what the fuck? Now most of them won't even talk to me anymore! What is your problem?! And now, you're calling me OLD and UGLY?!"
"I-I never said -"
"Shut your damn mouth and listen to me, Caleb! You have been getting on my nerves lately! I've been trying to convince myself that this is all just friendly banter but sometimes, you go too far that I don't even know if I can still laugh it off! We used to be best friends but now, its so easy for you to make fun of me. I don't know what I ever did to deserve this but oh my god, if you hate me this much then just stop hanging around me!"
Mc is heaving by the end of their entire speech, extremely worked up and upset that they're red in the face. They had been bottling this up for the past few weeks so letting it out almost felt cathartic.
Caleb is stuck in place, throat dry and mouth open but words won't come out. Was that how it's been like for you? Had he taken the jokes too far recently? Maybe it was wrong to listen to the other guys in his class who said that teens tend to fall for guys who act terrible, the bad boy stereotype is popular nowadays.
He looks down, feeling guilty and pathetic that he ended up making you feel like you hated him when you were the person who embodied everything he loved. You made him feel like flying and falling, all at the same time. So how could he hurt you like this? He had to make things right before it was too late.
"I'm sorry. Its all my fault. I shouldn't have said all those hurtful things to you, even if it was a joke or not. At the end of the day, they hurt you and that's not right. Please believe me when I say that I could never hate being around you. That couldn't be more wrong, not when all I ever want to do is be by your side. So please don't tell me to stop hanging around you, just thinking about it feels like my chest is being squeezed that it hurts. I promise I won't make the same mistakes again, so please forgive me?"
He's nervous, fiddling with his hands while he looks you in the eye. He reminds you of a wet puppy under the rain, begging you to bring him home with you. You knew the moment he pulled those puppy dog eyes that you would eventually lose, you could never say no to him. Not when you were kids and not now.
You sigh, shoulders slumping and the frown gone from your face. Now you just look tired, which only makes him more worried, maybe you're tired of him? No, that can't be. What would happen to him if you decide he's not worth keeping around anymore? He just might stop functioning all together.
You turn your back and start walking home, he feels his heart drop thinking this is it. You're leaving him behind– that is until you turn your head to the side, side eyeing him with a blush on your face.
"What're you standing there for, I thought you were going to buy me my favorite snack? Don't get the wrong idea, I'm not forgiving you just yet. Not until I've had my fill."
After that day, Caleb completely changes. Or maybe its more accurate to say he reverted back to how he used to be when you guys were kids. Doting, attentive and extremely supportive. He still banters with you from time to time but he never goes out of his way to start one. Although, there is one thing that doesn't change and that's how over protective he still is, he's still acting like a guard dog and being threatening towards all the guys in your class but at this point, you're just happy to have your best friend back again.
And just like that, Caleb's popularity spikes in your class because suddenly, every girl wants a guy who comes at their beck and call and attends to their needs. No more bad boy persona for them, they just want someone who worships the ground they walk on the same way Caleb does for you.
#lads caleb#love and deepspace#love and deepspace caleb#caleb x reader#l&ds caleb#l&ds imagine#love & deepspace#love & deepsace x reader#i#caleb x mc#caleb x you#they/them mc
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actress!reader and drew attend the oscars
masterlist | actress!reader masterlist
based on the oscars this past weekend. in this case, y/n played margaret qualley’s role of sue in ‘the substance’
Despite the awards not starting until the afternoon, and being followed up by an extravagant after party, Drew and y/n still woke up at the crack of dawn to begin preparing for their long and very hectic day. Neither of them got much sleep the night before anyway, y/n tossing and turning anxiously as the time for the event drew nearer and nearer, causing Drew to stay awake too. It wasn’t as if her anxiety was entirely unwarranted, the pressure of her first Oscar nomination looming in the forefront of her mind.
Despite her worrying, however, the morning flew by in a whirlwind of hair and makeup, jewelry, nails, and stylists, leaving the couple with their final looks for the big night. Drew wore an oversized, 90s-esque pinstripe suit paired with a sprinkle of his most loved jewelry pieces, including a new Cartier timepiece y/n had gotten him for Christmas. Y/n, on the other hand, wore a vibrant, satin pink dress, her hair cascading down the open back. Like Drew, she was adorned with various pieces of jewelry, a golden, back necklace resting along her spine in an homage to the film for which she was nominated that evening, The Substance.
“Wow.” Drew said as he stepped into the bedroom of their hotel suite. Y/n felt her cheeks warm up, avoiding Drew’s gaze as her hairstylist perfected the last strands of her hair.
“You look… I’m speechless.” Drew laughed as he crossed the room, smoothing his fingertips down the skin of her back as he looked at the details of her outfit up close. His eyes on her sent a shiver down her spine, forcing her to straighten before looking back at him. Y/n noticed an eyelash resting on his cheek, and without a second of hesitation, she lifted a manicured finger to brush it away. Drew’s eyes flicked over to her fingertip where the eyelash rested.
“Make a wish.” Y/n whispered, grinning as she held the fingertip to Drew’s lips. His eyes met hers once more before blowing the eyelash away.
“What’d you wish for?” Y/n asked with a quirk of her brow.
“Can’t tell you or it won’t come true.” Drew said with a dramatic shrug, his hand moving to entwine with y/n’s own.
And there it remained throughout the ride from the hotel suite to the red carpet. As they arrived, the bulbs of the photographer's cameras flashed and the cheers of fans grew louder. Drew helped y/n out of the car, his gaze remaining on her as she took in the weight of the moment. He watched the twinkle in her eye with a grin as she looked out over the sea of fans and admirers excitedly looking on.
“You ready?” Drew said lowly, her eyes turning to look up at him before nodding. The two of them made their way down the red carpet, posing for photos and stopping with interviewers along the way, before finally making their way into the venue.
The theatre was already beginning to fill with the faces of celebrities y/n had only imagined being in the same room as. It took everything in her to not turn around right now, run back to the car, and inevitably wake up from this insane dream she was in.
“God.” Y/n said under her breath as her and Drew finally made it to their seats. Drew chuckled as the two of them sat down, lifting y/n’s hand to his lips in a chaste kiss as they settled in for the evening. As the lights finally began to dim, the show began.
Presenters floated across the stage, winners sharing their triumphant speeches, and performers wowed the audience with their talent. As much as y/n tried to focus on the show infront of her, she found it difficult to quiet the constant stream of questions and worries racing through her mind. The room was electric, filling y/n with an odd sense of excitement despite the anxiety in her brain. It all came to a head when it was finally time for her category, Best Supporting Actress.
As the presenter introduced the category, y/n looked over at Drew, who met her with a comforting grin. Even with the hammering in her chest, she felt a bit of pressure lifted knowing Drew was by her side regardless of how the night ended. With a deep inhale, y/n focused her attention back to the stage.
With bated breath, the audience watched as the presenter opened the envelope revealing the winner.
“Y/n Y/ln, The Substance.”
Y/n swore the world stopped the moment the words left the presenter’s mouth, the eruption of cheers fading to nothing as y/n blinked quickly, still in utter disbelief. She looked over at Drew, his eyes wide and the largest smile on his lips. Once she finally made it to her feet, she let out an astonished chuckle before she wrapped her arms around his torso. He squeezed her tightly before pulling away, looking at her with an amazed expression. She lifted her hands to his cheeks, pulling him in for a kiss before she finally turned towards the stage.
On wobbly legs, she wove through the rows of seats until she finally made it onto the stage. As her heels clicked against the stage, she finally lifted her head to look out at the crowd. Countless eyes were all locked on her, their grins all wide and hands all clapping whether she recognized them or not. With a slight gasp, she finally met the presenter on stage. The two of them quickly hugged before she was presented with her award, the gold surface of the Oscar shining brightly under the spotlights above.
Y/n stared down at the award in her hand, sniffling lightly as she admired it before turning to the microphone that stood in front of her.
“Wow, I don’t even know what to say.” Y/n laughed, wiping a stray tear from her under eye. “There’s just so many people I want to thank…”
From the director to the makeup artists to the craftspeople, y/n graciously thanked every person who allowed for the movie to be possible and for her to be up here. Beside the people involved in the film, she thanked the people who helped her along her journey— her journey in the film, as an actress, and as a person.
“Before I finish, I have one more person to thank.” Y/n took a deep breath, her eyes finding Drew’s after searching for only a second. He grinned, his blue eyes glassy as he stared at her proudly.
“My love, my Drew.” Y/n said. “You make me the person I am today and I would not be up here without you and your love, your enthusiasm, and your support. I love you more than I can put into words, so I’m not going to try… thank you.”
With one last smile, y/n was whisked off the stage and ushered back to her seat. The people sitting near her clapped her on the back, sharing their congratulations as she finally made it back to her spot next to Drew.
“Congrats, baby.” Drew said, pulling y/n into a hug. He smoothed a hand down her back, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She melted into his touch, pressing her cheek against his chest as Drew lowered his lips to brush against her ear.
“My wish came true.” He whispered before pulling away with a smirk.
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The ghost war pr1
"Dear Justice leaders, I, King of the infinite realms, high King phantom. Has requested a meeting of the diplomatic level tonight at 6:00 p.m. My fright knights and I will meet you to discuss issues regarding my people please be prepared and await our arrival.""Long reign the king and may the infinite grant us peace and prosperity."
The Justice League was in an emergency meeting that was surprisingly called by John Constantine. Everyone in the League knew about the infinite realms and the terrifying king that ruled. But the knights? They were kept under wraps, they worked in the shadows of the realms.
Now that they know that the King of the infinite realm will be at the Watchtower in minutes? It's terrifying, and the leaguers had all hands on deck and they needed to know what was coming.
John started "there are four knights, but don't let the numbers fool you, one of them could replace an army. They are all undoubtedly loyal to the king and will do whatever he asks."
"The First one is the King's right hand, he is the Red knight. He is the Spirit of Sanctuary and he has Soul Shredder. To put it short when the Soul Shredder cuts someone, they are teleported to an alternate dimension where their greatest fears become real."
"The second one is Sir Wren Hallow, he is the fright knight, and he is the Spirit of Halloween. He used to serve the pariah dark but after king phantom took the crown he began to served him. He is the co-leader of the military and he is more calmed down but is still brutal."
"Then there's the King's sister the Spirit of Freedom. She is the other co-leader of the military, and despite wanting freedom she is ruthless. She is also the unspoken leader of the Fright Knights."
"Last one is The Spectre they are a divine entity representing vengeance on behalf of The Presence, considered God in the context of Abrahamic religion. They are the Spirit of Retribution, and will put the punishment they see fit which 9 times out of 10 isn't bloody Sunshine and rainbows."
After John finished his speech and left the Leaguers speechless. These knights could probably go toe to toe with the league but even Batman had to admit with the king? The Justice League had no chance if it was a fair fight.
Superman was the one to break the silence "Do they have any weakness, or a way to give us a chance?"
Constantine sighed and put his hands in his hair, brushing it back. "No, they have no kryptonite, no rocks or gadgets that could even slow them down. The only thing I can think of is hope we can help the king."
The Justice Leaguers fell back into silence and they waited for about a minute. Then the Watchtower began to get colder and darkness began to swirl into a slow tornado. John eyed the other Leaders and gave them a look them screamed one thing "that's them".
#dc x dp#danny x jason#justice league dark#young justice#Justice League is afraid of Danny#fright night#Fright knight Jazz#Fright knight Jason#ghost king danny
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I had this idea and couldn't get it out of my head lol.
Just a quick lil Joaquín x Reader while I work on the next chapter of Edelweiss :)
Synopsis: Joaquín Torres, always confident and unshakable, can't seem to find words when it comes to the one moment he needs them.
In all your time of knowing Joaquín, there have only been a handful of times where you have seen him genuinely speechless. Once, when you were teenagers and your mother found out he'd been sneaking into your room at night (it had taken years of convincing her that absolutely nothing had happened, he simply couldn't seem to sleep without you). Though, that particular time, he was mostly speechless from fear rather than from unsure of what to say. Another, was when Sam gave him the wings. That had been from excitement.
And now.
His hands tremble in a way you've never seen before, words tumbling from his mouth so fast that you can hardly understand what he's saying. Long gone was the Joaquín that puffs his chest out when someone compliments his skills as the Falcon. Long gone, was the Joaquín that didn't so much as get the nervous sweats before missions with Sam.
"I'm sorry, Joaquín," You start, heart pounding wildly against your ribs, "I'm not quite sure I caught that."
He visibly shudders, looking a little like a deer caught in headlights as realization settles into his eyes.
"Damn it, I forgot the most important part."
He looks angry with himself for a moment, for allowing his nerves to get the best of him. He slams the ring box shut, and says, "Pretend you didn't see this okay?"
You gape, but agree nonetheless.
Finally, after what feels like forever, he settles down on one knee. His big blown eyes glisten with tears as he looks up at you. His hands tremble as he pulls the lid off of the ring box once more, his dress shirt pulling taut around his biceps.
"Um," He starts, breath catching in the back of his throat, "Shit, I had like this whole speech planned. I also, you know, was planning on being on my knee the first time I asked, but you're so beautiful and you're making me so nervous-"
Your eyes flick from the ring to him, then back to the ring. The first thing that crosses your mind, is that he's shaking so hard that you're worried he might need to just sit down and breathe. The second, is that he remembered.
He remembered from all those years ago, back during your freshman year of high school when you offhandedly mentioned your favorite type of ring.
You want to say yes prematurely, want to put this poor boy out of his misery, but he's not finished, so you stay quiet.
Joaquín takes a deep breath, and rolls his broad shoulders back. And then, he reaches out to you, his warm hand engulfing yours. "I remember the exact moment I knew I wanted to marry you. Did you know that? It was when your ma found out about me staying the night in your room sometimes and she forbade me from doing that again. I realized how much it hurt to be away from you at night. I realized how much I wanted to wake up next to you for the rest of my days. I knew I wanted you for the rest of my life, baby. I want to make babies with you and bicker over what to eat for dinner, and I just love you so so much. So...will you marry me?"
"Yes, Joaquín," You cry, getting down to his level. He embraces you, his large palms pressing to your lower back. "I love you."
"I love you, baby," He replies, voice still shaky from nerves. And then...
"Our kids are going to be so badass." He says into your hair.
"Joaquín!"
#joaquin torres fanfiction#joaquin torres imagine#joaquin torres x reader#marvel#falcon#joaquin torres#falcon x reader#joaquin torres fic#danny ramirez#joaquín torres
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Hii! Do you still take requests? I have an idea but i don’t know if anyone has done anything similar. Spencer meets the reader for the first time and does the whole pathogens handshake speech. Reader is like ok got it! And does the french greeting la bise. Reader is confident/flirty and spencer is rendered speechless
spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: just flirting
a/n: in my country we greet everyone this way and i didn’t know it had a name :0 i searched it and my mind blow up loll tysm for sending it hope u like it ^^
Working as a detective in the NYPD didn’t used to be too risky; it was mostly arrests or things like that.
But recently, there was a series of murders (which you were assigned to) that got pretty intense, so the BAU was brought in to help with the case.
“Follow me, the team just arrived,” your boss said, poking his head into your office. You followed him right away.
“Good afternoon, I’m Agent Hotchner. This is Agent Morgan, and our communications liaison, Agent Jareau,” a tall man with dark hair introduced them.
“Nice to meet you. I’m the lead agent,” you said after introducing yourself by name.
“Pleased to meet you. Dr. Spencer Reid is in the conference room, going over the case,” he informed you.
“Go fill him in on what we have,” your boss ordered, and you quickly obliged.
You headed to where Dr. Reid was—at least, that’s what the agent had called him.
You walked in and saw him standing in front of the whiteboard, looking over all the information you’d gathered this past week.
“Pretty tough, huh?” you asked as you approached him.
“What?” He turned to you, looking a little confused. “Oh, yes, it is. All of these cases are.”
“They are.” You introduced yourself by name, reaching out to shake his hand.
“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he replied, looking at your hand a bit awkwardly. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t usually shake hands.”
“Oh,” you raised an eyebrow and lowered your hand, curiosity instantly piqued.
“I didn’t mean to offend! It’s nothing personal—I just…I don’t shake hands with anyone.” He scratched the back of his neck, clearly nervous.
“I’m not offended,” you replied with a playful smile, leaning against the table. “Why not?” you asked, genuinely curious.
“Do you have any idea how many germs get passed around with a single handshake?” he informed you. “Actually, it’s safer to kiss.”
His comment made you raise your eyebrows. “Really?” you asked, smiling with a bit of playful intent.
You leaned in, brushing your cheek against his in a pretend kiss. la bise.
“Is that better, Dr. Reid?” you whispered softly near his ear before pulling back and leaning against the table again.
“Oh- I- uh- no,” Spencer stammered, clearly flustered.
That made you smile, and you decided to tease him a little.
“No? What do you mean by no?” you raised an eyebrow, moving a little closer.
“I didn’t mean ‘no’ exactly, it was—it’s just—umm…”
“Because if that didn’t work, I could give you a more appropriate one” you replied with a grin.
Spencer’s eyes went wide, and you were sure you could see him blushing from miles away.
You laughed. “I’m joking, Doctor,” you gave him a meaningful look.
“Are you?” he blinked rapidly.
“Would you like me not to be?” you asked, smiling.
“Well, I—” Spencer was cut off by his boss arriving in the doorway.
“What do we have?” Agent Hotchner walked in, taking off his jacket and settling in, signaling that your little game was over.
“Thirst,” you said, stepping away from Reid with a small smile. “I’m going to get some water. Anyone else?”
“I’d appreciate it,” Hotch replied.
“And you, germ boy?” you asked, looking at Spencer.
“No- I- I’m fine,” he looked away, clearly flustered.
“Of course you are,” you said, turning on your heel to leave.
#criminal minds#spencer reid#request#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds x reader#mathew gray gubler#mgg#mathew gray gubler x reader#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fanfiction#x reader#spencer reid x fem!reader
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✨Saving What Was Lost Part 8: Keep Me From Drowning✨
Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist
A/N: This fic just keeps getting softer, and I love writing in Joel’s POV 🥹 I hope you enjoy this one, lovelies. I put my whole heart into this one 🩷
Chapter Summary: Joel helps you brave the bath.
Rating: 18+ only MDNI
Word Count: 5.2k
Tag list: Soft! Joel, angst, yearning, dual POV, age gap (reader late 20’s, Joel late 40’s), mentions of violence and kidnapping, Joel helps reader take a bath, words of affirmation, slow burn
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
The end of December comes to a rapid halt as white snowflakes fall from the sky. The ground is blanketed in a thin layer of snow, Christmas lights still strewn around the house. It’s that weird middle ground where it’s not quite the new year, but just about there. It’s quiet, still—just how he likes it.
Christmas was a little more bright this year, a little more merry now that you were here. Your smile was so wide when you helped make Christmas cookies with Sarah. Tommy and Maria were sprawled on the couch in a thick blanket, drinking eggnog. And Joel was just happily watching his little girl bond with the woman he saved. The woman he fell for.
Oh, and the way your eyes went extremely wide when he brought you out front and showed you the brand new sparkling white Nissan Rogue he bought just for you? The look on your pretty face was priceless. You were speechless, dumbstruck, and he accidentally made you cry when he handed you the shiny keys.
“But I’m not… I’m not ready,” you had said, doe eyes glossy and bright. “And you… Joel. You didn’t. That’s not my car.”
He just nodded his head up and down and smiled brightly at you, placing the keys in your palm and closing your fingers over them. “You’ll be ready. One day. And yes, it’s yours. Brand new, jus’ for you.”
“But I…”
“None of that, sweetheart. It’s a gift, so please, take it. I want you to have it. I want you to...” His speech was cut off by tears running down your face. He carefully, gently brushed one away with the pad of his thumb just as a tiny snowflake kissed your cheek.
Beautiful. You’re so fucking beautiful with snowflakes gathering on your eyelashes. Like a sparkling star in the night sky.
Your eyes melted, and the look of pure wonder and awe made you shine that much brighter. You were glowing as bright as the twinkling red and green lights on the roof. You were shining all shades of the rainbow which made him smile just a little wider. Just for you.
It’s funny—that fuzzy feeling he gets in the pit of his stomach each time you smile. It seems to light him up, seems to make him feel weightless when that lilty laugh slips from your lips. He didn’t ask for much for Christmas. All he wanted was for you to have the best Christmas ever, and he thinks you did.
You seemed to fill the void in his heavy heart this season. The perfect Christmas gift, he thinks.
Nightfall slips across the dark skies outside, painting shadows across the white walls. The crackle of the living room fire pops every few seconds, embers flaring deep reds across the wood. He’s got his feet kicked up on the coffee table—one leg crossed over his knee, his phone lit up in the palm of his hand. It’s quiet tonight, a little peaceful. No calls to take, no runs to make. He can just kick back, relax, and watch the full moon light up the starry sky outside his floor to ceiling windows.
Just when he starts to ease into the leather of the couch, he hears your soft footsteps pattering down the stairs, squeaking with every step you take. When he looks up, his face drops when he sees you standing in front of him—your bottom lip pouting out, fresh tears in your eyes, a half-open bottle of lavender soap in your hand, a folded towel in the other.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asks softly, afraid to scare you away.
You blink up at him and whimper out quietly, “I tried. I just… I can’t do it. I can’t…”
Before you shed another tear, he leans forward and sets his phone on the coffee table, eyes straight on you. “You need some help?” Your watering eyes and tiny sniffles make him weak. If it were up to him, he’d scoop you up in his arms right this very second so he could hug away all your fears.
The bottle of soap trembles in your tight grip, your pink lips just as shaky. “Please.” It’s barely a whisper, but it’s a plea, nonetheless.
“Alright, sweetheart. C’mon.” He pushes off the leather couch, throwing you an easy smile. And when he makes his way up the stairs, you follow right on his heels, your little whimpers filling the space between the two of you.
Looking behind himself, he keeps glancing back to make sure you’re still there. But you are and every time he does, you’re looking up at him with big puppy eyes, so beautiful even through the shades of blues that try to swallow you whole. Even through all the trauma and affliction, the shadows can’t take your beauty. It can’t stop the potential he sees swimming in your eyes.
You’re gonna fly, just like he said. And he means it. You’re gonna soar like the invisible fairy wings you have spread across your back. You don’t see them, but he does—sparkling like the December snow, glistening with sprinkled glitter and gold. You’re gonna fly so high, sweetheart, he thinks to himself.
When he enters your bathroom, the fluorescent lights shine down on the evidence of your distress—the shampoo bottle knocked to the tile floor, the shower head dangling from the coiled cord, the clear shower curtain pulled halfway off the rod, another towel strewn across the sink. You certainly had a hell of a time trying to make it into the tub, but his face softens when he glances back and sees your trembling form from the open doorway.
“I’m sorry for the mess,” you murmur out lowly, your voice barely above a whisper, eyes cast downward like a dog getting scolded.
He takes a step forward and barely grazes his calloused fingers under your chin, till you lift your eyes to his. He sucks in a breath from how your eyes seem to be glowing against the fluorescents of the lights shining above the sink. You’re such a vision, even through the tears. “Don’t say that, sweetheart. You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for.” Your bottom lip quivers as you stare in wonder at him, a soft glow casting his way.
You’re such a fucking angel.
“Here, let me.” He reaches out to grab the bottle of lavender soap from your hand and slowly starts to put the bathroom back in order—fixing the shower curtain, placing the shampoo and soap bottles on the edge of the porcelain tub, setting your towel in a neat pile by the tub, adjusting the shower head back where it belongs.
He feels you watching him like a hawk, your eyes fixed on every careful movement he makes like he’s an artist crafting a sculpture. When he gazes back after he’s got the bathroom in order again, his chest tightens when you look at him with that longing mirrored in your glossy irises. It’s like you’re reaching out for him, even though you’re standing still. Your eyes tell stories; he can almost grasp the edge of the first page, can almost smell the crisp paper turning, beckoning him to listen.
Taking his eyes off you for just a few seconds, he turns the clear faucet until hot water comes running out. Mixing in the lavender soap, he lets it fill to almost the top of the tub, the steam billowing out like winter fog over a glassy lake. When he cuts the water off, he turns back to you and nods toward the tub. “It’s all yours, sweetheart.”
Your throat bobs, and there’s that look in your eyes again. The tears brimming to the surface, your lips twitching out a response. “Thank you, Joel.”
With one more nod of his head, he takes his exit, but he stops at the doorway and turns, just inches from your shoulder. “I’ll be right outside, okay?”
You gulp down on nothing and whisper, “Okay.” When he walks through the threshold and shuts the door, he leans against the frame of it, his head flush against the solid oak as he blows out a breath of relief. He believes in you, believes you can face the fears of your haunted past. One day at a time, he knows you’ll make it just fine one of these days. Whether he’s here or not. His chest stings thinking about you leaving, not being here one day.
Please, don’t leave. Stay. Just stay.
He hears the hesitant splash of water as you slip into the tub from the other side of the door. It doesn’t take long to hear your shaky cries. Closing his eyes, he exhales slowly, tries to block out the waves of hurt you’re feeling.
It’s one of those bad nights. You don’t always have them. You’ve been doing so good lately. Not as many nightmares that tear him from his bed, not many meltdowns that send him running your way. You’ve made so much progress, but tonight’s one of those setbacks that keep you frozen in time.
Placing his palm on the door, he lets out a breath and prays you can feel his touch through the closed door. Just one calming, gentle touch that he desperately wants to give you. He’ll let it slip through the cracks, permeate through the billowing steam of the tub until it makes its way to your cheek. Just one caress. The back of his knuckles brushing against you. Would that be enough to let you know you’ll be just fine, that you’re safe with him?
That’s the tricky part, the boulder that’s blocking the way in. He can’t touch you when that’s all he wants to do. Not in a sexual way, but in that gentle, loving way he so desperately wants you to feel.
You deserve to feel that. Deserve to feel wanted, important, beautiful, safe. And goddamn it, you’ll have those one day. If that’s the last thing he does. He’ll take all that pain and turn it into something beautiful—like the glitter of your invisible wings. Wings he sees.
Just as he takes a step forward, he stops dead in his tracks when he hears the faint trace of his name through the crack under the door. And then he hears it—your tears raining down into the bubbles, crashing like thunder through his entire system. With one hand braced on the doorknob, he waits for just a second. Just to make sure what he heard wasn’t ghosts whispering lies through his eardrums. But there it is again—the call of his name, a desperate plea to make the pain stop.
Without another thought, he’s ripping open the door to find you curled up like a ball in the tub—your head between your legs, back hunched, droplets of water dripping down your delicate skin. He tiptoes over, careful not to scare you, cautious not to spiral that fear that’s ingrained like a tattoo deep under your skin.
Dropping to his knees at the edge of the tub, he lets his elbows scrap against the porcelain, reaching out just enough to let you know he’s right there where you need him. “Sweetheart?”
You curl in on yourself a bit more, letting tiny whimpers slip from your pretty lips. You don’t respond with words because you’re too lost in the fog of a distant nightmare, stuck under the roaring waves as your fears drag you under the dark depths where he can’t quite reach you.
He reaches out again, desperate to pull you free. “Sweetheart, hey. Look up. Please.” But nothing. No response, no movement. You’re just there. Trapped.
And so, he reaches once more, but to no avail. You’re too far gone. “I can’t reach you from there. Can you jus’ try for me? Can you move jus’ a bit closer so I can help you?”
Still nothing. You’re there but really, you’re in a far away place. Trapped in hell, reliving those horrible images over that you had to endure all alone.
He shuts his eyes for just a second, breathes in the lavender scent that’s permeating around him. When he opens his eyes, he steadies himself and locks his jaw. His eyes flick to the bubble-filled tub and back to the door—like he’s tossing between one choice and the other. Another scan of his eyes, another deep breath.
Flip. Flip. He somersaults between what he should and shouldn’t do. Leave you in here all alone to sulk or save you from yourself. One more flick of his eyes to your curled-up body, and he’s making a conscious decision. He chooses to save you. He’ll always choose you.
Unbuttoning his blue flannel, he drapes it over the clear rack next to the tub, right beside your olive-shaded towel. His leather boots come next and then his socks. He’s left in only the white t-shirt that strains against his flexed muscles and a pair of old denim jeans. But he won’t take those off. No. That’d be sending a message—one he doesn’t want sent. So he’ll drown with you in the bathtub, soggy jeans and all. But this time, he’ll keep you floating at the top.
Slowly, carefully, he slips into the back of the tub, immersing himself under the bubbles while his jeans soak through. Far enough away from alarming you, yet close enough to reach you now.
You flinch at the splash of him, but you’re still so far gone that you barely register he’s there in the bathtub with you.
Let me help, sweetheart, he thinks to himself. Let me cover you in my wings and drown out the noise. Let me keep you safe.
“Sweetheart?” he murmurs lowly, barely reaching an arm out so he can catch your attention. When you turn your head and look up through your tear-stained eyelashes, your eyes widen a bit, like you never realized he slipped right in.
“Joel?” It’s barely a whisper, barely a scratch of a noise over your sniffling, but there’s something swimming in your glassy irises. A plea for help, like you want him to pull you in and hug away the nightmares of your past.
“It’s me,” he says gently. Another splash of a tear reaches the surface of the water, creating a ripple effect across the top.
You don’t move; you just stare into the void, roaming your eyes over his drenched clothes. “Your clothes. They’re soaked…”
He gives you a soft smile and leans against the tiled wall. “S’okay. Nothing the washer can’t fix.” You just stare at him wide-eyed, your lips trembling as you take in his words—like you can’t believe he’d be so considerate because he’s almost positive no one has ever considered your feelings but him.
“Why would you do that…” And then the tears swim in your eyes like a whirlpool—uncontrollable where he can’t stop them. He knows. He knows no other man has done the same as he has with you. Instead they tore you apart, took advantage of your frail body while they could sink their teeth into you.
He reaches out to brush his thumb against your cheek, swiping a tear away as he gazes at you with sad eyes. “‘Cause I need to make you feel safe, sweetheart. I’d never…” He stops to clear his throat, to get ahold of himself before he breaks down too. “I’d never hurt you. Ever. I heard you call my name outside the door. Heard the plea in your voice and I jus’ knew you needed me. So here I am.”
You blink back tears, registering his words as they slip through your mind. And when you finally come to terms with them, you give him a sad smile and hand him the purple washcloth.
Taking the damp material, he coaxes you closer, just so he can reach you. “C’mere, sweetheart. Slide back for me jus’ a little. There ya go,” he says quietly, letting you situate yourself between his open legs. Still far enough away not to have your back flush to his chest, just close enough to where you’re comfortable. He’s always been so careful about that—your boundaries. Always quick to put bright orange cones up when he needs to, but never willing to cross the lines.
The first brush of the washcloth across your back makes you flinch, makes tears well in your eyes, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. “Hey, s’okay. You’re okay,” he coaxes as he eases up and slowly draws the washcloth back for a second, long enough for you to nod that you’re okay.
Carefully, he strokes the soapy washcloth across your arms, gently gliding over old, faded scars across your back. But when he hits the crevice of a faint scar on the top of your right shoulder, you shudder.
“Hey, did I hurt you?” he asks carefully, like he’s walking on broken glass.
You shake your head back and forth, tears welling in your eyes. “No, no. Just…”
He stops his movements, lets the washcloth drop into the sudsy bubbles, but he still hovers his fingers over where the scar is outlined with red. “Jus’ what?” He tries not to nudge, tries not to pry too far into the past, but he’s already standing with glass shards lodged into his skin.
With one more deep inhale, you let out a quiet sob. “The scars. They’re so… ugly. I can’t stand to look at them because they remind me…” you choke on your words but spit them out. “Remind me how worthless they made me feel. How unbeautiful they said I was each time they dragged glass and their nails through my skin…”
His eyes widen in horror while you fall apart in front of him, hanging your head low while you tremble from the tears. He’s furious, enraged at every single man that ever laid a finger on you and made you feel like you were useless. You’re not just a body, not a woman who can be toyed with. You’re… amazing and so strong and so fucking beautiful. And he’ll spend every day trying to prove to you that you’re not any of those things they made you feel.
“Sweetheart…” He brushes the tip of his thumb against the faint scar, tracing it like he can just sweep it away. You flinch, but you don’t pull away. You just let his hand warm your chilled skin. “These scars may be deep, may fade with time, may always be there. But I want you to listen to me very carefully.” You tilt your head toward the right, enough to where your eyes meet his. You’re listening, so he continues on. “They do not mark you as worthless or anything else those useless pricks told you. The way I see it is, they show me just how strong and brave you are. How important and valuable you are. And jus’ how…”
Your breath catches as you watch him dip his head down—so close to your scar on your shoulder, so close to knocking you off your center just once more. He hovers right over the jagged scar and ghosts his lips over the curve of your shoulder, just enough to scrape his lips over your skin. Enough to stay in a boundary, but close enough to whisper a kiss over the faded scar that tells you lies.
“How beautiful they make you,” he whispers out, breathing his promise over the dip of your shoulder, sealing it with the brush of his thumb until he leans back and drops his hand against the side of the tub.
The way your eyes stare back at him—tears swimming in your eyes—makes his chest clench. Those beautiful doe eyes that tug at his heart. You’re just silently watching him, drinking in his words, letting your own hand trace against the scar on your shoulder—the one Joel just brushed his lips over. And he meant it, every single word off his lips. You’re so beautiful, scars and all. Blooming flowers in a big green field, blossoms as bright as the sun. You’re sunshine—gold and angelic. That’s what he thinks of you. Pure sunlight.
After a few minutes of just looking at each other, you turn back around and let him continue stroking the washcloth over your skin. Letting his fingers lather shampoo through your hair, groaning as he works the suds through your scalp. He knows it must feel good, has to be nice to let someone else take care of you for once.
Take care of you. Is this the first time someone really did that for you? Is this…
You interrupt his thoughts as he pours a bucket of water over your hair, washing away all the shampoo into the tub. “Joel?”
“Hm?” he hums, repeating the motion once more with the bucket.
“How can I…” You struggle to find the right words to say. “The shower head. How do I… I still can’t take a shower. Still can’t stand to look at it. How do I break that cycle?”
He pinches his brows together and drops the bucket over the side of the tub, his palm gliding over the smooth porcelain as he thinks. “Well, you jus’ take it one step at a time. And when you look at that metal shower head, you pull on a brave face and glare right back at it. And when the fear feels like it’s eating you alive, you growl right back and tell it you’re a force to be reckoned with. You’re brave and strong and powerful. It can’t touch you.”
Slouching over, you tug your knees closer to your chest as the bubbles gather around you. “But I don’t feel brave right now. I mean, I couldn’t even start the bath by myself. Couldn’t even wash my own hair…” And then the tears start raining down like a thunderstorm, lightning wielding in the distance. The dark clouds are back with full force, but he won’t let them keep you covered.
“Hey,” he nudges you, brushing the back of his knuckles over the middle of your back. “S’okay to have bad days. It’s okay to ask for help,” he murmurs as another teardrop leaks into the tub.
“I feel like I’m drowning,” you shakily whisper, letting the words run down the tile walls.
He closes his eyes for just a second, until his chest stops burning from the weight of your words. If you’re drowning then he’ll plunge under the cold waves and reach for you, until you’re safe on land.
Taking his calloused fingers, he gently brushes them across the scars on your back, carefully tracing each jagged line as he carves the word beautiful in place of those old scars. “You can stop treading water, sweetheart. I’ll keep you floating. You don’t have to fear drowning anymore. I’ve got you, sweet girl. I’ve got you.”
And just like that, a few seconds later after his words have sunk into your skin, you’re slipping deeper into the tub but instead of letting your head submerge under water, you rest your head carefully on the top of his left thigh, giving up all your fears to the man that so graciously saved you from drowning. You relax into him, letting your wet hair hang over his denim-clad thigh, resting against the rock that’s kept you from sinking once again.
He lets out a long sigh, his lips tugging into a small smile as he gazes down to see you let your guard down just for a few minutes to fully trust him. It’s an intimate moment—a lapse in time where you’re able to fully take off your armor just for these few seconds. The world outside can wait. Because right here, in this tub, is like nothing you’ve experienced before. Your trust is so fragile, so very delicate like a piece of glass. But he’s proven his loyalty, proven he has no intention of hurting you. The only thing he’s done is made you truly believe there’s still good in the world. He’s good. Joel is.
He keeps still, afraid to move, afraid to ruin this delicate moment. But as the seconds tick by, he can’t help but to carefully let his right arm reach out, let his hand fall into your damp locks. And as slowly as he can, he cautiously starts to stroke the crown of your head, all the way to the back of your neck in repeated, fluid motions.
Intimacy is a scary thing, but this moment right now is sacred, so very affectionate. It could break at any moment, but you don’t move. You just close your eyes and revel in the feel of his palm tracing hearts across your scars, letting him stroke his fingers through your locks as you breathe in the woodsy scent that makes up Joel Miller.
His delicate strokes falter for just a second as he asks, “When’s the last time someone took care of you?”
You open your eyes and blink a couple times, your mind blank when you whisper, “Never…”
He gently brushes a falling tear off your cheek and nods. “Let me take care of you then, sweetheart. I want to take care of you.”
Hugging your arms tightly around his calf, you curl your weight into him and close your eyes so no more tears fall.
Let me take care of you. Those words flood through your mind until all you can remotely think of are the softest brown eyes you ever did see. All you ever wanted was someone to care enough. You never thought it’d be a man like Joel Miller. But here he is—a giant teddy bear you never want to let go of. He’s exactly what you’ve always needed.
Soft. He’s so fucking soft for you, and you think you’re just as soft for him…
You stay like that for maybe half an hour, hugging your arms around his muscular calf and leaning your head against his strong thigh, enjoying the languid strokes of his calloused fingers against your scalp. Whatever cage that was holding you hostage minutes ago broke free whenever he ghosted his lips over your scar, calling you beautiful instead of the vile things those awful men called you.
Beautiful. Even through all the jagged scars and trauma, Joel sees right through them. He sees you. Not as a broken woman that can’t be fixed, but one that’s strong and fierce and full of potential. He sees you like no one else has before, and that’s more than you could’ve ever asked for.
“C’mon, sweetheart. Water’s gettin’ cold. Let’s get you up.” He unwinds your arms from his leg and reaches for the olive-colored towel, wrapping you in warmth while he helps you up from the now frigid water. You just gawk at him because his clothes are sopping wet, dripping down onto the bathtub mat, but he doesn’t even seem to mind. He only seems to be worried about you.
So you reach for another folded towel and place it in front of him. “Here, you’re soaked, Joel. Please, take it.”
He glances down to your outstretched hand and slowly takes it, a warm smile reaching across his lips. “Thanks, sweetheart. You’re a doll.” You give him a half smile and hug the towel tighter against your body, trying your best to warm up.
When he notices you visibly shaking, he places another towel around your shoulders and rings out the water droplets that keep dripping down your back. “Better?” he asks after he’s taken the time to squeeze out the excess water in your hair.
You nod, throwing him another soft smile. “Better.”
His eyes fall to the blue flannel draped over the rack. He slowly reaches for it and stirs something over in his mind, until his eyes flick back to yours. “Here. You keep it, sweetheart. I know how much you like my flannels. Might keep you warm.”
Your lips part in awe, your words lost as your fingers slide over the soft material. “Joel, no. I can’t. You’ve already—”
He pushes it into your open hand and curls your fingers around it. “Keep it. You can give it back if you want, but tonight jus’ keep it. Okay?”
As you tighten your hold on the blue flannel, you sniffle back a tear and nod, accepting the gift. “Okay.”
A warm smile curls against his plush lips and then he’s sliding the back of his knuckles against your hand, an affectionate gesture that makes your heart clench. “Attagirl,” he smiles. “Well, I’m gonna go change into some dry clothes. I’ll come check on you in a few minutes, okay?”
You nod and watch him walk off, leaving you alone with the sound of a draining tub and his soft flannel curled in your palm. Lifting the flannel to your nose, you inhale his woodsy scent, pretend you’re still wrapped around his leg while he strokes his fingers through your hair. You almost wish he was still in here with you—his hand gliding through your locks, words of affirmation leaving his lips.
He makes you feel so good—like someone who matters. Like you’re someone that’s worth loving…
Love. Could he ever love you? Could you ever love him? You’re not really quite sure of anything nowadays, but you sure would like to try…
After fussing with the tangles in your hair and raking the toothbrush across your teeth, you’re snug in Joel’s flannel with a pair of blue pajama bottoms to go with it. And when you slide back downstairs to see what Joel’s up to, you see he made you a cup of hot chocolate. But not just any hot chocolate. It’s Joel’s specialty topped with extra marshmallows and whipped cream—one of your new favorite things.
“Thought you’d wanna warm up with a cup of hot chocolate and maybe a movie?” he asks, hope filling his big brown eyes.
Curling your fingers around the warm glass, you give him a soft smile. “I’d love that.”
With one more smile, he leads you into the living room and turns on the flat-screen tv, the fire crackling in the near distance. And when he hands you the remote, you push it back and shake your head. “This time I’ll let you pick.”
“Alright, sweetheart. This time I’ll pick.”
This time, you sit on the same couch as him, just inches apart. And halfway through, you start to doze off and end up sprawled over the couch, your head on his knee. You don’t miss those soft, light strokes of his fingers or the gentle way he says your name through the fog. This time, it feels like more. Feels like this is bubbling into much more than you would’ve thought.
Feels like your heart just made its decision that he was made to find you…
He’s got such a soft spot for you, just like you do for him. Maybe this could be more. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll fall for you the way you’re falling for him. Slowly but oh so easily.
He feels like home.
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#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#pedro pascal#joel miller fic#joel x female reader#joel miller tlou
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“I can’t sleep. I just think of you.”
(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader
Suggestion by the wonderful @nebulastarr / Rupert realises he’s in love with reader.
Sorry if this seemed a bit long winded, I just like a slow burn ya know.
18+ FANFIC / No smut, just a few lewd references & a soft, soppy mess 🫶🏽 Blood mention! Reader character aged 21. Please request any pieces you want! Just hit my ask box with a character and/or suggestion 💋
Whilst chopping a medley of large misshapen onions, the incessant ticking of your dining room grandfather clock taunted you — a constant reminding of passing time. You had been seeing Rupert Campbell-Black for a few weeks now. Well, you say seeing, more-so arriving at Penscombe Court as soon as he clicked his fingers, spreading your legs and letting him blow off steam. All truth be told, you hated being his personal call girl but you believed there was something so much more to it. You’d seen the way he’d glared at you as you unclipped your bra, eyes ablaze with passion. The way he touched you was no longer fuelled with lust, but was intricate and gentle — the tender touch of a man so eager to please such a dainty woman. Was he really beginning to fall for you, or is it wishful thinking? Seeing his chest rise and fall as he slept beside you kept you awake, speechless by the serenity of such a raucous man. Watching his lips contort as he laughed at your hopeless jokes, most likely out of pity, but sent a chill through you nonetheless. You were beginning to… grow rather fond of him.
Right on time, three firm knocks on the door made you jump, and you jolt slightly, scratching a wonky line into your chopping board. Before waiting for a response, Rupert entered the wooden door of your cottage and lowered himself into the kitchen. Leaning against the doorframe, he took a long pull of his cigarette, casting his carven face in an ashy amber glow. “Afternoon.” You chirp, pumping your speech with fake enthusiasm. Rupert replied only with a suave wink as he puffed once more on his cigarette. “I thought I’d cook first.” You respond to yourself, motioning to the variety of fresh vegetables laden across your kitchen countertop. “Oh darling, I haven’t come here for that.” Rupert chortled, his eyes following your every move. You felt your eyes subconsciously roll back to the back of your head.. you could call out his bullshit straight away.
“I’ve just been to look at a horse. Beautiful. Thoroughbred. And the woman advertising her was just gorg-“ He began, evidently trying to rile you. You felt your hand tighten around the large kitchen knife as you kept your eyes focused on your chopping board .. feeling your slices get more and more harsh by the second. “I don’t… want to hear it, Rupert.” You bark, gently placing down your knife and momentarily turning round to face him. You want him to see the jealousy flooding your eyes green. Rupert knew exactly what he was doing. Fighting back the most marvellous smirk, he lowered the cigarette from his mouth to add fuel to the fire, but decided against it.
Continuing to prepare your unromantic meal, your heart pounded furiously and the repetitive thump of blood coursing through your body blurred any other sound from your ear. “I wasn’t interested anyway, angel. She was all over me like a rash.” The chiselled man continued to coax vexation from you. Who the fuck does he think he is? Coming into your house and telling you about- “Fuck!” You bellowed. Your frantic chopping had gone rather wrong— the pure spiteful mess of Rupert’s words had riled you so heavily that you had miscalculated the direction of your knife and chopped straight into your finger. Blood crept into the natural layers of the onion, and began to seep into the wooden cutting board. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You scream again, applying pressure to your finger with the nearest tea towel, immediately soaking it. And of course, you feel your body weakening and your mind dizzying. You do NOT like blood. Springing into action, Rupert stood directly behind you, using his body as a human shield as you inevitably fell into him, just on the brink of fainting. “Are you okay, angel?” He whispered, taking control of the tea towel, squeezing it tight onto your finger and placing a gentle kiss upon your forehead. But the words he spoke sounded too heavy to make any coherence in your head and your vision grew thicker and hazier.
What felt like an eternity later, you awoke on your sofa, head propped up on a pillow and covered in thick, woollen blankets. “Rupert?” You croak, and look down at your finger. Perfectly cleaned up, and wrapped securely in bandages. The bitter smell of TCP filled your nose and made you wince. “I’ve disinfected it. I managed to save your finger, but the onions are a little worse for wear I’m afraid.” He mocked, and took a gentle seat beside you. You managed to push out a chuckle, and sat yourself up on your elbows. “You scared me, angel. Please be careful next time.” Rupert warned, waving a cautionary finger in your face. How dare he! “Are you serious, Rupert? The only reason I cut my finger in the first place is because you come in here, gloating about a woman being all over you. Shoving it into my face like I’m supposed to care…” You can feel fury coursing through your veins and attempt to speak in the most coarse tone possible, but you still feel incredibly weak and hunker back down half way through. Your usually supple porcelain skin has been drained of blood, and your limbs tremble under your weight.
“Shh, shh, angel. You need to relax.” Rupert speaks in a hushed tone — one so soft and gentle that it feels otherworldly from his lips. He caresses your mottled cheek with the back of his hand and just.. freezes. His cerulean orbs study you intensely, admiring every freckle. Every crinkle of your nose. Every misplaced hair on your head. “I didn’t come to have sex with you, you know, angel.” He murmurs, hand unmoving from your cheek. Your breath catches in your throat — too afraid to exhale. Even the sound of your breathing will be much too loud of an interruption. “Seeing you hurt like that… it was as though it hurt me too. All of a sudden, I feel this great wave of protection flow through me. I think of you constantly, you’ve infiltrated my mind. I can’t sleep. I just think of you.” Rupert blurted out, filled with unwavering confidence and an expression of adoration.
“Rupert…” You begin, but there are simply no words to say. This is what you have craved to hear all along. “I feel as though I cannot shake you. You are a part of my soul.” He whispers softly now, placing your hand on his chest to feel the rapid thumping of his heartbeat.
“He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” - Wuthering Heights
#rivals#rivals fanfic#rivals fanfiction#rupert campbell black#rupert campbell-black#alex hassell#Rupert & taggie#Rupert and Taggie#ily rupert#my own dreadful writing
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When I tell you I am still so speechless over this episode.
When I tell you I am thinking about Mark who we know really ingrained Nolan's speech back in s1, only see that Nolan looks like he meant every word. That Mark was replaceable, his mother was just a pet. When I tell you I'm constantly thinking about Mark, who only saw his father cry over a planet he's only known for months, and not the family he's had for years. When I tell you I'm thinking about Mark finally calling Nolan 'dad' again only to be immediately choked and yelled at. When I think about the parallels of s1's fight and this one.
#invincible season 2#invincible spoilers#invincible show#invincible s2#invincible series#nolan grayson#mark grayson#invincible fanart#my art!#staring into the abyss about this episode#head full of TV static waiting for a signal#invincible#invincible rotating in my mind#procreate art#procreate#digital artist#digital art#fanart#and listen: I know Nolan had cried over both but Mark never saw him cry over earth or him or anything#Nolan is complex and damn he is so god damn interesting to me but MAN is Mark being pulled through the emotional shredder#and a physical one#BEHOLD! an art tag for my art :]#the brainrotsreal's art tag ✧˖°:*♡
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Iᖴ YOᑌ ᑕᗩᑎ'T ᗷEᗩT TᕼEᗰ - ᒍOIᑎ 'Eᗰ
Part 2
Summary: Gojo Satoru is known for being a flirt, but what happens when he gets a taste of his own medicine?
Content: Fluff, Flirt! Gojo, Female! Reader (AFAB), Gojo getting flustered, Teen! Gojo x Teen! Reader (Reader is the same age as Gojo)
Word Count: 778

It was well known that the infamous head of the Gojo-clan was a huge flirt. And understandably so. He was a striking young man with good looks that could rival the ones of even the Greek gods. Not to mention the personality to match.
He was a cocky little bastard. Always using his good-looks to his advantage. Didn't feel like paying the regular price for a double scooping of ice cream? - He'd just charm the vendor into giving him a "customer discount". Wanted to get into the VIP lounge of some club? - No problem. One wink, paired with a flirty comment towards the security was all it took for him to waltz right in like he owned the place.
Everyone knew he liked having things his way. After all, no one had ever opposed the strongest. And gotten away with it at least-
You supposed that's what ultimately resulted in his unique personality. . .
His boyish charm worked on almost anyone.
Except you.
There were only a handful of people that could resist Satoru's charming attitude and you were one of them. And for some reason it only made you a target more than everyone else.
But could you really blame Satoru for wanting to make the cute new girl wrapped around his fingers?
He just found you so interesting (not to mention adorable) whenever you rolled your eyes at his flirty pick-up line, brushing him off as if he wasn't the Satoru Gojo.
You were absolutely perfect.
One could only imagine the look on his face when you actually responded to his flirty comments.
"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" Satoru spoke in his usual charming tone as he leaned over your desk. "Don't you have someone else to bother Gojo?" Raising your head from the book you were reading, Satoru was met with your unamused expression. Letting out a dramatic sigh, Satoru answered. "No. Suguru's out on a mission and Yaga-sensei called Shoko to his office not too long ago. Said something about practicing for a medical exam, whatever that means." "Which means that you, sweet girl, get to spend the evening with yours truly." He added, flashing you his signature boyish grin. Rolling your eyes at his comment, you said sarcastically. "Gee. How lucky am I?" Grinning like the dork he was, Satoru completely dismissed your unenthusiastic tone and simply carried on with his 'speech'. "Don't get too excited now. I wouldn't want Suguru getting jealous." "But then again- Who wouldn't get jealous over the lovely little lady that gets to spend the evening with me?" He continued on with his 'speech'. Letting out a defeated sigh, you looked up at the white haired sorcerer. What was that old saying again? If you can't beat them - join 'em. "Y'know what.." You spoke up, capturing Satoru's attention. "You're absolutely right." "Oh?" The boy hummed, raising a brow at your response. Had he finally gotten to you? "Definitely." You chirped, shifting in your seat. "Heh, I knew you'd see it eventually." Gojo commented, his cocky grin resurfacing once more. "After all, it was only a matter of time till you fell for m-" His words were suddenly cut off by your hand tugging his shirt and getting him down to your level. Cerulean eyes meeting yours, Satoru could feel his heart picking up its pace at your close proximity. His breath hitched as he saw you lean in, till your noses were almost touching. "What's wrong, pretty boy?" You cooed, your grin matching the one on his face just a few moments ago. "Cat got your tongue?" There were no words to describe how fast Satoru's heart was beating in that very moment. Nor how lightheaded your words, and actions, made him feel. If his blood pressure didn't kill him you would. For once in his entire life. Satoru was left speechless. Chuckling at the flustered state you'd left him, you gently patted his rosy cheek with one hand, before pulling away. "Y'know Gojo.. You're not as bad when you shut up." You said, offering him a cheeky smile. "You should consider letting your face do all the talking next time." "Chao~" Once you were out of the room and Satoru couldn't sense your cursed energy any more, he let out an embarrassed groan as he raised a hand to cover his flushed features. He glanced back at the door you'd walked through a minute earlier as he muttered to himself, hand covering his mouth. "What a woman.~"
After that little fiasco, Satoru was never the same.
He had a new goal in his mind. Get the new girl to do that to him again.
Author Note:
OMG I did not expect my previous post to blow up this much-
THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR SUPPORT!!! <3
Also, I hope you enjoyed reading this lil' fanfic!
#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#jjk#jjk fluff#fluff#satoru x reader#fandom ships#female reader#gojo fluff#romance#gojo blushing#shy gojo#embarrased gojo#flustered gojo#satoru gojo#gojo satoru#jujustu kaisen#jjk gojo#jujutsu gojo#gojo headcanons#gojo satoru headcanons#satoru headcanons#satoru gojo headcanons#gojo oneshot#satoru oneshot#gojo satoru one shot#satoru gojo one shot#satoru gojo oneshot#gojo satoru oneshot#jjk oneshot
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Await- Pope Heyward



wearning: +18,smut,blowjob,english is not my first language
The evening was warm and quiet in John B’s chateau.The living room was lit only by a flickering light bulb and the soft glow of a candle on the table. Pope sat on the couch, his body relaxed but his mind always in motion. He was talking about the plan they were planning, another John B’s head shot to recover something valuable.
"So," said Pope, gesturing to emphasize his speech, "if we can get to the boat before..."
His words were lost in your mind. Not that it wasn’t interesting, but that night had made you want to break the routine. His dark eyes, so focused and full of passion, shone whenever he spoke about something that was important to him. And you? You were distracted, but not bored. It was the way his lips moved, the way his curls looked softer in that dim light.
"Are you listening?" he asked, his eyebrow raised and a smile slanting that betrayed his suspicion.
"Sure," the liars, bowing their heads with a mischievous smile.
Pope laughed softly, shaking his head. "I don’t think so. You have that face... the one you do when you’re thinking of something that has nothing to do with it."
"Really?" you lean a little towards him, playful.
He nodded. "Oh yes. It’s very obvious."
Instead of answering, you got closer to him until you felt the heat of his body against yours. "And now what do you think he’s thinking?"
Pope stood for a moment speechless, swallowing noisily. "I don’t know... but I think it had nothing to do with what I was saying."
"That’s right," you murmured, and before he could add anything else, you kissed him.
His breath was stopped for a moment, surprised. But almost immediately, he let go. His hands automatically rose to the sides of your face, holding you gently as if you were something precious.
The kiss was slow, but full of feeling, and you felt his body relax completely under yours.
When you just took off to breathe, he looked at you, eyes full of desire and confusion. "What are you doing?" asked, the voice a little bit hoarse.
"I’m tired of waiting," you replied with a smile, riding up on him. His hands automatically slid over your hips, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Wow," he murmured, looking down on you as if he couldn’t believe that this was happening. "You know John B could be in any minute, right?"
"If he comes in, he can wait," you replied without hesitation, moving back to his face.
Pope laughed, but the sound stopped when you kissed him again, more deeply this time. His fingers sank into your hips, while you were sliding your hands down her neck, playing with her curls. Your heart was beating fast, and you felt its beat at the same pace.
After a while, Pope came off, gasping slightly. "You’re amazing, you know?" said, his eyes shining with a light that you saw only when you were alone.
"You always say that," you replied, with a mischievous smile.
"Because it is true," he murmured, leaning his forehead against yours. "But really, love... what’s gotten into you?"
"I watched you speak," you confessed, "and I couldn’t think of anything but how irresistible you are when you’re so serious."
"Really?" he chuckled. "And that made you want to kiss me?"
"Absolutely." you said, starting to rub your dick, that it was getting harder.
He shook his head, a smile that could not hold back painted on his face. "You will never stop surprising me."
"And I don’t want to," you replied, kissing him again, softer this time.
The kiss became more and more intense as you began to unbutton his shorts and you detached yourself from his lips to lower his jeans and underwear before kneeling.
Pope was looking at you with desire as he waited for your next move. You smiled as you started licking a strip of his cock rod and he moaned by leaning his head against the edge of the couch and looking at you in that position.
You started taking his dick in your mouth and sucking it and he moaned while stroking your hair. "shit y/n you’re so good".
You started rolling your tongue on his cock while with your left hand you were clinging to his thigh while with your right hand you were playing with his balls.
He grunted taking a handful of your hair and started pushing in hips towards your mouth to get you caught more.
"You’re doing so well baby, keep it up" he praised you and you moaned feeling excited about how much more beautiful he was and how he was praising you.
While you were sucking his cock, you made eye contact with him as he fucked your face and you moaned around his dick, making him grunting. He spilled and you swallowed every drop.
He sighed closing his eyes for a moment trying to recover from his inner orgasm and you smiled as you fixed his boxers and shorts and then climbed back on him.
Pope smiled, kissed you and put his hands around your hips and looked at you with pure love. " You’re perfect" murmured Pope and you smiled softly and he kissed you again.
As you lost each other, time seemed to stand still. The laughter and steps of John B, JJ and Kiara outside the door brought you back to reality. You looked at each other for a moment, a silent understanding between you, before Pope sighed.
"I think our quiet time is over," said Pope with a smirk, helping you to get off her lap but not before he gave you a squeeze on your butt that made you smile
"It’s not over," you promised, stroking his face before putting yourself back in your place.
And when the others came in, Pope could not hide the dreamy smile that lit up his face.
JJ suddenly stopped, taking a quick look between you and Pope. There was a suspicious silence in the room, and even though you tried to look relaxed, your expressions revealed some sexual tension. You were still slightly flushed, while Pope looked like the image of guilt, hands nervously crossed in front of him.
"Why does it look like someone just interrupted a super fuck?" said JJ
#pope hayward x reader#pope obx#pope outer banks#pope heyward x reader#pope heyward#kook! pope heyward#pope heyward smut#pope heyward obx#pope heyward imagine#pope heyward outer banks#smut imagine#smut story#outer banks rafe#topper outer banks#outer banks imagine#outer banks icons#outer banks#outerbanks rafe#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron#rafe x reader#rafe obx#rafe cameron smut#jj maybank#jj x kiara#john b imagine#john b routledge#kiara carrera#sarah routledge#sarah cameron
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The Lucky One (2)
Part 2 (of 2) of The Lucky One | Sebastian Vettel x Reader
Summary: Formula One had been your dream and your goal ever since you were a kid, and you did all you had to in order to achieve it. Between ups and downs, Sebastian becomes a steady presence despite being your complicated frenemy relationship. Until everything comes crashing down. Formula One gives, but Formula One takes.
Word count: 5.5k
Tags: female!reader, driver reader, reader is mirrorball coded, coming of age, cursing, romance, both are assholes, smut, +18, complicated feelings, rivals to lovers, crash, major injury, medical innacuracies, bittersweet ending, not beta read; t.w: brief christian horner scene.
Relationship: Sebastian Vettel x Reader
Note: This is fully inspired by the song, and throughout my writing process I realized it also fits mirrorball. This one may require some tissues (especially in part 2). Everything is fictional and I mean no disrespect to Sebastian or his family (they don't exist in this story). I'm sorry it took me forever to come back to it, but there it is, hope I don't disappoint Not proofread. Comments and feedback are welcomed.
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Ending whatever complicated fling was going on with you and Sebastian was the right, rational call, you knew that. But your body, your heart, regretted it every couple of weeks as you laid awake in bed, plagued by memories, need and longing.
You decided to just do your best during that season. You couldn’t fight for the championship anymore, but you still wanted a great season since the following year would be your last in the current contract with Red Bull. A great performance could secure a renewal or even the interest of other teams.
Sebastian and you still saw each other frequently during race weekends, your eyes always finding each other across the crowd. He was consumed with guilt, of having been blinded by his own privileges that he didn’t see the struggle that was being a woman in Formula One. He vowed to never be so far from reality like that ever again.
He wanted to stop you, to talk to you again, to try and fix things, but there was this constant mix of shame and uncertainty about your reaction if he tried reaching out again. Sometimes he would look at you from afar, and he’d see something in your eyes, something that felt like the same longing he had. Some other times, you looked at him like you hated him.
Eventually in the third race to the last in Bahrain, he couldn’t take it anymore. There was this string tugging at his heart, begging to see you and talk everything through. During the Friday afternoon, between Free Practices, he marched around decidedly, looking for you. He walked into the garage and no one seemed to mind his presence as he went straight into your driver’s room. He barged in, not bothering to knock. You were sitting on the couch, drinking Red Bull and going through some papers. You frowned and stood up as you saw him.
“What are you-”
“Stop…” He interrupted with both hands up, “don’t say anything just yet.”
You frowned but didn’t look particularly angry, your frown softening into a stunned silence. Sebastian sighed, breathing slowly, he had a plan and a speech when he was marching there, but now, looking at your face, your pretty eyes, he had lost all sense of reason.
“We’ll talk about everything, rationally, like adults. Okay?” He offered, and you slowly nodded, unsure but also willing to try, “Not now, because the race and everything. But- this monday, okay? After the race, after we get a good night’s sleep. We’ll go to a nice restaurant, and we’ll talk over good food. A real date this time, no hiding anymore,” He said, his words pouring out fast, like he wasn’t truly thinking about what to say, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and excitement, “Monday night?”
“Monday night,” You nodded, no anger in your eyes, just a glimmer of hope.
“Good,” He nodded and just left.
You stood there, speechless, but with a disbelief smile on your face, looking almost silly. Despite the anger you felt the last time you two actually spoke, there was this undeniable magnetic pull between you, and you didn’t seem to be able to be away from him just as he wasn’t able to be away from you.
The whole weekend, you felt that nervous energy, almost bouncing up the walls, you attributed it to the race, but you knew it was more than that. The car had been great the whole week, you qualified P2, your first real possibility of win in a few months, which would be a blast to finish the season winning one of the last races.
You were smiling as you waved to the fans during the driver’s parade, your first hopeful and excited pre-race interview in quite some time. As you put on your gloves and helmet, you couldn’t help but feel some sense of purpose. You would give your very best in that race.
You just didn’t know it would be your last time behind a Formula 1 wheel.
The race was great, it started alright and most of it you kept your P2, even after a failed attempt of undercut, you still managed your P2, but then came the moment, the point of no return in your career, the very moment that changed the trajectory of your life forever.
After turn 15, you had finally managed to catch up to the P1, less than half a second behind him, and despite his car being fast, you could try and overtake him with the DRS. You pushed the fastest you could in the straight, closing and closing the distance, almost succeeding in overtaking, but as the DRS zone ended, you realized you’d have to wait another lap to try again. But then, as you pushed the pedal to brake and slow down into turn 1, the car kept going. So many things happened in the span of mere seconds, but they felt like ages to you.
“I’ve got no brakes,” You said into the radio as you tried braking. Then you tried engine braking and the security system braking. None of it worked.
With quick thinking, you decided to face the turn that way and bear it. You'd probably lose a lot of grip with the rear, but if you hit the curbs it’d help you slow down and just drive to a stop. You kept trying the brake pedals all the way to the turn, when suddenly, the tyres locked up and everything happened really fast.
You weren’t able to turn, the tyres locked and you had no way to slow down the car. All you did was brace as you went full force straight into the barriers, the impact so hard it made your car split in half. You blacked out for a couple of seconds and then came to again, a ringing in your ears as you tried to situate yourself, a mix of excruciating pain and numbness, pulsing hard, almost keeping you in and out of it.
Pain. Numb. Pain. Numb.
You tried to stay awake, hearing your name being called in the distance, the numbness giving each time more space to the excruciating pain but you couldn’t identify where it came from.
“Talk to me! Are you okay?” You were only half aware of the voice in the radio, and you blindly reached for the button with shaky hands.
“H-help,” your voice was shaky, hoarse and so unlike yourself.
You couldn’t move, you couldn’t bring yourself to even reply again, even more aware of the pain now, barely keeping your head up and your eyes opened. Teary eyed, a distant, cold part of you knew it was over. It was over forever.
Then you blacked out.
-
“Sebastian, red flag, red flag,” His engineer called, as if he had not seen all the red flags throughout the circuit.
He drove back to the boxes, hopping off the car as he saw other drivers do the same, he marched into the Ferrari garage, worried.
“Is everyone okay? Who was it?” He asked, as he removed his helmet and balaclava.
The grief faces around him didn’t help, and Sebastian felt a sense of dread as he turned to the closest screen showing the live coverage of the race. The transmission was a helicopter shot of your car into the wall, or a better description would be two piles of wreckage of your car as the marshals rushed towards it. He felt like he could puke, despair spreading through his chest.
“What did she say? What happened?” He asked anyone willing to answer, his eyes glued to the screen. As if on cue, a replay of your crash played out on the screen.
“S-she asked for help. She didn’t reply again after that.” Someone said, somber, and a lump lodged in Sebastian’s throat.
He kept staring at the video, then a replay of your radio also came through, the despair as you realized you had no brakes, the urgency in your engineer’s voice as he asked you to try other means. And the faint “Help” you said after one of the ugliest crashes Sebastian had ever seen. He had never been a religious guy, but at that moment, he prayed. His eyes glued to the screen as the marshals started removing pieces surrounding you and the car, and the ambulance arrived. They started checking you and were about to pull you out of the wreckage.
Then, the cameras were cut off, showing the drivers and everyone in the garages. Sebastian knew that for the transmission to stop showing, it meant the crash was really bad, it meant that however they were pulling you out, it was ugly. Sebastian felt a shiver up his spine as he thought about the possibility they were removing your dead body from there.
With that, he marched out of the Ferrari garage and towards RB, and he found other drivers were already making their way there too, everyone desperate for any news. A few minutes later it was reported that you had been taken by helicopter to the nearest hospital. Sebastian breathed again as they reported you were alive, but unconscious.
The race was interrupted officially a few minutes later, Sebastian and Lewis along with a few other drivers were still waiting by the Red Bull garage for more news on you. Slowly, everyone was sent away when the news came from the hospital that you were hurt, but not in a life threatening situation and you’d stay in the hospital for observation.
That was when Sebastian finally left, a little shaken as he went through his post race duties.
The following morning, after a tossing and turning almost sleepless night, the official representatives confirmed that you were alright but had unfortunately fractured a leg, and would not take part in the remaining two races of the season.
Even after he got news on you, and there was this sense of relief that you’d recover, the knot in his stomach remained, his gut saying that something was off. But he brushed it off, thinking it was just lingering anxiety from the accident.
He wanted to talk to you, see you. He got your number from Lewis and texted you but you never replied and he kept trying. A few days later, Lewis commented with him that you hadn’t replied to his text either. And later they found out you actually had not replied to any of the drivers or anyone from the Formula 1 teams.
After Abu Dhabi, when the season ended, he got a hold of your manager, leaving an office in the Red Bull garage. He stopped her, gently taking a hold of her arm.
“How’s she doing? Do you have any news on her?” He pressed.
“She’s alright, still recovering.”
“Why hasn’t she answered her phone?”
“She’s recovering and took a break from social media and the internet, so she hasn’t been able to communicate well. I’m sure once she’s fully recovered she’ll get back to you.”
“Do you have a home telephone, e-mail or even an address where we can reach her? See her?” He asked, almost desperate.
“I’m sorry. Just give her some time, I’m sure she will come around.”
With that, your manager left quickly, holding a small stack of files with both hands, the “classified” stamp boldly branding it. Sebastian kept trying to contact you, failing miserably each time.
When the Prize Giving ceremony came, he was bouncing with nervous energy, hoping and praying he would get to see you again. If anything, just to know you’re really okay and well. You didn’t show up to the ceremony, but suddenly you were awarded the Personality of the Year award.
Then, your face showed up on the big screen, and Sebastian felt his breath stuck in his throat. It was a simple, regular video of you, you were wearing a pretty dress and your hair was in an up-do. Your face had makeup like you always wore in these kinds of events, pretty eyes and big lashes, and a scarlet lipstick. Your face looked healthy, despite your eyes lacking its usual brightness.
“Hi, everyone!” Came your recorded voice with a smile, “It’s such an honor to receive this award. Thank you to everyone who voted for me and congratulations to all other drivers on the season. I’m well and recovering, and I’m grateful for all the well wishes all of you sent me these past weeks, I truly appreciate them.” Your smile faded almost imperceptibly, but Sebastian noticed as you inhaled softly, like you were resigned to something, “I will take this opportunity to let you know that I’m retiring from Formula 1 from now on. I’m grateful for all the opportunities, all the dreams achieved and the amazing people I got to know and work with. Thank you very much.”
As the video cut off, there was a stunned silence since absolutely no one saw that coming. No one expected you to announce your retirement like this. So suddenly, especially considering you had one more year of contract with your team. And you were also very young, just 28.
The event went on but Sebastian couldn’t move on from your video, from seeing your face and hearing your voice again. He went through the motions for the rest of the night, and at some point, Lewis stopped him to chat about how glad he was that you looked healthy. But Sebastian couldn’t shake off that pit in his stomach.
The following week, once he was done with his postseason duties, he called Lewis and a couple of the drivers you were the closest with. Still, none of them had any news on you, no text, no calls, nothing. He went digging further and found out you lived in Monte Carlo, in the same building as a few other drivers. Desperate for anything he went there personally to look for you. After giving your name and being recognized, the staff member checked on their computer for a moment.
“Unfortunately, she moved out of this building around a week ago.”
“What…?” Sebastian whispered to himself, shocked, “S-she… um, do you know if she moved to another place here in Monaco? Or she moved to another country or something?”
“I don’t have that information, sir,” the woman replied, looking at him with a smile apologetically.
Sebastian nodded and left, helpless.
Time went on, the world spun, and he never heard about you again. The holidays came and went, and a new season started. People still spoke about you, whispers about your retirement and the accident, many conspiracies theories about why you had disappeared. But oddly enough, the FIA and the F1 representatives never spoke much about you.
Not seeing you again was eating him alive, especially whenever he remembered the last time you had talked, the promise of a future that never came. One time, he went to the Red Bull to try and get any information about you. He kept bothering the staff for months, everyone including Christian, who was the one to put a firm stop to his nonsense of bothering the team’s staff about you.
“I need to talk to her, it’s important,” Sebastian pleaded.
“Have you considered that maybe she doesn’t want to be bothered? That she doesn’t want to speak with you or anyone for that matter?” Christian said, “This stops now, Sebastian. Stop bothering my team about this or I’ll have to go to Todt.”
Sebastian deflated, feeling defeated, only nodded, walking away.
He still talked about you on occasion, mentioning a battle in passing, or whenever the only woman to win a Formula 1 championship was mentioned. Sometimes he hoped you were watching, that you could see the longing in his eyes, that you’d feel something and reach out to him. And then later, he felt silly, stupid for wishing so.
Late at night, he stared at the ceiling, trying to commit to memory everything that had ever happened between you. The fights, the shouts but even more the chats, the making love and the silly conversations you two had late at night, your naked bodies covered by a thin blanket as you chatted about anything and everything. He always thought about your hands mindlessly drawing on his skin, you two drifting off to sleep, and then one of you sneaking out in the middle of the night. No goodbyes to make it easier.
And now the lack of goodbyes felt like an open wound for him.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five years passed and Sebastian believed he had learned to deal with your absence, with the lack of closure. But it was a lie he kept telling himself, even if every year, he kept trying your phone number, your email, sending texts and notes, until your phone number was discontinued and probably sold again, for a new owner and your email stopped receiving and his letters would not go through. He never changed his own number, expecting you to eventually call.
When he announced his retirement, a small part of him hoped you’d reach out once you got the news. You never did.
After his announcement, he decided to resort to desperate measures and hired a private investigator. And finally, after a couple months since the end of his last season, he got news on you.
Ben, his P.I., got an image of you in a café in a quaint little town, you sitting down, sipping some coffee and reading a book. The image was a little blurry, probably taken from a long distance, but it looked like you.
Now, Sebastian was retired and had free time, and he immediately packed a suitcase and went to the town. He arrived there on a friday morning, and after checking in at a small but comfortable inn, he went straight to the café. Ben had told him the photo was taken in the late morning, so since very early, he went to the café and decided to wait for you. Ordering a coffee and a muffin, he waited.
And waited. And waited.
Hours and hours and a bunch of coffees and muffins later, the staff were looking at him strangely, and one of the ladies looked at him with pity, warning they were about to close.
“Were you waiting for someone, boy?” She asked.
“Yes, uh- a friend,” He sighed, standing up. He said your name, and the woman seemed to recognize the name, “She’s this tall,” He gestured, showing your height, and gave a brief physical description of you, and the woman nodded.
“I know her! Very sweet but also a bit stubborn.”
“I thought I might find her here, but…” He shrugged, giving his best puppy look to the older woman.
It didn’t take much for the woman to give him your address, and despite the urge to go straight there, Sebastian knew it was late, signaled by the café closing and he knew small towns like this usually went to sleep early. So he went to the inn, taking a shower and going to bed, trying to sleep, trying to get to the following day.
But his racing heart was making it impossible to sleep, and he laid on the bed, thinking of you, going in and off sleep, dreaming of you.
In the morning, he had breakfast and went to your address in a moment that wasn’t too early in the morning. Your house was a medium sized family looking home, cozy, a big front and backyard. It looked like somewhere to have a family in and to grow old.
He walked up to your porch, drying his hands on his jeans and before he could hesitate, he rang the doorbell.
He wondered if you would welcome him, at least as a friend. His nerves wondered if you had gotten married, had a family, and he was just a pathetic and creepy guy for never moving on from you. He wondered if-
You opened the door, freezing the moment your eyes met his. Sebastian looked at your face, still as stunning as ever, showing small signs of aging, but they suited your face beautifully. Your hair was longer, natural, and your face looked healthy, with a beautiful sunny hue to it.
“Principessa”
“Sebastian…” You said, shocked, “What- How…?”
“Can I come in?” He asked. You nodded, awkwardly scooting away from the doorway so he could come inside.
“I- do you want some tea?” You offered, unsure of how to feel with his presence so out of the blue.
“Yeah,” He nodded, following you inside and sitting on an armchair as you signaled him to. A small teapot on the coffee table between you, “I’ve been looking for you. Why did you disappear?” He asked, his voice almost tinged with despair.
You tried to think of what to say for a moment, pouring two mugs of tea to gather your thoughts, to grapple with the fact that Sebastian Vettel, your rival, lover and friend was there, suddenly, after five long years.
“What happened to you?” He asked again, his voice almost in pain.
“That crash happened…” You said, hands around the warm mug.
“It was worse than they made it seem, wasn’t it?” Sebastian said, a knowing look on his face when you nodded, getting up and slowly walking to a drawer on your bookshelf, he noticed how you favored one leg. You pulled a file from the drawer and walked back to the couch, handing it to him.
Silently, Sebastian opened the file, going through medical reports of you, all dated back to five years ago on that fateful night. You looked like you were avoiding looking at the files, busying yourself with preparing tea for the both of you. Sebastian read through the papers, and what caught his eyes were an x-ray of your knee, the one you were limping now, and a transverse fracture of your spine.
“Oh, my god…” Sebastian whispered, horrified. He stopped on a picture of you laying in a hospital bed, eyes red and puffy from crying that weren’t the main focus of the image, instead it was your knee, immobilized, held in place by a lot of metal pins, “What did they do to you…?”
“The crash, it bursted my knee. I almost lost my leg… Fracture, torn ligament, it was hanging by a thread. And my spine, a fracture that could’ve hindered me to a wheelchair for the rest of my life. It was brutal, my knee took the brunt of the impact, and my back was the split car…” You explained, almost robotically, like you had rehearsed that speech, your eyes were wet as you fought the tears, “They said I was lucky. Lucky I didn’t lose a leg, lucky I didn’t end up paraplegic…” You sighed, swallowing the tears, “They said I could never go back to a racing car again, because the G Forces could put too much strain on my injuries, not to mention, if I injured these two spots again, it would be risking more permanent damages. I was lucky I pulled through.”
There was bitterness in your voice, and how could you not feel bitter about that? How could you not feel angry and sad and mourn the life you once had. A life where racing had been everything to you.
“I’m so sorry,” Sebastian reached for your hand, his expression completely crestfallen, “We had seen how that car was completely unreliable, how sometimes it worked and sometimes it was a hazard to you. I never thought it could end this badly…”
“And… I’m sorry I disappeared. I know you tried contacting me for a while, but… I just couldn’t see anything related to Formula 1. I couldn’t be near all that without feeling a gut wrenching pain, without feeling anger for anything related to motorsports… I just had to get away from all that.” You explained, looking lost and Sebastian could understand your pain. Despite the times he felt angry and sad for your disappearance, now that he knew about your reason to leave completely… he understood, “I’m sorry. I know you and some other drivers tried reaching out, but I just… I wasn’t in the right mind.”
“I understand. I can’t even imagine what you went through…” he said, his voice so understanding that a lump lodged into your throat, “how was recovery?”
“About a couple of years between the back fracture and the knee… A few surgeries, lots of physiotherapy. Lots of pain and sleepless nights…”
“Did you think about fighting, suing…?” He asked softly.
“I did… I was so angry. I wanted to sue all of them, the team, the FIA, the president. But then…” You paused for a second, “It’d drag out for god knows how long, they would surely bring all the weapons, smear campaigns, defamation, and… My image as a driver, as a person, would just be even more exploited. And I was so tired, I just wanted to heal away from all that.”
“I was so worried for a while. One day I saw your manager leaving the Red Bull hospitality…”
“There was a deal. They offered me an absurd amount of money for me to not sue them, to not bring to light what happened. They also paid for all my medical bills. I also made sure they would review the safety regulations, so no driver would have to risk their life like that again. And I know you’ll say it’s not fair, that they got away with it, but… I was just so tired. I spent my whole life playing a role, being the image they wanted… that tragic ending to my career was all I got? I genuinely wanted to disappear for the longest time after that,” You said, voice cracking for a moment, “Racing was my driving force and suddenly it was ripped away from me.”
“I wish I could’ve been there for you.” He whispered, which made your eyes water for a bit, but you looked at the ceiling, willing the tears away.
“I was a mess, there would be nothing you could do for me…” You said with a devastatingly sad little smile, “And I kept myself completely blocked from Formula 1.”
“Do you still feel pain?” He asked suddenly after a few seconds of silence.
“Physically?” You shook your head, “Sometimes a little discomfort when I’m in places where the weather is very cold.”
“And emotionally?” He whispered and you looked away, swallowing.
“You’re a racer, you can imagine…” That’s all you said.
Sebastian nodded softly, he couldn’t imagine being stopped from doing the one thing he loved the most right in his prime, in the heights of his career like you. And in one fleeting moment having that all stripped away. Your ability to do what you trained your whole life for.
“How-” He cleared his throat, deciding to change topics, “How are you living here? Enjoying?”
“Yeah, lots of free time and new hobbies…” You said, looking grateful for the change in topic, “Wanna see my garden?”
“Sure,” he nodded and you both stood up, he let you lead, his eyes dropping to your slight limp, and the constant sound of the cane hitting the floor with your steps.
You took him around your garden, where there were plants, flowers and even a small cultivation of vegetables. Everything was well cared for and groomed, there was even a small greenhouse where you guided him inside. He could barely look away from your face, your pretty eyes, your lovely lips and beautiful face that only got prettier with time.
“And here…” You stopped inside the greenhouse, “Some plants that are a little more sensitive… Tomatoes, some strawberries…” You grabbed a small clipper and handed him a fresh strawberry.
He stared at you, a silly smile on his face, watching as you grabbed a strawberry and took a small bite, the juices coating your lips in a pinkish color. His eyes dropped to your hand, noticing the absence of a wedding ring, or an engagement ring.
“Do you have a significant other?” He asked, interrupting your ramble for a moment, which made you blink, blushing slightly.
“No, I-” You paused, timid, “No…”
He walked closer, entering your personal space, his hand on your jaw, holding gently, his thumb slowly wiping the leftover strawberry juice on your lower lip.
You looked at him, tempted, looking like you wanted to risk everything. But then you scolded your face, walking away from him and back to your house. He just followed you, until you two were back in your living room. He went after you, looking like a kicked puppy.
“Sebastian,” you sighed, unsure of what to say.
“What about us?” he asked, and there was so much unsaid, but you didn’t need words when you could see it all in his eyes.
And despite wanting so badly to give in, to give a real shot to something you never got the chance to explore, you also knew you were still a mess, and being away from Formula 1 for so long, you didn’t want to bring back all the bad feelings you had regarding it. It would put an even bigger strain on you two.
Things were so complicated now, you didn’t tell him you never stopped thinking about him. That you were haunted by what-ifs, that you would have vivid dreams of a family and a future with him. You didn’t tell him about all the sweaty nights when the memories of your shared passion kept you awake. And you didn’t tell him the last thing you saw before passing out after the crash were his shiny blue eyes.
“I’ve been away from motorsports for so long, and I don’t know if-”
“I retired. Last year,” He interrupted you, “and it won’t matter to us. We have so much else to explore…”
“Sebastian… I’m a mess. I look okay now, but I still have bad days. Awful days. And it’s ugly.” You said, voice clipped. Like you weren’t allowing yourself to want, to just take a leap and do what you have yearned for so long.
“I don’t care, don’t you see that I lo-”
“You need to go,” You said walking to the door to open it, as Sebastian paused like a dejavú, “Leave, Sebastian.”
He swallowed, remembering that time you said the exact same words that sent him away. That time he did exactly that, respecting your wishes instead of his own. Gulping, Sebastian took a step forward and turned around on your porch, walking away. He stopped midway to his car, looking over his shoulder. You were still rooted to the spot, watching him. He looked down at his own feet.
“Fuck it,” He muttered under his breath.
He marched back, long strides up to your porch, so fast that you could barely register when he wrapped his arms around you and picked you up in a hug, his face nuzzled into your neck, breathing in.
“No,” he whispered against your skin, “I’m not letting you go again. Ever.”
And then finally, finally, you hugged him back, tightly around his neck silently because there was no need for words, a silent understanding of finding each other again. Of having someone like him, who fought for you, to find you even when you thought you shouldn’t be found. When you broke the hug, Sebastian held your face with both hands, his thumb gently wiping the tears you had shed during the hug.
“I love you, Principessa.”
“Even now? Even after all this time?” You asked, voice shaky but your eyes with a glimmer of hope.
“Even after all this time,” He nodded, blue eyes shining in happiness, a barely contained smile on his face.
“I love you too, by the way,” You said, shyly and hiding your face into his chest.
“No, that won’t do,” He laughed, a playful cocky chuckle, “I need you to look me in the eyes when you say it,” He tangled his fingers on your hair at the nape, tugging gently so he could make you look up at him, when you did, there was this playful look in his face and you almost melted right there.
“I love you, Sebastian,” You smiled, feeling silly. Sebastian nodded, leaning forward to peck your cheek, his lips slowly descending your jaw and neck.
“Let me stay,” He asked, his lips brushing your skin and making you shudder, closing your eyes.
“Only if you stay forever,” You smiled, and he started walking you backwards, entering your house again, his hands on your hips helping you stay up as he gently nipped your neck.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” He said, kicking the door closed behind him, “You also owe me a date, Princess. Remember?” He gently laid you down on the sofa, slowly laying down on top of you, “And I intend to charge it, with all the interest fees…” He joked, pressing a soft kiss to your chin.
-----
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